“And then I’ll feed your tallywags to a bleeding pig,” Hart added, his voice as vicious as his expression.
“Calm yourself,” snapped an older man with white hair gathered in a queue. “This is my roof you’re beneath, Sutton.”
“And that is my woman your bastard of a son is pushing about,” Hart countered. “He’d best watch his dirty paws, or I’ll cut them off.”
My woman.
Not long ago, those words coming from him would have filled her with happiness. Now, however, all she felt was hollow. He did not love her. He never had, and he never would. The passion they had shared had been a lie spurred by his need for vengeance.
She tipped up her chin. “I am my own woman, Mr. Sutton.”
Her captor guffawed. “Leading you about by the nutmegs, this one, eh, Sutton?”
“Go to bleeding ’ell, Bradley,” Hart growled.
“Expect I will, and you’ll be joining me.”
“Enough,” bit out Hart’s brother Jasper, his voice possessing a ruthless authority that effectively silenced everyone in the room. “There’s much to answer for, Bradley. Since when do we bring women into our bloody feuds?”
He addressed the white-haired man, who appeared to be the elder of the group of ruffians who had kidnapped her.
“My lads were a bit ’elter skelter in bringing the wench ’ere, that I’ll own,” the man acknowledged. “We’ve no quarrel with your petticoats.”
Emma objected to being spoken about as if she were not present in the room and referred to as a wench. She had been used by her father to atone for what he had lost in gambling, then by Hart, and now she was once more a pawn.
“If you have no quarrel with me, sir, then untie me,” she demanded, finding her voice in her outrage. “And let me go free.”
“You’re a brave one, aren’t you?” the white-haired man—yet another Bradley in what she was coming to think was a sea of them—asked her, lewd appreciation in his tone as his eyes roved over her.
She did not feel particularly brave. If she had been brave, she would not have run. She would have faced Hart and demanded an explanation from him. And if she had done so, then she would not have found herself here, in this untenable position, the unwilling prize of a family of ruffians.
“Brave or foolish,” she said, venturing a glance in Hart’s direction. “I cannot say which is more apt.”
Foolish, when it came to Hart. Because when their gazes met and clung, she felt the same answering spark, the same burst of love, despite knowing what he had done. She wanted to be wrong about him. Wanted him to tell her she had misunderstood what she had overheard him revealing to his brothers.
He started forward, reaching for her. Her feet moved of their own accord, taking her to him.
But her captor yanked her back, holding the blade he had used to slice through her ankle restraints between herself and Hart in warning.
“Not another step, Sutton,” the man bit out. “The little bird is my prize. I found ’er on the street, about to fly away.”
His breath was hot and sour at her ear, and it was more than apparent he had been imbibing recently.
“I am not your prize,” she denied, struggling against him in an effort to free herself.
He brought the knife to her throat suddenly, pressing there and forcing her into stillness. “Someone has to pay for the Suttons murdering my brother. If you’re not careful, little bird, it’s going to be you.”
“Don’t you bleeding hurt her,” Hart said, his jaw tense, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.
“If you harm the lady, there’s going to be hell to pay,” Jasper added, his voice far calmer than Hart’s. “We aren’t responsible for Abe’s death. But we know who is. I propose an exchange. You give us the lady, and we’ll give you what we know.”
“And why should we believe a thing you say, Sutton?” the man at her back demanded.
“Stubble it, son,” the elder Bradley told her captor. “Let’s ’ave a listen to what they ’ave to say.”
“Release her and we’ll talk,” Hart said.
“And if you don’t release her, we’re going to have a problem, Bradley,” Wolf added, looking positively menacing, with his brutish size and the promise of violence in his hard countenance.
“A big, bloody problem,” Rafe added.
The four brothers standing as one was a fearsome sight, and Emma found herself relieved they were seemingly on her side in this battle. She held her breath, the cold blade biting at her skin, praying her captor would be forced to relent.
“Release the wench, Billy,” Bradley ordered his son.
Muttering a curse, her kidnapper did as he was told, removing his blade before using it to cut the rope binding her wrists and then delivering an unkind shove to her lower back. Emma stumbled forward, into Hart’s open arms. He hauled her backward, holding her tight, and for a moment she burrowed into his reassuring strength, so intense was her relief to be free once again.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re safe now, love.”
As safe as she could be. She had not forgotten what she had overheard. But then, she reckoned it was her heart most in danger.
“Charming,” sneered the man who had been holding her captive.
“Buss the blind cheeks, Bradley,” Hart tossed back at him, still holding her tightly, his voice vibrating with pent-up fury.
“Now then,” the elder Bradley said, his voice commanding. “Tell us what you know about Abe.”
“He wasn’t killed at The Sinner’s Palace,” Jasper offered. “He was dumped outside our hell afterward, in an effort to cause trouble and hide the truth.”
“It succeeded,” Hart said harshly.
She thought again of how close he had come to perishing after his wound had become infected and shivered.
“I have you now, love,” he whispered in her ear, his arms tightening.
“And ’ow do I know you’re telling the truth, Sutton?” Bradley demanded.