Page 92 of The Redemption of the Shrew

She crossed her arms and scowled. “I want my Book of Hours, and I will get it if it’s the last thing I do.”

He snorted. “Seduce him. He might fall for a lie from you. Tell him I didn’t have you first.”

You won’t. “He won’t believe that.”

He laughed again, and she gazed out the window. They were on the Islington Road now. Her chance would come soon.

“So that’s what Turner was talking about,” he said after a while.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Thieves came to my house tonight, bound and gagged my porter, and left soon afterward. But as far as the servants could tell, nothing was stolen, so I paid no heed to my valet’s gabbling. I had more important things to do.” He grunted. “The thief must have been de Bellechasse.”

“It seems likely.” She peered out the window again. Her best bet was the Angel Inn, for people were up at all hours at that busy hostelry.

“You won’t get away.”

She whipped her head around. Moonlight through the window glimmered on the barrel of a gun. Her heart hammered against her breast. She must not show fear . . . or must she? How best to allay his suspicion? She shrank away, putting up her hands as if to placate him.

“If you try to escape, I’ll shoot you. Not to kill, mind you—only to maim.”

She huffed but allowed her voice to tremble. “So considerate of you, but you needn’t worry. I don’t suppose I would get very far even if you didn’t shoot me.”

“No,” he said contentedly, “you wouldn’t.” He set the gun on the bench on his opposite side. “But I felt I should warn you for my sake as much as yours. When I enjoy you tonight, I would prefer you to be as desirable as you are now.”

Chapter 19

Philippe sprinted to the closest hackney stand. He gave the jarvey a guinea to spring his nags. Reaching the livery stable where his own horses were kept, he hammered on the door and shouted himself hoarse, rousing a groom from his bed. Within five minutes he was mounted on his big gelding, fresh and ready for a long ride after not being exercised for three days.

Now all he needed was his pistols, but they were in Islington. With an effort of will, he kept the horse to a canter, for he couldn’t afford to tire him out. As long as he caught up with the coach before Hythwick stopped for the night . . .

Unless that dastard raped her on the way.

Why the devil had she entered his coach in the first place? She didn’t want Hythwick—she couldn’t want him. And yet, for a while, she’d made a play for him. Maybe she was making another play. Maybe she was counting on Hythwick’s horror of scandal . . .

No. Philippe couldn’t afford to doubt Gloriana now.

The gelding felt his urgency and picked up speed. Soon they arrived at Sophie’s house. He tethered the horse to the wrought iron fence and dashed up to the doorstep. Naturally, the door was locked. He pounded on it, and then dug for his own key, but before he got the door unlocked, Eric Alexander opened it, with Sophie right behind him.

“What’s wrong?” they chorused.

“Hythwick has taken Gloriana.” He pushed his way past them and dashed up the stairs. “Need my pistols.”

Eric followed. “I’ll come with you.”

“I can’t wait for you.” Philippe was almost calm in his rage, as he unlocked the chest that contained his pistols.

“Where’s he headed? I’ll catch up.”

“Great North Road.”

“He’s eloping with her?” Sophie cried.

“No!” She’s mine and only mine. “His sister and her lover eloped today, and he’s pursuing them.”

“Then why did he take Gloriana?”

“Because he wants her,” Eric Alexander said, “and abducting her was the only way to get her.”