Page 68 of What a Widow Wants

“Mama, Mama!” Ella’s high-pitched shriek shook the darkness.

“Ella! Run, Ella, run outside. Hide!” Fanny jerked away from her captor, scrabbling to rise. The man hit her side, knocking her back to the ground. “Run, Ella!”

“Mama!”

Twisting toward her child, Fanny could just make out a man holding Ella in his arms.

She still shrieked and kicked, but was no match for the brute’s strength.

“Let her go, you blackguard.” She scooted onto her knees, trying to rise but impeded by her skirts. “If you hurt her—” Another blow laid her flat on her back.

“Where you think ye’re goin’, dearie?” The menacing man towered over her. “Tom. Bring your nob and the lantern over here. I wanna good look at this ladybird afore we gets started.”

The man’s meaning was abundantly clear. He planned to kill them under the orders of the Marquess of Theale. Could she reason with them? Bribe them, perhaps? “How much is Theale paying you to do this?”

“What d’ you care? You won’t live to see it hurt your purse.” The one they called Mick, a burly fellow with arms the size of hams, sneered down at her. His greasy hair fell over his face, but Fanny could see the jowly cheeks, the small eyes, and the short stature of the man. A rude-looking fellow any way you looked at him.

“What if I offer you more money?” Fanny threw out the only card she suspected would interest this vulgar lot. “More money to take me and my daughter to safety?”

Mick looked first at Jack, holding the now quiet Ella, then at Tom who nodded his head ferociously. “For that much, I’d help you, milady, if you don’t have none could take you to an inn or town.”

“Jack!” Mick barked a warning. “We’ve already eaten the marquess’s salt, so to speak. No goin’ back now.” The man with the menacing voice hoisted the lantern over her. The thin beam fell on Fanny’s face and she shielded her eyes as best she could with her hand. “Not that I’d want to at any rate.”

“What if I offered double what the marquess is paying you?”

That got even Mick’s attention. He peered down at her and shrugged. “You got no money to be paying a brass farthing, much less what his lordship wanted to pay.”

“You’ll get every farthing you are owed but from Lord Lathbury, not the marquess.” She must be convincing.

Eyes narrowing, Mick held the light down toward her. “How do I know this bloke will post the cole?”

“He will, I swear to you before God. He will be overjoyed to see his wife and child home and safe with him again.”

“That be lot o’ blunt, Mick.” Tom eased closer to the surly man. “Set me up proper, it would.”

The man they called Jack, who still held the quietly sobbing Ella, sounded eager. “It would, Mick. And we don’t got to swing for murder if we rescue the lady.”

“Ain’t nobody swingin’ no matter what.” Mick stared down at her, his face settled into harsh planes in the yellowish light. “We hush the pair of ’em, ain’t nobody alive to tell the tale. She’s seen us now, gents. Can’t let ’er tell or we all meet Jack Ketch and the end of a rope.” The gleam in Mick’s eyes turned her blood cold. “Hold her down, Tom. We got all night.” He licked his lips and set the lantern down, then dropped his hand to the fall of his rough breeches. “No need to be hasty.”

“Noooo!” Fanny jerked up off the floor, pushing a startled Tom to the side as she tried to crawl toward Ella.

“No, you don’t.” A big hand grabbed her leg through her skirt and yanked her backward. Her face hit the hay-strewn floor, the straw pricking her cheeks as Mick hauled her toward him. “Gonna have my fun with you afore we finish the job.” With a deft hand, he flipped her onto her back and she could see his fall dangling before his gaping breeches. “Now hold her, Tom. You’ll get yer turn after I’m done.”

Kicking her legs wildly, Fanny connected with Mick’s shin and the blackguard grunted and fell to his knees.

“You’re gonna pay for that, my fine lady.” Grabbing her legs, he slid her skirts up to her thighs, cold air rushing between her legs.

“You’re going to roast in hell.” Terror seized her and Fanny bucked, almost dislodging the cur whose hands fumbled on her cold flesh.

“Hold her down, you caw-handed fool. If you let her get away—”

“Help me! Help me! Somebody!” Screaming and twisting, Fanny dug down for every ounce of strength. She wrenched her arms up and pushed at Mick with all her might. “Get off me, you cur.”

The thunderous boom of the door being blown open stopped them all.

Fanny screamed, still struggling to push Mick off her.

Swift feet pounded across the floor. A meaty twack and Mick sailed off her, flying into the darkness of the barn.