Three hours later,Vanessa and Anne were leaving the milliner’s shop, their footman weighed down with half a dozen hatboxes, when a nondescript black coach came to a screeching halt beside them.
Vanessa glanced up, just as someone shoved into her hard from behind, jarring her toward the street. She cried out and stumbled, only to be suddenly swept up in brutally strong arms. A hulking brute of a man opened the coach door for the one who held her and she was shoved inside.
Anne screamed, and then she was thrown in the coach as well, landing hard upon Vanessa, who lay sprawled across the floorboards. From outside the coach, the footman shouted, obviously trying to do something to help, but then there was the unmistakable crack of a gun, and he cried out and then fell silent.
Vanessa tried to get up, to fling herself back out on the sidewalk, but her skirts were hopelessly tangled with Anne’s. Before she could make any headway, one of the men jumped up into the coach. He pulled the door shut, and the vehicle lurched forward.
“What’s happening?” Anne cried, struggling to get to her knees as the coach rocked and swayed, traveling at breakneck speed on the crowded London streets.
The man in the carriage with them reached out and slapped Anne so hard her head snapped back against the wall of the coach. “Shut up,” he snarled. “Don’t either of you say another word.”
He grabbed Vanessa and twisted her arms behind her painfully, binding them with a rough piece of rope. When he had finished, he shoved her back on the floorboards and subjected Anne to the same rough treatment.
“Be careful with her,” Vanessa snapped, trying to force down her terror. “She’s in a delicate condition. You’re going to hurt her.”
“You think I care?” The man laughed harshly and turned his face toward the window.
Anne’s body shook with silent sobs, and Vanessa twisted until her bound hands locked with Anne’s, hoping to offer her some comfort. What was happening? Who had taken them and why?
“Is he going to kill us?” Anne whispered, her voice a mere breath of sound in Vanessa’s ear.
“Of course not,” Vanessa replied, just as quietly. “They are probably going to ransom us.”
She wished she were half as confident as she sounded. The men had made no effort to conceal their identities, and they’d shot that poor footman in broad daylight. She didn’t know why men like this would so brazenly attack two women in such a public venue, but she very much feared that Anne was right, and they would not be getting out of this alive.
* * * *
“ADRIAN! DAMN IT, WHEREthe hell are you?” Morgan’s loud, panicked voice rang through Adrian’s house, causing him to drop what he was working on and rush down the stairs from the attic. He found Morgan pacing the front hall, his entire demeanor screaming trouble.
“What is it?” Adrian asked, dread taking root in the pit of his stomach. “Morgan, what happened?”
Morgan spun to face him, a crazed look in his eyes. “The footman just returned from Bond Street. He was with Anne and Vanessa, holding their packages as they shopped. They’d just left the milliner when a couple of armed men approached them and forced the girls into a black coach. When he tried to stop them, they shot him in the shoulder.”
“How long ago?” Adrian asked, his mind already racing ahead, trying to figure out how to beat his stepbrother at this new, dangerous game he’d decided to play. For he had no doubt that Roger was behind it.
“More than an hour. I’ve already been to Scotland Yard, but with so little to go on, I doubt they’ll find them.”
He trailed Adrian into the study. “What are you thinking? Do you know where they are? Damn it, Adrian, if this has something to do with Prometheus, if my pregnant wife is at risk because you feel the need to be a hero and run around town with a mask and a cape, I swear I’ll never forgive you.”
Morgan’s words passed over Adrian in a hurtful wave. He deserved this. He knew he did. And he had no defense because Morgan was right. If he hadn’t persisted in going out as Prometheus, long after it was safe or wise, this wouldn’t have happened. Anne and Vanessa would be safe at home right now.
Vanessa.
The tiny green shoot of happiness that had sprouted within him shriveled and died. If he lost her, it would kill him. He simply could not bear the thought of his life without her in it.
“I think it’s Roger,” he said, fighting to keep the emotion from his voice. “I stole a girl from him last week, from the house where he keeps the ones he fancies at the moment. He’s probably furious.”
“How does he know it’s you?” Morgan demanded grimly, taking the other gun and secreting it away.
“I don’t know,” Adrian admitted, feeling sick. “But I think he’s been on to me for a while now. The last few times I’ve gone to one of his establishments, they’ve been waiting for me.”
Morgan shook his head grimly, obviously disgusted with him, but too worried about Anne to waste the energy of berating him any further. “Let’s go get Lucien. Then you can tell us where we go next.”
Adrian spread his hands in dismay. “That’s just it, Morgan. I don’t have the faintest bloody idea.”
* * * *
VANESSA DIDN’T KNOWhow long they bounced along in the coach. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours. Time ceased to exist as the terror and regrets fought for precedence in her brain.
