Page 22 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“But if he didn’t take her...” Nathan’s voice trailed off.

“Then how the hell do we find her?” Sloane finished.

Finally Nathan said, “I’m at a loss. I can’t even think of where to start. It seems impossible to track down one old coach in this city.”

“Yes. We’ll go back to Lady Lockwood’s house. We’ll question the servants and neighbors to see if we can find some sliver of information. Doubtful, of course, but we have to follow every possibility. If it wasn’t my enemy who took her, then it must be a kidnapping for ransom, and Lady Lockwood will receive their demand at some point. We’ll proceed from there.”

Nathan nodded, and they rode along in silence. After a long moment, he asked, “Would you really have killed him back there?”

“No,” Sloane said, and Nathan looked a little relieved. He went on, “You can’t get information from a dead man.”

“So you’re not abstaining from murder because of any moral qualms then.” Nathan smirked.

“Didn’t you know I’m the bad seed? The twisted branch of the Rutherford family tree?”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Nathan told him. “I always knew you weren’t good enough. Certainly not for Annabeth.”

Sloane let out a soft grunt of amusement. Gazing out the window, he said, “You’ll soon learn I have no moral qualms when Annabeth’s safety is at stake. If Parker had killed her, he would be dead now, you can be assured of that.” He turned to look at Nathan. “Wouldn’t you kill him for Annabeth?”

Nathan frowned. “Yes, if it would save her. But... I hope I wouldn’t be so cold-blooded about it. So heartless.”

“Why, Nathan, I thought you knew,” Sloane said flippantly. “I have no heart.”

Nathan made an irritated noise. “You joke about it, of course. But I’ve known you since I could walk. You were always angry, always irritating and rude—”

“Careful, you’ll turn my head,” Sloane interjected.

Nathan ignored him. “But you weren’t like this. The Sloane I knew wasn’t cold and hardened like you. He wasn’t someone who would spy for the enemy or lead a gang of ruffians.”

Sloane lifted one shoulder negligently. “Yes, well, that Sloane died long ago.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

ANNABETH WAS FIRST aware that she was lying on something hard. Slowly she floated to consciousness. She opened her eyes and saw a wall covered with dingy white, peeling paint. This was extremely odd. She was apparently lying on the floor. She began to sit up, and her head swam. She leaned against the wall, and that seemed to help. Her stomach settled down, and the wooziness in her head turned into a dull ache.

She slowly glanced around her. The room was bare save for a pail in the far corner, and a body was stretched out on the floor a couple of feet away from her. Judy! Annabeth crawled across the short distance and looked down at her maid. Judy’s cheekbone was reddened and swollen. There were two or three more red marks on her arms, as well as one long, shallow cut.

Those men. Annabeth closed her eyes, remembering woozily drifting in and out of consciousness as someone carried her down the hall. The flickering light of a lantern. A scarred wooden floor and narrow hallway. He had been carrying her slung over his shoulder, and she had felt as if her head might burst from the blood rushing to it. Then he’d turned into a doorway and her head had hit the doorjamb—an accident, she thought, but it had knocked her out anyway.

Just like what happened in the carriage. Her memory came drifting back—there’d been that carriage driving up and those men and a struggle. She glanced down; there were several reddened marks on her arms as well. But Judy had fought much more than she, and Annabeth remembered how limp Judy’s body had been as the men carried her to the carriage.

“Judy,” she whispered. If there was anyone lurking out in the hall, she didn’t want them to hear anything. “Judy, wake up.” She patted the woman’s cheek and wished she had a vial of the smelling salts her grandmother always carried with her.

Her thoughts went to Nathan. How badly was he hurt? She gritted her teeth in anger as she remembered the man kicking him in the chest and Nathan falling onto the street. She had to find out how he was.

She continued to say her maid’s name and pat her cheek, even shake her a bit, and finally Judy’s eyes opened and she looked at Annabeth, her gaze cloudy and vague. “Judy. Wake up. I know you’re hurt, but I think we need to be alert and ready to...well, to do something.”

“Bleeding hell,” Judy murmured, her hands going to her head. Her eyes cleared a bit. “Miss,” she said in faint alarm. Under her breath she said another word that Annabeth had never heard before, but she didn’t think it was complimentary. Judy groaned, closing her eyes again. “Me ’ead.”

“Yes. I’m so very sorry. They hit you. Your cheek is swollen and red. I think you might have a nasty bruise there.”

“It’s not me cheek. It’s the back of me ’ead.” She turned her head to the side, and Annabeth looked more closely.

“Ooh. You have a big knot there. But I don’t think it’s bleeding.”

“Bloody bastards.” Judy grimaced.

“Do you want to sit up?” Annabeth offered her a hand to pull her up.