The Artist and the Rake (The Merry Misfits of Bath 4)

“That I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

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He pushed against her throat again. “Tell me.”

Tears came to her eyes and she grabbed his arm, trying to pull him way. “I swear. I don’t know.”

He was wasting time. She may or may not know, but short of strangling her he wasn’t going to get any more information out of the woman. He backed up and she slumped to the floor.

He practically flew down the steps, out the door, and thankfully his horse stood waiting for him. He jumped onto the horse and turned in the opposite direction from where he came. It took him only a few seconds to decide what to do next.

Once the carriage started to move from the front of the café, Joey Barton had the other man in the carriage tie Lizbeth’s hands behind her back, secure her ankles together with a piece of rope, and wrap a dirty, smelly cloth over her mouth. Every time she breathed in, the rancid smell of something terrible almost made her gag.

Which would be instant death because with her mouth covered, the vomit would have nowhere to go.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the reality of her situation. Marcus would never find her. He would be searching in London at the brothel and she would be on a ship headed to Australia. Gone from England long before he ever learned what had happened to her.

If he ever did learn.

Tears filled her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was from the thought of being forced into a brothel once more, or the fact that she would never see Marcus again.

The man she loved.

Her knight in shining armor.

Marcus, my love. If I never see you again, please try to forget me and move on. But know I will always love you.

After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, the anger that had sustained her since her initial ordeal flared to life. She would not give up her one chance at happiness. Marcus was the perfect husband for her. He was kind, considerate and willing to help her work through her fear of intimacy. She would have to find a way to get out of this mess.

About three hours later, Lizbeth looked out the window of the carriage as it arrived at the Bristol docks. It had been a long, arduous ride while she had vacillated between grief and anger. The road was bumpy, and she had a hard time sitting up, but refused to lay down like an animal.

The men had been silent the entire ride.

The docks were busy, with men running up and down the gangplanks of the three ships docked there. Pallets of goods and food were loaded aboard one of the ships, with a great deal of cursing and shouting among the workers.

The carriage slowed down and came to a rolling stop. “Stay here with the girl. I’ll be right back.” Joey Barton climbed over her and stepped out of the carriage. Lizbeth looked over at the other man, who leered at her. She slid her bottom over, so she was tucked into the corner of the carriage.

He moved closer on the seat and licked his lips. “I’m gonna make sure Barton gives me a taste of you before he ships you off. I got a really good use for that mouth of yours.” He grabbed his crotch and she gagged, fighting to keep her stomach contents down.

Think, Lizbeth. Don’t be a victim again.

During the ride, she’d been tugging the frayed cloth they’d tied her hands with, and it had loosened a bit. Not enough to slip one of her hands out, but if she kept playing with it, perhaps it would just break.

She felt around with her fingers and touched the metal pin holding the door onto the carriage body. She shuffled back farther until she could rub the cloth over the metal.

Luckily, the man guarding her was busy looking out the window and didn’t notice her arm movements. She broke into a sweat as she continued to struggle with the cloth. The skin on her wrist screamed with pain as she continued to rub.

Her head jerked up to look at her guard as the cloth snapped. He continued to stare out the window, and he hadn’t noticed the movement when her arms moved forward as the cloth broke.

Lizbeth took a deep breath and thought about her situation. Her hands were free, but her ankles were tied. There was no chance of running, and she imagined hopping away was not her best means of escape.

In fact, that vision lightened her mood a bit.

The guard’s eyes grew wide and he moved to the door and opened it. The sound of running, shouting, and then a pistol being fired filled the air. He looked over at her, as if making a decision. “You ain’t worth my arse, girl.”

With those words, he stumbled from the carriage and ran, the open carriage door swinging back and forth as he disappeared from view.

Marcus took a chance on Nick not wanting to spend too much time away from his new wife and arrived at his townhouse as soon as he left the bookstore. If anyone could help with this, it was Nick Smith.