Page 17 of Marry in Scandal

“Heavens, no! Carlisle is quite far-flung enough for me. Best of luck in finding your young lady, gentlemen. The villain who abducted her deserves to be horsewhipped.”

Hearing the men take their leave, Lily tried to call out one last desperate time, but a moment later the carriage lurched on its way, and she was once again left alone with her abductor.

Sick with fear and feeling desperately alone, she sank back. She was never going to get away from him. He was too clever, too plausible. He’d planned it all so carefully. Who would have thought of making a hollow space under the seat and keeping her captive there? And invisible.

Those men... if only she could have made them hear...

A few moments later the lid of the seat was raised and the smothering, dusty rug pulled off her face. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to a soft gray light. Morning? Already? She’d been here all night.

“Awake, are we?” Nixon’s sneering face loomed over her. “I heard your feeble little squeaks. Lucky for me there’s a filthy wind blowing down from the north and it drowned everything.”

Hard fingers pulled at the knot of her gag, ripping at her hair uncaringly. He dragged the damp strip of fabric aside. Lily moved her aching jaw experimentally.

“I should have dosed you earlier,” he said, and grabbed her hair, forcing her head back.

She glimpsed a blue bottle in his hand, and as he jammed it into her mouth, she retained just enoughpresence of mind to push her tongue into the bottle’s opening. She pretended to swallow and struggle and cough, and only a trickle of the vile drug passed her lips.

“That’ll do it.” He released the painful grip on her hair, corked the bottle, retied the gag and pushed her down, back into the dark, airless space under the seat. “I’ll wake you when we get to Gretna, darling. Sleep well.”

He was laughing at her, laughing at her helplessness, her foolishness in falling for his trap in the first place.

How she hated him.

That note from Rose. She’d believed every word of it. But now she’d had time to think. Rose would never have written to her. Lily hadn’t thought at all, just reacted. This mess she was in was all her own fault. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She lay in the lightless gloom, berating herself, and fighting the effects of the drug. She’d ingested a smaller amount this time, but still, it was strong enough to keep her woozy and lethargic.

She would not give in to it. Somehow she must fight this thing. Sylvia’s cousin would not get her, not get his horrid, cruel, greedy hands on her inheritance. She would rather die than marry him. And she didn’t want to die.

Sylvia... Was she part of this? Would she do something so cruel? No. Why would she do such a thing to Lily? What had Lily ever done to her except try to be her friend?

• • •

The journey seemed endless. They stopped at inns and posting houses to change horses, but Nixon never left her alone, never let anyone come near enough to hear her. He sat on the seat above her whistling and kicking his heels. Mr. Carefree.

The pressure on her bladder was becoming unbearable.

Without much hope of being heard, she did her best to call out again, but almost immediately the lid of her imprisonment was lifted. “What?” Nixon demanded.

She couldn’t speak, so she tried to signal her desperation.

“Need to piss?”

She nodded.

He put the lid back down, and if she could have, she would have screamed. Surely he couldn’t ignore her urgent need?

But a few moments later the coach pulled up and the lid was jerked open again.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her upright. “Come on, then, out you get.”

Acting dizzier and more lethargic than she felt, Lily struggled to free herself of the heavy blanket and climb out of her imprisonment. It wasn’t entirely an act—she was stiff and sore, aching from being squashed into the cramped space for who knew how many hours.

As she jumped down from the carriage her legs crumpled beneath her and she found herself sprawled in the mud. “Get up,” Nixon said.

She struggled to stand, but her legs were so cramped from being in a confined space for so long, there was no feeling in them. He jerked her roughly to her feet, and she stifled a moan of pain as pins and needles—painful pins and needles—brought the return of sensation.

The wind blew sharp and strong over the moors. After the smothering airlessness of her confinement the bitter cold of it sliced through her, but Lily didn’t care. Anything was better than being in that black hole. She inhaled deeply, breathing in energy and clarity as she took stock of her surroundings. Moorland as far as the eye could see, muddy and wet from recent rain. No buildings, no sign of life.