Page 50 of The Lady’s No Angel

Poor Toby looked insubstantial in the villain’s hold, his face so pale his eyes stood out, wide and dark with terror. When Hart got his hands on those bastards, he’d make them wish they’d never been born.

Yet for the moment, they held all the cards. The knife at the lad’s throat ensured their compliance more than any gunshot. A pistol was only as accurate as the person pointing it, but it would take less than the space between one heartbeat and the next for them to slit Toby’s throat.

The cart arrived, and Hart realised the driver must be the second of the thugs who had attacked him in the stables, the one Angel had shot, judging by the sling on his arm and the awkward way he moved.

Well, that evened the playing field somewhat.

The woman climbed into the back of the cart and threw some tools onto the ground, a couple of shovels and a pickaxe by the looks of it. She climbed out, carrying two lanterns, set them down side-by-side. Then the men lifted Toby and put him in the cart.

Hart fought to keep himself still, the urge to run and grab Toby hard to resist. The small sound of distress Angel made struck his heart, and the desire to murder someone with his bare hands only grew.

Whoever the woman was, she was clearly running the show. The way she moved, the way the light caught the rather gaudy silk flowers on her bonnet, struck a memory. With a curse, Hart realised he had seen her before—dammit—in Cranbrook. She had been watching Toby and had been following them all this time.

The woman’s eyes met his, perhaps sensing his dawning recognition. She grinned at him, looking pleased with herself.

“Right, dearies. We’ll be off now, but don’t you fret. We’ll take good care of the laddie. You come and find Stan here—he’s the fellow with the knife—when you’ve got Black Jack’s loot, and don’t go thinking of trying to cheat me, or I’ll take it out on this young fella. Do we understand each other?”

“But I don’t know where it is!” Angel’s voice, taut with fear, rang out across the heath.

Hart suspected that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t about to contradict her—not that he expected her words to make a jot of difference.

“Then I reckon you’d best get busy. I’m not a patient sort of woman, Miss Everdene,” she spat.

Hart shot a glance at Angel. He’d suspected Baxter wasn’t her real name, but he wondered how she felt at him hearing the truth.

Angel said nothing, just held the woman’s gaze. The wicked creature just grinned wider, enjoying her power over them.

“I might decide to while the time away by marring his sweet face, marking him up a bit. Or perhaps I’ll break a finger or two.”

Toby whimpered.

“You touch a hair on that boy’s head and you’ll regret it,” Hart growled, so furious now he could hardly see straight. “Toby, lad, don’t be frightened. We’ll get you back safe. I swear it.”

“Oh, ain’t he a big, heroic fellow?” the woman crooned, admiration in her voice. “I can see why you kept him about, Angel, my pet. A fine bedwarmer he must be. Still, I can’t stay and chat. It’ll be dark soon, and you’ll be wanting to get busy. I’ll see you soon, though, eh?”

With that, she laughed and climbed up beside the fellow with the sling. The other man hauled his bulk into the cart and sat beside Toby.

Helpless to do anything else, they watched them take Toby away.

“Oh, miss!” Milly ran towards them, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, what shall we do?”

Hart glanced at Angel, who was white-faced, though her eyes blazed with the light of retribution. The hair on the back of Hart’s neck stood on end at that look.

“We’ll get Toby back,” she said, her voice icy as she stalked back to the gig.

“B-But what about the treasure?” Milly asked, stumbling after her.

Angel shook her head, whatever it was she’d decided to do fixed in her mind. “Those devils will not keep Toby for a moment longer than I can help it. Did you see the look in his eyes? He was terrified, poor boy. Besides, we’d do best to strike hard and fast, they’ll not be expecting it. They’ll think we’re too cowed and that we’ll just do as we’re told like good boys and girls. Well, to hell with that.”

“Angel?”

She turned on him, eyes flashing fire. “Don’t try to stop me,” she warned, with such ferocity his heart gave an erratic thud. Good Lord, but she was magnificent.

“I wasn’t about to,” he said frankly. “I just wanted to know what the plan was.”

For a moment she just stared at him, and then she ran to him, throwing her arms about him and hugging him tightly. She didn’t say another word but let him go and strode back across the heath to the gig.

“Who is she, Angel?” he asked, keeping pace with her.