Page 59 of A Wicked Business

As Belinda waited in the entrance hall, Kimble appeared from the parlour door and hurried towards her. “My lady, I beg your pardon, but Mr Flint is here and is demanding to see you. I have told him you are leaving the house shortly, but he insists upon waiting.”

Kimble’s kindly face was creased with worry and Belinda felt a rush of anger towards Flint; the horrid man was intent on causing mischief. No doubt he wanted her to intercede with her father on his behalf to be certain his gambling debts were not called in. Well, he’d have to ensure he stayed well away from her and anyone she cared about before she would lift a finger to help him. The sooner he realised that, the better.

“Don’t fret, Kimmy. I’ll see to it,” she said, pulling on her gloves and striding purposefully towards the parlour.

Now her father had put Flint in a tight spot, she no longer feared the wretched man. Whilst she did not for one moment condone her father’s behaviour, in this instance she could not regret it.

“Mr Flint,” she said as she walked into the room, and then gasped as a hand smothered her mouth and something cold and hard pressed into the back of her neck.

The door closed behind her.

“You will be silent,” Flint said, his voice low and hard. “We are going to leave the house together now and, if you do not want you or one of your servants to come to any harm, you’ll come quietly and willingly. Nod your head if you understand.”

Belinda’s heart was hammering so hard and so fast she felt dizzy, but she nodded obediently.

“I’m going to let go now. Don’t be a fool, Belinda. Your father holds all the cards, and I’ve little left to lose. Remember that.”

He let go his hold on her and Belinda sucked in a breath, stumbling away from him. She turned to see Mr Flint, his eyes colder and greyer than she had ever seen them before, his jaw set. He pointed the pistol directly at her, and Belinda gazed at it in astonishment. Surely she was dreaming. But Mr Flint moved towards her, gesturing for her to leave the room.

“You cannot believe you will get away with this,” Belinda said, dismayed to discover her voice so weak and thready.

“I will. You’re of age and I have a licence. We’ll be married in the chapel on my estate in Derbyshire. Once the thing is done, there will be no way out.”

“I will never agree to that, and my father will never let that happen!” she said, careful not to raise her voice as his expression grew increasingly enraged. “He’ll certainly never give you my dowry.”

“He’ll have no choice if he doesn’t want to drag his precious name through the dirt. Come on. No more delays.”

He used the gun to motion to her and Belinda moved reluctantly towards the door, her mind racing to find ways for escape. Yet how could she attempt anything that might get Kimble or someone else hurt?

“I shall put the pistol out of sight, my lady, but do not be foolish enough to believe I cannot or will not use it. You will tell your butler we are going out to meet your father and not to worry, we’ll be back soon—and make it convincing. Obey me, and no one will be hurt.”

“I never liked you, Mr Flint, but I never realised quite how vile a character you really are,” Belinda said furiously, reaching for the door, but his hand covered hers, stilling the movement as he leaned in. His warm breath, stale with the scent of cigars and coffee, wafted over her face, making her flinch in disgust.

“Hate me as much as you wish, beautiful Belinda. You’ll share my bed as my wife soon enough, like it or not.”

Belinda’s stomach twisted at his words, but he released her, and she turned the handle and hurried out.

Kimble looked up, having been waiting not far from the parlour door, clearly agitated by her being alone with Mr Flint. Belinda affection for the old man and his care for her made her heart ache. Dear Kimble, how kind he was, and how could she possibly risk his getting hurt.

“It’s all right, Mr Kimble,” she said, belatedly realising she never referred to him so formally and hoping he might realise she was in difficulty. “Mr Flint and I are going to meet with my father. Don’t worry. We’ll be back soon.”

“You’ll be wanting to take Doris, then, my lady,” Kimble said, eyeing Mr Flint with suspicion.

Belinda shook her head urgently. “N-No, please don’t—”

“Miss Bodrott,” Kimble called, just as Doris appeared upon the staircase.

“Devil take it,” Mr Flint muttered and gave Belinda a hard shove in the small of the back. “Go!”

Belinda hurried forward as Kimble gasped and Doris let out a cry of horror as Mr Flint brandished the pistol.

“Stay back,” he warned them, and pushed Belinda out of the door.

“Derbyshire!” she shouted as he pushed her so hard she stumbled down the steps, falling heavily to her knees.

Flint grasped her arm and hauled her into a waiting carriage. He barked at the driver to get a move on, and the carriage jerked into motion.

To her dismay, Belinda saw Doris appear outside the carriage.