Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 4

Robert came awake slowly, and quickly regretted doing so. He was lying on his side on the hardest, most uncomfortable bed he'd ever had the misfortune to lie upon. And everything hurt. Arms, legs, shoulders… they all ached as if seized by vicious cramps. Except his hands and feet. He couldn't feel them at all. Nor his arse… it seemed as if his buttocks had somehow fallen off.

But his head… bloody hell, if only it had become detached instead. A gang of demons hammered upon his skull with oversized mallets, and he silently vowed to kill the bastards the moment he found the strength to do so. Good God, whatever liquor he'd overindulged in, he'd never touch again.

He remained perfectly still, breathing slowly, willing the swimming feeling in his head to pass. When it had somewhat abated, he gritted his teeth, pried open one eye, then the other. Complete blackness engulfed him. Where the devil was he? His rooms were never this dark. He tried to turn his head, but instantly abandoned the plan when a shaft of white-hot pain shot outward from his skull. A low moan rumbled in his scratchy, dry throat. Snapping his eyes closed, he concentrated on defeating the waves of nausea rolling through him.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a minute, his insides settled and he drew in a cautiously relieved deep breath. His befuddled senses registered the briny odors of seawater and fish, and his stomach again threatened to rebel.

Another groan rumbled in his throat, but he slowly forced his eyes open. It took a moment for his sight to adjust to the darkness. He couldn't discern very much, other than the outlines of what appeared to be stacked crates. And he wasn't lying on a bed at all, but the rough-hewn planks of a wooden floor.

He frowned, then winced as pain ricocheted behind his eyes. Where the hell was he? This dank place was completely unfamiliar. The fishy odor indicated the river, but why and how had he arrived here? forced himself to concentrate, to try and remember. And suddenly he did.

Someone stealing from Austin. Following the culprit. Near the docks. Picking up a shoe. Then feeling no more. Until now… when body parts he hadn't even known he possessed ached and throbbed.

Picking up a shoe…

The cobwebs rapidly cleared from his brain and he drew in a sharp breath. That shoe… it had fallen from the sack slung over the thief's shoulder… and it looked exactly like Mrs. Brown's shoe. A shoe that had most definitely been attached to her foot when he'd left the town house shortly before returning for his walking stick. Which meant that the brigand hadn't stolen candlesticks and silver… he'd stolen Mrs. Brown!

A host of grisly scenarios regarding her fate flashed in his mind, and a film of cold sweat coated his skin. She might be robbed. Or worse. Raped. Murdered… her body dumped into the Thames… or had:she fallen prey to one of the growing number of grisly thieves who sold corpses for medical study? Outrage and something akin to panic pumped through him. He had to find her. Help her. God only knew what horrible circumstance might hav«e already befallen her while he was unconscious. Don't let me be too late… not again.

Spurred to action, he tried to sit up.

And discovered he couldn't move.

It was as if a weight were attached to him, holding him in place. Gritting his teeth, he tried again. To no avail. He attempted to move his arms, and realized the problem. He was bound.

Although his hands and fingers remained numb, it registered with him that the ache in his wrists was caused by the rough rope digging into his skin, and the pain in his shoulders was from having his arms bound behind him. He tried to move his legs. His ankles were as securely bound as his wrists. Looking down, he saw that ropes crisscrossed his chest and torso.

Damn it all! He had to free himself! He redoubled his efforts, and after what seemed like a decade-long struggle, managed to drag himself into a sitting position. Panting, grunting, and sweating, he fought to catch his breath and prayed for his strength to return. What the hell was tied to his back? It felt like the dead weight of a body…

His blood froze. Turning so swiftly his head swam, he tried to peer over his shoulder, but saw nothing save black. At that instant a low moan came from directly behind him. A soft, feminine-sounding moan. He sucked in a much-needed breath and caught a whiff of her elusive scent… that soft flowery fragrance. It had to be her. Had to be. Tied to him, back-to-back. And if she were groaning, she was alive. Hope surged through him.

