An Unlikely Alliance (21 page)

This could not be happening to her. Not now, not after all she had been through. Hadn’t she earned the right to some peace? Her mind turned toward Alexander. Did he know that she was missing? Was he frantic with worry? Or annoyed that she needed to be rescued yet again? How he would scold her when she saw him, and he would be right to do so. She should have trusted his instincts when he said that she was still in danger.

Straining her ears, she heard the sound of lapping water. Could she be on a ship? But surely a ship would pitch and roll, while the room she was in seemed steady. She heard voices, but could not make out the words. The voices drew closer, then there was silence, followed by the sound of booted feet coming down a staircase.

The unknown persons reached the bottom of the stairs, and began walking toward her. As their feet struck the wooden floor, each step had a strange, hollow sound. Combined with the constant sound of lapping water, it could only mean that she was in a building near the docks, perhaps in one of the floating warehouses. Her heart pounded as she heard the two men draw near. She strained her eyes to see, but she was still in darkness. She renewed her struggles and finally managed to sit upright.

“See? Just like I told ye. All trussed up like a Christmas goose,” a man said.

Rough arms reached for her and hauled her upright. Barely able to stand, she was half dragged a few feet then pushed down onto a stool.

“I’ve waited long enough for this,” a second man replied. There was something familiar about his cultured voice. “But later is better than never.”

There was a faint chinking sound as coins changed hands.

“Pleasure doing business with ye, gov. Sure you don’t want me to stick around?”

“No, no, I can handle her well enough.”

“Suit yerself,” the first man replied. There was the sound of his feet climbing the stairs.

She heard footsteps behind her and felt the brush of his hands against her hair. She jerked her head away.

“Stay still or I’ll never get this off.”

She realized that he was trying to undo her blindfold. His fingers fumbled for a moment at the knots and then the cloth fell away. Her eyes opened to the gloom of a small room, illuminated only by a solitary lamp that stood on the table before her. Crates stacked against one wall confirmed her guess that this was some sort of warehouse. She turned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of her captor.

It was Sir Charles Applegate.

“You?” she asked incredulously.

He stepped in front of her. There was a sheen of sweat on his face and his pale blue eyes seemed to bulge even more than usual. His thin lips were pursed tightly together, giving the appearance of petulance and determination.

“This is all your fault,” he said. “You should have accepted my invitation to dinner.”

Magda shook her head, wondering if she was still dizzy from whatever drug they had used. “My fault?”

“Yes,” Sir Charles said. “I should have taken you seriously when you predicted that Foolish Pride would lose. There were only two people who knew that for sure, myself and John Blackwell. But it seemed like a coincidence. Nothing to worry about, until Lord Kerrigan got stirred up and started sticking his nose into everything. I sent some lads to find out what you knew, but the incompetent bunglers let you escape.”

Had it been Sir Charles pursuing her all along? Over that stupid horse race? It was patently unfair that her one botched reading could cost her her life. For there was no mistaking that she was in deadly danger. Once Sir Charles realized that she had no special powers, he would have no reason to keep her alive.

Her mind flashed to Alexander and thoughts of rescue, but she knew she could not wait. Even if Alexander knew she was missing, it would take him time to find her. Time she did not have. She refused to sit quietly and await whatever fate Sir Charles had planned for her. She would find her own way out of this trap. Surreptitiously she tested her bonds. The ropes around her wrist were tight, but as she twisted her hands she felt the rope slip a fraction of an inch. It was a start.

Sir Charles continued his diatribe. “First you disappeared, and then John Blackwell got himself killed. But I was safe. No one suspected anything, not even Lord Kerrigan or his tame runners.”

“You were too clever for them,” she said. She needed to keep him talking. Her wrists burned with fire, but her right one seemed marginally looser than it had before. She continued twisting her wrists slowly, careful to make no sudden movement to draw his attention.

