Page 60 of A Wicked Business

“Let her go!” Doris yelled, pounding on the carriage door and trying desperately to open it as the carriage picked up speed. “You let her go, you bloody bastard!”

Mr Flint pulled down the window and leaned out, brandishing the gun. Belinda shouted in terror and leapt at him, pulling him back, but not before he had struck Doris hard on the head with the butt of the pistol. Belinda saw her fall as the carriage turned the corner and Doris’ crumpled form slipped out of sight.

“No!” she screamed, lunging at Flint.

For all she knew, he’d killed Doris. She clawed at his face and pulled his hair, punching and kicking with all her might as he struggled to subdue her. A mighty slap across her cheek stole the air from her lungs and she fell to the floor of the carriage, cradling her face as her eyes watered and tears clogged her throat.

“Be still,” Mr Flint said, his voice implacable. “This is all your fault, you snooty bitch. If you and your father weren’t so high in the instep, you’d have married me months since and none of this would have needed to happen.”

“He’ll kill you,” Belinda said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, determined not to cry in front of the hateful man. She would not be cowed by him, and she would escape, somehow.

“Your father?” Mr Flint sneered. “I hardly think so.”

“I’m not talking about my father,” Belinda said, allowing herself a small smile as she stared back at Mr Flint.

He laughed and shook her words off. “Ashburton is a chivalrous type, I grant you, but he won’t be in time to save you. He’s gone out with his daughter today. I was very careful to arrange a time when your father was from home and Ashburton out of reach, I’m afraid, my dear.”

“Ah, yes. You like to catch females at their most defenceless, I know,” Belinda said in disgust. “But I’m afraid I’m not talking about Ashburton either.”

Mr Flint frowned at her. “Who, then?”

Belinda shook her head. She knew Felix would not stop until he found her and so she must give him the time he needed and cause as many delays as she was able.

“I do not know what romantic daydreams you are spinning, Belinda, but there is no knight in shining armour coming to rescue you,” Flint said with a smirk.

Despite the situation, Belinda laughed as the words struck her.

Mr Flint scowled, annoyed, which only made her laugh all the harder.

“Stop that,” he snapped.

Belinda noted the glint in his eyes and knew he was not beyond striking her again if she did not comply. The thought sobered her, and her laughter subsided, but she took heart from what she did know. The man she loved might not wear shining armour, but he was a Knight in every sense of the word.

“Something is wrong.”

Felix paced up and down past the park bench where they had arranged to meet Belinda and Doris. The women were twenty minutes late already and Grosvenor Square was barely a five-minute walk from the park.

“I’ll go to the house,” Charles said. “Mr Kimble is a decent sort, and he knows I’m courting Doris. If they’ve been delayed, he’ll let me know.”

Felix nodded. It frustrated him not to be able to call upon the woman he intended to marry, but there was no help for it. “I’ll come with you and wait out of sight.”

Charles nodded and the two of them hurried back to Keston House to discover a scene of chaos outside, with onlookers milling about and gossiping.

“Something’s wrong,” Felix said, his heart stuttering.

He hurried up to the front door and hammered on it, not caring whether the earl would have him thrown out on his ear or not, just as long as he could find out what was going on. A footman opened the door. Not waiting for an answer, Felix barged in, Charles close on his heels.

“Doris!” Charles cried, horrified, as he saw his beloved slumped in a chair, holding a bloodstained cloth to her head.

The Earl of Keston stood beside her, his face ashen with shock.

“Oh, Charlie!” Doris said, pushing to her feet. “That wicked man, he’s got Belinda.”

She flew into his arms, sobbing, and Charles stared at Felix, open-mouthed.

“What, man? What’s happened?” Felix demanded, turning to the earl.

Keston appeared to have aged ten years since Felix had seen him last. “Ernest Flint,” said he murmured, staring at Felix, unseeing.