Duke of Dishonor (Lords of Scandal 11)

ok a tentative step forward as she delicately lifted her skirts to keep them from dragging through dry leaves. Her toe lightly touched down and then took another small step, turning her head to the other side, to listen more carefully. If only her heart would stop beating so loudly.

There was a rustle behind her.

She turned just as a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth.

Emily tried to scream, but the gloved hand muffled any sound just as another arm clamped about her waist. She twisted, but the heavy arm dragged her against a thick body, trapping her arms against her own chest.

She tried to kick back, her head thrashing, but he was too strong, and he held her in place even as he moved toward the garden gate.

No. No. No. If he made it out with her…her heart beat at a wild rhythm.

She stuck out her foot, planting it against the brick pillar to keep them in the garden. A jarring ripple tore through her body.

The man behind her let out a curse as her elbow made contact with his stomach. She felt the moment he loosened his grip and she heaved herself out of his arms running toward the house.

But she hadn’t even made it a step before he grabbed her hair and pulled her back.

She howled in pain even as tears involuntarily pricked at her eyes and then she was trapped against him again. They were through the gate and down the alley before she’d even caught her breath enough to fight.

Where was he taking her?

He slipped down another alley, carrying her as she tried uselessly to squirm away.

He was strong and fast, and darkness was descending.

Dimly, she heard a carriage and then the beat of footsteps behind them. Were there more men?

What would they do to her?

She twisted again, trying to bite his hand but he held firm.

Street after street they darted through alleys, minutes passing as her body grew weak and tired. She tried to fight, to be strong, but his arms were like iron bands around her.

A tear slipped out of her eye. She was about to be lost.

Chapter Three

Brandon watched in horror from the carriage window as a large man slipped into the alley carrying a squirming bundle of skirts.

Emily.

He couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but his gut told him it was so.

Regret slammed into him like an anvil to the chest. He’d made a mistake.

He flung open the carriage door, nearly tripping on Goldthwaite as he jumped from the moving carriage. His foot hit the ground awkwardly and he sprawled on the stone, cursing a blue streak, but he hauled himself up again and started at a sprint after the man who was carrying off his woman.

When had she become his? Was that even her?

He didn’t bother to ask any more questions as he pushed himself faster. He heard the carriage stop but he was already down one alley and onto the next. Damn, the man was fast for carrying another person, but then again, Brandon hadn’t actually slept or ate in days.

Still, he pressed faster, slowly gaining ground alley after alley, street after street. He didn’t hear any steps behind him though he was sure one of the other men had followed. Where was Goldthwaite, Menace, or Decadence?

It didn’t matter.

He was nearly upon them when he saw her go limp. Was she being suffocated?

Whatever the reason, energy pumped in his veins and with a final burst, he overtook them, crashing a fist onto the back of the man’s skull.