A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,132

the end. Along the far edge, a stagnant puddle had formed into which the water running down the walls from above dripped. The men dumped Gage onto the floor, and I turned to face them, wary of what was to happen next. But it appeared they had no stomach to actually kill us. Or perhaps they’d decided the effort was unnecessary.

My throat constricted with fear as they began to back out of the chamber.

“Best pray it doesna rain,” the man in the brown coat quipped in a rough voice, making me stiffen with dread that perhaps this area actually flooded to above our heads.

I turned my wide eyes to the gap-toothed man, who was the last to leave, taking his lantern with him. I was petrified with the realization that there would be no light without it, leaving Gage and me alone in the pitch blackness. Something of my terror must have penetrated his heart, for he paused and reluctantly returned to pass me the light.

He hesitated a moment longer, reaching into his pocket before tossing something on the floor. “Ye may wish for this afore the end.”

Then he turned his back to me and strode from the room.

“Please,” I finally squeaked. “Please, don’t leave us down here.”

But even as I begged, the door slammed shut, and a bar dropped into place, locking us inside.

I trembled, perilously close to dissolving into hysterics. It was all I could do simply to breathe and keep my legs beneath me. Especially when I realized the item he had thrown onto the floor was my reticule with my pistol tucked inside.

Tiny spots formed in my vision, and I closed my eyes, telling myself to focus. But they quickly popped open again at the recognition that the lantern would not last forever, and I would be facing the darkness soon enough.

Ignoring my bag, I turned slowly to examine the contents of the room, of which there were few. Nothing but a broken bottle, a few sticks, and a dented horseshoe. The stone was etched with crude drawings, but nothing of help. Perhaps I would be etching my own words into the stone soon—my name and Gage’s, and that of our unborn child.

I grimaced as another contraction swept through me. I hadn’t any concept of time, but they still seemed far enough apart, and the pain was not much greater than a discomfort. However, I no longer denied the truth. I was in labor, and the pain would only get worse. And soon.

I studied the construction of the door, finding it sturdier than I’d hoped. Glancing down at the light flickering inside the lantern, I considered attempting to set the door ablaze. But I worried the wood was too damp to catch fire, or that it might suffocate us before we could ever escape.

The sound of a groan behind me pulled me from my musings, and I hurried over to kneel beside Gage. Lifting his head into my lap again, I did my best to brush aside the dirt and debris that had caught in his blood-matted hair and smeared across his face. When he blinked open his eyes, it was all I could do not to sob in relief. “Sebastian. Darling,” I croaked, gently stroking his face.

He stared up at me as if struggling to focus. “Kiera?”

I nodded, dashing the wetness from my eyes.

He flinched, lifting a hand toward his hair. “My head . . .” He inhaled a sharp breath through his teeth. “What . . . ?” Then his eyes opened wider as he peered around him. “Where are we?”

“The vaults.”

He struggled to sit upright with my assistance, his face blanching in pain.

“McQueen’s men ambushed us outside Heron’s rooms. They hit you over the head and brought us here and locked us in.”

He glanced at the door.

“I’m sorry. They took my pistol and . . .” I pressed a hand to my neck, now devoid of my mother’s pendant, and then shook my head, for it was of no consequence at the moment.

Gage reached into his greatcoat pockets, finding them as empty as I had.

I swallowed, eyeing my reticule like a snake coiled to strike. “Though they’ve since given it back.”

His face registered the meaning of this gesture with the same revulsion and horror I had felt.

“They threatened to harm the baby if I screamed or fought. I didn’t know what to do,” I told him, distress seeping into my voice. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” he murmured, pulling me into his arms. “Hush, now. There’s