The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)
Ella Quinn
For my granddaughters, Josephine and Vivienne.
You are the lights of my life.
And to my wonderful husband,
who puts up with living with an author.
Thank you, sweetheart.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Anyone involved in publishing knows it takes a team effort to get a book from that inkling in an author’s head to the printed or digital page. I’d like to thank my beta readers, Jenna, Doreen, and Margaret for their comments and suggestions. To my agents, Deidre Knight and Janna Bonikowski, for helping me think through parts of this book and for their advice for Charlotte not to give in too easily. I’m quite sure Kenilworth didn’t like it, but oh, well.
To my wonderful editor, John Scognamiglio, who loves my books enough to contract them for Kensington. To the Kensington team, Vida, Jane, and Lauren who do such a tremendous job of publicity. And to the copy-editors who find all the niggling mistakes I never am able to see.
I’d also like to thank the lovely Tessa Dare for the ideas she gave me. Last, but certainly not least, to my readers. Without you, none of this would be worth it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving my stories!
I love to hear from my readers, so feel free to contact me on my website or on Facebook if you have questions. Those links and my newsletter link can be found at www.ellaquinnauthor.com.
On to the next book!
Ella
Chapter One
Berkeley Square, Mayfair, London, England, May 1815
Prickles of fear ran down Lady Charlotte Carpenter’s spine, and she fought back the gorge rising in her throat. Inside her gloves her hands grew damp.
Not even as a child when she was afraid of thunder had she been so terrified. This must be what her sister Grace and her friend Dotty had felt when they were abducted. Charlotte drew a shaky breath. Well, they had survived and so would she.
She had been shoved roughly into the coach, hitting her knees on the door edge and almost falling to the floor. Fortunately, her basket had broken her descent before meaty hands had grabbed her, placing her none too gently on the forward-facing seat.
“Don’t give us no trouble, and we won’t hurt ye,” the ruffian across from her had said.
Not looking up, she’d nodded.
After her sister had been kidnapped, Mattheus, the Earl of Worthington, her brother-in-law and guardian, had ensured that she, Louisa, her sister—actually her sister-in-law, yet Charlotte considered all her sisters-in-law sisters—who had just wed, and Augusta their sister who was three years younger than Charlotte and Louisa, had been given lessons on how to protect themselves and what to do if something like this happened to them.
All she could do was trust her lessons would stand in her good stead and remember all she had been taught. She should concentrate on that instead of panicking. Yet for what seemed like an eternity, her mind refused to cooperate. Closing her eyes, she focused on gathering her scattered wits.
Gradually, pieces of what she had learned began coming back to her. The first thing she had been taught was to let the curs believe she was under their control. That was supposed to lull them into thinking she would not try to escape. Under the circumstances, that wasn’t very hard to do. She was under their control. Both the men were much stronger than her, making escape more difficult.
Second, she was to take inventory of what she had that could help her flee their control. That should make her feel better. She had a dagger strapped to her leg. Although she needed much more practice to be able to draw it out properly. Her basket held a pistol made just for her—loaded—and with extra bullets and powder. Unfortunately, her kitten, Collette, was in the basket as well. But she was in the harness and lead Charlotte had fashioned for the cat. Both items would serve her well if she had to abandon the basket. She tightened her hands on the wicker handle.
And the third part of the plan was to think of a way to escape. That might be a little more difficult. She had not intended to go farther than across the square to Worthington House; therefore, she had no money. Even if she did manage to get away from the brutes, she wouldn’t get very far without funds. On the other hand, she knew how to tool a carriage, so she might be able to drive the coach if she could steal it.
Her breathing steadied and she began to feel a little more in control. As long as she ignored the brutes who had kidnapped her, that is.
A friend of Matt’s had also taught her and her sister to pick a lock. It might take her a while, but she was sure she could do it if she had to.
She was wearing sensible leather half boots, and a twill walking gown, practical and sturdy enough not to fall apart if she had to go traipsing across the country.
There, already her heart had stopped beating as if it would fly out of her chest.
“Got any victuals in that basket of yourn?” the man across from her asked.
Oh, Lord, Collette! Who knew what they’d do to her kitten. Charlotte couldn’t let them look in the basket. “No. I was going to fetch some things.”
He leaned back against the worn cushions again, and she resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief.
Her abductors were dressed neatly, in a middling sort of way, even if they didn’t speak like one would expect. They wore breeches instead of pantaloons, and Belcher scarves rather than cravats. At least they didn’t smell or appear overly dirty. That was helpful as her stomach was still a mass of knots. It wouldn’t take much to make her ill.