He wriggled his shoulders. "Mrs. Brown," he said in an urgent whisper. "Can you hear me?"

Another soft groan filled the air and relief nearly rendered him light-headed. Jiggling his shoulders more firmly, he repeated, "Mrs. Brown? 'Tis I, Robert Jamison. Can you hear me? Please, speak to me."

An urgent-sounding voice filtered through Allie's mind, a tide expanding and receding in a deep, echoing cave. Can you hear me? Please… speak to me. Slowly, painfully, she emerged from the black abyss she'd fallen into. She hurt everywhere. Her head felt as if it had exploded and was preparing to erupt again. The world tilted behind her closed eyes, a sickening kaleidoscope of swirling colors that turned her stomach over. Her head fell forward on her limp neck, and sweat blanketed her skin. A long moan rumbled in her dry, sore throat.

‘Tis I, Robert Jamison. Can you hear me? Please, speak to me. Confusion spilled through her addled senses. Lord Robert? He sounded so close… close enough to touch. She forced her eyes open. Blackness surrounded her. Pain sizzled through her head, and she gasped, squeezing her eyes closed. Where was she? Surely not the drawing room or her bedchamber at the Bradford town house. How had she gotten here… wherever here was? And why did she hurt so much? She licked her parched lips and grimaced at the foul taste coating her mouth. That awful taste. How-?

Memory flooded back as if a dam had burst in her mind. Walking in the garden… accosted by a man… that dreadful rag stuffed in her mouth. Then darkness. The truth hit her like a bucket of icy water, reviving her from her stupor. Someone had tried to abduct her. No, someone had abducted her. And had left her in this awful, stinking darkness.

Fear seized her, snatching her breath. She tried to move, and discovered she was bound. Fear threatened to turn into panic. Who had done this? Who wished her harm? Why? Why? This incident could not be passed off as an accident. But right now, she had to-

"Mrs. Brown, can you hear me? Please wake up."

A layer of relief tempered her fear. She hadn't imagined his voice. She licked her parched lips. "Lord Robert?" Her voice came out in a cracked whisper. "Where are you?"

A rush of air that sounded like a heartfelt sigh of relief brushed by her ear. "Thank God you're awake. I'm here. Right behind you. We're bound together." He jiggled his shoulders, arrowing a shaft of pain up the back of her head.

"Where are we?"

"I'm not certain, but I think we're near the docks. This seems to be some sort of warehouse."

She felt him squirm behind her, and realized that the warm, solid mass pressing against her from shoulder to waist was his broad back. She swallowed, then asked, "How did we get here?"

"I returned to the town house for my walking stick and saw someone sneaking out of Austin 's garden, carrying a sack. I followed, hoping to retrieve his stolen goods, never imagining you were what was stolen. I'd no sooner realized it when I was coshed from behind, and now here we are." He shifted again. "I've no wish to alarm you, Mrs. Brown, and I've plenty of questions myself, but they'll have to wait. We must free ourselves and get away from here before whoever put us here returns. How do you feel? Are you injured?"

She experimentally moved her bound legs and flexed as much as the tight bindings confining her chest and midriff allowed. "A bit sore all around, but nothing broken as far as I can tell. How are you?"

"Judging by the colossal pounding in my head, I'd say I have an egg-sized lump on my noggin, but otherwise I'm fine." He shifted a bit and grunted. "These ropes are secure. I can't move them." Another series of grunts and what sounded like a muffled obscenity escaped him. "Of course, the fact that my fingers have gone numb doesn't help. How are your hands?"

She wriggled her fingers and they brushed against his. "Cramped, but not numb."

"Excellent. I have a knife in my boot, or at least I did… one moment…" She felt him shifting. "It's still there," came his triumphant whisper several seconds later. "I can see the tip of the hilt."

Hope bloomed in her heart. "Can you remove it?"

