“Should I cut you first?” he wondered aloud. “Or have a spot of fun?”
Anne glanced at the front of his breeches. She couldn’t help herself. Was he impotent? She didn’t see any evidence of an erection.
“Oh, so that’s what you want to do,” he crowed. He grabbed her hand and pulled it to him, forcing her to feel him through the fabric. “Some things never change.”
Anne tried not to gag as he rubbed her left hand roughly over his crotch. Even with his clothes on, it was making her sick, but it was far better than having her face cut open.
George began to groan with pleasure, and then, to Anne’s horror, she felt something begin to . . . happen.
“Oh, God,” George moaned. “Oh, that feels good. It’s been so long. So bloody long . . .”
Anne held her breath as she watched him. His eyes were closed, and he looked almost trancelike. She looked down at his hand—the one holding the knife. Was it her imagination, or was he not holding it so tightly? If she grabbed it . . . Could she grab it?
Anne grit her teeth. She let her fingers wiggle a bit, and then, just as George let out a deeper, longer groan of pleasure, she made her move.
Chapter Twenty-two
“That’s it!” Frances shrieked. Her thin arm jutted forth wildly. “That’s the carriage. I’m sure of it.”
Daniel twisted his body around to follow Frances’s direction. Sure enough, a small yet well-made carriage was parked near the inn. It was standard black, with a gold decorative bar around the top. Daniel had never seen anything quite like it before, but he could see exactly why Frances had said it reminded her of a unicorn’s horn. If one chopped off the correct length of it and sharpened the end, it would make a marvelous addition to a costume.
“We will remain in the carriage,” Lady Winstead reaffirmed just as Daniel was turning to the ladies to issue instructions.
Daniel gave her a nod, and the three men hopped down. “You will guard this carriage with your lives,” he said to the outriders, and then he swiftly entered the inn.
Marcus was right behind him, and Hugh caught up by the time Daniel had finished questioning the innkeeper. Yes, he had seen a man with a scar. He’d had a room here for a week, but he didn’t use it every night. He’d come to the desk for his key just a quarter of an hour earlier, but there was no woman with him.
Daniel slapped a crown on the counter. “Which room is his?”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Number four, your lordship.” He placed his hand on the crown and slid it along the counter to the edge until he could scoop it up. He cleared his throat. “I might have a spare key.”
“Might you?”
“I might.”
Daniel produced another crown.
The innkeeper produced a key.
“Wait,” Hugh said. “Is there any other entrance into the room?”
“No. Just the window.”
“How high off the ground is it?”
The innkeeper’s brows rose. “Too high to sneak in unless you climb the oak tree.”
Hugh immediately turned to Daniel and Marcus.
“I’ll do it,” Marcus said, and he headed out the door.
“It will probably be unnecessary,” Hugh said as he followed Daniel up the stairs, “but I prefer to be thorough.”
Daniel was not going to argue with “thorough.” Especially not from Hugh, who noticed everything. And forgot nothing.
When they saw the door to Room Four at the end of the hall, Daniel immediately barreled forward, but Hugh laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Listen first,” he advised.
“You’ve never been in love, have you?” Daniel replied, and before Hugh could respond, he turned the key in the lock and kicked the door open, sending a chair clattering into the room.
“Anne!” he shouted, even before he saw her.
But if she called out his name, it was lost in a shriek of surprise as the chair caught her straight at the knees and she went flying, her hand scrabbling madly for something that flew from its grasp.
A knife.
Daniel lunged for it. Anne lunged for it. George Chervil, who had been doing a desperate dance with Anne, bouncing his weight from foot to foot as he swiped his hands out for the knife, did an all-out dive for it.
In fact, everyone went for the knife except Hugh, who, unnoticed to all, was standing in the doorway with a pistol trained on Chervil, looking almost bored.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Hugh said, but George grabbed the knife anyway, and then jumped atop Anne, who was still scrabbling on the floor, having lost the race for the weapon by mere inches.