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Still numb with shock, she complied, marching silently into the darkness of night. "Where are you taking me?" she inquired, her hand casually shifting to her side as they descended the st
eps.
"Don't bother searching for your reticule. It's lying on the table beside your husband. Be grateful for that. Because I assure you, I'm a far better and more experienced shot than you. As for where we're going, you'll know soon enough."
Reaching the foot of the stairs, Aurora whipped about to face him, her initial shock supplanted by anger and confusion. "I refuse to take another step until you tell me where you're taking me, and why. You obviously followed us here; 'tis not exactly your type of establishment. And you obviously want something in exchange for me. What?"
A flicker of a smile crossed the viscount's patrician features, and he paused on the bottom step. "Perhaps retribution," he suggested softly. "Has that thought occurred to you?"
"Yes—and I dismissed it just as quickly. Because unless you have another reason for seeking vengeance—one of which I'm unaware—I refuse to believe you were so totally devastated by our severed betrothal that you'd resort to violence. So why are you dragging me off like a pirate's prize?"
"An interesting choice of words, and a most intelligent conclusion." Guillford's smile faded, and he gestured toward the path with his pistol. "Both of which I'd be happy to address—after we're ensconced in my carriage and on our way. By the way, don't defy me again or test the limits to which I'd be willing to go. I assure you, I'm far more dangerous to you than Macall ever was. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. So don't toy with me. Walk." He shoved her forward with his pistol, propelling her away from the Cove.
Instantly Mr. Scollard's words, his fervent warning, sprang to Aurora's mind: Don't underestimate the dangers that await, from sources expected and unknown. They lurk in numbers, and in numbers must be undone. Greed is a great propellant. Vengeance wields more power still. And desperation is the most menacing by far, for it offers reward with no risk.
Wisps of dread converged into abhorrent realization. The lighthouse keeper had been alerting her and Julian to the fact that not one, but two enemies loomed ahead to be faced: first Macall and then Guillford. Macall was the expected source, the one propelled by greed and vengeance.
Making Guillford the unknown danger, propelled by a desperation he himself had just described: he had nothing to lose and everything to gain—or, as Mr. Scollard had phrased it, reward with no risk.
But why? Based upon what? What had made Lord Guillford so desperate that he'd resort to kidnapping, maybe even murder to attain his goal?
Don't underestimate the dangers, Rory … Mr. Scollard's voice seemed to urge. Don't…
That intangible reminder was enough to dissuade Aurora from pursuing the explanation she sought, at least for now. Later, she'd uncover her answers. First she had to escape.
Abruptly she came to a halt, sucking in air and weaving on her feet. "Wait," she managed. "I think I'm going to…"
"The only thing you're going to do is march toward the path," Guillford returned coldly, seizing her arm and pushing her along. "You're no more about to swoon than I am. If murdering a man doesn't render you squeamish, I doubt a mere abduction will. As I said, don't toy with me. Stop stalling for time. It won't work." He saw her start of surprise. "Did you think I wasn't aware of what you were doing? Never underestimate me, my dear. You might be a very bright and resourceful young woman, but I am a brighter and more resourceful man. Now hurry over to the path. My carriage is waiting just beyond those trees."
"So I was right—you are kidnapping me."
"Correction. I already have."
"For what reason?" she demanded.
Guillford's only response was to quicken their pace, shoving Aurora farther from the Cove and deeper into some ominous unknown danger.
* * *
Uneasiness tightened Julian's gut.
Aurora had been gone far too long to still be collecting towels.
Slowly he raised his head, testing the limits of his own endurance. The room spun for a moment, then righted itself. He swung his legs to the floor and pushed himself to a standing position. Another wave of dizziness claimed him, then subsided. Tossing the stained towel at his neck to the chair, he walked into the middle of the room, scanning the pub for Aurora.
No sign of her.
A bit unsteadily, he made his way to the counter, signaling Rawley over. "Where's my wife?"
"Good, yer better. Look's like the bleedin's stopped. Now ye can go home." The tavern keeper took one look at Julian's murderous expression and softened his words. "Maybe ye and the missus would like an ale before ye go? It'd do ye a world of…"
"Where is my wife?" Julian thundered.
Rawley backed off a half-dozen steps. "She wanted towels for yer wound. I sent 'er to the storage room to get 'em."
"You sent her alone?" Julian saw red. "Are you insane? What if one of your filthy patrons…?" He broke off, squelching his rage. Choking this unfeeling bastard to death would only take time away from what mattered most: finding Aurora—a goal that was becoming increasingly more urgent by the second, given her conspicuous absence and the intensifying knot in his gut. "Where's the storage room?"
"Back there." Rawley pointed.
