“And you’ve brought reinforcements,” Luke replied, pulling the horses down the block where they weren’t likely to be noticed.
As the men slipped into the shadows, Ryker began whispering a plan. They were going to get their women back. Sussex would have his wife and child home where they belonged, and he would have his chance to tell Trish that he loved her.
Chapter Ten
Tricia held her sister’s hand. Mr. Winters, the driver, the two armed men, and two more stood in a semi-circle facing them. Dear Lord, how were they ever going to get out of this?
“I’m sorry I wanted a pasty,” Tabbie murmured, her voice oddly rough with emotion.
Tricia looked at her sister. “This is not your fault.”
Tabbie nodded, but Tricia could see a tear slipping down her sister’s cheek.
Her sister was pregnant and emotional. With a breath, Tricia realized it was her turn to be strong. She turned to Mr. Winters, “May I ask a question?”
He looked slightly surprised and it gave Tricia a moment’s satisfaction to have caught him off guard. “I suppose.”
“Did you know that we’d be at that shop?”
“Happy coincidence,” he shrugged. “And to be fair, I don’t really care about you at all. It’s her that I needed. But you might have a few tidbits of information.”
Tricia started in surprise. He didn’t seem to understand that she was a much larger part of this than Tabbie. What else didn’t he know?
“Now, let’s continue talking about Wimbley. Who is he really?”
Tricia sat in silence and Tabbie followed suit.
“Tut tut now, ladies, silence will not do.” He gestured toward another man who promptly pulled a long knife from his belt.
“We’ve already told you,” Tricia held up her free hand. “He is the Earl of Wimbley. Lord Sussex knows him from his gentlemen’s club.”
Mr. Winters stepped closer, the man with the knife following. He was the rough type with hard eyes and hands like anvils. But then her attention was drawn back to Winters again. “And you expect me to believe that he encouraged a man you’d never met to escort your sister to a formal event?”
“Oh but we did meet him,” Tricia cried. “In the very same shop we met you this morning. It’s the toast of London.”
That last comment may have been a bit too much, Tricia thought, but didn’t say more.
“They don’t know anything,” another man griped. “Stupid women.”
Actually they were smart enough to know when not to correct a man. “You sent word to the marquess?” Winters returned.
“Aye. But ye better hope he thinks this is a good plan and not a foolish one. It’s a dangerous path you’ve started down.”
“He will,” Winters huffed even as the sound of several horses outside penetrated the quiet within. “See,” Winters gestured toward the door. “There he is now. We’ll use them as a carrot to make sure Sussex—”
“That’s strange,” another called who had gone to the nearest window. “I don’t see him or anyone else.”
“No matter. He’ll come soon.” Winters waved the other man’s comment away but a second joined the first at the window.
“Where’d they go?” he asked peering out the window.
“We’re at the docks. People come and go all the time,” Winters huffed.
“Not now. The river is low.” A third began moving toward another window.
Winters was about to reply when the door was flung open. In the span of a second, all hell broke loose.
Six men at least came crashing through the door and began firing weapons. Tricia covered her mouth so as not to scream when a hand gripped her shoulder. “Let’s go.”