Page 69 of The Wallflower Ruse

“That’s the significance of moonrise,” Restive murmured. “Tonight, it coincides with high tide.” He took off his wig—why had they ever been the fashion?—and tossed it aside.

Someone was putting a gangplank in place, but none of the revelers seemed to notice. They all raised their goblets in a toast to the Merry Monarch.

“They’re going to abduct the Prince of Wales.” Reluctant admiration sounded in Davis’s voice. The plotters had only to force the Prince onto the ship and sail downstream with the receding tide, which would sweep them down the River Thames and out to sea. Or they might transfer him, bound and helpless, to some other, different sort of vessel.

“Get as many men as you can between the Prince and the river. If it results in a pitched battle, so be it.” Restive went one way and Davis the other.

~ * ~

The moment Lucinda saw the dark ship glide into place, she knew. This was her last chance to warn the Prince.

“Sir,” she yelled in his ear, “there’s a plot. They’re going to—”

An explosion rent the air. “The fireworks!” the Prince cried gleefully. “What a splendid party this is.”

“Sir, they’re going to abduct—”

Rough hands lifted her bodily from her chair. She found herself tossed from one man to the next. “It’s a plot!” cried one—the equerry? “She’s a traitor!”

The man who had her now snapped, “I’ll take care of her.”

She thrashed and squirmed, but her captor was too strong. He dragged her into the darkness, away from the throng of guests. She fumbled for her reticule, but he slapped her hand away. “You won’t succeed with that trick again, bitch. You’ll swing for treason—but not until I’ve had my way with you.”

Oh God, it was Wharton! “For which Lord Restive will surely kill you,” she panted. If only she could reach the knife in her pocket!

“He’s too busy protecting Prinny—from you!”

“From me?” she panted, as he dragged her along.

“Clever of you to choose a gown like this. Tempt him with your breasts—which I can’t wait to get my hands on—and then sit next to him all white and shining to show them where to shoot.”

Was that why they’d dressed her like this—so the Prince would keep her by his side, the easier for the plotters to find?

“You idiot, can’t you see what’s happening?” she cried. “They’re trying to abduct the Prince!”

“What the—” He halted, staring.

“Hurry!” She tore free of his slackened grasp and ran.

~ * ~

One Harlequin raced past Restive toward the river, and then another. Were they working together—or in conflict? He followed, ducking this way and that. The two spoke, and then one leapt up and ran on. The other lay still.

Dead or soon would be, judging by the knife protruding from his chest. Restive glanced back toward the Prince, now surrounded by several government agents. He followed the other Harlequin, who swerved and growled, “Don’t try to stop me, Restive. This is something I must do.”

He ran on, while the men on the boat waited, unsuspecting. One came down the gangplank, then another, and Fortin pulled out a gun and discharged both barrels, killing them both. He continued to the embankment, shouting, “Allez! Allez! Avant que les anglais vous attrapent!” Before the English catch you. He took out a knife and sawed at one of the ropes, while a man aboard pulled up the gangplank.

Restive leapt at Fortin and tripped him with his cane sword. Fortin fell, dropping the knife, and Restive tossed it away. “I can’t allow you to let them go.”

Fortin sprang up, and they grappled on the lawn. “They are innocent sailors,” he panted. “They don’t deserve to die. Look to your own traitors, Restive. I took care of mine.” He laughed harshly, and Restive let him go.

And turned to see Lucinda running toward the river, with Wharton in pursuit. “Lucy!” She swerved, Wharton barreled into her, and they both fell into the Thames.

The tide was rushing out now; the ship had already begun to drift away. Where was Lucy? Restive raced to where they had both disappeared into the dark water. Wharton surfaced, floundering, and sank again, rushed downstream on the receding tide.

There she was, her silver skirts billowing on the water. He raced along the embankment, shucking his coat as he ran.

~ * ~