I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) (32 page)

Nineteen

Lila stared in horror at Vile Valencia. She caught the movement of the umbrella right before Valencia struck and ducked in time to avoid the worst of the blow to her head. The ebony and silver handle still cracked her across the side of her temple and ear. A warm trickle of blood slid over her cheek and down her neck.

She huddled on the floor, her arms over her head to ward off more blows. Instead of continued abuse, Valencia called out, and Lila realized John Coachman had tapped on the door.

“Drive on,” Valencia ordered. “And you,” she said, prodding Lila with her slipper, “had better stay down, or I’ll kill you myself.”

Lila supposed that meant Beezle was still nearby. Valencia was paying Beezle. Valencia had arranged to have Lila abducted.

The coach lurched forward then jerked back again. Lila heard the coachman yell and the creak and strain of the coach’s frame as the horses pulled with all their strength.

“What is the matter?” Valencia lowered the window and yelled into the cold morning. Lila realized the brick at Valencia’s feet, though not hot anymore, had retained enough heat to warm the interior of the coach. She almost had sensation back in her fingers.

“The wheels are mired in mud, Your Grace!”

“Well, get down and push!” Valencia raised the window, muttering under her breath about incompetent servants.

Lila prayed the coachman couldn’t free the wheels for hours. The delay might give Brook enough time to find her.

If he was still looking for her.

He was. Of course he was. He might not have loved her, but he would not allow her to die. He would not allow Beezle to win. But would Brook even investigate the coach? Neither of them had ever considered that Valencia was involved in her abduction.

The carriage rocked back and forth as John Coachman tried to free it from the wet, muddy road. Valencia’s mouth thinned into a line that made her look older than her thirty years.

“Why are you doing this?” Lila asked. She didn’t expect her stepmother to answer. Valencia looked down at her.

“You gave me no other alternative.”

“
I
gave you? This is my fault?” Lila had to tamp down the urge to sit and bellow indignantly. Such behavior would only earn her more thumps from the umbrella.

“Yes, it is your fault. I tried to send you away, but you would not
stay
away. You always came back.” Valencia glared at her.

“Lennox House and Blakesford are my home. Where else am I to go?”

Valencia leaned down. “You may go to hell for all I care,” she hissed.

Lila recoiled as though hit. “What have I done to make you hate me so much? To make you…how could you hire Beezle to abduct me?”

“I hired him to kill you, but he couldn’t even manage that.”

Lila gasped. “Why?”

“You’re the last reminder of
her
. Your sainted mother. All I ever hear is ‘When Isabella was alive.’ He looks at you and thinks of her. You look just like her.”

It was true. Colin looked more like their father, but many of her mother’s relatives had remarked at the similarity between Lila and her mother. Lila had taken it as a compliment. Valencia had been jealous.

“The duke does not need you. He has another daughter now.”

This was madness. Lila could not fathom the depths of Valencia’s hatred if she had gone to these lengths to rid herself of her stepdaughter.

“You do not need to do this, Valencia. My father loves you.” If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have sent Lila away so many times to please his new wife. “And he loves Ginny. I’m married now. I am already out of your way.”

Valencia sneered at her. “You still do not understand, stupid chit. If you hadn’t seen Beezle murder that MP, I could have allowed you to live. But you saw too much.”

“You had something to do with that murder?” Lila could barely force the startled words from her injured throat.

“Of course not.”

The carriage rocked violently, and Lila feared the wheels had been freed from the mire. But the conveyance settled back again. It might have been easier to move the vehicle if Lila and Valencia exited, but Valencia would never agree to stand outside on the roadway in the rain. Lila would have jumped at the chance.

“But the murder tied that thug to Fitzsimmons. Bow Street will stop at nothing to catch Beezle. They searched his residence—if you can call it that—and do you know what they found?”

Lila nodded. Everything made sense to her now. Beezle had kept a bank draft or a letter or something that tied him to Valencia. Her stepmother had nothing to do with the murder of the MP, but the murder had shed light on her underground activities.

“Then the government already knows about you. It’s too late,” Lila said.

“Bow Street and the magistrates move slowly. I have time to see you dead before I go abroad.”

Valencia was fleeing for the Continent. It was the only way to avoid imprisonment and the humiliation of a trial. But she’d wasted precious hours of her escape to go after Lila.

