Page 8 of Much Ado about a Widow

Such treachery could not happen, of course, if Travers had compromised her irrevocably. And her spending a week or so with him here, at The Ship’s Arms, and being seen very publicly with him would squash all attempts to negate the betrothal. Unless they wanted Georgina’s reputation in tatters. After Travers informed his friends of this little escapade, and they gossiped about it all over the ton, Georgina wouldn’t be received by anyone in London unless she married him.

He slumped back into his chair. Not the best way to begin a marriage, perhaps, but completely necessary. His wife-to-be would come around once she realized she had no other choice. And she had agreed to marry him, after all. They could take this time to go about the business of getting them an heir of their own. A thought that always brought a smile to his lips.

“My lord.” Panting, Crawford burst into the room. “They’ve arrived!”

* * *

As soon as the carriage stopped, Georgie nodded to Clara, then shrieked at the top of her lungs, “Help! Help! They are kidnapping me!”

“Help us!” Clara screamed, banging on the carriage window.

Barking shrilly, Lulu jumped up on the seat and put her paws on the window.

Georgie knocked loudly on the trap. “Help! Help us! Kidnappers! Thieves!”

Curses erupted from outside. Horses snorted and bits jingled as the outriders pulled up their mounts.

“Now,” Georgie whispered to Clara, then they dove to the floor on opposite sides, so each one’s feet faced the doors, and they commenced kicking the panels.

Men shouted, and the carriage rocked. The door jerked open on Georgie’s side, revealing Odd Fellow, his face twisted into a demented mask of outrage. “What’s all this damned fuss for?”

“Help!” They screamed in unison.

“I’ll help you all right.” Odd Fellow began to clamber into the carriage.

Georgie lay back, drew her knees up to her chest, and kicked out with all her might. As if she’d practiced it a hundred times, her feet connected squarely with the ruffian’s stomach in a thoroughly solid kick.

He let out a startled squawk and flew backward out of the carriage.

Georgie popped up, grabbed the still barking Lulu, and cried, “Come on.” Leaping out of the carriage, she glanced at the other men, still milling around on horseback, yelling as they tried to dismount. Odd Fellow lay on his back, unmoving. So far the plan was working perfectly.

A quick sweep of the area showed the street they’d arrived on was blocked by one mounted outrider. The opposite way, however, was clear of their captors.

“This way.” Georgie dodged to her right, pounding down the sandy ground as if demons were after her, which they would be in moments. Clara panted behind her, obviously keeping up, so she tucked Lulu tighter against her and darted around two sailors carrying a huge wooden crate. Turning to her right, she narrowly avoided running into an elderly gentleman in a tall black beaver with a skimpily dressed young woman hanging onto his arm.

Entering a wide street right next to the water, Georgie peered at the crowd of people milling around, searching for a lady, an older one for choice, from whom she could request succor. Despite the time of day, however, no ladies of that sort were in sight. Only the ones Georgie understood to be “undesirables” were in evidence. Where on earth were they?

“Stop her! Stop that woman!” Cries behind her sent Georgie’s heart leaping into her throat and sped her legs to greater strength. If one of these sailors or unsavory gentlemen apprehended her now, they would likely hand her directly over to Odd Fellow and his crew despite her protests. Gentlemen tended to believe other gentlemen before they would ladies, she’d found in her experience. Especially the type of gentlemen lingering on this street.

Men who had ignored her as she fled were now turning their heads to watch her as she ran past them. It would only take one such person to snare her arm and stop her in her tracks. Well, that man had better learn to live with one hand then, because she wouldn’t be stopped no matter what.

Panting for every breath, she swerved around a wooden barrel and ran up a steep staircase that seemed to lead away from the water and the awful inhabitants of the area. The cries of “Stop” behind her had not diminished enough for her to feel safe, but neither she nor Clara could maintain this frantic pace much longer. A painful stitch throbbed in her side, and her lungs burned with every breath. A sharp glance over her shoulder told her Clara had fallen behind her several paces. Too winded to call out to her, Georgie turned back to the boarded walkway she’d been running down and ran directly into a man’s very solid chest.

The impact bounced her backward and elicited a pained yip from Lulu. Georgie staggered several paces, certain she would be sprawled across the planks in moments and too exhausted to care.

The man shot his hand out. It closed around her arm with a vice-like grip, steadying her and bringing her to a complete halt.

Lulu bared her teeth, growled, then barked. She lunged at the gentleman, almost jumping out of Georgie’s arms.

Gasping for breath, Georgie twisted her arm away. Behind her the sound of halting footsteps and a faint cry of “My lady” assured her that Clara had not fallen back into the hands of the kidnappers.

Pray God the gentleman before her would aid them in returning home to Blackham Castle. Shaking her head to clear it, Georgie backed up a step and raised her head, a thank-you on her lips to be followed by a plea for his assistance.

Instead she stood dumbfounded and gasped, “Lord St. Just?”

Chapter Four

Travers bolted up out of his chair. “You saw them?”