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He inclined his head and left them at his back, much irritated with the manner in which they received him. Who the devil did they think they were?
This was going to be difficult if her brother did not approve the match, although he rather thought Lady Taffeta had a mind of her own.
He was hardly able to wait until he was safely within his coach before he opened the sealed note to read Tarrant’s note and smirk to himself. Well, well… So the Hotspur had received his coup de gras. How very amusing it would be to steal the lady out from under his grasp.
~*~
“Come on,” said her brother as he dragged her down the stairs, “We are taking you to lunch. We have something of a problem and don’t want the servants hearing bits and pieces.”
“What—won’t the waiters hear us?”
“Not at Wilkes Coffee House; we’ll take a private booth. You’ll like it, and it will get you out. You’ll like that too.”
Taffy sighed. She had been happily lying on her bed, dreaming of Tarrant and looking forward to the little soiree that evening where she was sure she would see him again. However, her brother and uncle seemed very anxious for her company, and so she went along willingly enough.
Nigel looked at her as he helped her into the waiting hackney and remarked, “You are looking very well, Taffy.”
“Thank you, Nigel. I feel … very well,” she answered with an impish smile and settled on her seat, spreading the skirt of her blue velvet cloak about herself.
“Taffy, have you had … any premonitions lately?” Her brother got right to the point.
She blushed as she thought of the one that had just been fulfilled and answered hesitantly, “Nooo…”
“Well, we need to talk, because something ugly has occurred.”
And then without warning, it happened, and it was so different than her other visions. This time, it was as though a strong giant hand had reached over and scooped her up. She sat in the giant’s palm and watched totally detached from the scene unfolding before her eyes. It was in the dark of night, and she saw herself being dragged from her carriage. Why was she alone in a carriage? Ah, she wasn’t alone; Catherine was with her. Two men were holding guns to the driver, and Catherine was clutching her hand.
They were clothed in gowns—going somewhere—but unescorted, why? Why were they unescorted? That was all wrong.
The men were in black low hoods and masks, and the tall one yanked her away from Catherine and pulled her toward his horse. There was something familiar about him, about his scent.
His voice was low and raspy, and he snapped at her, “Don’t worry, I mean to make it right, and by morning, you will be my wife…”
And she realized. “Bruton…” she whispered. It all made sense now.
And just as suddenly as the vision had arrived, it was gone.
“No, Seth … it can’t… I won’t let it happen…”
“What, Taffy… What did you see? And do let go of my arm, you are pinching me to death.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said as she released him and took a long drag of air. “I saw someone dressed like…” She lowered her voice. “…the way we dress when we are the three … pretending to be the Rogues Three, and he said he was going to marry me, against my will, and I tell you, Seth, I won’t let it happen.”
“Don’t you worry, Sis. We won’t let it happen. Where were you? We will take care not to let you travel that road.”
“I was alone with Catherine. We were in a carriage … going somewhere together … just on the outskirts of London, and Seth—it was Bruton.”
Seth released a long low whistle and turned to eye Nigel. “Damned impudent scoundrel.”
“Well, we have his measure, and we won’t let this happen, Taff … mark me,” said her uncle with some determination.
“I wonder…” said Seth.
“You wonder about what?” Taffy asked.
“Whether Bruton … dressed like he was in your vision has anything to do with what we have just discovered.”
“What have you just discovered?”