Valencia opened the window again. “What is taking so long? What do I pay you for?”

“We almost have it, Your Grace!”

We
. Was Beezle behind the conveyance trying to free it? If she escaped and ran toward the horses, she might have a chance to get back to the woods and hide until Brook could find her. She needn’t hide for days or even hours. Valencia could not wait that long to leave England.

Lila cut her gaze to the carriage doors. They were locked, but that would only take her a moment to undo.

“Idiots, all of them,” Valencia hissed. Her flat eyes settled on Lila with a look Lila knew boded ill. “I suppose there is no reason to wait.”

Lila couldn’t agree more. She jumped for the door she faced, that farthest from Valencia, and turned the lock. Fingers fumbling, she pushed the latch. Valencia screamed, bringing her umbrella down on the back of Lila’s neck. Pain exploded like a bright light blinding her. But it also propelled her forward. She pitched from the carriage, falling to her already bruised and battered knees.

More pain. More tears stinging her eyes. The only thing that drove her to her feet was the knowledge that Beezle was coming for her. She stumbled upright, found her bearings, and ran for the horses’ heads. She could hear the commotion behind her, but she didn’t dare look around. She ran as fast as her aching legs would take her.

Past the horses. Toward the woods. A few more feet. The tree line was coming closer.

Footsteps, hard and swift, sounded behind her. Lila pushed herself faster and harder. If she could just escape into the trees, she could lose him. She would be saved.

And then something moved in her peripheral vision. A man. Not Beezle. His hair wasn’t dark. The coachman?

She stumbled and ran on, but the coachman was almost upon her.

“No!” she screamed just as his hand clamped around her arm.

* * *

She fought like a wild creature, ripping and tearing at him with hands like claws, fingernails sharp as razors.

“Lila!” He shook her. “Lila, it’s me!”

She stilled, the wildness fading from her eyes. Before he could say more, Brook pushed her behind him, shielding her from Beezle who had been right on her heels.

Beezle grinned, a skeletal stretching of skin on his thin face. “Now ain’t this convenient.”

“It is, rather, isn’t it?” Brook lunged, not waiting for Beezle’s attack. Beezle had a knife, but it wasn’t in his hand, and Brook had no intention of allowing him time to grasp it.

With the rain still falling at a steady pace, the muddy ground slid under his feet. He knocked Beezle aside rather than tackling him, as he’d hoped. Brook went down to one knee, and Beezle kicked out, landing his boot hard on Brook’s shoulder. He ignored the pain, throwing himself on top of Beezle and punching him hard across the face. Beezle’s cheek opened, blood flowing pink as it mixed with the rainwater.

The blow would have felled other men, but Beezle was used to life in Seven Dials. He had fought his way to the top of his gang, and he did not observe the pugilist codes of Gentleman Jackson’s. Brook could fight dirty as well. Beezle shoved a fist under Brook’s chin, pushing his head up. Brook fought to stay upright, attempting to dig his boots into the slick ground. One boot slid, and Beezle lost his grip on Brook’s chin. Instead of pulling back, as Beezle expected, Brook moved forward, slamming his forehead into Beezle’s nose.

He heard the crunch and Beezle’s grunt of pain before rolling away to lick his own wounds. His head hurt like the devil, but he’d broken Beezle’s nose. That would buy him a few minutes.

“Brook!”

He searched the ground, spotting Lila’s mud-caked boots. He held up a hand to stall her progress. He didn’t want her coming to his aid, didn’t want her anywhere near Beezle.

“Stay back. Get in the coach.”

“I can’t! I—” She looked back at the carriage as though a band of thieves was housed inside it. For all he knew, there was. He’d spotted the conveyance from the shelter of the woods and had approached cautiously. A few minutes of observation told him Beezle and a coachman were trying to free the coach from the wheel ruts where it had become lodged. He hadn’t expected Lila to burst from the vehicle and appear on the far side.

He’d thought the coach empty, but now he wondered who might have been inside with her.

“Brook! Behind you!”

Heeding her warning, he sprang to his feet, ready to fight. Beezle was on his feet, too, dagger in his hand. He looked like Satan come from Hell. His face was a mask of red, blood dripping down his cheeks and pouring over his lips from his shattered nose. The twisted object that had been his nose gave him a strange, ghoulish appearance.

