The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(7)

As the girl quietly cleared the table, he glared at her. “She’ll be back up later to help ye change.” He shoved a large cotton garment at her. “The landlady offered you one of her nightgowns.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte wanted to groan. As luck would have it, she could not manage to put this particular gown back on without help. If forced to change, she’d be making her escape in the nightgown. That would not do at all. “Please convey my gratitude to her.”

“There’s a toff here ye don’t want to meet if you’re smart,” Burt said. “So don’t get any ideas about callin’ fer help. Wouldn’t want him getting hurt.”

“Thank you for warning me.” She kept her eyes demurely lowered, attempting to convince the blackguard that she was intimidated by him and his accomplice.

He held the door open for the maid, then closed and locked it. As soon as she heard them go down the stairs, she drew two pins from her hair.

Sleep would have to wait. It was time to practice unlocking the door.

After pulling a chair next to the door, she sat down and began to slide the pins into the lock. Fifteen minutes later, her neck was clammy and droplets of water slid down her face. A damp curl fell over her eyes and she tried to blow it out of her way.

Every time she expected to hear the snick of the lock opening, it slipped. “Drat it all.” She stood and stretched. “I shall never get it open at this rate.”

“My lady?” a man whispered through the door.

Thank God! With a voice that cultured, it must be the gentleman Jemmy told her about. No one else, other than the inn’s staff and her abductors, knew she was here. “Yes?”

“I wanted to tell you that your groom is on the mail coach to Town. I instructed him to hire a hackney to take him to Mayfair and gave him the necessary funds.” Now that he was not attempting to act like Lord Braxton, he had a deep and almost melodic voice. Who could he be? Charlotte was almost certain she had never met him. She would have remembered that voice.

“Thank you very much.” She brushed more damp curls away from her face. “I was so worried he would be caught and injured. The blackguards who abducted me are dangerous.”

“Have—have they harmed you at all?” There was an urgency in his tone that had not been there before.

“I have a few bruises on my wrists. That is all. I have been trying to pick the lock, but it’s not working. Do you have any ideas as to how to get me out of this room?” She prayed no one heard them. She did not want the gentleman to be captured or hurt. Even if he had a pistol, that only gave them two shots between them.

“No,” he replied flatly. “Unfortunately.” Charlotte dropped her face into her hands. If neither of them could figure out a way to get this door open, how was she going to escape? “I have managed to reduce the number of scoundrels by one.” He sounded a little more assured than before. “The black-haired one is too inebriated to stand.”

That was good news. “Well done. What about the other man?”

“He’s not downstairs. Does he always come with the maid?”

“No.” Come to think of it, that was a little strange. “He only came one time to help her take my dinner remains away. Earlier he warned me that if I attempted to have a conversation with the girl, she would be injured, but he spoke through the door.”

The gentleman made a harrumphing sound. “I doubt the young woman will be harmed. It is my belief that most of the staff here are related to the innkeeper. I also think the landlord is helping the scoundrels.” Another reason to keep their voices down. “Will she return to you this evening?”

“Yes. In fact, she should be here soon.” Charlotte straightened. She did not wish to hurt the maid, but she did have to escape.

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something,” the gentleman said confidently. Shortly thereafter the door across the corridor opened and closed.

Yet by the time he had reentered his bedchamber, an idea immediately came to her. She opened the basket, drew out her pistol, and made sure all was in order. Then she lay back down once again with her kitten curled up next to her, and waited.

*

Con gazed consideringly at the door behind which Lady Charlotte was imprisoned, and wondered how in perdition he was going to get her out of it. He thought about telling her to rip up the sheets, tie them together, secure them to something, and climb out of the window. But she had probably never climbed anything but stairs in her life. There was also the real possibility that the other miscreant would see her if his room was on the same side of the building as hers.

Fortunately, she was not the type of young lady he had expected to find. Even her voice was not that of a lady just coming out. It sounded more mature than seventeen or eighteen. He remembered Worthington saying it was her first Season—surely she was not older.

At least she had not seemed as if she was in a panic or about to swoon. He’d almost laughed when she’d told him she was trying to pick the lock. It would never have occurred to him she would be so inventive or intelligent.

Con wondered if she had the signature dark Vivers hair and blue eyes that Worthington had.

Not that it mattered. He was not looking for a wife. He and his mistress, Aimée, had excellent relations. He was fond of her and considered her a friend. At times he had the feeling Aimée was in love with him, yet she knew her place and would never enact him a scene, unlike other mistresses he’d had.