“Of course I was.” Sir Charles continued to pace, seeming oblivious to her efforts. “But somehow you twisted my luck. Every bet I placed has gone wrong since then. I am deeper in debt than I was before I fixed that race. And there is only one way to recoup my losses.”

“By kidnapping me?” Was this merely an attempt to extort a ransom from Alexander?

Sir Charles swung to face her, astonishment on his features. “Hmm, there’s some merit to that. I suppose Lord Kerrigan would pay handsomely for your return. Of course, now that you have seen me, I can hardly let you run and tell all to your protector. No, the reason why I brought you here was to do another reading. I need another winner to bring my luck back.”

“A reading? You kidnapped me so I could predict a stupid race?”

Her incredulous tone angered Sir Charles. “Yes, a race,” he said, sticking out his jaw. “And you’ll do it for me, missy, or by God I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

It was no use saying that she couldn’t predict a race. Not when her continued existence depended on his believing that she could. “Why should I help you?”

“You do this for me and I will reward you well.”

Did he really think she was foolish enough to believe him when he had just implied that he had no intention of setting her free? He seemed such a stupid man, more a buffoon than a threat. It was tempting to underestimate him. But in his own way he was dangerous, for he had managed to avoid any suspicion and outwit them all.

“I will need a deck of cards and a list of the runners for the next race day,” she said.

Sir Charles bent down to pick up a satchel on the floor. “Of course. I have them here with me,” he said.

His attention on the satchel. It was time. She held her left arm steady and pulled her right wrist up with all the force she could muster. The rope stuck, then slid over her hand. She was free. Still keeping her hands behind her, she wrapped her right hand around the back leg of the stool.

“Here they are,” Sir Charles said. He began to straighten up. There was no time for thought. Rising swiftly, she swung the wooden stool and hit Sir Charles in the shoulder. It was a glancing blow, but sufficient to knock him over. He groaned, then began to rise. She took hold of the stool with both hands and swung it again. This time it made a satisfying thunk as it connected with his skull. He fell and did not rise.

Magda stood there, still holding the stool in one hand, but he did not stir. Had she killed him? Looking closely, she could see the rise and fall of his chest that said he was still breathing. She did not know whether she was relieved or disappointed.

She finally set the stool down, surrendering her unlikely weapon. She undid the ropes still tied to her left hand and they fell to the floor. She considered tying Sir Charles up, but discarded the notion. There was no time. Sir Charles might awaken at any moment, or one of his cohorts could return.

Her right wrist was raw and bleeding from the rope burns, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Picking up the lantern with her left hand, she made her way cautiously up the stairs.

She paused as her head drew level with the top of the stairs. A quick glance revealed there was no one to be seen. A large room, it was dimly lit by small windows high up on the far wall. It might have been a busy warehouse at one time, but now the weak sunlight revealed only dust and the broken remnants of a barrel strewn on the floor.

Setting down the lantern, Magda cautiously made her way across the floor and out through the main door. She was surprised to see that it was only late afternoon, judging by the sunlight and the busy activity. Had so little time passed since she’d been kidnapped from the park? Or had she lost an entire day, a prisoner in a drug-induced haze?

The wharf was busy, with merchants and clerks weaving their way among the sailors and laborers loading cargo onto the waiting ships. But everyone seemed intent on their own errands, and no one tried to stop her as she slipped into the crowd.

Once she made her way free of the docks, she hailed a passing hack. The driver looked at her askance, but finally agreed to take her up.

The carriage drew to a halt outside Alexander’s townhouse. “Wait here, and I will send out a footman with the fare,” she said, opening the door and climbing out.

The driver started complaining but she ignored him. Just seeing Alexander’s residence drove away some of the fear that had lingered since her escape. As if her presence was a signal, the front door opened and suddenly there he was.

His face was that of a man who was afraid to hope. “Magda?” he said, and then his eyes met hers. “Magda!”

He came down the stairs at breakneck speed and then embraced her, holding her tightly as if to convince himself that she was real. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “We’ve been out everywhere looking for you.”