"Yes, but it will require some shifting about… for both of us."

"Just tell me what do to."

"I'll try to be as gentle as possible-"

"Lord Robert. While I appreciate your concern for my sensibilities, I am not a fragile hothouse flower, nor am I the sort of woman to fall victim to fainting spells or gasps of horror. This is a matter of life and death. I'm as anxious to depart this place as you are, so let's get on with it. Do whatever you must. I shall cooperate fully."

"All right. On the count of three, I am going to lean forward and pull out the knife with my teeth. I need you to assist me by leaning back, then keeping a steady pressure. Ready?"

"Yes."

"One, two, three."

She leaned back, arching her spine as he leaned forward. The position was uncomfortable, but she held it steady, scarcely daring to breathe lest she move in a way that would break his concentration or cause him to fail. In less than a minute she heard the quiet swish of metal being unsheathed, then a muffled thunk.

"Got it," he reported in a terse whisper. "I dropped it onto the floor next to me. My hands are useless, therefore we need to shift so you can reach the knife. Then all you need to do is cut the ropes."

"Without amputating our fingers in the process, I suppose?"

"That would be the preferred method, yes."

"In that case, I shall try to be as gentle as possible," she said, using the same words he'd employed earlier.

She felt his head turn, and she turned hers as well, looking over her shoulder. She could see the outline of his profile, and she fancied that his teeth flashed white in the darkness with a quick grin.

"I think our best bet is to use leverage. The floor is wood and that will aid us. Bend your knees, plant your heels, then push against my back while shifting your, ah, bottom. I'll do the same. We'll go about three or four inches at a time. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

"On three, we'll move to my right, your left," he said.

He counted, and she dug her heels into the rough wood. Sharp pain stabbed her heel and she clamped her jaws to keep from crying out. She'd obviously lost a shoe, because the wood cut directly into her skin.

"Problem?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No."

She pressed against his back and scooted her bottom several inches to the left.

"Excellent," he said. "Now we need to move me forward. You push and I'll pull."

They accomplished the move, with Allie biting her lip against the pain from the deep splinter in her heel.

"Now just a little more to your left," Lord Robert said, "and the knife will be directly beneath your fingers."

They shifted again, and Allie's fingertips brushed against smooth metal. "I feel it," she whispered.

"Grab the hilt so you don't cut yourself. It's very sharp."

By squirming and maneuvering her hands, she determined which end was the hilt. She wrapped her fingers around it and barely suppressed a whoop of triumph. "I've got it!"

"Good girl. Now cut the ropes and we'll be off."

His tone was breezy, but Allie heard the tension beneath the lighthearted words. He clearly didn't want to sound afraid, didn't want her to be afraid. But she was. With each second that passed, the man who'd abducted her and bound them might return. And hand them a fate far worse than what they'd been dealt so far.

As if to prove her thought correct, the distant sound of muffled male voices interrupted the silence, icing her blood.

"Hurry," Lord Robert urged. "I don't know if that's our man, but I'd rather not find out."

"I couldn't agree more." Gripping the knife's handle and concentrating for all she was worth, while furiously praying she left their limbs intact, Allie sawed at the ropes. The position was awkward and progress so slow that the urge to scream in frustration nearly overwhelmed her. She strained her ears, listening for the male voices, but she heard nothing other than her own sharp breaths and the pounding of her heart. She pushed the blade at the ropes, fighting the desperation and panic clawing at her. Stay calm. Breathe steady.

"They're loosening," Lord Robert reported tersely. "Keep going. We're almost there."

Spurred on by his words, she continued to saw at the ropes, nicking the rough hemp deeper each time. A trickle of something warm and wet slithered over her fingers, loosening her hold on the hilt. A faint metallic scent filled her nostrils. Blood. Dear God. His? Hers? She didn't know. She didn't feel anything, and he hadn't complained. Of course, with his hands rendered numb, she could have sliced off a half dozen of his fingers and he wouldn't feel it. Don't think about it. It's just a nick. Keep going. You're almost there.

