The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

Although Lillian had been in the cave for hours, the storm had not abated. The rain lashed down in torrents, fat droplets bouncing off the rocks nearby. The clouds were black and heavy, weighed down by the enormity of their burden.

“Keep walking.” Doyle pushed her in the back as she hovered inside the cave mouth. “Water never hurt no one. This is nothing to the likes of the weather at sea.”

With Mary following at her side, Lillian clambered over the rocks. Having her hands tied behind her back affected her balance, and she slipped numerous times, scraped her knee and stubbed her toe.

The constant roar and rush, rush in her ears made it difficult to hear Doyle’s instructions, but they were to head to a cove past the dock. As they battled angry gusts, and waves smashed the shore, Lillian’s thoughts turned to Doyle’s escape plan. No one could steer a small vessel through these waters. No one could swim any distance in such treacherous conditions.

She turned to look at Doyle. “Surely, you don’t mean to navigate the storm in a rowboat?”

The rogue grinned, ignoring the trickles of water rolling off his bald head and down his cheeks. “I’ve experience when it comes to crossing the sea. Ask his lordship. He’s the one who cast me out and left me to the tide.”

“From what I hear, you tried to kill the crew.”

He said something, but it was lost amid the wind howling a warning. She looked out to sea, to the last slivers of light in the distance, disappearing as darkness chased the sun down beyond the horizon.

Cold, wet, and with her skirts clinging to her legs, she trudged on. The frigate groaned and creaked as they passed the deserted dock.

“The cove is just a little further ahead.” Mary pointed into the blackness.

Lillian’s heart raced at the prospect of finding Fabian waiting for them. She had faith that whatever Doyle’s plan, her husband would save her.

“Stop right here.” Doyle’s menacing tone reached her ears this time. He grabbed Lillian’s bound hands and yanked her back.

Lillian squinted to focus through the heavy downpour. A golden ball of light illuminated the four figures on the beach standing next to a rowboat. A rush of relief made her cry out. “Fabian!”

“Lilly! Has he hurt you?”

Doyle had hurt her in a way he couldn’t possibly comprehend. “No.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat when she conjured the image of him snatching her locket.

The figures stepped forward until they stood ten feet away. Ursula and Mackenzie accompanied Fabian and Vane. Drenched, the three men looked ready to commit murder. Ursula s

tood with her hands clasped to her chest. Her lips were blue, and her shoulders shook.

Mackenzie held the lantern aloft, the flame ever flickering. “Tell me you’re all right, Mary.”

“I—I have had better days.”

“Have you brought the money?” Doyle said but offered no excuse or explanation for his villainous crimes.

The coins jingled when Fabian threw a linen bag onto the wet sand. “It’s all there. Come and get it.”

Vane’s penetrating gaze failed to frighten Doyle. In a sudden move, he grabbed Lillian around the waist and brought the blade to rest at the spot where her locket once sat.

Fabian cursed. “Mark my words, you’ll pay for this, even if I have to track you to the far ends of the ocean.”

“Fetch the bag, Mary, and bring it here.” Doyle’s foul breath drifted past Lillian’s cheek. “Do it now else your mistress will pay the price.”

“Then untie my hands.”

Doyle hesitated. “Ursula get the bag and come here.”

Ursula shook her head. “I—I can’t. Keep the money. I’m not coming with you. I’m staying here.”

“The hell you are. Get the bag, and get in the damn boat.”

Fabian edged a fraction closer. “Ursula has had an epiphany of sorts and finds she must make amends.”

After a tense moment of silence, Doyle pushed Lillian in the back and they shuffled forward. With the sharp edge of the blade pressed against her windpipe, Doyle dragged Lillian down to her knees. He picked up the bag and shook it before straightening.