It felt good to be held in his arms, as if she was a cherished possession. “I came as soon as I could,” she said. “If I had known you were worried I would have tried to escape sooner.”

“Of course I was worried. I was frantic when I heard you’d been abducted. I must have combed half of London since you were kidnapped yesterday, and Luke and his search parties have been through the other half. I was just setting out again. But how did you get here?” he murmured into her hair.

There was a loud cough. “Nice to see you so happy, but what about my fare?” the coachman demanded. “A bloke has a right to be paid for his work.”

Alexander laughed and released her from his tight grasp. “Paid you shall be,” he promised. With one arm around her for support, he led Magda inside. He paused for a moment to speak with Dugan and then turned back to her.

“It was Sir Charles, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, but how did you know?”

He helped her remove her cloak, and grimaced at the sight of her bloody and swollen wrists.

“It looks worse than it is,” she hastened to assure him.

“Sir Charles had been one of those we suspected in connection with the race until the trail seemed to lead us to John Blackwell. But then you were abducted, and the witnesses’ description reminded me of that first attempt. After that, it was just a matter of digging till I found proof of how badly in debt he was and how he had been heard to blame you for his troubles. I’ve had men watching his house, but there was no trace of him or of you.”

Magda shivered. “He was a very desperate man. He told me he’d lost everything and wanted me to bring his luck back.”

“Was?”

He must think that Sir Charles was dead. “No, I didn’t kill him,” she hastened to say. “But I did hit him over the head with a stool.”

Alexander laughed. “I wish I had been there to see it. You must have been quite the surprise for him.”

“I surprised myself,” she said.

She followed him into the front parlor, where she recounted the rest of her adventures as he bandaged her wrists. His touch was gentle, and she couldn’t help remembering that this was the second time he had bandaged her up in this room. It seemed like he was always rescuing her. All his praise for her cleverness in making her own escape couldn’t outweigh the fact that once again she was here, in need of his protection.

“And then I found a hackney, and the rest you know. Sir Charles may still be in the warehouse. If we go back there I am sure I could find it again.”

“No need,” Alexander said. “I told Dugan to ask the coachman where he found you. We’ll send word to the searchers and have them scour the area, looking for the warehouse you described. If Sir Charles is still there we’ll find him, and if not he won’t get far.”

So he didn’t need her help. He was probably afraid that she would find herself in trouble again the moment she stepped outdoors.

He tied off the last of the bandages. “Is this all he did?”

“Yes.” She pulled her wrists free with an impatient jerk. She didn’t want to talk about her injuries.

“Then why are you so angry?”

“You must think I am a weak creature, unable to care for myself. No wonder you think yourself honor bound to marry me. You are afraid that without you nearby I will always be falling into some scrape or another.”

There. She hadn’t meant to say it, but she was glad that she had.

Alexander looked at her incredulously. “You? Weak? How many women do you think would have had the presence of mind, not to mention the courage, to free themselves and disable Sir Charles?”

“But there was nothing else I could do.” She hadn’t been heroic, merely frightened and desperate enough to do anything.

He took her bandaged hand gently between his. “Magda, you are the strongest woman I know. You survived unimaginable hardships and still you stayed true to yourself and your sense of honor. Any other woman would have leapt at the chance to marry a wealthy earl. But you refused me, because I offered everything except my heart.”

“I could never marry without love.”

“And that is what I want to give you. I love you, Magda. When you disappeared it was as if someone had reached inside and stolen my heart. I knew nothing would ever be right again until I found you.”

For the first time in their acquaintance he looked unsure of himself, the hope and love she saw in his eyes mingled with a touch of fear lest she reject him.

“Are you certain this is what you want?”

“I want you,” he said. “I love you, and I want to be with you for as long as time allows.”

She wound her arms around his neck, and somehow she found herself sitting in his lap. “I have loved you these long weeks,” she confessed. “And I would like nothing better than to stay with you.”