A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis (18 page)

F
anny groaned. “Now what?”

Rafe reached for her hand and pulled her onto her feet. He nodded to the passengers in their compartment. “Excuse us, ladies.”

She trailed Rafe out the compartment and down the aisle. At the rear door of the railcar, he stopped abruptly and turned to her. “The train is being flagged down.”

Her pulse raced. She should be used to this kind of disruptive scenario by now. Back at the station she had sensed something afoot but had dismissed her apprehension. “By them—the natty blokes?”

“We’re not waiting to find out.” Rafe struck the heavy door latch and it swung open.

Fanny pulled back. “We’re still moving.”

Rafe nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.” With those discomforting words he was down the steps and off the train. She squinted through fluttering lashes. A blur of coattails flew through the air. He managed to land on his feet, which was hopeful, until his body folded under
him. He rolled onto his side and disappeared down the embankment.

“Rafe!” Panic set in and she froze, momentarily. She was to be the next one off the train, but there was no Rafe to catch her. Biting her lip, she stepped down the metal stairs and hoped for a grassy patch of hillside. Something with a bit of cushion.

His voice barely carried over the shrill squeak and hiss of the train. Something about a hill and a bit of encouragement. “Jump, Fanny.”

Gathering her dress around her knees, she let go of the handrail. She couldn’t think. She just had to close her eyes and . . .

The knoll wasn’t nearly as soft as it appeared. Her landing, if one could call it that, was bone jarring and teeth rattling. She tumbled head over heels before smoothing out into a sideways roll down the grass.

Every rock bruised.

Every burr pricked.

Finally she slid to a stop. Shaken senseless from the fall, she lay prostrate on the ground, arms clutched fast to her sides. Her head throbbed, and she sucked in short, labored breaths. She waited for the shooting pain to come, signaling a broken limb or two. The slightest whimper escaped her throat. She licked her lips and tasted blood.

With a bit of effort, she raised her head. Her dress had flown up around her thighs, her stockings were torn in several places, and both knees were skinned.

“Fanny!” Rafe clawed his way up from the base of
the hill to her side. “Are you all right?” The strength and comfort of his embrace surrounded her, and she burst into tears.

He rocked her in his arms and rubbed her back. Gently, he kneaded some of the aches away. This time, with permission, he checked her arms and limbs for injury. The concern in his expression blurred through damp eyelashes. He wiped tears off her cheeks. “I should have been there to catch you.”

She hiccupped. “No broken bones?” She wiped her eyes with a gloved hand and blinked.

“No permanent damage to either one of us.” He grinned, she was almost sure of it. “I’m afraid your new bonnet has not fared quite as well.” She unpinned her hat. “See—a dent in the crown, and you’ve lost a few posies.”

She stabbed the hatpin into the brim. “Help me up.”

Rafe’s arm wrapped around her waist and he stood insufferably close as he lifted her to her feet. He also held on too long. “I’m perfectly fine.” She pushed him away, teetering on weak legs. He tried to steady her. “Let me walk about, Rafe.” After a few wincing steps, she turned around and hobbled back.

“You’re hurt.”

“Nonsense, a bit of a sprain is all.”

Rafe lowered to his haunches. “May I?” She lifted her eyes along with her petticoat. He craned his neck for a look. “Ah yes, there is a swelling.” His fingers gently probed her ankle. “You mustn’t try to walk on this.”

She dropped her skirt. “I shall not prattle on about a
simple sprain.” She took a few tentative steps and started down the hill. “We’d best be on our way.”

He rose from his crouch. “Fanny. Let me carry you.”

“Ha!”

Rafe trailed along after. “I rather liked your tears. I was able to witness this lovely softening—a sign of maturity, I think.”

She spun around and struck him in the face with her ruined fedora.

“Ouch!” He hunched away from her.

Instantly regretful, she bit her lip. “Sorry. Are you all right?” She noted a red welt under his eye. She dropped the ruined hat.

He gazed at her between furious blinks. “Quite all right, only half-blind.”

