The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(73)

He stared back as if she were an idiot. Which she probably was. She knew he couldn’t understand her.

But still, she had to try.

“The boy,” she said, directing her entreaty to the one with the kindest face. “Please be gentle.”

“Suavemente ,” Senhor Farias said.

“Suavemente ,” Poppy repeated, even though the man who was now covering Billy’s head had surely heard Senhor Farias himself. “Please.”

Poppy swallowed as she watched him tie the unconscious boy’s hands together. “Must they do this?” she entreated Senhor Farias. “They have the captain, and they have me. He’s just a boy.”

Senhor Farias looked at her with a pained expression.

“He probably won’t remember any of this,” Poppy said.

Senhor Farias let out a shaky exhale and said something to the man on the ground with Billy. Poppy’s eyes darted back and forth as the two men spoke in urgent tones. Finally, Senhor Farias turned to her and said, “He says the boy is too much trouble. They will leave him with me.”

Poppy almost smiled. She almost laughed, she was so relieved.

“But you must not fight them,” the tavernkeeper warned. “You must not give them trouble. You too, Captain,” he said. “You must not make trouble when they take you away or they will send someone back and—”

He made a cutting motion across his throat.

Poppy recoiled. She looked up at Andrew, who could not see, and realized she had to translate the gesture. She swallowed, forced herself to say the words. “They will kill him. They will slit Billy’s throat if we make trouble.”

“And they will set him free if we don’t?” Andrew said from beneath the burlap sack.

“Sim .”

Yes . One of a handful of Portuguese words Poppy now understood. “I will cooperate,” she said.

The tavernkeeper’s sad nod was the last thing Poppy saw before a sack was roughly pulled down over her head too.

She froze. She hadn’t expected it to be so instantly dark.

Or hot.

She tried to breathe.

The air around her face turned instantly thick. She exhaled, and the heated air bounced back onto her mouth and nose. She tried to draw breath, but she couldn’t—no, she could, and she thought she did , but nothing was reaching her lungs.

No one was holding her throat. Why wasn’t she getting air?

She could hear herself breathing, could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, but it wasn’t working . She was dizzy, disoriented. Unable to see her own feet, she suddenly wasn’t sure how to stand.

She needed to hold on to something.

“Poppy?” she heard Andrew call out. “Poppy, are you with me?”

He sounded very far away.

“Poppy! ”

“I need to hold his hand,” she gasped. And then when no one did anything, she screamed it. “Let me hold his hand!”

There was a rush of movement around her, a crisp cadence of voices, one of them belonging to Senhor Farias. And then, miraculously, she felt her hand being placed between Andrew’s hands.

It was awkward. His hands were bound behind his back. She could barely link her fingers with his.

But it was a lifeline.

“You’re all right, Poppy,” he said. “I promise.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“You can.”

“I’m not.”

“Clearly, you are.” There was gentle humor in his voice, almost enough to pierce her panic. He squeezed her fingers. “I need you to be strong.”

“I’m not strong.”

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” She didn’t know why she sounded like she was begging.

He squeezed again, and she heard him chuckle. “This isn’t even your first time being abducted.”

“It’s not the same,” she snapped. She twisted her head around to where she thought she might be facing him. “Honestly, Captain. That’s the falsest equivalence imaginable.”

“And you say you’re not strong,” he murmured.

“You—” She stopped. Felt his fingers curl around hers.

“Poppy?”

It took her a moment to realize what he’d done.

“Are you breathing now?”

She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her and said, “I am.” And then: “Thank you.”

“We will make it through this,” he said.

“Do you really think so?”

He paused for a moment too long before saying yes.

But at least Poppy was breathing.





Chapter 19




Andrew had no idea where they were.

Back at the tavern, he and Poppy had been loaded unceremoniously into a wagon. They’d traveled well over an hour, but with a hood over his head—and a heavy blanket thrown over both of them—he could hardly have made sense of the journey.

The only thing of which he was certain was that they had gained elevation. But that was hardly a distinguishing fact. They’d started at sea level; they could hardly have gone any direction but up.

They were moved inside a building, then up a steep flight of stairs, and then to a room at the rear. A door shut and a lock turned, and then someone grabbed Andrew’s hood from the back and pulled it over and off his head, the angle ensuring that the burlap scraped roughly across his skin. He’d prepared himself to be blinded by sunlight, but the air was murky and dim. The room contained but one window, and it was covered by exterior wooden shutters—closed tightly and presumably nailed shut.