Page 62 of A Wicked Business

Felix glared at his father and let out a breath, returning a swift nod of understanding.

“There’s a good fellow. From what I can gather, we’re not far behind them and the traffic has lessened a little since we set out. There’s a good chance it was bad enough to delay them and we’ve gained some time. If they’re going to the station, I’d say we’re close on their heels.”

“You care for her.”

Felix glanced up at the earl’s words. He looked grey with fatigue and worry but his eyes were still sharp and there was a faint trace of accusation behind the words.

“I do,” Felix said, his voice hard. “And I mean to marry her, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

“Felix,” his father said sternly. “There’s a time and a place.”

Felix did not wait to see the earl’s response. The carriage drew up outside the station and he leapt down at once and ran inside, his father and Charles close behind.

Belinda walked as slowly as she dared, knowing Mr Flint did not wish to draw attention to them. The station was busy, the smell of coal smoke and hot metal drifting on the humid air. Overhead, the clouds were growing darker, another summer storm rolling in. A shrill whistle rang out, announcing a departure, and the low rumble and chug of a steam engine underscored the chatter and chaos as people bustled back and forth.

Despite the sticky heat, Mr Flint had shrugged on a voluminous coat with large pockets, allowing him to keep hold of the pistol but keep it out of sight.

“Get a move on, damn you. I’ll not miss that train, and don’t even think about making a scene,” he muttered, shoving her in the back.

“Yes, yes, you’ll shoot an undefended woman in full view of the crowd should I so much as blink,” Belinda said, not hiding her revulsion even as she wondered how likely that really was. There was no way on earth she was getting onto a train with him, but how to evade him, at least long enough for help to arrive, was another matter.

“Don’t try me,” he warned her. “You have no idea what a desperate man will do when driven too hard.”

“Or a desperate woman,” she murmured, too low for him to hear.

What would a heroine in a novel do, she wondered, racking her brain for inspiration. Faint, probably, she thought in disgust, and then almost laughed out loud as she realised just how perfect a solution that was.

Belinda waited until they were in the heart of the station, men and women and children hurrying to and fro on all sides. She dragged her feet, purposely walking slower and making her breathing laboured.

“You’re hurting me,” she complained, tugging at her arm which he held in a bruising grip.

Flint let her go but scowled, muttering under his breath. “Don’t try anything,” he began, but Belinda was determined to take this precious chance.

“Oh,” she said, raising a hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear. I—I feel terribly—”

Belinda spotted a group of three young men, dressed up fine as fivepence, as though they’d just arrived back in town after a jaunt to the country. Staggering, she evaded Flint as he realised her intend and reached for her. Belinda ploughed directly into one of the men, gazing up with wide eyes as she collapsed against him.

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry…!” Much to her relief, the young man’s chivalrous instincts kicked in and he caught her. Being quite a slender fellow and having been taken by surprise, her weight bore him down, but he held her carefully, her head cradled against his arm.

“Good lord!” the young man exclaimed, taking her hand and chafing it a moment before patting her cheek.

“Is she dead?” enquired a curious voice.

“’Course she ain’t dead, you great lummox. Is she, Daffy?” asked another of the hero’s companions.

“Dash it, Freddie,” the young man holding her said impatiently. “Of course she’s not dead, she’s fainted!”

“Lawks! Is she sick?”

“No, no. She’s not the least bit sick, just a little tired is all.”

Belinda recognised this last as Mr Flint’s steely tone and stiffened despite herself.

“She’s my wife,” he added firmly. “So, if you’ll be so good as to leave her to—”

Belinda decided it was time to take an active role in the drama before Mr Flint carried her off unhindered. She fluttered her eyes open, took one look at Mr Flint and cringed away, grasping at the young man’s lapels.

“No!” she screamed, not having to act in the least to make herself appear in the grip of terror. “Oh, save me, please, sir! The devil is trying to kidnap me!”