Page 51 of The Wallflower Ruse

“Miss Belair, wait!” A man’s voice came from down the street. She turned to see who it might be, but it was too late. The groom picked her up bodily and tossed her into Mr. Pearce’s waiting arms. He put up the steps, shut the door, and the coach began to move.

“Let go of me!” Lucinda cried, but Pearce didn’t. His fingers dug into her arm through the fabric of her pelisse.

“I’m sorry, terribly sorry,” he gabbled, “but I can’t let you go. They’ve got my mother. I had no choice!”

“You’re hurting me!” She batted at him. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but manhandling me is not the way to get it!”

“Will you promise not to try to escape?” His grip slackened a little. Not enough, though. Her heart pounded frantically, but she had to remain calm and await her chance.

“Jump out of a moving coach?” she retorted. “Of course not, but why are you being so unkind?” Her voice trembled, which was horrid but perhaps for the best, if it convinced him she was frightened.

Which she was, but she was also a government agent of sorts and had a duty to foil the plot—whatever it was.

“You’ll hate me,” he said mournfully. He let her go but remained poised to grab her again.

“I’m very close to doing that already.” She sucked in two deep breaths, massaged her arm, and considered how to handle him. She mustn’t reveal her awareness of the plot, but must at the same time find out what was going on. To do that, she must maintain the persona which had led him to get her involved. “If you think that because I advocate freedom for women to manage their own lives, I’m a loose woman, then think again!”

“Oh, no, oh, no, nothing of the sort. I have the utmost respect...” He faltered, perhaps realizing that he had no respect at all for her or anyone else when faced with his mother’s peril. “I shan’t take advantage of you.” At least, not in that way, his expression said.

“Then what do you want of me?” she demanded.

“Just to come to the masquerade.” He chewed on his lip. “Please.”

“I already agreed to go, so why abduct me?”

“Because I had to be certain you would do so,” he muttered. “That your mother wouldn’t prevent it.”

“My mother can’t prevent me from doing what I choose, but in any event, she agreed to come with me. I was looking forward to it.” She scowled at him. “Now, I’m not.”

“I’m most awfully sorry,” he moaned. “I hate this!”

“You hate what?” she retorted. “Abducting a defenseless female? I should hope so.”

“It’s frightfully ungentlemanly of me, but you must come with me.”

“Evidently,” she said bitterly, “because you give me no choice.” She sat back, arms folded as if in high dudgeon, and gazed out the window. They were headed steadily west...toward Chiswick, where the masquerade would be held?

How should she manage this? Manage him?

She turned to Mr. Pearce. “This has something to do with your mother, doesn’t it? You said... You said someone has her? Has taken her? Abducted her?”

He slumped. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“And...they threatened that if I didn’t come to the masquerade, they will harm her.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“How utterly ghastly,” she said, “but it doesn’t make any sense at all, unless...” He stiffened, and she had a brilliant notion—a nonsensical one, but she dared not reveal what she knew. “It’s something to do with a wager, isn’t it?”

He gaped at her as if she were mad.

“I knew it!” she cried. “It’s the sort of horrid jest young blades would think up—I know that from my brother’s tales of school days—and you’re just the kind of victim they would seek, because you’re kind and gentle and not addicted to manly sports. I’m so sorry.”

He continued to gape for a long moment. He wasn’t quick to catch on, poor man. At last, he let out a breath and slumped against the squabs. “So am I.”

“But they won’t really harm your mother, will they? Surely they’re not that stupid.”

“I hope not, but I can’t bear the thought that she is frightened, and it’s all my fault.”