Page 64 of Charity

Once her eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the carriage interior, she whimpered again.

Toothless, her attacker from the park, grinned at her. “Pretty missy,” he said.

By daylight, he looked infinitely worse. His slack mouth gaped, his bent nose dripped, and his skin was coated in dark grime. Not even a thorough dunking in the Thames would make much difference.

The carriage turned a sharp corner, and she was thrown hard against the other man. She turned to get a glimpse of him and shrank back as soon as she had. He was huge. As big as the villain that had attacked her in the park last time. He leered at her.

Agatha shivered in fear. She’d never get away from them. Not unless Oscar ran faster than any living man ever had.

The brute caught Toothless by his shirt and hauled him close. “Now remember, no touchin’ this time. We’re gettin’ hard coin, and we isn’t allowed to muss up the merchandise. They want her undamaged.”

Toothless gasped for breath. But when he was released, his hand darted out and snatched Agatha’s gold cross from her neck. The replacement that Oscar had given her dangled before her eyes a moment, then he slipped the precious possession into his pocket.

The brute cuffed him across the jaw. “Better not’ve put a mark on her neck or I’ll give ya hell for reducin’ our profit. They want her presentable. Figure they got men lining up for a new thing to poke at.”

Toothless laughed soundlessly, his hand covered his groin, and he crudely rubbed himself.

Agatha closed her eyes. Why?

Why her?

Why now?

But she had no answers, unless all of society had turned against her to save Oscar from her clutches. If she was gone, he’d be free and could reclaim his place in society. He could even marry Lady Penelope, if she’d still have him, and be free of scandal.

The carriage slowed and turned into a side street. It was dark here, and stank of things she’d rather not know about. They moved at a snail’s pace then stopped. Agatha shivered from the chill seeping into her bones. What now?

The carriage groaned as the brute lumbered out. He turned, caught her bound hands, and wrenched her toward him. Agatha tried to peer past him to determine where they were taking her. Desperately, she hoped she could escape. She had to try. But when the brute tossed her over his shoulder again, her head hit the alley wall and she saw nothing else.

Oscar cradled his bleeding hand against his chest as he limped back toward home. He’d lost Agatha. Despite his best efforts, the carriage had been too quick, the drop from the first floor had stunned him for too long, and by the time he’d reached the lane entrance, Agatha’s carriage was at the end of the street. He’d run as hard as he could, yet he’d still lost sight of them within two streets.

He was going to punish whoever was responsible for taking Agatha from him. He would not rest until she was safe again—and those responsible had paid with their lives.

He limped into his house to find it in a greater uproar than when he’d left.

His father had arrived, and so had his mother. He’d hoped Lynton would call not an hour ago, but right now the sight of his father and mother were not helpful in the least.

His mother cried out at the sight of his bloody hand, her hand at her throat.

Lynton hurried forward. “For Heaven’s sake, boy. I leave you alone for a few days to conclude my business, and you get into a huff and smash windows? What’s gotten into you?”

Oscar winced as his father pried his hand from his chest to inspect it. “My hand is nothing. Agatha has been taken.”

They both clutched at his arms. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know.” Oscar moved his fingers to check that his hand still functioned the way it should. “I think it was the same ruffians that accosted her in the park. They were quicker than last time, and better prepared. Had a carriage ready in the lane. I couldn’t keep up.”

Lynton turned his hand over carefully. “Essy, lean against the wall like a good girl before you faint.”

For a change, his mother didn’t argue.

Lynton met his gaze. Concern and worry clouded his features. “This isn’t too bad, but it will need to be cleaned and bound to prevent infection.”

Oscar shook his head. “As long as I can still shoot, it can wait. Once I have Agatha back and safe again, you can do whatever you like with it.”

Without waiting to see if he agreed, Oscar strode to his bookroom. He needed his pistols and to decide what to do. He couldn’t do that with his father fussing and his mother about to faint from the sight of blood at any moment.

He wrenched open the drawer that contained them and inspected them carefully. Primed and ready to fire. Thank heavens.