And suddenly she was free. With a final stroke of the blade, the ropes fell from her wrists. A sob bubbled up in her throat and she nearly choked swallowing it. With her hands liberated, she quickly wiped her slippery fingers and the knife's hilt on her gown, then cut the ropes binding their chests. As soon as her body was free, she turned and carefully cut the ropes binding his hands. The instant the cut ropes fell away, a low groan escaped him and he moved his arms forward, across his chest.

Allie made quick work of the ropes binding her feet, then scooted around to cut the last of the ropes securing Lord Robert's ankles. She ventured a quick peek at his face. Even the dim light couldn't hide the grimace twisting his features as he flexed his fingers.

"How are your hands?" she asked, returning her attention to her cutting.

"Deader than stone. My legs as well. But I'm working on it."

"There. You're free. Let me help you." Setting the knife beside her, she reached out for his hands. She quickly ran her fingers over them in as thorough an exam as she could manage in the darkness.

"No cuts or bleeding," she murmured, relieved. Then with sure, deft strokes, she massaged his palms and each finger. He had big hands. Broad-palmed and long-fingered. Surprise raised her brows at the calluses that roughened those broad palms. She'd thought his gentleman's hands would have been smooth.

After a minute, a low groan emanated from him. "Feeling is coming back. In my legs as well. Much as I'd like to give you several hours to continue that marvelous rubbing, we'd best be off. Can you-?"

The squeak of a door creaking on its hinges cut off his words. Allie's gaze flew to his. He laid one finger across her lips, indicating silence, and she nodded. Slow, heavy footsteps sounded in the distance, pausing, then starting again, growing louder with each footfall.

He helped her rise, then gave her a questioning look of unmistakable concern. She nodded. Her cramped legs protested and it was nearly impossible not to stamp her feet to return some feeling to her limbs, but she was fine. And very anxious to leave. The footsteps grew closer.

Reaching down, he picked up his knife. He then grasped her hand, pulling her close. So close they touched from chest to knee. A flash of heat rushed through her. Leaning down, he whispered directly into her ear.

"Don't let go of my hand."

Moving with a catlike silent grace, he pulled her deeper into the shadows of the stacked crates, then paused, listening for the footfalls, which had again stopped. Allie heard the rustle of her petticoat and grimaced. To her ears it sounded as loud as the clanking of a cowbell. And her one shoe was more a hindrance than a help, the heel making her feel lopsided, and sounding an unwanted tap against the wood. Reaching down, she pulled off the shoe, stuffing it into the pocket of her gown. No sense leaving it behind when it might prove useful as a weapon.

With her hand firmly clasped in Lord Robert's, he led her slowly forward through the shadows, keeping close to the stacked crates. The footfalls sounded again, closer this time. Lord Robert halted, then pulled her close against him. He pressed them as far back into the shadows as possible, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding her head against his chest, shielding her between the wooden crates and his body.

Heat surrounded her like a velvet blanket. His heart beat hard and fast beneath her ear, and his warm breath touched her temple each time he exhaled. And with each breath she drew, the masculine, musky scent of him filled her head.

The footsteps continued. Closer. Closer. Dear God, was it the man who had abducted her? What would he do when he discovered them gone? Well, he'd have a devil of a fight on his hands if he attempted to take her again. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she wrapped her chilled fingers around her shoe. She prayed she wouldn't be forced to help defend them with such a meager weapon. But she would if she had to.

Closer. Heart pounding, she stood perfectly still, listening to Lord Robert's thudding heartbeat, feeling his chest rise and fall. Closer. Until she was certain they were about to be discovered.

But then, miraculously, whoever it was moved on, passed them, the footfalls diminishing. It must not have been her abductor. A watchman perhaps? A moment later, the squeak of unoiled hinges rent the air, then all was silent.

