The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(8)

That, though, was the problem with women. They fell in love too easily. It was the reason he had stopped dallying with widows and married women. Come to think of it, he hoped Lady Charlotte would have the good sense not to fancy herself in love with him.

Con trusted Aimée was not overly concerned about his failure to take her to the theater this evening. He’d have to remember to purchase a trinket to make it up to her.

The sound of heavy boots, most likely the other villain, walking down the corridor and stopping at Lady Charlotte’s door, brought his attention back to his immediate dilemma: how to release her from the bedchamber.

He could probably overpower the one brute who was left, but with the landlord in an alliance with the scoundrels, Con might find himself beaten and locked up, not to mention the scandal it would cause if Lady Charlotte were found here in the company of ruffians.

He had taken a good look at where the keys were stored, yet he doubted the key to her room was there. One would have to be extremely sloppy to lock a woman up and leave a key where it could be found.

No sound came from Lady Charlotte’s room and soon he heard the man walking down the corridor to his chamber. It was a shame the villain was not as fond of gin as his companion.

Con smiled to himself. Jemmy had done an excellent job of ensuring the black-haired man had sufficient funds to make the man as drunk as David’s sow.

There was also the problem of harnessing his pair to the phaeton so Con and Lady Charlotte could leave in an expeditious manner. Chances were he would have to do it himself and be very quiet about it so that anyone sleeping in the stables wouldn’t waken.

He scraped his hand down his face. Dear God, what had he got himself into?

The whole thing would have been much more straightforward if she had eloped. He could have returned to Town immediately. It was none of his bread and butter who eloped with whom. Yet, this did not have any of the hallmarks of an elopement or an abduction for marriage. The problem was that he didn’t know what the deuce it did seem like.

The only thing he was sure of was that he must rescue her ladyship and return her to her family before word of the kidnapping got out and her reputation was destroyed.

But first he had to get her out of the blasted room.

*

“My lady?” Charlotte’s eyes shot open.

She had not remembered falling asleep, but she must have. The room was dark except for the one candle she had left burning, and the inn was quiet. “Enter.”

The lock clicked open, and the maid walked into the chamber. “I come to help you undress.”

“Thank you.” Rubbing her eyes, Charlotte smiled warmly. “I am absolutely unable to remove my gown without help.” She paused, assuming a rueful look. “I do not suppose you would be able to bring me some bread and cheese? Dinner was excellent, but I am still extremely peckish, and I shall not be able to sleep if I’m hungry.”

“I suppose so,” the girl said with reluctance. “I’ll go ask my ma.”

A few moments after the maid left, the gentleman was back at the door whispering, “My lady, I have an idea.”

“As do I.” She waited to see if he would actually listen to her scheme. Some gentlemen—Lord Harrington, the man who had been courting her, came to mind—would not.

“Ladies first.” His voice was so rich and expressive she could almost see his hand gesture. How nice of him.

“I have a pistol. I shall point it at her while you tie her up. She must be gagged as well.”

“Much neater than my idea.” She could hear him shifting. “I believe she is returning.”

Charlotte removed her pistol from the bedside table and placed Collette back in the basket. “Stay here, sweetheart. We will be departing soon, and I will not have time to crawl under the bed after you.”

As the door swung open, Charlotte hid the weapon in her skirts. “My ma was in bed, so I just brought it up. I don’t suppose your husband and Miss Betsy want to starve you.”

Charlotte was about to utter her thanks again when what the girl had said struck her, and her mouth went dry. Husband? Her whole being filled with dread. This was much, much worse than she had imagined.

Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper as she gripped the chair with her free hand to stop her knees from buckling. “Miss Betsy?”

“Your husband hired her to find you,” the girl said as she set out the bread, cheese, and fruit on the table. “My ma and pa don’t hold with wives running away, so they help her.”

Charlotte tried to swallow, but was unable to get any moisture past the knot in her throat. “Does she—she . . . retrieve only wives?”

“There’s no one to hear me now, so I can tell you,” the girl said as she set out the silver. “Children get lost and sometimes young ladies run away. She makes sure they all get back home.”

Home, hell.

Charlotte’s hand began to shake and she tightened her grip on the pistol. To a brothel, more likely.

She had to get out of here and warn her family and Dotty that Miss Betsy had changed from drugging the wives of soldiers stationed overseas and making them work as prostitutes, to a much wider range of victims.

Charlotte forced a smile to her face. As long as the girl was being chatty, she might as well obtain as much information as possible. “How long has she been doing this type of work?”