A Most Mysterious Gentleman (#1 Sweet Nineteenth Series) VERY SLOW UPDATES

AMMG ~18~

Henry couldn't walk straight. His eyes were crossing, his head thumping and his vision was tinted purple. 

He suspected they'd drugged him as well, he'd been drunk before at the boxing ring and gentleman's clubs, but it had never been like this. But he couldn't form the words to accuse anyone. Whenever he said something, what was a clear sentence in his head became a mess of mumbled words out loud.

A black piece of cloth covered his eyes as he entered the carriage shoved by the man he had kicked in the crotch earlier. He tripped up the small steps and hit his head, but there was no pain what-so-ever. This alarmed him. He'd heard of men who were tortured like this, cut whilst drugged, and when it wore off they were in unimaginable pain. 

He sat on a seat in the carriage roughly guided to by the Marquess who he could smell sitting next to him.

His hands, tied behind his back, chaffed with the sweat and the rough material of the carriage wall. A strongly voiced 'yah' from the driver on the outside still made him wince.

The Marquess's foul breath heavily invaded his own supply, and he could even taste it on his tongue as he breathed in.

"Ful, can bisdt-"

"What was that, your Grace?"The man sneered.

Henry was furious.

"Can you remember who I am?"

He couldn't see, but the blindfold was pulled off quickly, the light in his eyes causing them to go bloodshot and sore. 

The man pinched him hard, "who am I?"

His blank stare confirmed the man's gleeful stare.

"You were right Simpson!" He spoke to the man opposite, "the drug works perfectly." He tied the blindfold back on.

Henry tried to think, there was some training he knew for the situation.

Training?

Of what?

What was his purpose again?

He pictured a pretty blonde girl astride a grey horse, it meant something to him he was sure.

Who was she?

Why-

What was his name again?

Who am I? The last question sent a jolt of fear through his heart, if he didn't know this, what did he know?

The bumbling of the carriage made him jolt into the man beside who promptly pushed him away and consequently onto the floor. 

The jolts and bumps of the road meant his head was hit many times, over and over again.

It seemed like eternity, but then the carriage stopped, and four hands lifted him up, 2 underneath the arms, two underneath the legs.

Another voice seemed to be directing.

"Roll him on the floor here lads. Yeah, bit underneath that bush where that bit of light's hitting."

Another voice seemed to question it.

"No boy! It makes sure the Earl will find him quickly, whilst he's still like that."

They dropped him suddenly, his head cracking slightly on a stone on the way down.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rosalie was doubting her rash actions.

She was galloping along, but had no real idea exactly where she was going.

She slowed the mare down, Francesca was tiring and clearly needed a break, and she needed to think of a plan.

She realized she was heading on a track that lead to the Earl of Rochester's grand house, so caught up had she been in escaping the manor.

Well that would simply not do. 

A rattling of a carriage hurtling the opposite way caused Francesca to shy to the side out of the path. 

She stared after the carriage with her eyes narrowing. It didn't carry a crest, and was rather bleak and muddy looking.

What it was doing there she didn't know, and the suspicion caused her to stare after it thoughtfully.

It stopped further up the way.

Good, it's probably some merchant stopping to apologise. I can ask if there's anything suspicious that he's seen. That would give me some direction.

She squeezed the mare's sides with her one foot and cantered slowly to the carriage door.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Charles Yeale, Marquess of Wilborough could not believe his luck.

The situation with the Duke of Richmond was going ahead nicely. The drug was working perfectly, and the girl had just landed almost in his lap. 

He'd been surprised to see her riding this way, especially unaccompanied, but she was spoilt, and was probably allowed to do anything she determined her right.

But now there would be no issue with having to kidnap the girl or compromise her to force her to marry him. She was clearly a stubborn little brat and wanted nothing more except to not marry him and this way was much better.

Her reputation was already ruined, but only known by some. He'd been glad the little snitch Wentworth had told him. Now, he could take her to Gretna Green, or bribe the Vicar who owed him a lot of gambling debts. Surely then, they'd overlook the fact she clearly wasn't there by choice? He could then tell the ton she'd seduced him and spread all sorts of lovely rumours, the thought making him rub his hands together in glee.

He could be an almost hero, saving the girl from ruin, even when she had done wrong by him. It was perfect, the plan could gain layers and layers, and no-one would be able to peel it in time for the event.

The chit's dowry would fund his little project and would fund the other Spencean Philathropists. The two opposite him would be vital to it, so he wouldn't kill them yet.

Yet £20,000. 

It would clear his debt, fund the project and fund him into power. It was only a few sweet months away.

The driver slowed at his tap on the roof and stopped.

Now, he waited for her to come to him.