Page 50 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Sybil pulled the paper from her reticule and laid it on the table.

“What’s this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Kitty unfolded the paper and glared at the symbol of three circles. “I’ve seen this before. Or I’ve heard of it, anyway.”

Sybil perked up. Finally, a clue. “You have?”

“A viscount’s son came to tell me he had been associated with a new society of gentlemen by this mark. He was most offended.”

“A society,” Sybil murmured, mind racing. “That makes sense.”

“Why? Where did you hear of them?”

“We found this symbol in the Fortingham betting book, next to a list of names we have since discovered are not particularly honorable. And someone has been targeting the Spinsters ever since. Warnings, mostly.”

“Priya warned me as well,” Kitty said. “And then Devil added two guards. I really do have my own army now. But there’s been nothing out of the ordinary. At least, not here.”

“That’s something at least. And between him and Priya, this society business has no chance of success,” Sybil said smugly. But not as smugly as she would have liked. Her fellow Spinsters were in danger.

“Still. Be careful.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”

“Because we have met you. Have another marzipan.”

“Are you being careful?” Kitty was as reckless as Sybil.

“I have my own army, remember?”

“Fair enough. Any idea who might be in charge of this little society?”

“I’m afraid not. I only know as much as I do because I helped that viscount’s son once.”

Sybil nodded. “Thank you. It’s still more than we had this morning.” She set down her cup. “We knew it could not be coincidence. Priya will be pleased. She is going to send you so much tea, you might need a third floor.”

On Sybil’s way home, she was grabbed off the street.

Right off the busy street. In the middle of the afternoon.

She tried to bite her attacker and got cuffed on the ear for her trouble. By the time she had reached for her hatpin, it was too late. There was a sack over her head that smelled like stale oats and her arm was viciously wrenched behind her back. Fear made her mouth dry, her pulse thunder. She tried to breathe slowly, to keep the panic from taking her over.

Her knees dug into the floor of the carriage. There were at least two captors and very little space to move between them. The wheels creaked over a deep rut and her bones rattled when she was tossed to the side. She cursed. Viciously.

One of the men whistled. “Listen to the mouth on this one.”

“Let me go at once,” she snapped. “I do not have a dowry, so you are wasting your time.”

A snort. “No one wants to marry you.”

“Oh, that is a relief.” She kept her tone calm and dry, even though her heart threatened to fill her throat. She jabbed her elbow back as hard as she could. There was a grunt when she connected with someone’s thigh.

It was a short-lived victory, as he shoved her hard into the door.

“We’re just seeing you home, lovey. Streets aren’t safe. Thieves about, don’t you know?”

“What is this about?” She refused to gasp, even though her shoulder had hit the metal handle with some force.