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“Shut your gob, Garry!” Harv wiped his face and cuffed the other man on the shoulder. The other man reciprocated, throwing some foul words into the argument.
The scuffle gave Annalise a chance to free herself. But before she managed to make a few steps, someone grabbed her by her tumbling hair and yanked hard.
Annalise ended up on her rear, back on the gravel, her scalp burning.
Her breathing was labored, and her vision blurred by either tears or sweat. But what she saw then made her heart constrict in fear. Her driver and the footmen were lying on the ground, tied up by the carriage in a pool of blood.
The thug yanked her by the hair again and dragged her to the horse. Annalise struggled in earnest, crying out for help.
“Shut her up!” their leader called from the horseback.
Harv took a dirty rag and stuffed it in her mouth before tying up her hands and throwing her onto the back of the horse.
* * *
Blake sat in his study, staring at the walls. He hadn’t been able to open himself up to Annalise and share his deepest fears. Now those fears would become his reality. He’d have to live alone.
He didn’t know how he would sleep or if he would ever sleep again. But if that was the sacrifice he had to make so that Annalise was happy, so be it. He had been too selfish to know how to make her happy before. Now he was too broken to even attempt it.
The front door to the townhouse shut with a resounding bang, and the sounds of panicked voices filtered into the study. Blake whipped his head up in attention. Something was going on.
He stood and hurried toward the main hall. His heartbeat accelerated, and his breathing was coming in frantic gulps. He didn’t need to hear the explanation. He already knew. Something had happened to Annalise.
The servants stepped aside, clearing the path for Blake, and he saw the bloody, winded footman, Rogers, fall to his knees. One of the footmen he had sent to guard Annalise.
Rogers caught himself with his hands and looked at Blake, sweat falling onto the floor.
“They took her, my lord,” he said between gulps of air. “They took her ladyship.”
For a long moment, time went still. Sounds muted, and his vision blurred.
The image of Annalise stood before him: bound and gagged in a chair, a burly thug towering over her.
His worst nightmare.
Blake shook his head and shut his eyes briefly to dispel the vision. He brought his attention back to his townhouse. The servants were buzzing around him, fussing with the injured footman.
Blake stepped closer to Rogers, his breaths shallow. There was no time to break down crying and cursing the world. Annalise needed him.
“Where? Where did it happen? And where are the rest of the men?”
“They were injured. Worse than me. They couldn’t move. The bandits took our horses. So I ran to the nearby village inn, asked for the doctor, and took the horse from their stables. The other men should be in the village by now.”
“Which way did the bandits take Annalise?”
Rogers panted, his eyes closing. “Back to the city.”
Blake took deep breaths. If these were the same people who captured him, of which he was certain, then they’d go back to the docks. It was only logical. They had a hideout there. A dungeon. Blake’s hands perspired, and his breaths were coming out in shallow gulps.
Sweat broke out on Blake’s forehead. His footman was lying exhausted at his feet. Four other servants were wounded and bleeding somewhere at a village inn. And Annalise was gone. He needed to concentrate.
Blake turned to Crane. “Find Rogers a comfortable bed. Make sure he is looked after. Send a couple of footmen to find a doctor. I need them to go to the village, find other servants, and bring them back. Alive. Ask Rogers to provide the directions.”
Blake tried to regulate his breathing, his gaze running around the hall, not able to settle on one thing.Now is not the time to lose control. Concentrate; Annalise needs me.
“And bring me Gunning, the thief-taker. Immediately!”
Blake turned on his heel and stalked to his study. He took his musket, threw on a coat, and set out to the only lead he had left.
