The clanging of a gate startled her awake and she blinked several times, clearing her vision. Where was she?
She didn’t recognize her surroundings at all, panic rising in her chest. How long had she been unconscious? She tried to move again and the arm about her tightened.
“I’ll knock you again if you don’t be still.”
They were in an alley, and he continued to half drag her as they approached a carriage. The doors promptly opened, and two more men stepped out. One of them she recognized instantly: the Earl of Shipley.
A scream built in her chest as she began to struggle. She’d take the knock if it meant a chance at freedom.
He approached on quick feet. Tall and broad, the man was a force as he moved, his coat flapping behind him and Rebecca felt a chill run down her spine as she fought harder to escape.
“Want me to knock her again?” the man holding her asked.
“I think—” His words were cut off as a shot rang out.
For a moment Rebecca stilled.
Had they dragged her into the alley to kill her?
But she felt nothing, and no pain—other than the ache in her temple—throbbed inside her body. She’d gone still again, but she focused on the earl when he barked out, “Grab her. Now.”
Grab her? She understood even less when the man holding her suddenly let go and she crumpled to the ground. But she didn’t have a moment to recover before the earl wrapped a viselike grip around her upper arm and hauled her to standing.
That’s when she noticed the blood running down his arm. He’d been shot. What had happened?
She looked at the man who had been dragging her and realized he now held another woman in his grasp…Charlotte.
All at once, she understood. Charlotte had shot the earl in an attempt to save Rebecca. Feeling returned to her muscles, her mind sharpened as she gave an unexpected twist, freeing herself from the earl.
Taking two steps away, she reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out her pistol.
But the earl was faster and before she could aim, he snatched the gun from her hand, grabbing her by the neck with his other hand. “You are a pesky woman, aren’t you?”
She didn’t answer, not that she could if she wanted to. His grasp tightened on her throat. She choked, her throat aching and raw as he held her fast. Not enough to cut off her air, but enough to keep her from speaking. Her hands gripped his wrists, not that he eased his hold.
“And that one,” he sneered at Charlotte as the other two men carried her, kicking and twisting, over to where he stood with Rebecca. “Another woman I know of and don’t like.”
The calm in his voice frightened Rebecca as much as anything else. He wasn’t hot-tempered, liable to make a mistake. He was in absolute control of the situation.
And then he leaned close to Rebecca. “Tell me—how long have you known he was alive? Were you aware the entire time? Did you feed him information that helped in the investigation?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
He shook his head, sneering close to her face, “This is the part where I kill the people who have really pissed me off, and then I make my escape from London. I’m well prepared for it, you know.”
She tried to breathe, tried to speak as his hand tightened on her throat.
“I want you to understand before you die that you don’t get to win. I win. I always win.”
Charlotte let out a cry as the two men slammed her against the side of the building, pinned her with their bodies.
“I had more interesting plans for you. You’re lucky your friend shot me in the shoulder, and I’ll have to settle for just killing you.”
The world was once again going black, but this time, she didn’t think that she’d wake again. Were she and Bennet destined never to be together?
His face rose in her mind and a tear leaked from her eye. Star-crossed lovers. That’s all they’d ever been. And her life, one tragedy after another. How had she not known it would end this way?
And then Rebecca remembered her knife…