The woman was vacillating wildly, which made Grace more afraid than any other part of this experience. Her insides churned with fear as she pressed back into her seat. She held out her hands in front of her, making soft shushing noises. “I understand. He hurt you.”
Abernath nodded. Then, amazingly, she set the blade to the side and began pulling off her gloves. Grace sat silently transfixed wondering what might be happening.
The moment the first glove came off, Grace had to gulp down her cry. Abernath’s hands were covered in angry welts. “Oh dear,” she whispered, not sure what else to say. She looked into the woman’s eyes, which were glassy and unfocused. “Do they hurt?”
Slowly Abernath leaned forward, holding herself as she rocked. “Try to understand,” she whispered. “They went away and now they’ve come back.” The woman shook like a leaf. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, not you and not your sisters, but men won’t help me. Men are the problem not the solution. Even my son—” She stopped. “I’ve never had female friends, but I need someone to aid me now.”
Grace swallowed. “Men are the problem? Sometimes I think I know what you mean.” She thought back to her fight with Bad. She didn’t understand it at all. First, he wasn’t that handsome. His nose was crooked and his skin was craggy. Well, he was dark and mysterious, and there was something powerful in his every movement and gesture, a confidence that seemed to radiate from within. Like he could handle anything.
But truly handsome, he wasn’t. And she’d thought that meant she wasn’t really interested in his attention. That was to say, she liked almost all attention but it didn’t need to be his.
And he’d been attentive, if she were honest. But that was more because his friends had required him to be so. And perhaps that bothered her too. He should be spending time with her because he wanted to. She was attractive. Some even called her beautiful, and she was fun, or she tried to be. But he’d yelled at her today, called her spoiled and selfish and…and she’d give anything to see his hard-dark face right now. Because if he were here, he’d surely make her feel as though everything was all right.
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And then she could smack him for making her storm off like that.
“You haven’t had a life like mine. I can see it in the sweet expression on your face. Your father, he was kind to you and I bet he didn’t take advantage…” Her voice trailed off as she pressed her welted hands together. “Sometimes I think they’ve driven me mad. Or perhaps it’s whatever is inside me causing this.” And she held up her hands again.
Grace licked her dry lips. “You’re not mad. Just…desperate.” The woman was completely insane, but again, it didn’t seem prudent to say so. Then she swallowed. “So, you’re worried you won’t be with us for long. I understand. What do you need my help with?”
Abernath scooted forward, her eyes wide and wild. “Announce that Daring owns a share of the Den of Sin club. Force him to be public about his dual life. Then he can know some of my pain.”
Grace took a deep breath. She’d heard of Abernath’s affliction before, though she didn’t know the name. The welts were thought to be caused by a weak constitution, especially when they were accompanied with madness. Was that the reason the woman was so unstable or was it her past? “I understand. He hurt you and now you want to make him pay.” Her heart hammered in her chest. Was there any point in reasoning with a suffering woman? “But I’d like to ask you a question. Besides your personal satisfaction, do you have another goal in mind with your plan? Is there something you hope to accomplish?”
Abernath gave her a sidelong glance. “I…” She pressed her hands together and then winced, setting them in her lap. “I need money.”
Grace started to frown but then caught herself. Money? That wasn’t madness, that was greed. While less dangerous it was somehow less satisfying as well. “So, you want me to help you blackmail the Duke for money?”
Abernath’s face twisted. “I want you to help me provide a future for my son.”
Grace’s stomach dropped. When Abernath had kidnapped her sister, the house had caught fire. Abernath had fled, leaving an ill-kept child in the house. Her sister and her new husband had adopted the child knowing he could never return to Abernath. Now the crazy woman wanted to provide for him? Grace couldn’t believe it was true.
* * *
Benjamin Styles, as he’d been called the first twenty years of his life, rode the horse he’d absconded from a passerby as fast as the tired animal would go, which was not all that fast. The Baron of Baderness—it still amazed him that he’d acquired that title—hadn’t seen the carriage he’d been chasing in almost an hour.
His stomach clenched in fear. He couldn’t lose Grace now. How could he ever go home and face her family or his friends if he lost the woman he’d been assigned to protect? How could he face himself?
Leaning out over the animal’s neck, he urged the beast to go faster. He prided himself in being a man of honor. Even in a world often mad with greed and lust, he tried to hold his head above all the riffraff and conduct himself in a manner befitting his title.
Sure, he ran a gaming hell that fed men’s worst afflictions. First, he believed that was their vice, not his. And second, he amended that as a former street urchin, he was particularly suited to keep the peace in such an establishment. In fact, he liked to think he kept all those men safer for his efforts. If not for his club, they’d likely participate in the same behaviors at another place. And that place would not have a man who’d acquired his particular set of skills.
Fear pulled at his chest. Though, one other man did possess his skill set, almost exactly. Crusher was the only name by which he’d ever known the man. They’d been fighters together and now they owned rival clubs.
He’d never liked the man—a big, mean, dumb fellow with a giant chip on his shoulder about his success. And now he’d taken the most beautiful woman in all of London.
Bad could confess, at least to himself, that the sight of Grace made every muscle in his body tense and his breath stall in his throat. Why did he have to be so attracted to her? It complicated everything.
But his thoughts focused once again on her rescue. He’d worry about his bloody feelings later. The carriage came into view, rumbling ahead of him as it bounced along the road. The sun glistened off polished wood, the distinctive pattern of carved horses flashing in the light.
Who used a carriage like that to stage a kidnapping? Not that Bad was complaining. It made tracking them exceptionally easy. Even the one time the carriage had nearly lost him, multiple passersby had been able to point him in the direction of the vehicle.
In Bad’s opinion, the choice of carriage highlighted both Crusher’s arrogance and stupidity. He’d enjoy making that man suffer when he got Grace back.
Crusher turned back from his seat and caught sight of Bad. Bad watched, his muscles clenching, as Crusher reached across the seat and then lifted a pistol from next to him on the seat and leaned back to fire.
The blast filled the air. Bad ducked low over the horse as a ball of lead whizzed by him. He had two choices: fall back again and wait until they surely stopped or surge ahead.