Whirlwind Affair

the bloody piss out of the man to regain Austin 's belongings, he would. And he had his knife should he need it.

The hack led him through a labyrinth of alleys, and he knew they were nearing the docks when the smell of rotting fish filled the air. When the vehicle slowed to a crawl, Robert jumped down, quickly hiding in the shadows cast by the brick buildings, and continued to follow on foot. Several minutes later, the hack drew to a stop. Pressing himself into the darkness, Robert watched the burly man exit the vehicle with the bundle thrown over his shoulder, then disappear between two buildings. The hackney flapped the reins, then moved off. The instant he was gone, Robert emerged from the shadows and swiftly entered the alleyway the burly man had entered.

He saw the man not far ahead of him. It appeared as if something fell out of the man's sack before he disappeared, turning into what looked like a doorway. Robert moved ahead cautiously, straining his senses to see or hear anything besides the distant shouting of men and wailing of infants. Bending down, he picked up the article that had fallen from the man's bundle.

It was a shoe. A woman's black shoe. A frown yanked his brows downward. It looked like Mrs. Brown's shoe! Could that muffled cry he'd heard have been her?

A noise sounded nearby and he froze. Just as he realized the sound came from behind him, something struck him on the back of the head, and then he felt no more.

Chapter 4

Robert came awake slowly, and quickly regretted doing so. He was lying on his side on the hardest, most uncomfortable bed he'd ever had the misfortune to lie upon. And everything hurt. Arms, legs, shoulders… they all ached as if seized by vicious cramps. Except his hands and feet. He couldn't feel them at all. Nor his arse… it seemed as if his buttocks had somehow fallen off.

But his head… bloody hell, if only it had become detached instead. A gang of demons hammered upon his skull with oversized mallets, and he silently vowed to kill the bastards the moment he found the strength to do so. Good God, whatever liquor he'd overindulged in, he'd never touch again.

He remained perfectly still, breathing slowly, willing the swimming feeling in his head to pass. When it had somewhat abated, he gritted his teeth, pried open one eye, then the other. Complete blackness engulfed him. Where the devil was he? His rooms were never this dark. He tried to turn his head, but instantly abandoned the plan when a shaft of white-hot pain shot outward from his skull. A low moan rumbled in his scratchy, dry throat. Snapping his eyes closed, he concentrated on defeating the waves of nausea rolling through him.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a minute, his insides settled and he drew in a cautiously relieved deep breath. His befuddled senses registered the briny odors of seawater and fish, and his stomach again threatened to rebel.

Another groan rumbled in his throat, but he slowly forced his eyes open. It took a moment for his sight to adjust to the darkness. He couldn't discern very much, other than the outlines of what appeared to be stacked crates. And he wasn't lying on a bed at all, but the rough-hewn planks of a wooden floor.

He frowned, then winced as pain ricocheted behind his eyes. Where the hell was he? This dank place was completely unfamiliar. The fishy odor indicated the river, but why and how had he arrived here? forced himself to concentrate, to try and remember. And suddenly he did.

Someone stealing from Austin. Following the culprit. Near the docks. Picking up a shoe. Then feeling no more. Until now… when body parts he hadn't even known he possessed ached and throbbed.

Picking up a shoe…

The cobwebs rapidly cleared from his brain and he drew in a sharp breath. That shoe… it had fallen from the sack slung over the thief's shoulder… and it looked exactly like Mrs. Brown's shoe. A shoe that had most definitely been attached to her foot when he'd left the town house shortly before returning for his walking stick. Which meant that the brigand hadn't stolen candlesticks and silver… he'd stolen Mrs. Brown!

A host of grisly scenarios regarding her fate flashed in his mind, and a film of cold sweat coated his skin. She might be robbed. Or worse. Raped. Murdered… her body dumped into the Thames… or had:she fallen prey to one of the growing number of grisly thieves who sold corpses for medical study? Outrage and something akin to panic pumped through him. He had to find her. Help her. God only knew what horrible circumstance might hav«e already befallen her while he was unconscious. Don't let me be too late… not again.

Spurred to action, he tried to sit up.

And discovered he couldn't move.

It was as if a weight were attached to him, holding him in place. Gritting his teeth, he tried again. To no avail. He attempted to move his arms, and realized the problem. He was bound.

Although his hands and fingers remained numb, it registered with him that the ache in his wrists was caused by the rough rope digging into his skin, and the pain in his shoulders was from having his arms bound behind him. He tried to move his legs. His ankles were as securely bound as his wrists. Looking down, he saw that ropes crisscrossed his chest and torso.

Damn it all! He had to free himself! He redoubled his efforts, and after what seemed like a decade-long struggle, managed to drag himself into a sitting position. Panting, grunting, and sweating, he fought to catch his breath and prayed for his strength to return. What the hell was tied to his back? It felt like the dead weight of a body…

His blood froze. Turning so swiftly his head swam, he tried to peer over his shoulder, but saw nothing save black. At that instant a low moan came from directly behind him. A soft, feminine- sounding moan. He sucked in a much-needed breath and caught a whiff of her elusive scent… that soft flowery fragrance. It had to be her. Had to be. Tied to him, back-to-back. And if she were groaning, she was alive. Hope surged through him.

He wriggled his shoulders. 'Mrs. Brown,' he said in an urgent whisper. 'Can you hear me?'

Another soft groan filled the air and relief nearly rendered him light-headed. Jiggling his shoulders more firmly, he repeated, 'Mrs. Brown? 'Tis I, Robert Jamison. Can you hear me? Please, speak to me.'

An urgent-sounding voice filtered through Allie's mind, a tide expanding and receding in a deep, echoing cave. Can you hear me? Please… speak to me. Slowly, painfully, she emerged from the black abyss she'd fallen into. She hurt everywhere. Her head felt as if it had exploded and was preparing to erupt again. The world tilted behind her closed eyes, a sickening kaleidoscope of swirling colors that turned her stomach over. Her head fell forward on her limp neck, and sweat blanketed her skin. A long moan rumbled in her dry, sore throat.

‘Tis I, Robert Jamison. Can you hear me? Please, speak to me. Confusion spilled through her addled senses. Lord Robert? He sounded so close… close enough to touch. She forced her eyes open. Blackness surrounded her. Pain sizzled through her head, and she gasped, squeezing her eyes closed. Where was she? Surely not the drawing room or her bedchamber at the Bradford town house. How had she gotten here… wherever here was? And why did she hurt so much? She licked her parched lips and grimaced at the foul taste coating her mouth. That awful taste. How-?

Memory flooded back as if a dam had burst in her mind. Walking in the garden… accosted by a man… that dreadful rag stuffed in her mouth. Then darkness. The truth hit her like a bucket of icy water, reviving her from her stupor. Someone had tried to abduct her. No, someone had abducted her. And had left her in this awful, stinking darkness.

Fear seized her, snatching her breath. She tried to move, and discovered she was bound. Fear threatened to turn into panic. Who had done this? Who wished her harm? Why? Why? This incident could not be passed off as an accident. But right now, she had to-

'Mrs. Brown, can you hear me? Please wake up.'

A layer of relief tempered her fear. She hadn't imagined his voice. She licked her parched lips. 'Lord Robert?' Her voice came out in a cracked whisper. 'Where are you?'

A rush of air that sounded like a heartfelt sigh of relief brushed by her ear. 'Thank God you're awake. I'm here.