The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(66)
“Why, you, of course, Captain English.” Viktor’s grin revealed all of his rotten, yellowed teeth. “Or should I say, Captain Cavendish?”
Rafe clenched his jaw. Damn them. This entire thing had been a setup. He’d been too anxious to get the letters. Too emotionally involved to see it for what it was.
“No more games. I repeat, what do you want?” Rafe slammed an open palm on the tabletop.
“We’ve got your lady friend,” Viktor said. “And if you want her back, you’ll turn yourself over so the men who pay us can finish what they started in France. It seems they want your head, Captain.”
Rafe concentrated on his breathing. He slowly clenched and unclenched his fist. He wanted to wring their bloody necks right now, but if his team hadn’t been able to follow Daphne for some reason, these two idiots might be the only people who knew where she was. “Why didn’t you just let me go with you to the alley if it was me you are after?”
“And let you take a few of us with you? I don’t think so, Captain. We much prefer you compliant. Taking that bit of fluff you had dressed up like a boy was the one way we knew we could keep you sane and us safe,” Viktor said.
The man with the pistol kept his mouth closed. His eyes were trained on Rafe. Viktor was obviously the leader of this pack, though they’d made it out to seem as if Anton had been before.
Rafe clenched his jaw so tightly it popped. “If I go with you, you’ll release her?”
“Yes.”
Rafe stared at them out of the narrow slits his eyes had become. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“You don’t, but what choice do you have? All I can tell you is that the men who employ us aren’t interested in the girl. They want you.”
Now that was believable. Especially since they didn’t seem to realize that Daphne was a member of the aristocracy. At least that much remained a secret. Rafe stood. “Let’s go.”
These vermin were right for once.
His life for Daphne’s?
There was no choice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Daphne rubbed her chafed wrists and looked around the nasty little room she’d been tossed in. The bone-jarring ride in the wagon hadn’t lasted long, thank heavens, and she could still smell the salty air of the docks. She wasn’t far from where she’d been abducted, but wherever they’d taken her, it was a horrid place. Her abductor had hauled her out of the wagon, tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of hay, making the air whoosh from her lungs painfully, and carried her up three flights of stairs. She’d counted. A wooden door had creaked open, he’d removed her ties, and she’d been unceremoniously dumped in her current environment.
She glanced around. Not particularly hospitable. The room was perhaps ten feet square with a dirty wood floor and one tiny window at the top of the far wall. The window let in a bit of hazy moonlight but she was far too short to see out. One small wooden stool rested haphazardly in the far right corner. Some dirty remnants of food lay tossed on the floor and there was a—she gasped—fairly large rat gnawing on a piece of moldy bread near the stool. She willed herself not to scream. She’d never been particularly frightened of rats but she certainly didn’t want to share a living space with one.
“Good day, Sir Rat,” she said with a shaky voice. “What did you do to get put in here?”
She smiled at her own nonsensical behavior. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor … yet. What had she thought earlier about wanting adventure? Rubbish. Utter rubbish. Though she supposed if she made it home, she’d have a harrowing story for Delilah.
Daphne scooted back against the door and eyed the rat nervously. “Let’s make an agreement, you and I.”
The rat merely blinked at her. He did not stop his nibbling.
“You remain over there…” She scooted to the right around the wall and slowly pulled the stool back over toward the door. “And I’ll just stay over here. How about that?”
The rat blinked again but didn’t move, thank heavens.
“I don’t suppose you could give me the address of this place?” She smiled at herself again. Not that she’d be able to do anything with it if she had it. She was sorely lacking a carrier pigeon. Keeping on eye on the rat’s location, she pushed the stool over to the wall with the window and stood on it. Still too short to see out. Blast. Being the opposite of tall was such a curse. She jumped. Nothing. She tried again. Only a sliver of the outside appeared. But the stool seemed in imminent danger of cracking into pieces so she decided not to try again. The tiny glimpse she’d got on the second jump had only been enough to see darkness. Reluctantly, her eye still on the rat, she scraped the stool back over toward the door to put as much distance between herself and her hairy little cellmate as possible.
“Nothing personal,” she said to the rat.
Daphne glanced all around the small room. She wasn’t about to just sit quietly and wait to be rescued. First, she tried the door. It was locked, of course. She jiggled the handle furiously. No movement. Screwing up her courage because proximity to the rat was involved, she backed up to the far wall and ran as hard as she could, tossing her body against the door with all her force. She bounced off the door and flew backward, knocking over the stool, which went skittering toward the rat. The rat narrowly escaped it, scurrying out of the way just in time.