“Thank you, no. I have my own carriage.”
“Au contraire. My men have disabled your guards and hidden your carriage.” Montreux drew a pistol and aimed it directly at her. “You will please join me.”
For an instant, Venetia stood frozen, her heart racing. Her voice sounded faint when she finally manage
d to respond. “Or what? You will shoot me?”
“If I must, although I would regret acting so precipitously. It is not my intention to harm you just yet.”
“But you mean to abduct me?”
“I fear so. Armand, assist her ladyship.”
A tall, dark-haired man appeared around the far side of the coach, striding toward her.
One part of Venetia could not believe this was really happening. Montreux sat there, bold as you please, brazenly planning to take her captive in broad daylight.
But she would not go willingly.
Spinning, she ran back inside the gate, toward the house, while footsteps pounded after her in hot pursuit. She was shocked and furious and terrified all at once, but knew she had only a few seconds to provide a clue about her abductors.
Urgently, she dug in her reticule and pulled out a piece of chalk as she sank to her knees. On a paved flagstone, she drew a rough depiction of a frog and a large M—
Before she could write more, Montreux’s henchman seized her by the arm and hauled her to her feet.
Venetia gave a shout toward the house, hoping to be heard by her sister or one of the Stratham servants, but fighting Armand was futile, as she was dragged painfully toward the carriage. He was tall and wiry and unbelievably strong.
Hitting him with her reticule had no effect. Desperate to provide another clue to help with a possible rescue, she tore the strings from her wrist and let the cloth purse drop to the pavestones.
At her continued resistance, Armand’s arm snaked about her waist, lifting her up. Propelling her the last yard, he forced her inside and slammed the door behind her. She landed on the floor on her hands and knees.
Her pulse pounding from exertion and fear, Venetia struggled to climb onto the seat just as the carriage lunged forward. It was a moment before she gained her balance enough to face her abductor.
Montreux sat across from her, no longer smiling.
Venetia gripped her hands together to keep them from shaking. She could only hope Quinn would come to find her—except that an attempted rescue was doubtless exactly what the compte wanted. Suddenly, her own peril was no longer her greatest worry.
Ice filled her veins at the dire threat to Quinn. “You were the one who tried to kill my husband,” she accused, “and this is your latest endeavor.”
His eyes glittering, Montreux nodded with relish. “Alas, my initial efforts failed, but I will not fail again. Having you under my control will lure Traherne to me.”
“But why do you want him dead?”
“I have my reasons.”
A shudder went through her. His tone, like his expression, was cold, remote, implacable. There would be no reasoning with a man like this, she knew instinctively.
Fear gripped her throat and seeped into her bones—
No, stop that! She could not let herself become paralyzed.
Forcibly, Venetia swallowed and tried to summon her courage. Montreux wouldn’t succeed in harming Quinn, she vowed. Not if she could help it.
But just at the moment, she couldn’t begin to think of any way to stop him.
—
As predicted, the effort to locate Armand Firmin at The Arms in Wapping was unsuccessful. None of the employees could remember serving a Frenchman of his description.