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  The sound of heels clicking on the floor behind her alerted Alexandra to Calvert’s approach. His voice confirmed his identity when he called out in confusion.

  “My lady! Where are you going? Pray, give me a moment to bid you farewell.”

  Alexandra didn’t so much as pause. The front door was now only a few feet away and she fled through it, nearly tripping on the hem of Lady Anne’s gown as she ran down the porch steps.

  The footmen waiting with the Kimbolten coach out front jumped to attention. One even moved to open the door before realizing Alexandra was not his mistress.

  But before he could speak, five gruff-looking men dressed in sailor’s garb rushed the liveried servants, seeming to come from nowhere, as if the shrubs in the yard had suddenly grown arms and legs.

  The footmen were knocked senseless with a few bone-crunching blows, and the next thing Alexandra knew, someone was forcing a bag over her head.

  She tried to scream, but managed only a squeak unworthy of a mouse as a strong hand coiled around her neck, nearly cutting off her air. Flailing in panic, she began, despite her heavy skirts, to kick at everything and anything she could reach. She hit what felt like a sturdy shin here, perhaps a knee there, but the recipient of her blows seemed impervious. He—Alexandra could tell it was most definitely a he—didn’t so much as grunt or stumble, only pulled her hard against a solid chest.

  “Tie her up and make it quick,” he muttered, letting go of her neck.

  Once the bag was in place, he crushed her face into the hollow beneath his shoulder. Alexandra caught the scent of leather, horses, and soap through the cloth. Then she heard a strange whimper rise in her own throat as her hands were twisted painfully behind her back and bound with a thick, tarry rope.

  “And her feet?”

  “Not now.”

  Whoever held her hefted her easily over a broad shoulder. Then a deep, resonant voice, dripping with resentment, whispered, “Hello, dear sister. So we meet at last.”

  Chapter 3

  Alexandra struggled against the hands that held her fast, but there was little she could do as she landed hard on the floor of Lady Anne’s carriage. Her assailants climbed in around her. She could hear their urgent whispers, feel them jostle about. Then a voice said, “Let’s go,” and the conveyance lurched into motion.

  The blackness inside the bag sparked Alexandra’s memory of the trunk incident with Willy, causing the same panic to return. Once again caught in a tight, dark place, she writhed in misery. “Help! Let me out,” she wailed.

  “What’s wrong with her?” someone asked. “She’s frantic.”

  “Nothing. She’s been pampered and petted all of her life. That’s all. She’ll be fine,” responded the same man who had spoken to her before, calling her “sister.”

  Alexandra desperately wanted to believe the words spoken by that bitter voice. She would be fine, she told herself, over and over again. There was enough air to breathe. But something much deeper contradicted anything so rational, and tears began to stream down her face.

  “Please. Let me out. I can’t be in the dark. I can’t breathe!”

  Suddenly the hood was yanked off her head. “That’s enough!” A man with shocking blue eyes and long black hair pulled back into a queue at his nape, a man Alexandra had never seen before, glared at her. “Tears might work with other men, but they have little effect upon me.”

  Alexandra gulped as she tried to stifle her tears and suck air into her lungs at the same time. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

  Her blue-eyed captor gave her a glacial smile. “I’m afraid we have never had the pleasure of being formally introduced. I am Nathaniel Kent, your older brother.”

  “My what?” Alexandra shook her head in confusion. “I have no brother.” She struggled to right herself, but with her hands bound behind her back, she could only wiggle helplessly until one of the other men grasped her by the elbow and pulled her into an upright: position. She almost thanked him before she caught herself.

  Nathaniel chuckled without mirth. “Evidently our dear father has neglected to mention a few minor details regarding his past. But what’s a marriage, or a child, for that matter, to a man like him? Nonetheless, I am who I say.”

  Alexandra studied the men surrounding her. They looked like desperate fellows. Dressed in tattered, homemade breeches and shirts, many wore thick beards and sported jagged, irregular scars on various parts of their bodies. Tattoos decorated bulging biceps: swords, dragons, or hearts with the name of some lady love.

