Page 120 of Three Weeks with a Princess
Amy cocked her head. “How so?”
“Some of the gentlemen might recognize you; you’re one of London’s premier dancers, after all. See if you can get close enough to one of them to ask for help. Or even tell the man who purchases you that you’re being held against your will.”
Amy looked grim again. “Most of them won’t care. They think forcing a woman makes it more exciting. That’s why they come to something like this.”
God. How ridiculously sheltered she’d been her entire life. “That’s awful.”
Amy shrugged. “Men are awful.”
“Not all of them, and perhaps we’ll get lucky.” She took Amy’s hands and pulled her out of the chair. “I know the odds aren’t good, but you have to try. Do your best to communicate with anyone who might seem at all sympathetic. Tell him to go to Bow Street or fetch a constable. Or ask him to help you escape, if nothing else.”
Amy gave a dubious nod. “I’ll do my best, miss.”
Lia gave her a quick hug. “You’re one of the bravest girls I know, Amy. You can do whatever you need to do to save yourself.”
When they heard footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs, they glanced at the door.
“Listen,” Lia said urgently, “if we are separated and you have a chance to escape, you must take it.”
Amy started to tear up. “I can’t just leave—”
“You must. Then go for help.”
When the key scraped in the lock, they clutched at each other.
“Promise you will,” Lia said.
“Bloody hell. All right, miss. I promise.”
The door opened and their two thuggish captors barreled into the room, followed by Sir Nathan.
Lia tried to brazen it out. “Ah, Sir Nathan. Have you decided to let us go?”
The baronet gave her a chilling smile. “Quite the opposite. Mrs. Grace insists that I take care of you. Immediately, in fact.” His smile turned into a leer. “Well, not quite immediately. I’m determined to enjoy myself before I hand you over to my men for disposal.”
“I’m going to see you all hanged,” Lia said, glaring at the baronet and his thugs. “Sir Dominic Hunter will make sure of that. And if he doesn’t, then my cousin, Griffin Steele, will see the deed done. In fact, he’ll probably slit your throats himself.”
The men, who were holding on to Amy, exchanged a startled glance. Lia was worried she might be overplaying her hand, but she’d clearly landed a hit.
“You’re Steele’s cuz?” one of them asked.
“I am. And he’s very fond of me, I might add.” She had every confidence he would be, once he finally met her.
“Nobody said nothin’ about Griffin bloody Steele. He’ll gut us like fish.” The thug glared at Sir Nathan. “You ain’t payin’ us enough for this job.”
“You have nothing to fear,” Sir Nathan said dismissively. “I doubt anyone knows these women were even taken, and they certainly won’t know who did it.”
Lia kept a steadfast gaze on the other men. “Are you willing to risk your life on that chance? People inside the theater must have heard all the commotion. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone came out and saw you dragging us away.”
“Then why haven’t they come to your rescue?” Sir Nathan said with a sneer.
“Because they—”
He delivered a slap that made Lia stagger and grab for a bedpost.
“Leave her alone, you bastard,” Amy yelled, struggling. But the thugs simply shook her like a rattle until she hung, panting, between them.
Rubbing her jaw, Lia directed a lethal glare at Prudhoe. “You’ll be sorry for that.”