Brook didn’t have a weapon, but he didn’t need one. He hadn’t survived in the rookeries without learning how to defend himself. He let Beezle come for him, sidestepping at the last minute when Beezle struck with the knife.

“Fast feet,” Beezle said, his voice a gurgle.

“Faster than yours, I’ll warrant.”

“Don’t need fast feet when you have a porker.”

“Unless you can throw with some accuracy, you’ll need fast feet to strike me.”

Beezle’s gaze traveled to Lila. “Maybe I’ll strike her first.”

Just then the coachman freed the carriage. He was covered in grime, but he’d dug the wheels out and now ran for the driver’s box. The horses pitched forward, the carriage wobbling along.

“Lila, watch out!” Brook yelled. The horses would trample her if she didn’t move quickly.

“No!” Lila screamed, turning to see the carriage stagger forward. To his shock, she raced toward it.

The lapse in attention cost him. He feinted to the side but not in time to avoid the slice of Beezle’s blade.

* * *

Lila raced toward the carriage as it gained speed. She couldn’t allow Vile Valencia to escape. Brook would take care of Beezle—please, God, let Brook defeat Beezle—but Valencia would be halfway to the Continent if someone did not act to stop her. John Coachman saw her, but he either did not recognize her or did not care if he trampled her. She skidded around the horses and reached for the carriage door.

Her hand slipped, groping air, before she backpedaled and reached again. This time she caught the latch, forcing the door open. Lila hadn’t expected the door to be unlocked. She was not certain what she expected, but it was not to see Valencia gaping, mouth wide, as Lila ran alongside the coach.

“Get away!” she screeched.

The horses had picked up speed, and Lila had to act. She dove into the carriage, her knees banging on the frame, her legs hanging out. She groped at the squabs, trying to catch hold so she could pull her legs in. Valencia let out a scream and slammed her feet down hard on Lila’s forearm. With a curse, Lila dragged her body inside, covering her face from the worst of Valencia’s assaults. Valencia was kicking like an irate toddler, and by the time Lila managed to curl her knees under her, her ears rang and her face was numb.

The carriage door swung wildly as the carriage churned along the muddy road. Rain blew in, leaving dark droplets on Valencia’s crimson cape. Valencia gave one last kick then hurled herself across the coach at Lila.

“I’ll kill you myself.” Her gloved hands closed on Lila’s throat. Lila twisted out of her grip, elbowing Valencia in the chin. She screamed and attacked again, swiping at Lila with hands bent into claws.

The gloves protected Lila from the worst of the attack, and since her own hands were free of gloves, she raked her nails down Valencia’s cheek.

“Little bitch!” Valencia screamed.

“Just wait!”

Lila ducked, and Valencia landed a glancing blow across the top of her head. But Lila came up ready, slashing and slapping at Valencia. The other woman raised her arms to protect herself, and Lila grabbed her wrists and forced them down. Using the weight of her body, she trapped Valencia on the floor of the carriage.

“Get off me!” Valencia’s words came between short gasps for breath.

Lila leaned down until her face was inches from her stepmother’s. “This is your fault. All your petty jealousy has brought us here.”

“Get off!”

“No!” She shook Valencia’s arms.

“Why can’t you die like your mother?” Valencia spat.

Lila felt bile rose in her throat, and though she would not have minded casting up her accounts all over Valencia, she swallowed the nausea.

“Isabella this,” Valencia whined, “and Isabella that. I couldn’t stand it.”

Lila closed her eyes. She’d always thought if she tried harder to be agreeable, tried to include Valencia, tried to be friendlier, then her stepmother would like her. But Lila had never had a chance.

She realized the coach had stopped moving.

Lila opened her eyes. “There is one difference between my mother and you that would have ensured my father’s love.”

Valencia’s brow creased. “What is it?”

“My mother
is
dead.”

She climbed off Valencia and peered out the open door. The carriage wheels had become mired in muck again. The conveyance was too heavy for the muddy roads. One glance at the box told her the coachman had fled. She looked about but saw no sign of him. She saw no sign of Brook either. They must have left Brook fighting Beezle at least a mile back. Lila supposed she’d have to deal with Valencia on her own.