  Nathaniel, obviously their leader, was different.

  Black tapered trousers revealed a lean, lithe build, and his white, blousey shirt was clean and well made. He possessed handsome, aristocratic features that could have been chiseled from stone: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, a cleft chin. Even while he sneered at her, Alexandra could see that Mr. Kent would be quite appealing to the ladies, if his lips ever curled into a sincere smile. His only physical flaw appeared to be the absence of part of one arm. A wound? A birth defect? Alexandra couldn’t tell.

  “You haven’t answered my other question,” she said, recovering her composure. Her circumstances were still forbidding, but at least she was free of the blasted hood. “What do you want with me?”

  “Are you truly as oblivious as you would have me believe?” Nathaniel scoffed.

  Alexandra lifted her chin and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Lady Anne’s dress was twisted about her legs, hampering what little movement she could manage, but it offered her the only clue to this surprising occurrence. Nathaniel had to have something to do with the duke’s daughter. If so, Alexandra need only convince him of her identity, and perhaps he would let her go.

  “What if I’m not who you think I am—” She gasped as his hand shot out and long fingers grasped her chin, turning it up toward his face.

  “Don’t play games with me,” he said through gritted teeth. “I watched you go in, and I watched you come out. I know exactly who you are.”

  Alexandra tried to wrench away, but his fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “You’re hurting me,” she complained.

  “Not half as badly as I’d like to,” he replied, then released her from his bruising grip.

  “What are you? Some kind of animal?”

  Nathaniel grinned, an evil leer, promising in its portent. “Save your compliments for when you know me better.”

  “I have no intention of knowing you better. I’m not Lady Anne. I swear I’m not.” She looked at the circle of faces around her as if searching for verification, but the men were obviously skeptical. “My name is Alexandra Cogsworth. I’m a needlewoman,” she continued, hoping to elicit a shred of doubt. “I’m only wearing this dress to escape my stepfather. You have to let me go. I have to catch a train to London—”

  “Is Trenton sure about ‘er?” the mammoth of a man sitting next to her asked, interrupting the flow of her panicky chatter.

  Alexandra’s eyes darted to Nathaniel’s face.

  “Of course he’s sure. Pay her no mind. What else can she be expected to say?” He cocked one eyebrow at her as if in challenge, making Alexandra clench her teeth. She wanted to rake her nails across Nathaniel’s face. She had suffered enough at Willy’s hands to last her a lifetime. She had no intention of allowing another man to take his place. Nor did she intend to let this band of cutthroats make her miss her train to London and Aunt Pauline—her train to freedom.

  “Please. You must listen to me.” She lowered her voice, keeping a tight rein on her temper. “I’m not who you think I am. Ask anyone. Stop. Let me out.”

  “Gag her,” Nathaniel responded, and a stout, muscular man withdrew a long strip of white cloth from a satchel.

  “No! Please! You must believe me. If I don’t make it to London soon, I’ll miss—” The gag reduced Alexandra to squeals, but she refused to fall silent.

  Wild with fright and more than a little angry, she continued to grunt and kick, banging ab
out until she slipped from her seat and landed, hard, on the floor.

  “Damn hellion.” Instead of moving her back to the seat, Nathaniel held her ankles while the man called Trenton tied them together. Then he leaned back and crossed his feet on top of her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, and all but the huge man followed suit.

  Alexandra couldn’t move anymore. The weight of their legs made her sag in exhaustion, and she lay, covered in a sheen of sweat, trying to draw enough air through the thick cloth to recover her breathing. She had indeed escaped Willy—and now she was heading straight for the fiery furnaces of hell.

  Nathaniel’s gaze came to rest on her face, but he said nothing to her. Instead, he rapped on the roof. “How much longer?”

  A voice issued from the driver’s seat: “Only a few minutes more.”

  “Hurry,” Nathaniel responded. “The constabulary will be nipping at our heels at this rate.”

