Page 64 of Rogue’s Holiday

“Surely you are wrong. I know no such man.”

“Why, ’tis your lover, Powell,” said the Russian serf.

Sir Robert?He might be a rogue but she could never imagine him a traitor. The king and he were close. “I do not believe it,” she said, turning away.

“What you believe is unimportant,” he said dismissively. “I will deal with your lover later.”

“My father can pay a ransom,” she offered, hoping he could be persuaded.

He gave her no answer. She hated to show them any weakness but her throat was as dry as dust. “A drink of water?”

The leader nodded to Augie who poured her a cup of ale. “We’ve no water.”

She took a long drink. He waited until she was finished and returned the half-full cup to Augie, who left them alone.

She stared out the window. The light had grown stronger. Soon, there would be people on the street. Turning to face him, she asked, “How long am I to be here?”

“Not long,” he said striding toward the door. Again, she noticed his boots and the telltale mark of her father’s design as he disappeared through the doorway, closing the door behind him.

The room was cold, the fireplace clean and devoid of wood. They would not trust her with fire. Had Sir Robert not given her his warm cloak, she would be suffering terribly given what she was wearing. But his cloak, like the memory of his kiss, kept the chill at bay and gave her hope he would find her.

She went to stand at the grime-covered window that looked down on the dirty street below. Her heart sank to discover the window was nailed shut. Even had it been open, she could not jump so far without grave injury. She cast a look toward the bed. It was a mere frame with a thin mattress and no bedding.

She saw no people on the street but it was still early. She vowed to scream at the first person she saw, breaking glass to be heard, but, given where she was, she doubted any Good Samaritan would come to help her. She sank to her knees and asked God to help her.

Robbie and Jack were hours behind the man called “Ings”. But at least the curricle was faster than the carriage they were following. Robbie gave the grays their heads and prayed the good weather held. Chastity’s feisty nature would serve her well in this. He loved that about her for it would mean their life together would never be dull, that is, if she survived to speak to him again. It was his fault, all of it. He should have seen it coming. The thought of some man touching Chastity made him grind his teeth.

“I seem to recall the name Ings from the newspaper,” said Jack. “It belonged to one of the conspirators. Do you think—”

“No, that one is dead. It’s likely a relation. I don’t suppose you have visited any high-class brothels recently?”

“Not in London but if we were in Paris, I could give you names of half a dozen, mon ami.”

“I can think of several in London frequented by the aristocracy,” said Robbie. “We will have to call upon all of them. In the meantime, sleep if you can.”

They arrived mid-morning and, while he stabled the grays to be cared for and fed, Jack procured them meat pies from the nearby tavern to sustain them. From there, Robbie hailed a hackney and they set off, visiting every bordello of note he could recall ever hearing mentioned. They had to be the kind who would take a young woman against her will. It was not the kind of brothel he ever frequented but he knew some had less than stellar reputations.

Hours later, they had been to houses on Newman Street, Queen Anne Street, Princess Street, Cavendish Square, Pit Street and even one in Soho. All with no luck.

Robbie grew sick at heart when he recalled the reaction of the madams, the abbesses who ran the brothels. When he’d given them a description of Chastity and what she was wearing, the response often was “Blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin dressed as a Greek goddess? Oh yes, she would do quite well here. Do let us know if she desires to join our ladies, won’t you?” He dared not reveal Chastity’s name. They would laugh at her Christian name, finding it highly amusing, and remember all too well her surname. No, he must seek her in anonymity. His eyes were scratchy from no sleep and his stomach growled, reminding him he lacked food, but he pressed on. Faithful Jack uttered no word of protest, knowing they raced for a girl’s life.

Chastity had no opportunity to summon a stranger’s help. That same morning, they bound her hands under her cloak they had brushed free of dried mud and forced her into the carriage. Her face was now wiped clean but she was certain her bruised cheek and damaged lip could be seen.

As they set off across London, she felt like a captive bird thrust into a cage. She clung to the hope Sir Robert yet searched for her. But how could he know where they were taking her?

The carriage came to a stop in a much better neighborhood, lined with trees, where large houses drew her gaze. This, too, was a section of London she’d never been in before.

The leader of her abductors leaned across the carriage in an intimidating matter. His dark eyes were like windows into hell. “Don’t say a word about your situation else your lover will find a ball in his back.”

He no longer wore the Russian serf costume but the clothes of a gentleman. The facial hair remained the same and his hair overlong for the style in vogue, convincing her at least a part of his appearance remained a disguise.

Chastity shrank from his intense perusal. His threat was real. For some reason, unknown to her, this man was convinced Sir Robert was a traitor. She would waste no words trying to convince the madman he was wrong. She believed him when he said he would kill Sir Robert if she told anyone of her abduction.

The man named Augie opened the carriage door to reveal an ornate iron gate behind which stretched a path with a green lawn on either side. The path ended in an elegant white manor surrounded on one side by weeping willow trees. A pond lay on the other side where pink and red rose bushes bloomed. There was no sign indicating the name of the place or its purpose. She needed none to understand they had arrived at a brothel.

Augie untied her hands and warned her to silence with his glare. He remained by the carriage as the leader walked her up the path. Her one foot that had been unshod was sore from the road she had walked trying to escape. She rubbed her aching wrists, red from the bindings, and looked back at the carriage where Augie watched her with a menacing expression.

As they drew closer to the front door, Chastity’s mind conjured ideas for escape. No matter where they took her, she would sneak away.