Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

That Anna would be over the moon at having first-hand inspiration for her next novel helped steady a sudden little flutter of nerves.

Surely she could be as brave as Emmalina, who had no more substance than ink and paper.

Flesh, blood, brains, heart—I will have to put them all to the test.

Turning on her heel, Caro walked through several more tight circles as she thought over her options.

Tonight—after weighing her options, she decided that she must try to make her move tonight.

A spattering of chill raindrops woke Alec from a fitful doze. He quickly rolled up his blanket and resaddled his horse.

“I owe you a bushel of apples,” he murmured, patting the big chestnut’s muscled flank.

The gelding snorted and kicked up clots of the damp earth, looking rested and eager to run from Hades to Xanadu if need be.

Running a hand over his bristly jaw, Alec wished he felt half so fresh. He had pushed himself hard, allowing only brief respites to rest his mount. Fatigue now wrapped around his limbs, along with a coating of dust and sweat. Perhaps at the next inn, he would stop long enough for a hot bath and a meal.

Both mind and body were getting muzzy, which wouldn’t help in the coming confrontation with Thayer.

His nemesis was a lowly snake, but a clever one who could strike from any angle.

When it came, he must be ready.

A gust of wind rattled the window as the first drops of rain peltered against the paned glass. Caro craned her neck to peer up at the darkening sky. A squall was blowing in from the west, the gunmetal-gray clouds still swirling with the storm-lashed fury of the North Atlantic seas.

“Hell and damnation,” swore Thayer, eyeing the blurred landscape. Already the carriage was slowing as the road turned muddy. He threw himself back against the squabs, muttering under his breath as he tugged his pocketwatch out from his waistcoat and flipped open the case.

Was there a rendezvous planned?

Caro felt a frisson of trepidation. But rather than be afraid, she must look at it as an opportunity.

Thayer swore again, and after a few more minutes of nervous fidgeting, he rose and rapped on the trap.

Though the wind garbled most of the driver’s response, Caro caught mention of an inn, and the guess that it would be another half hour before the carriage reached it.

Wiping the rain from his face, Thayer fixed her with a dirty scowl. “We will be stopping for a while. You had best not make any trouble, if you know what’s good for you,” he warned.

Caro gave a mock shiver. “Perish the thought. All I can think of is a mug of hot tea and a chance to rest from all the jostling.” Making her voice sound even fainter, she asked, “M-m-might I be permitted to lie down somewhere if we are to linger for more than the usual short interlude?”

His mouth pursed in thought, but he didn’t answer.

For what felt like an age, the only sounds were the howl of the wind and the squelching clop, clop, clop of the wheels rattling though the mud and stones. Thayer had lit the carriage lamp, and the lurching shadows only added to the air of gloomy tension.

At last, they came to a shuddering stop, and Caro found herself hustled out of the vehicle and into a ramshackle inn. Smoke hung heavy in the entrance corridor, hazing the weak flickers of oily light from the wall sconces.

Thayer muttered a few orders to the proprietor, and as the man shuffled off to fetch a key to one of the upstairs room, a figure stepped out of the shadows of the taproom.

“It’s about time you arrived.”

Caro tensed. His voice, though hardly more than a whisper, sparking a sudden flare of foreboding.

“I trust you have dealt with the problem?”

“We’ll discuss it in a moment,” snapped Thayer, flicking a look at Caro. “But yes, the fellow will no longer present a problem.”

The churchyard, the exchange of money—Caro was now overwhelmingly certain that these were the two men she had overheard. Not that she needed any corroboration that her captor was thoroughly evil.

The proprietor returned and after a brief exchange, Thayer shoved her toward the stairs. “I won’t be long,” he said to his cohort, and then led her up to a dreary chamber set off the unswept landing. The guttering candle showed a small bedstead with a lumpy mattress and yellowed sheets. The lone window was barred with thick iron rods, no doubt to keep travelers from absconding without paying their bill.