Rand swore. He burst from the undergrowth and raced onto the lawn. He ran full tilt down the slope and on, toward where Felicia had been.
His thoughts churned like a raging river, then abruptly cleared.
He and Felicia had been right—Mayhew was their villain.
Mayhew hadn’t seen any way of getting to the invention to sabotage it, so had taken Felicia instead.
Mayhew intended to use her as a hostage to ensure the Throgmorton engine never made it to the exhibition.
Rand swore between his teeth and ran faster.
For a host of desperate reasons—of which the invention was the least—he had to catch them.
He had to reach Felicia and seize her back.
* * *
Deep in the wood beyond the end of the south lawn, Felicia struggled and fought, but Mayhew’s hold seemed unbreakable.
Instead of fetching any pencil, he’d come up behind her, and before she’d had a chance to react—to turn her head and look at him—he’d clapped a hand over her mouth, seized her arm with his other hand, and hauled her out of the chair.
Then he’d propelled her straight into the wood—onto this path that led more or less directly away from the Hall.
He held her with her back to his chest, one hand still wrapped across her face, immobilizing her head and holding it hard against his shoulder. His other arm was cinched tightly across her waist, allowing him to force her to walk ahead of him, step after step.
She knew all the paths through these woods. This one eventually led to a track along which it was possible to drive a gig.
She’d been in the drawing room when Mayhew had arrived, but—now she thought of it—she hadn’t heard the sound of wheels on gravel; she would wager a considerable sum that his gig would be waiting on the track at the end of the path.
Frantically, she struggled against his hold, but he was far stronger than she and continued to force her along the path.
She’d agreed to sit for him to learn whether he was a saboteur or not, to prick him into revealing himself as either innocent artist or dangerous threat, but at no point had she imagined this. The damned villain was kidnapping her!
She locked her knees and tried to keep her feet from moving, to make every
step a battle, yet no matter how she stumbled and staggered, he still succeeded in pushing her on.
“You blackguard!” Her imprecation was all but smothered behind his hand.
Being unable to scream only made her feel more helpless.
In mounting fury, she wrestled, tipping side to side, trying to overbalance him, but he only cursed and tightened his grip about her waist until she could barely breathe.
She desisted, hauled in as deep a breath as she could, and fought to focus her wits. She couldn’t win free of Mayhew by main force. She had to use her brains.
Rand would be coming...if that unplanned explosion hadn’t drawn him back to the house. Nothing had been happening with Mayhew, after all.
She knew Rand would follow as soon as he realized they’d gone, but until he saw they’d vanished...
Her lungs expanded as she drew in a huge breath. If she wanted to escape Mayhew, she would need to save herself.
Think!
She couldn’t believe this was happening—not to her.
A spurt of pure fury seared through her, and, lips and chin setting, she threw herself violently against Mayhew’s hold.
He swore again, this time more ferociously, and halted. In grim silence, he gripped hard, then harder, waiting for her to give up.