  After another four or five miles, the carriage began to slow. Alexandra wondered where they were. She was disoriented, and she couldn’t see anything through the window except a round spot of blue sky. Only the smell of hay and manure and green things growing led her to believe they were in the country somewhere, far from the filthy confines of Manchester.

  “Sit her up and take off the gag,” Nathaniel said as he opened the door and jumped to the ground. “I think she might be willing to behave herself now.”

  The same man who had gagged her removed the cloth, leaving Alexandra’s lips feeling swollen. She stretched her jaw to make sure it still worked and took a deep breath, grateful to fill her lungs with air again. “Where are we?” she asked.

  The large burly fellow, who took up twice his share of room, began to respond. “On our way to Liv—Oop,” he gasped as the short, stocky man sitting next to him elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Don’t tell her anything, Tiny.” The stocky man turned narrow eyes on Alexandra before hopping to the ground himself. Then the others, three in all, filed out after him. Tiny was the last to go.

  “I know ye ain’t used to bein’ treated so rough and such, miss, I mean, m’lady,” he explained. “An’ Nathaniel ain’t a bad bloke. He wouldn’t ‘ave bothered ye if yer father ‘adn’t gone an’ nabbed—”

  “Tiny, get out here.” Nathaniel scowled at them both through the door. “She’s not hurt.”

  “No, sir. She ain’t. But she ain’t used to bein’ treated like this, an’ I was only tryin’ to explain that we didn’t want to do this. ‘Twas the only way.”

  Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “I’m sure she feels much better now. If you’re finished apologizing, we’re ready.”

  “Aye, sir.” Tiny’s small brown eyes, mere slits in his fleshy face, looked back at Alexandra. “Excuse me, m’lady,” he said and heaved his large bulk outside.

  Nathaniel waited for Tiny to clear the door before leaning in again. “Come on, Miss High and Mighty, this is where we part with your carriage.” Grabbing Alexandra’s ankles, he slid her across the floor toward him. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist. “I can’t promise you a better seat, but I must insist you join us.”

  “You’re making a big mistake,” Alexandra told him as he brought her up against his chest.

  He gave her a devilish grin. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be my first.”

  He carried her to a less conspicuous conveyance hidden in a copse of trees, a rented vehicle that looked more like an old stagecoach, and dumped Alexandra on the floor once again.

  “Trenton, let Tiny drive,” he called, and the carriage swayed dramatically as Tiny hefted himself up top.

  A tall, stringy man Alexandra hadn’t seen before climbed inside. Fair-complexioned, with strawberry-blond hair and brown eyes, he looked almost as out of place amid the other ruffians as Nathaniel did.

  “Do you think we can make it before nightfall?” Nathaniel asked him.

  “Not by a long shot. These old nags aren’t quite the animals your sister had pulling her around”—Trenton cast Alexandra a sideways glance—”but hers are lathered and need to rest. I’m not sure it would be wise to wait.”

  “They’re not my horses. And that’s not my carriage.” Alexandra took a deep breath, hoping a simple, rational explanation might finally convince them. “I told you, my name is Alexandra Cogsworth. I’m simply a seamstress who put on this dress to escape my stepfather. And I have to make it to London in four days, or I’ll miss my boat to India.”

  Nathaniel looked quizzically at her while Trenton stifled a laugh. “Perhaps we’re doing the Indians a favor, then.”

  Alexandra shook her head in exasperation. “If I could, I’d show you my hands. I’ll wager that you’ve not seen a lady born to the nobility with calluses like mine. They come from hard work, not the kind of idle stitchery performed in drawing rooms after an eight-course meal.”

  Nathaniel reached behind Alexandra and turned up her palms. He studied them for a moment, then looked to Trenton.

  “I don’t know how she got those,” Trenton admitted, “but I told you, she’s Anne all right.”

  Alexandra groaned. It didn’t help that she and the duke’s daughter had similar builds and coloring. “When was the last time any of you saw Lady Anne?”

