If He's Sinful. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
she told herself repeatedly, and it looked as if she would stay that way for a while. Penelope fought to find her strength in that knowledge. It did no good to think too much on the horrors she might be forced to endure before she could escape or be found. She needed to concentrate on one thing and one thing only—getting free.
It was not easy but Penelope forced herself to keep a close eye on the route they traveled. Darkness and all the twists and turns her captors took made it nearly impossible to make note of any and every possible sign to mark the way out of this dangerous warren she was being taken into. She had to force herself to hold fast to the hope that she could ever truly escape, and the need to get back to her boys, who had no one else to care for them.
She was carried into the kitchen of a house. Two women and a man were there, but they spared her only the briefest of glances before returning all of their attention to their work. It was not encouraging that they seemed so accustomed to such a sight, so unmoved and uninterested.
As her captor carried her up a dark, narrow stairway, Penelope became aware of the voices and music coming from below, from the front of the building, which appeared to be as great a warren as the alleys leading to it. When they reached the hallway and started to walk down it, she could hear the murmur of voices coming from behind all the closed doors. Other sounds drifted out from behind those doors but she tried very hard not to think about what might be causing them.
“There it be. Room twenty-two,” muttered Jud. “Open the door, Tom.”
The large, hirsute man opened the door and Jud carried Penelope into the room. She had just enough time to notice how small the room was before Jud tossed her down onto the bed in the middle of the room. It was a surprisingly clean and comfortable bed. Penelope suspected that, despite its seedy location, she had probably been brought to one of the better bordellos, one that catered to gentlemen of refinement and wealth. She knew, however, that that did not mean she could count on any help.
“Get that old bawd in here, Tom,” said Jud. “I wants to be done with this night’s work.” The moment Tom left, Jud scowled down at Penelope. “Don’t suspect you’d be aknowing why that high-and-mighty lady be wanting ye outta the way, would ye?”
Penelope slowly shook her head as a cold suspicion settled in her stomach.
“Don’t make no sense to me. Can’t be jealousy or the like. Can’t be that she thinks you be taking her man or the like, can it. Ye ain’t got her fine looks, ain’t dressed so fine, neither, and ye ain’t got her fine curves. Scrawny, brown mite like ye should be no threat at all to such a fulsome wench. So, why does she want ye gone so bad, eh?”
Scrawny brown mite? Penelope thought, deeply insulted even as she shrugged in reply.
“Why you frettin’ o’er it, Jud?” asked the tall, extremely muscular man by his side.
Jud shrugged. “Curious, Mac. Just curious, is all. This don’t make no sense to me.”
“Don’t need to. Money be good. All that matters.”
“Aye, mayhap. As I said, just curious. Don’t like puzzles.”
“Didn’t know that.”
“Well, it be true. Don’t want to be part of something I don’t understand. Could mean trouble.”
If she had not been gagged, Penelope suspected she would have been gaping at her captor. He had kidnapped the daughter of a marquis, brought her bound and gagged to a brothel, and was going to leave her to the untender care of a madam, a woman he plainly did not trust or like. Exactly what did the idiot think trouble was? If he were caught, he would be tried, convicted, and hanged in a heartbeat. And that would be merciful compared to what her relatives would do to the fool if they found out. How much more trouble could he be in?
A hoarse gasp escaped her when he removed her gag. “Water,” she whispered, desperate to wash away the foul taste of the rag.
What the man gave her was a tankard of weak ale, but Penelope decided it was probably for the best. If there was any water in this place, it was undoubtedly dangerous to drink. She tried not to breathe too deeply as he held her upright and helped her to take a drink. Penelope drank the ale as quickly as she could, however, for she wanted the man to move away from her. Anyone as foul-smelling as he was surely had a vast horde of creatures sharing his filth that she would just as soon did not come to visit her.
When the tankard was empty, he let her fall back down onto the bed and said, “Now, don’t ye go thinking of making no noise, screaming for help or the like. No one here will be heeding it.”
Penelope opened her mouth to give him a tart reply and then frowned. The bed might be clean and comfortable but it was not new. A familiar chill swept over her. Even as she thought it a very poor time for her gift to display itself, her mind was briefly filled with violent memories that were not her own.
“Someone died in this bed,” she said, her voice a little unsteady from the effect of those chilling glimpses into the past.
“What the bleeding hell are ye babbling about?” snapped Jud.
“Someone died in this bed and she did not do so peacefully.” Penelope got some small satisfaction from how uneasy her words made her burley captors.
“You be talking nonsense, woman.”
“No. I have a gift, you see.”
“You can see spirits?” asked Mac, glancing nervously around the room.
“Sometimes. When they wish to reveal themselves to me. This time it was just the memories of what happened here,” she lied.
Both men were staring at her with a mixture of fear, curiosity, and suspicion. They thought she was trying to trick them in some way so that they would set her free. Penelope suspected that a part of them probably wondered if she would conjure up a few spirits to help her. Even if she could, she doubted they would be much help or that these men would even see them. They certainly had not noticed the rather gruesome one standing near the bed. It would have sent them fleeing from the room. Despite all she had seen and experienced over the years, the sight of the lovely young woman, her white gown soaked in blood, sent a chill down her spine. Penelope wondered why the more gruesome apparitions were almost always the clearest.
The door opened, and before Penelope turned to look, she saw an expression upon the ghost’s face that nearly made her want to flee the room. Fury and utter loathing twisted the spirit’s lovely face until it looked almost demonic. Penelope looked at the ones now entering the room. Tom had returned with a middle-aged woman and two young, scantily clad females. Penelope looked right at the ghost and noticed that all that rage and hate was aimed straight at the middle-aged woman.
Beware.
Penelope almost cursed as the word echoed in her mind. Why did the spirits always whisper such ominous words to her without adding any pertinent information, such as what she should beware of, or whom? It was also a very poor time for this sort of distraction. She was a prisoner trapped in a house of ill-repute and was facing either death or what many euphemistically called a fate worse than death. She had no time to deal with blood-soaked specters whispering dire but unspecified warnings. If nothing else, she needed all her wits and strength to keep the hysteria writhing deep inside her tightly caged.
“This is going to cause you a great deal of trouble,” Penelope told the older woman, not really surprised when everyone ignored her.
“There she be,” said Jud. “Now, give us our money.”
“The lady has your money,” said the older woman.
“It ain’t wise to try and cheat me, Cratchitt. The lady told us you would have it. Now, if the lady ain’t paid you, that be your problem, not mine. I did as I was ordered and did it quick and right. Get the wench, bring her here, and then collect my pay from you. Done and done. So, hand it over.”
Cratchitt did so with an ill grace. Penelope watched Jud carefully count his money. The man had obviously taught himself enough to make sure