Amanda Quick - Dangerous

"People are staring at us."

"Can you blame them?" Jeremy chuckled as he swung her into a waltz. "The Fallen Angel's lady is dancing with a member of the Fleet-wood clan. Furthermore, there is no indication that the devil is about to unleash his wrath against me in retaliation. He is too busy laughing his head off at a joke no one else can comprehend."

"They will think Angelstone has lost his wits," Prudence said. "And they may be correct."

"It will be all over Town by morning that the Fleetwood feud is finished," Jeremy mused.

"I suppose being taken in hand by your mother is not too high a price to pay for ending the feud," Prudence said, trying to be optimis­tic.

"Don't be too certain of that."

Prudence was still grumbling about the forthcoming shopping trip an hour later when Sebastian escorted her out into the cold, foggy night.

"It is most annoying, Sebastian. Back home no one ever remarked upon my clothes. Here in Town I do not seem to be able to please anyone. And what am I to do with the wardrobe I ordered when Hester took me in hand, I ask you?"

"Give it away, I suppose." Sebastian signaled for his carriage. The Angelstone coach was nowhere to be seen amid the crowd of vehicles that filled the street in front of the large house.

"To whom?"

Sebastian's mouth tilted. "To someone who looks good in shades of violet and lavender." He took her arm and started impatiently down the steps. "Come along. It will take another twenty minutes for the carriage to make its way through this press. We may as well walk to it."

"Very well. I certainly don't care to stand out here for long. It's quite chilly tonight." At least she had worn a cloak this evening, Pru­dence thought. Sebastian had insisted upon it.

It was difficult to tell one coach from another in the heavy fog. The black Angelstone carriage was waiting at the end of a long line of vehicles. A footman in the familiar black and gold Angelstone livery appeared to open the door for Prudence.

Something about him seemed different. She glanced up and real­ized she did not recognize him. Before she could raise her glass to her eyes for a closer look, she heard Sebastian swear softly.

"Who the devil—"

A soft, sickening thud cut off his words. Sebastian groaned. Pru­dence whirled around as she felt him release her arm.

"Sebastian." Instinctively she reached out to him as he crumpled to the pavement. But he was too heavy for her. She went down on her knees beside him. "Dear God, Sebastian, what's wrong?"

A man loomed up out of the fog. His face was a blur, but Prudence had no difficulty seeing the large blunt object in his hand.

"Don't you worry yerself none, ma'am. He'll be all right. I knows me job. Get on with ye, now. Into the coach. I'll put his nibs in there with ye."

Prudence rose swiftly, her mouth already open to scream for help. A rude male hand was instantly clamped across her lips, silencing her.

"Shut yer bloody mouth, yer ladyship," the strange footman hissed in her ear.

Prudence started to struggle. She kicked out wildly, but her move­ments were severely hampered by the heavy folds of her cloak. The other villain grabbed her ankles. She realized there were three men in all, including the coachman.

"Behave yerself or it'll be the worse for yer man," the false foot­man muttered. "We're in a hurry, ye know. Ain't got all night. Me and me two mates promised to deliver ye on time. Don't get paid unless we do."

Prudence glanced desperately up at the box as she was bundled into the carriage.

"Get ‘em inside," the man on the box said in a voice that definitely did not belong to Sebastian's regular coachman. "We ain't got all night."

Prudence's captors tossed her onto the floor of the carriage. There was a small, sharp crack that she recognized at once as the sound of her dangling eyeglass shattering beneath her cloak.

She floundered about, trapped in the folds of the garment.

"No sense wearin‘ yerself out," one of the men said gruffly. He reached into the carriage and hoisted Prudence onto one of the seats. "Best save yer energy. Expect me client's got plans for a pretty little thing like you."

The man wearing the Angelstone livery stuffed Sebastian's limp body into the vehicle. Sebastian sprawled facedown on the floor. He did not move.

Prudence gazed at him in horror, trying desperately to see if there was blood on his head or if his eyes were open. It was impossible to tell. Even if she had been able to get to her spectacles in her reticule, she knew she would not have been able to see how badly Sebastian was injured. The interior of the carriage was very dark.

The villain in the Angelstone livery jumped into the carriage and sat down across from Prudence. There was just enough light for Pru­dence to see the pistol in his hand.

"Well, now, reckon you and me will have to find somethin‘ to talk about for the next hour or so, ma'am. Yer man ain't goin' to be in the mood fer conversation for a while." He nudged Sebastian's still body with the toe of his boot.

"Don't touch him," Prudence said.

"Don't worry, he'll be in reasonably good shape when I deliver him to Curling Castle. That was the deal I made with his lordship, y'see. Both packages to be delivered in good shape."

Prudence could hardly breathe. "You're taking us to Curling Castle?"

"That's where we're headed, right enough. This damn bloody fog will slow us down somewhat but not much. Jack up there on the box is real good with the reins. I reckon we'll get there in no time."

The black chamber was every bit as cold as Prudence had remem­bered. The dark, heavy chill seemed to have a life of its own. It ema­nated from the stones themselves, not from the night air outside the castle walls. Like the fog, it shrouded everything in the room.

Prudence turned her head. The men who had brought her and Sebastian here a few minutes ago had left a single candle burning on the table. The flame was of little use against the oppressive shadows that filled the chamber.

She lay very still on the bed, listening to the sound of retreating boots in the hall. A small sense of relief washed over her. The kidnap­pers had departed.

She sat up stiffly. Her hands and feet were still bound, but at least the villains had not gagged her. Not that she intended to start scream­ing now, she thought. The last thing she wanted to do was summon one of her captors.

Chains clanked against stone.

Prudence raised her head swiftly and peered into the shadows. "Sebastian? Are you awake?"

"Bloody hell."

The surly sound of his voice revived her spirits as nothing else could have done. "They put you in those awful manacles on the wall."

"I noticed." Chains scraped lightly on stone again, as if Sebastian was quietly testing them. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Prudence managed to sit up on the edge of the bed. "What about you?"

"I feel as if I've gone a hundred rounds with Witt himself, but other than that I seem to be in one piece."

"You've been unconscious for a very long time. I was terribly wor­ried about you."

"I wasn't unconscious, just dazed." Sebastian sounded coldly furi­ous now. "I couldn't seem to move for a while, at least not quickly enough to take that pistol away from the man in the carriage. I de­cided to bide my time."

"We're at Curling Castle," Prudence offered.

"Believe it or not, I figured that out all by myself."

Prudence frowned. "There's no need to get sarcastic. I was just trying to help you orient yourself."

"I beg your pardon, madam. I am not in the best of moods." Chains rattled again. "Damnation."

"What's wrong?" Prudence asked.

"What isn't wrong? This entire investigation has been wrong right from the beginning. Bloody hell."