  “What was it, four or five years ago?” Nathaniel asked.

  “It had to have been at least four. I saw her with your father in London,” Trenton said. “Remember?” He turned to Alexandra. “But I’ll never forget your face.”

  Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Do you realize what you’re saying? You’ve kidnapped a woman based on someone you saw four years ago.”

  “And I suppose Greystone’s carriage sitting outside that dressmaker’s doesn’t count for anything?” Trenton replied. “We saw you go in, remember?”

  “I can explain that,” Alexandra said, and she tried to do so. But they purposefully ignored her. Talking amongst themselves, they left her to stew in her frustration.

  “Let’s try and make it to Liverpool tonight,” Nathaniel said. “If the horses need a break, we can stop at a posting station.”

  Alexandra finally fell silent and listened to every word that followed, trying to learn why she had been captured and what Nathaniel and his men had planned for her. If they wouldn’t let her go, she’d have to escape somehow.

  But they said little to illuminate the mystery. Besides a few references to a ship docked at Liverpool, they spoke only of cargo and auctions and supplies. Still, the farther they took her from Manchester, the more frightened she became. If she missed Aunt Pauline, she’d be on her own.

  What would they do when they eventually learned her true identity? she wondered. What would they do if they didn’t? Alexandra worried and fumed until, finally, the incessant rocking of the carriage made her too tired to keep up her vigil, and she slept.

  * * *

  Alexandra woke suddenly. She had been dreaming. Willy was beating her again. She had to get away. But as her eyes blinked open, moonlight filtering through the small window above her head illuminated the five gruff men who had abducted her. Willy was nowhere around. Only the pain was real. Her hands and feet were numb below the ropes that held them fast. They were beginning to swell, and her back ached terribly, as if she’d been sitting on the same hard floor for a week.

  “Untie me.”

  Nathaniel glanced up at the sound of her voice. The others had nodded off. A few were even snoring. He had been sleeping, too, but came instantly awake when she spoke, making Alexandra wonder if he ever lowered his guard.

  “No.” He closed his eyes again.

  “Please. I can’t feel my hands. Or do you think I might actually overpower the five of you if given my freedom?”

  “I don’t fear you in any way.” He didn’t bother to look up.

  “Then you’re simply being cruel.”

  Blue eyes regarded her beneath half-open lids. “You’ve no idea of the meaning of the word, although your father is certainly a master of the discipline.
”

  “So he’s my father now? I don’t even know the man. But a few hours ago, he was our father, if I remember correctly.”

  “Sometimes I’m loath to make the connection.” Nathaniel sighed and shifted in his seat.

  “If he’s anything like you, that’s understandable,” Alexandra muttered. Struggling against her bonds, she tried to relieve the swelling in her hands. “What is it you want from me?”

  “I want nothing from you. You are only a pawn.”

  “So you don’t hate me personally. Only my father. Or rather, this duke of, what is it, Greystone?”

  “You’re more astute than I would have guessed.”

  “If you have nothing against me, then untie me.”

  A lazy smile told her he wasn’t even tempted. “If I unloose your claws, I’d not get any sleep. I can hardly believe the hellcat we carried away from Manchester would sit, docile.”

  “A brougham is coming up from behind,” Tiny called from the driver’s seat.

  Nathaniel tensed and sat up. “At this pace?”

  “What is it?” Trenton asked, yawning.

  “Someone is about to overtake us,” Nathaniel explained. “Pull off the road on the down slope of the next hill as soon as you can find sufficient cover,” he called back to Tiny. “We can’t outdistance anyone with these nags.”

  “Who do you suppose it is?” asked a man with the shadow of two or three days’ beard growth.

  “I don’t think it’s anything to do with us. But we can’t be too sure.” Nathaniel leaned over and opened the door, sticking his head out to peer behind them.

  A biting, cold wind smelling of heather and gorse rushed into the carriage, making Alexandra shiver. While the day had been warm, the night promised to be chilly, and she had fled Madame Fobart’s without so much as a cloak.