Cal stood, his expression pained. “He took her, Ethan. Montague has Lottie.”
This was Montague’s rebuttal to their letter to Danby. Steal the fiancée of his largest dun. Bonus to Montague that she was an heiress. Ethan knelt before Darling. “May I?” The maid shifted the compress aside to show the point of impact, which appeared to have already stopped bleeding. “Did you lose consciousness?”
“Yes. I’m not sure how long I lay in the street. When I came to, the coach was long gone.”
Ethan hung his head, grappling with his emotions. Lottie had been taken in full daylight. Heaven only knew how long Darling had lain in the dirt on the side of the street. Even in this posh area of London, a woman had been accosted and left for dead long enough that her wound stopped bleeding on its own. London could be a bitterly cruel place for most of its inhabitants and was home to more than one character with Montague’s depravity.
He shied away from the thought before it fully formed. Imagining Lottie at the mercy of that bastard wouldn’t help. There would be no coming back from the terror and panic. Better to focus on Darling. “I’m so sorry you were hurt, Mrs. Darling. Can you tell me anything that would help us find Lottie?”
Cal piped up, “We’ve determined she was one block away when attacked. The three of us were establishing a timeline when you came in. They have about an hour’s lead on us.”
Ethan turned to Cal. “How are you already here?”
“They sent a messenger to my house, not realizing you were at Woodrest. I forwarded the message to Kent but couldn’t very well sit about with your girl missing. So here I am.”
That made sense. Ethan asked Darling, “Do you remember anything else? Did you see anything? Was Montague driving, or did he have a coachman? Anything about the coach? Every detail is important.”
Darling closed her eyes, appearing to sift through her memories. “He had a driver. Red carriage, flashy yellow trim. Big black wheels with yellow spokes.”
“A traveling rig, then, not a racing curricle?” Cal clarified.
“Yes. This was made for longer distances,” Darling said.
“Perfect. Most of the others on the road are yellow. This should stand out tae hostlers.” Ethan turned to Agatha. “Have you already sent for your traveling carriage?”
“Done. It should be ready for us in a quarter hour.” Lady Agatha turned to Darling. “Are you fit enough for travel?”
Darling winced when she shifted the hand with the compress but appeared determined. “Just try to stop me. I owe that man a few whacks when we catch up with them.”
Lady Agatha nodded. “Brilliant. I shall lend my cane to the cause should you desire a weapon.”
Calvin said, “Montague probably borrowed the carriage, which means borrowed horses. We might overtake them on the road.”
“Do you know where he’s taken her, then?” Darling asked.
“Gretna Green, of course. It is the only logical outcome if he has gone through the trouble to kidnap her,” Lady Agatha said.
Ethan exchanged a look with Calvin. There were other possibilities. Less honorable possibilities that centered on revenge and ruination instead of marriage. The thought made a cold sweat break out on his forehead. If that rat touched one hair on Lottie’s head without her permission…Ethan’s clenched hands shook with a force great enough to unravel him. Closing his eyes, he forced calming logic into his head. Out with the horrific scenarios and creative punishments. In with the planning, decisions, and immediate rescue of his Lottie.
Lady Agatha was right about one thing. If they were to give chase, they must choose a direction in which to search. Might as well go north and hope for the best.
Chapter Twenty-Five
There were horses running over her head. It was the only logical explanation for the pounding rhythm of her pulse in her skull. Sunshine warmed her face, and light filtered through her eyelids, burning like pokers. The fuzzy film coating her mouth suggested that a small creature had died there—no doubt her breath could stun a dragon at thirty paces. But oh, her head. If only it were possible to take it off her shoulders and store it in a cupboard somewhere until the pain abated.
Alas, aching head and body remained firmly connected. The rumble of carriage wheels against stone and dirt beneath her thrummed in a steady vibration, punctuated by the occasional excruciating jolt, triggering nausea with every movement.
Keeping her eyes closed, Lottie attempted to piece together the bits of information working through her pained head. Although obviously in a carriage, she didn’t remember getting into a carriage. When did she order one?
Where was Darling?
Why, oh why, did her head feel so horrific? Had she succumbed to one of her megrims?
Inhaling turned out to be a regrettable decision. This carriage reeked. Her throat closed against the roll of her stomach at the lingering taint of alcohol-based vomit and cloying perfume that clung to the squabs. And she sprawled on that seat.
That was enough inducement to attempt sitting, holding her head as if to keep her brain in her skull, and the whole throbbing mess attached to her neck. A groan escaped, but even that amount of noise triggered a whimper.
“Sleeping Beauty awakes.” Montague lounged casually on the opposite seat, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She winced, dearly wishing to smack that smirk off his face. When she could move without pain, of course. Why was she with Montague? More pertinent still, why was she with Montague alone?
“What happened?” The raspy voice didn’t sound like her. “Where are we, and why the hell are you here?”
“Such language, wife,” he chastised.
“Wife?” Please no. The tempo of the pulse pounding through her head picked up. At the engagement ball, she’d promised Ethan that she would take a burly footman wherever she went. Of all the times for her to remember.
Montague shrugged. “Well, as near as.
