Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,31
sat on it. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
“What do we do with him now?” Sean asked, his voice sounding as though it came from the end of a long tunnel.
“Put him in the coach. As soon as it’s dark, drive him out of Town and dump him on the side of the road. If he survives and he’s found, he’ll be thrown in Newgate.”
“What will we tell his sisters?”
Patrick gave James another hard kick to the ribs. “We’ll give them a portion of the blunt and tell them he fell overboard on the voyage to America.”
James groaned as Sean lifted his arms and dragged him out of the back room and into the alley where the coach waited. The idiots hadn’t even unharnessed the horse. Sean opened the carriage door and lifted James then shoved him in. When the door closed, James tried to open his eyes, tried to rise to his knees, but the darkness dragged him down.
PHIL SHIVERED IN THE damp, cold darkness. She didn’t know how long she’d been down here. She’d heard arguing, the men’s raised voices, but they had quieted now. Had they left her here? Would they leave her here to die? She had quietly felt her way to the steps and climbed to the top. But when she tried the cellar door, she found it locked. She hadn’t tried breaking the lock or kicking the door open, but she was growing desperate.
Still, her first idea was probably her best. She would call for help when the noise of coaches passing quieted. There was more chance she’d be heard then—if anyone was still about to hear.
In the meantime, she sang songs to herself, little lullabies she remembered from childhood. It was oddly soothing to huddle in the old blanket and sing to herself. She liked to remember when she’d been a child and her biggest worry had been whether her governess would make her finish her French lesson that day. As a child she had much preferred playing in the gardens at Southmeade, especially on sunny days. She liked to pick flowers and pretend they were part of her bridal bouquet. Sometimes she and her older sister would make crowns of them and pretend to be brides.
How silly she had been then. How silly she had been the last few months to ever think James had loved her. He had used her. Her mother had always told her marrying for love was imprudent. Now she saw she should have heeded her warnings. If she’d just married one of her suitors from any of the Seasons she’d had in London, she would not be in this predicament.
But no, she’d wanted love. She’d wanted the fluttery feeling in her belly she felt when James looked at her. In the end, it was all a lie.
She heard footsteps on the boards overhead and held her breath. She didn’t want to hope it was James, but she also did not want to stay here any longer. Please, she prayed silently. He could have the money if only he’d let her go free.
The sound of the key fitting into the lock made her gasp in a breath and rise to her feet. The door at the top of the steps swung open, and a weak yellow light slanted down the steps. Phil squinted at even that much light penetrating the blackness around her.
The man started down the steps and she realized it was not James. She couldn’t see very well, but James didn’t move like this man. This man seemed to prowl.
“I hope ye haven’t been waiting long,” the man said.
It was definitely not James. Phil moved back a step, trying to fit herself into a small corner. “Where is James?” she asked.
“Oh, James, is he? Ye two are good friends, I see.” The man paused at the bottom of the steps and hung the lantern on the hook.
“Where is he?”
“Gone,” the man said. He had dark hair and blue eyes with a slash of brows above them. “He left ye with us. Said we could do what we would with ye. He’d gotten what he wanted, so he had.”
She shook her head. “You’re a liar.”
“Am I? Then where is he, me lady?”
As she didn’t have an answer for that question, she didn’t speak. The man moved closer. “Seems like James and yer ladyship became rather good friends while he was at yer country house. Isn’t that right?”