“But really, Rafe, that business about softening and maturity? I greatly dislike those kinds of remarks. Gentlemen often think to compliment a lady on her gentle ways and girlish sentiments.” She took a moment to huff. “But it is often an insult, is it not? ‘Little lamb, how wonderfully biddable you are.’”

Rafe stared at her. “I take it all back. I meant to remark upon how contrary and troublesome you can be.” He turned away and surveyed the field in front of them. “This grass is not tall enough to provide cover. We need to cross the field and get to that small copse of silver birch.”

After a bit of slow going, he fell in alongside her. Fanny winced with every step. “Truth be told, I dislike your suffragist rhetoric as much as you hate my flattery.
Besides the vote, what do you possibly hope to get out of it, Fanny?”

“I’ll take the vote for a start. And it is my intention to study engineering at university. That is, if I survive this gruesome adventure.”

Her revelation appeared to knock the wind from his sails. They walked along in silence for a number of strides before a chug and hiss signaled the train pulling away. Rafe looked back across the field. “Entirely too much exposure.”

“What?” Her breath was strained and harsh from pain.

“Are you up to something faster?”

Fanny nearly choked. The very thought of faster caused her eyes to moisten and burn again. She stepped up the pace for several strides, limping so terribly she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

“Unbelievably muleheaded of you.” He swept her off her feet. “Arms around my neck—that’s it.” Lifting her higher, he adjusted his grip, and quickened the pace. “I fully understand your anger, Fan. It must seem as if every time I enter your life I bring with me some form of difficulty.”

The marvelous brawn of his arms and shoulders thrilled and her throbbing ankle seemed greatly relieved. She tilted her head and studied his handsome profile. “Perhaps it hasn’t been all misery.”

Rafe’s grimace shifted to a grin. He stepped up the pace again, something less than a jog, but they covered a good deal of ground before he spoke again. “Even though we’re in a bit of a mess, might I just say . . .” Rafe slowed
down to look at her, adjusted his grip, and walked on. “I’m not unhappy about it. Not in the least. In fact, I am grateful to be the one assigned to your safety.”

Over Rafe’s shoulder she spotted a man at the edge of the meadow. Her heart moved from a girlish skip to a rapid patter. “We must make the woods, quickly.” She scanned the field again and gulped. “There is a dark-suited man on horseback, by the train track.” Rafe returned to a jog.

Fanny glanced ahead. The copse was still some distance away. She arched back for a scan about the grassland and spotted two more riders entering the western slope of the meadow. Her voice croaked out a whisper. “Second enemy position, due west.”

RAFE PUSHED HARDER, increasing his speed. Less than a hundred feet to the stand of trees. Up ahead, he could just make out a road edging the field. If he could get her to cover . . . A bullet whizzed overhead. That would be a warning shot.

At a second crack of gunfire, Fanny ducked her head into his shoulder. Rafe sucked a harsh breath into burning lungs and forced himself to run faster. The pounding thud of hooves crossing the field drew closer.

Less than fifty feet from the copse, another man on horseback emerged from the wood, riding straight for them. Rafe slowed his pace and halted. “Reach into my pocket and remove the gun.” He eased her slowly onto the ground and folded himself into a crouch in the tall
grass. She slipped him the pistol. “Stay down, Fanny.”

He stood up, took aim, and fired. The rider barring their entrance into the wood collapsed and fell to the side of his mount. Rafe ran forward to try and capture the skittish animal, but the horse shied away and bolted into the trees. Another whistle of bullets sailed past his shoulder and he took aim at the approaching riders. He pressed the trigger and the revolver clicked. No more bullets. He dropped the gun on the ground and raised his hands in the air. The sign of surrender.

Placing one foot behind the other, he backed over to the dead man in the field. He reached for the man’s pistol as a shot rang out. Rafe tossed the gun to Fanny in a lateral rugby pass. Quickly righting himself, he raised his arms again.

The riders were nearly upon them.

Fanny picked up the revolver.

