Page 113 of Wicked Designs
He heard only one pair of footsteps walk away and a door clicked open then shut. Tanner counted away a few minutes waiting for the second pair. Eventually he dug into his coat pocket for a spare coin. He flicked the shilling out away from him. It clinked loudly across the marble, rolling away from the stairs. The floor above him creaked, and he heard a grunt as the remaining guard resumed his position.
Tanner swore under his breath, seeking another coin. He threw it further out, and the clink resounded more deeply, almost to the point of an echo.
Someone rose, and came down the stairs, step by step.
Tanner waited in the shadows. The guard had only just reached the bottom when Tanner launched himself at the man.
But his adversary had quick reflexes. He spun as Tanner attacked.
Blood splattered as Tanner’s blade slid across the man’s arm.
Before the guard could shout, Tanner rammed his elbow into the his face. Blood dribbled down his face as he staggered back, fell and ceased to move.
Tanner considered finishing him off, but he couldn’t waste time. He needed the girl.
Light on his feet, he sprinted up the stairs and eased the unguarded door open.
A young woman lay curled up on the bed, her knees tucked up under her chin. The curtains of the window were wide open, allowing a pale blanket of moonlight to cover her sleeping form. Her hair was loose and fanned out on her pillow. Tanner was not a man to ever think of heaven or angels, but this sweet creature was beautiful. No wonder the old fool wanted her so much.
He thought of his Lacy, of what it had been like before she’d been taken by his master. For one eternal second Tanner was tempted to take the girl and keep her for himself. He imagined her being grateful, rescued from two horrible fates. Would she feel the same as his Lacy had? But no. That was simply a fantasy. He needed the money she would bring, more than any illusions of love.
Tanner cleared his head as he stole up on the sleeping girl. He pocketed his bloody knife before he leaned down and scooped the girl up into his arms.
She shifted restlessly, murmuring to herself. “No more…please…no more.”
Tanner breathed a sigh of relief when her dreams did not wake her. He didn’t want her screaming or fighting. If she slept all the way down to his carriage, she’d be hiseasiest job yet. Far easier than the spaniel, his boots still had teeth marks on them.
He walked down the stairs, kicked the body of the man he’d attacked for good measure and proceeded out the door he came in. Once outside, he flagged down his hired carriage. The girl started to wake as the carriage rattled loudly up to them. Tanner told the coachman where to go as he hopped down and opened the carriage door. She finally awoke as Tanner dropped the girl onto the seat opposite him.
She gasped and scurried into the corner, putting as much distance between them as possible. “Who are you?”
He pulled his blade out of his pocket, leaned forward, and pointed it at her chest. Her pretty little eyes fixed on the blade’s tip, still splashed in crimson. “I would say I’m your worst nightmare, but considering whom I’m taking you to—that wouldn’t be entirely true.”
He expected the girl to cry, to beg for her freedom, to bargain. She didn’t. Slowly, she combed through the tangles in her hair with her fingers, fixed her dress and assumed a look of grace and dignity.
“Then you must be one of Blankenship’s thugs.”
“Thug, Madame? I am not some lowly cutpurse.”
The woman shrugged. “You are no different than the others I’ve encountered.”
Tanner was rattled by her tone. She seemed unconcerned, as though the abduction were commonplace. Such self-control. He didn’t know whether to beimpressed or concerned for her mental health, for clearly the woman was mad.
Emily focused on slow,steady breaths. She wouldn’t scream if she kept calm.
She refused to think about how this man found her, or who he might have hurt in the process. If she knew she’d lose herself to her terror, and Blankenship would win. She forced herself to study the man, taking in his dark eyes, unkempt brown hair, footman’s clothes and the sneer etched into his features.
He looked to be around thirty or so in years, and radiated with a survivor’s sharpness, a razor’s edge balance of sanity. This man was a professional, and dangerous.
Fear threatened to consume her, but unlike her first abduction, she had a better grasp of how to handle the situation. After her encounter with Evangeline she believed she could emulate the other woman’s confidence and possibly act her way out of this peril. It was a chance if nothing else, one she had to take.
“Is he paying you well?” she asked.
The man nodded. “Five hundred pounds to deliver you to his doorstep.”
Emily feigned surprise. “Only five hundred? He offered the last man he hired double that.” The lie came easily as she tried to emulate Evangeline’s imperious tone, albeit without the French accent.
“What last man? He never mentioned anyone else.”
