Also surrounded. She saw it now beyond that other coach. Her guards had been rushed upon, too. She wasn’t even sure those four bruisers, as big as they were, could win against dozens of men trying to get at them.
It was a bloody army of riffraff, back there, here, and she felt a moment of terror when she saw that some of them looked like pirates. Those near her had split up, half of them surrounding Jeremy, and the other half turning to deal with Percy’s men. But Jeremy was holding his own. He was extremely tall like Anthony and just as muscular. And while he wasn’t as good with his fists as their father was, he was still an exceptional fighter, brutal when needed, and had already dropped four more of the attackers to the ground. But when one fell, another took his place. There were simply too many of them! He got tripped, and the moment he was down, fists and boots descended.
Jacqueline went a little crazy seeing that and leapt at the men blocking her view of Jeremy, afraid they were going to kill him. “I don’t think so” was said as she was yanked out of the fray and then cheekily, “I knew you couldn’t resist me, Jack.”
She sucked in her breath, recognizing that voice clearly now and started to reach for her pistol. But Percy had reached her by then, yelling, “Jack, let’s go!” He grabbed her arm, which yanked her hand out of her pocket! Damnit, bad timing as usual for him, yet he let go after nearly dragging her down with him when one punch knocked him out. And the puncher was the Mask. Bastard!
Fear and fury overwhelmed her, that she’d underestimated him. They were supposed to capture him, not be captured! And she felt horrible that she’d put Jeremy and Percy in danger, for nothing! And even worse, she’d given her father’s enemies exactly what they wanted—something to use to manipulate him.
In a rage, she turned with her right fist swinging, only to get instantly flipped about, but he’d already removed the mask, revealing that handsome hated face. “Tactics I remember well,” he said, actually sounding nostalgic! Then to his men: “Bring the gents if they still live.”
He’d already put a hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream at him. His arm went around her waist now to clasp a steely grip on her other arm near the elbow. She was lifted off her feet and only saw in the briefest moment that the eight burly men surrounding her brother had stepped back—because Jeremy was no longer moving.
Horrified that Jeremy might be dead, she clamped her teeth on the palm across her mouth, then tasted blood, she had no idea whose, then the hand pressed tighter against her mouth.
But she was halfway down the stone steps by then, he was hurrying so fast with his prize.
Carrying her like that, he might as well have tied a strong rope tightly around her arms and torso. She couldn’t maneuver either of her hands to reach her pocket and the weapon in it. But her feet weren’t restrained and were dangling near his shins, so she lifted her legs to slam her boot heels back against Bastard’s knees to cripple him, bracing herself for a fall down the remaining stairs if she was successful. It would have worked if he were shorter, but all she got was a hiss out of him when her heels slammed against his lower thighs. Well, the arm about her middle tightened, too, which cost her some breath.
That wouldn’t have stopped her from kicking him again, but there was no time left to try it. She’d seen the two waiting longboats at the bottom of the stone steps where the water was lapping at high tide. The two boats were big enough to accommodate ten rowers each, but that didn’t account for all the men who had been on that street, more men than a ship would need for a crew. Were they not all sailors?
Two men had even been left with the boats, one in each of them. And Jack was utterly jarred when Bastard leapt into one of them.
She was set down hard on the back bench to face the ships anchored directly ahead of them out in the Thames. With absolute efficiency one of the other rowers put a gag over her mouth so the hand, bloody she hoped, could be removed. She was reaching for her pocket again but the two men behind her were quicker. Even as the gag was tied, her arms were dragged behind her back and her hands tied there just as quickly.
Another loud thud came from behind her, which she guessed was Jeremy being tossed into the boat as well. They wouldn’t bring him along if he was dead, would they? Small hope, but hope nonetheless. Then the boat swayed alarmingly as the others got into it and took up the oars.
Not much had been said during the entire kidnapping other than shouted curses, groans, and what Bastard had said there at the end. The thugs remained silent as the longer rowboat was maneuvered about and swiftly rowed away from shore. She faced the riverbank now and saw other men being carried or helped down the stairs to that other longboat. She couldn’t see Percy’s coach, but she could just make out the top of Jeremy’s chaise beyond the low wall at the top of the stairs, and the bigger coach behind it. Had it followed them all the way from Berkeley Square?
Were the coaches going to be abandoned there? Someone would find the vehicles, but they wouldn’t know whom they belonged to unless some of Jeremy’s men escaped—if any of them were still alive. But then she saw the coach behind the chaise turn about and head back the way they’d come, and Percy’s was close behind it. So the coaches were going to be disposed of? Oh, God, the bodies, too? And the continued silence was telling. Only the one order had been given, making her realize how well planned this abduction must have been.
And then a sack was placed over her head—again. Why? She knew who had her this time, so what was the point of blindfolding her? Unless it was to cover her face? He’d done that before, kept her completely isolated from his men. Did he not want the pirates to get a good look at her?
A damned small sack had been tugged down over her head and now pressed tightly against her nose. Small compensation that it blocked most of the stink of the river, a smell she was actually familiar with, as many times as her family had come down to the docks to bid one of her five Anderson uncles good-bye before he sailed.
She knew their destination had been reached when the boat rocked against one of the ships. She was picked up, twisted about, and hefted over a shoulder for the climb up the ladder. If that sack hadn’t been so tight, it might have fallen off with her head halfway down the man’s back.
The deck was crossed, a door was opened, and she heard more than one set of footsteps entering the room behind her. She was startled when someone said, “I think he broke my bloody jaw.”
A chuckle. “If it’s broke, you wouldn’t be saying it’s broke, now would you, mate?”