“Hide it between your legs.” She raised her gown and inserted the weapon between her hose and garter.

“Listen to me, Fan. No matter what happens, we are going to survive this.”

Three men in dark uniforms reined in their steeds. Each one pointed a pistol at Rafe. A tall, wiry-framed man with high cheekbones and hollow cheeks lifted a thin, sneering upper lip. “What’s wrong with her?”

Rafe lowered his arms. The man’s pocked skin further marred a skeletal appearance. Not long ago he had bumped into a rat catcher in the Docklands of similar veneer. Some of these blokes weren’t quite so natty up close.

“Keep your mitts up there, mate.” Rafe turned his head. Another rider on a large gray approached from behind. The heavier set man removed a silver object from his inside pocket and held it to his mouth. A shrill sound, much like a police whistle, pierced the air.

The burly man dismounted. “Answer the question.” A staggering blow to his back nearly tumbled Rafe on top of Fanny.

He recognized the fear in her eyes and forced a wink. “Remember what I said earlier.” Wide-eyed, she gulped and nodded.

Rafe straightened, keeping his hands upward in surrender. “Miss Greyville-Nugent has injured her ankle. It’s rather difficult for her to—”

Another blow to his shoulder spun him around. He faced the barrel of a pistol inches from his nose. “And whose fault is that, mate?”

He eyed the bulky chap, whose jowls were covered by copious amounts of whisker. “Since you dregs are the malefactors, I would have to say yours, actually.” The punch grazed his chin and caught some of his cheek.

Rafe braced for more blows and they came in a flurry to his midsection and head. Feigning a stagger, he reached out for balance and grabbed his assailant’s gun hand. He swung the culprit around to use as a shield.

A shot rang out and a fine spray of red splattered his face. The large bloke in his hold spewed blood from his mouth. Glazed eyes stared back at him. Rafe tore the gun from the dead man’s grip as he collapsed. With revolver
in hand, he aimed at the remaining grim-faced man on horseback.

The elegant rat-catcher clicked his tongue and tutted. “Now see what you’ve made me do?” He leveled his pistol at Rafe’s chest and cocked the trigger. “The question remains . . . will it be me?” The glint from yet another gun barrel caught his eye. “Or you?” Rafe’s gaze fell to a second pistol aimed at the ground. “Or her?”

He searched the pitted, gaunt face. Highly unlikely he would kill her. Not after going to such arduous and tenacious lengths to capture her. Still, what would stop them from causing her pain? Rafe lowered his arm and something cold and hard struck the back of his head. He fell to his knees and heard her cry out.

“Rafe, don’t you dare leave me!” Fanny’s muffled, distant decree faded into darkness.

Chapter Fifteen

A
bombardment of artillery shells went off inside his skull. His head lolled backward onto his shoulders as he jerked awake. He began a muddled inventory of the pain. Throbbing temples. Sore ribs. Incessant, prodding elbow. “Rafe!”

The shrill whisper came again. “Rafe, wake up.”

His eyelids remained half-closed as he tried to make sense of dark shapes and blurry surroundings. A groan, not unlike the last utterance of a dying elephant, bellowed out of his dry, cracked lips.

Ache by ache, his body came alive. Rafe inhaled musty air and triggered a spate of painful coughs. Dark figures on horseback came to mind, as well as shots from revolvers. He gritted his teeth. “Where exactly am I?”

“
We
are at the bottom of a mine shaft.” He recognized Fanny’s voice. There was a tremor in her whisper. A frightened echo to be sure, but resilient nonetheless.

A familiar poke jabbed his side and something shifted
across his back. “They have us tied together. All the better to flatten us both.”

Half a smile caused his bottom lip to crack. The sting of warm blood rushed into his mouth. Rafe squinted into nothing but blackness. Gradually, as his vision improved, he was able to make out walls of chiseled rock, equipment strewn about. He craned his head back and followed a shaft of dust motes up to the surface. “Christ. How did they get us down here?”

“Steam-powered lift. Carries miners and equipment up and down.”

“Something of your father’s design?”