She locked her knees to fight the limb-weakening relief rushing through her. Lord Robert exhaled a long breath that ruffled her hair. His arms tightened around her and in that momentary respite from her fright, she was suddenly very much aware of him. Not as a protector, but as a man. A brave man whose hard, masculine body was pressed intimately against her, his fingers tangled in her hair where his hand cradled her head to his chest, his warm breath touching her.

A wave of heat scorched her… Heat that had nothing to do with the embarrassment she should have felt. But before she could react, he released her body, gripped her hand, and began leading her silently along. The splinter jabbed deeper into her heel, but she forced the discomfort from her mind. If a sore foot was the worst memento she garnered from this evening, she'd consider herself very fortunate indeed. Less than a minute later they reached a large wooden door.

Keeping her behind him, he cracked the door open. Allie nearly jumped out of her skin when the hinges growled with a noise resembling the cry of a wounded animal. Lord Robert's head and shoulders disappeared through the opening. Seconds later he leaned back.

"This leads to an alleyway," he reported in a low voice. "I'm not certain of our exact location, but I have a general idea. We need to get to a more crowded area, then we can hail a hack." He squeezed her hand in what was clearly meant to be a reassuring way. "Not to worry."

Worry? That was a lukewarm description of her feelings. She'd never been more frightened in her life. "I'm not worried. Do I look worried?"

"I don't know. It's too dark to tell. Just don't let go of my hand."

He slipped out the door and Allie gripped his hand ever tighter, needing no urging to follow him out of the dank warehouse. Let go of his hand? Not if her very life depended on it.

Unfortunately, she was terrified that it might.

When they reached the end of the alley, Robert looked both ways. A glimmer of relief edged down his spine, even as dread coursed through him. Fortunately, he did indeed know where they were. Unfortunately, it was one of the worst sections of the city. Getting them home unaccosted would take a miracle. He gripped the hilt of his knife tighter. And prayed for a miracle.

Keeping to the deep shadows, he moved swiftly along, holding tight to Mrs. Brown's small hand. They zigzagged through trash-strewn, rat-infested back streets. The stench of filth and poverty and unwashed humanity mingled with nearby cries of women and harsh shouts of men. A series of deep grunts and moans emanated from a darkened doorway, and he quickened his pace. He expected her to falter, to squeal in dismay, to gasp in horror, to cry out, or to succumb to the vapors, but she kept pace with him, never uttering a sound. Indeed the only reason he even knew she remained behind him was the feel of her palm pressed firmly to his and the slight rustle of her petticoats.

They were close now… close to a place where they'd be able to hail a hack. Just two more turns and he'd get her to safety. He would not fail. Not like he had with Nate…

They rounded the second turn and a pent-up breath whooshed from his lungs. There, under the dim circle of light cast by a gas lamp, stood a hack. It was easily the most welcome sight Robert had ever seen.

Both driver and horse appeared to be dozing, but they roused as Robert and Mrs. Brown approached. He called out the direction of the Bradford town house to the sleepy-eyed driver as he helped Mrs. Brown into the carriage.

Settling himself on the seat opposite Mrs. Brown, Robert drew in what seemed like his first easy breath in hours. They were safe. On their way home. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut as a combination of relief, triumph, and exhaustion surged through him. He hadn't failed.

But by damn he wanted to know the whys and whats of how he and Mrs. Brown had ended up trussed like turkeys on a dockside warehouse floor. Setting his knife on the hard seat beside him, he raked his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers encountered an egg-sized lump.

"Are you all right?" came her soft voice.

"Just a bump. How are…?"

His voice trailed off as they passed under the light of a gas lamp and he got his first good look at her. Her eyes were huge, her face chalk-white. She lifted a visibly trembling hand to brush away a tangled curl clinging to her pale cheek, and his heart seemed to stutter to a stop.

Her hand was covered with blood.