Page 4 of Only Pleasure Will Do

Chapter 1

Outside of London, Early April 1762

“Told ya it’d be a piece of cake.” The harsh, guttural tone of her assailant rasped in Amorina Vestry’s ears as she lay stunned in the bottom of her private carriage, bound, gagged, and mad as the devil.

Whoever had made this kidnapping attempt would pay, and dearly. Her minions knew how to inflict pain. All she need do was discover who’d perpetrated this outrage and she’d make sure the discomfort she now experienced would be meted out to them tenfold.

The horses jerked forward, the beat of cobblestones jouncing her, adding to her annoyance.

Hands pinioned behind her, she twisted her wrists to and fro, but the rope held fast. Her hands were small, and she’d hoped they would slip through the heavy coils. However, twist, rub, and strain though she might, still she remained bound.

Inwardly cursing her captors, she rubbed her head along the smooth floorboards, trying to dislodge the odious gag, again to no avail. Instead, she scraped her cheek, the smart of the cut compounding her anger. Oh, yes, these ruffians would pay. Death would come for them, but slowly.

Who would want to kidnap her? A man could buy almost anything he wanted at the House of Pleasure, although she’d been discreet about the men she’d taken to her own bed. Had she rejected anyone of late? Some slighted gentleman with the means to put together this elaborate scheme? Her customers were of the aristocratic elite, many well able to pay for her abduction, so that hardly narrowed the field.

Of course, she’d been away from London the past two weeks on business of her own in Essex. Anything might’ve happened at the house in that time. As usual, she’d left Jenny in charge, and the woman had dutifully sent letters detailing the intricate dealings necessary for the running of London’s most exclusive brothel. The last letter, posted four days before, had held nothing suggesting Amorina might be in danger. Still, motives for her abduction were plentiful. A rival brothel owner wishing to remove the competition; a former lover wishing revenge; one of her girls with a desire to usurp her place. Shortly, she’d find out which it was. Perhaps she’d be able to bargain her way out of this fix. Her body could be her best asset when it came to negotiating her freedom, although, in the end, her abductor would pay the ultimate price.

The carriage hit a huge rut, tossing Amorina into the air. Landing hard on the floorboards, she grunted and winced in pain. She must remember to put carpet in the carriage after this. Pulled backward in an unnatural position, her shoulders ached abominably. Her wrists were chafed and sore. Not quite as painful as her back and shoulders, but enough to be uncomfortable. Lord, let them arrive wherever they were going soon.

But what if the journey had just begun? On her way home from the countryside of Essex, she’d been nearing London when her carriage had been attacked. The bumping of the cobblestones had soon turned into a somewhat smoother ride, though, as if the wheels rolled over a dirt road instead of streets. Were they taking her back into the country?

Blast her rotten luck. In town, she might’ve been able to make noise, create a stir, attract some attention. Neighbors near enough to hear screams. In the country, there’d likely be no one to hear her. She’d be truly on her own.

The slowing carriage brought her back to her surroundings in the dim twilight. Alert and ready to attempt God-knew-what if given the chance, Amorina rolled into a sitting position. Perhaps they were simply going through a tollbooth, where a good scream could bring someone to her aid. If only she could scream. The gag was tight enough that if she sucked in too much air too quickly, she might draw the cloth down her throat and suffocate. Still, if she could manage to ease in a lungful of air, she might be able to make some noise, gain attention.

Carefully, she breathed in through her nose, slow and steady so as not to choke on the gag. When she’d gotten in as much air as possible, she screamed as loudly as she could and hammered her heels against the far door like a drummer.

The scream came out a sad hiss of sound, the wadding muffling her voice very efficiently. The noise of feet beating on the hollow door, however, set up quite a racket. Somebody must hear that.

“No!” The great cry from outside made Amorina redouble her efforts, kicking the door until the whole carriage trembled. For the love of God, let someone hear her.

The door nearest her head jerked open. A scowling man with red cheeks and a scruffy beard—obviously her kidnapper and not a rescuer—met her gaze as his fist sped toward her.

With a screech that sounded more like a croaking frog, Amorina rolled away from the great, ham-fisted lout. Unfortunately, the space between seats was very narrow, leaving her little room to slither away. Not nearly enough.

The fist slammed into her face, and blackness followed.

* * * *

To the thump-thump of an agonizing beat in her head, Amorina swam toward consciousness. Groggy, she remembered, bit by bit, where she was and how she’d come to be there and cursed her luck. She’d always been so careful before when visiting Essex, changing coachmen twice so no one could report where she’d been. Obviously, someone had been determined to find her, which filled her with fear. If anyone discovered the small cottage in Pagelsham, so much would be irretrievably lost.

She gave thanks as the carriage continued forward smoothly. If they hit a hole or cobblestones, her head would likely explode. Perhaps it would be better if it did. Her hands had gone numb while she’d been unconscious, and her shoulders ached from their continued unnatural position. Her whole body felt bruised and sore, and exhaustion threatened to send her back into oblivion. Still, this was no time to give in. She had some fight left in her.

With a groan, she shifted her body, wedged herself between the seats, and wormed her way into a sitting position once more. If she could stand long enough to see her surroundings, she might be able to use that knowledge to her advantage. Pushing her feet against the back-facing bench, she forced her back to slide up the boards holding up the black leather seats until her head rose just above the window.

Blackness covered the landscape. Not even the moon shone to give her landmarks. After peering out the window another few moments, she slowly sank back onto the floorboards, heart suddenly pounding with fear. Her kidnapper sought seclusion, more so than necessary if he simply wished to use her body. She shivered. She’d seen much during her years at the House of Pleasure. Enough not to underestimate a man’s ability to inflict pain for the sheer pleasure it gave him. She didn’t tolerate such things in her house, but now she had no control over what someone might do to her.

Visions of her throat being slit, of her body being dragged behind a galloping horse, of being drowned in a water barrel all presented themselves vividly. Although not one given to flights of fancy, she’d been alone all day and now dread crept in to claim her. A shake of her head to dispel the horrible images resulted in blinding pain, but it served its purpose. When the ache subsided, she forced herself to focus on the two weapons left: her wits and a strong will to live. Giving in to despair would gain her nothing and take much. She must relax. Tension would do her no good at all.

From nowhere, the memory of Lady Katerina Fitzwilliam sprang suddenly to mind. A little over a year ago, Lady Katarina had been kidnapped, just like this. That young woman had not succumbed to her obvious fear when unceremoniously dumped at the House of Pleasure and sold at auction to the highest bidder. The woman had shown her mettle that night, turning her ordeal into a stunning triumph. Not only had she escaped her purchaser but had subsequently married the Marquess of Dalbury. Amorina had secretly admired the girl’s pluck. She couldn’t hope to duplicate the marchioness’ good fortune; however, she could take heart from the woman’s perseverance.

No surrender.

Amorina would resist her kidnappers with every ounce of strength and scrap of will she possessed. If they didn’t expect a fight, they would be very much surprised.

The horses slowed.

Every nerve in her body snapped to attention.