Shana Galen
Sourcebooks Casablanca
March 1, 2016
Once she spurned the man…
When the Duke of Lennox hires Sir Brook Derring, England’s best investigator, to find his daughter, Brook intends only to rescue the lady and return to his solitary life. He deals with London’s roughest criminals every day of the week; surely he should be able to endure seeing his first love again—the perfect girl who broke his heart...
Now her life depends on him
Lady Lillian-Anne Lennox has always done her best to live up to her father’s standards of perfection—at the cost of following her heart. When she’s kidnapped and her perfect life is shattered, Lila has another chance. Together, Lila and Brook navigate not only the dark and deadly side of London, but the chasm of pride and prejudice that divides them.
Excerpt:
She had to
escape. She couldn’t die down here, in the rank dark, alone. She might deserve
such a death, but she’d fight it with every last ounce of strength. She’d
almost freed her hands by twisting and working the rope against her chafed
wrists until it slackened. Her captors hadn’t tied it very tightly, but that
was the only mistake they’d made.
Lila had no
idea how long she’d been in the dank, cold cellar, but she knew the moment her
life went completely astray. The carriage had raced along the dark streets of
London, the familiar clip-clop of the horses’ hooves almost like music in her
ears. She’d pulled her thick pelisse more tightly around her bare shoulders and
rested her dancing slippers on the warm brick at her feet.
All she’d
wanted was her cozy bed and a cup of tea. She hadn’t even cared that by leaving
her cousin Rose’s betrothal ball early, she risked her father’s wrath in the
morning. She’d attended the betrothal tea, the betrothal dinner, and now the
betrothal ball. Would that Rose marry and be done with it. It was during that
uncharitable line of thinking that she heard John Coachman call out and the
carriage slowed.
Lila had
parted the curtains in an effort to see what was the matter, but all she’d seen
was the swirl of London fog and the amorphous shapes of the outriders moving to
stand protectively in front of the carriage door. She’d sighed with impatient
annoyance.
“Now wh—?”
She’d clamped her mouth shut at the sound of a thump and an unfamiliar man’s
voice. The carriage rocked as the horses danced with fear. She waited for John
Coachman’s reassuring words and heard only a muffled shout and the pop of what
sounded like her father’s rifle.
Her heart
pounding in fear, she’d slid one lock into place and was reaching for the other
when and a tall, lanky man yanked the door open.
He’d
smiled, his thin lips and cheeks stretching over his facial bones. “Hello, Lady
Lillian-Anne.”
From there,
everything was a blur. She’d been dragged from the carriage, hooded, and pushed
against the conveyance, her hands roughly bound. Lila had been so shocked at
her mistreatment, she hadn’t even screamed, and then she’d been lifted and
tossed over a man’s shoulders. She hadn’t been carried far before she’d heard
the squeak and squeal of a door being pried open and the echo of boots on
slatted wood floors. Another door and then another and her captor had carried
her down a flight of stairs and dropped her on her bottom.
She’d
screamed then and scurried backward, only to run up against a pair of hard
boots. A voice, much like the one who’d greeted her, hissed in her ear. “Shut
yer potato hole. Keep quiet or I stuff my drawers down yer throat. You hear me,
Duchess?”
She’d
nodded and closed her mouth. She’d pulled her legs in and hunched her
shoulders, making herself small, waiting for what seemed an eternity for what
was to happen next. Would they rob her? Rape her?
She was not
a duchess, only the daughter of one. She had the wild thought that perhaps the
men wanted her stepmother, the Duchess of Lennox. But, no. They’d called her
Lady Lillian-Anne. They knew who she was. They’d planned the abduction and
whatever was to come next.
Lila had
shivered, her body shaking uncontrollably with fear and cold. Finally, the man
moved away. At his word, the others followed, and she heard their boots on the
stairs and then the thud as the door closed.
She’d sat
on the hard floor, the small pebbles and rocks digging into her skin through
her silk ballgown and the pelisse. She jumped at the creaks and pops of the
building settling, fearing each minute sound was the men returning for her.
Gradually, she grew accustomed to the sounds but not the smell, never the
smell. Something had died down here—many somethings—and with the hood over
her face, she could only imagine. Lila envisioned rat corpses responsible for
the sharp, sickly fragrance that burned her nostrils. When she began to imagine
human bodies, she bit her lip hard to stop the rising panic.
Strange
that in the middle of London, all was silent but for her teeth chattering.
They’d
stopped chattering now—after too many hours to count. Lila was too numb to feel
the cold any longer. The rope around her wrists was all she cared about. She
twisted and pulled until finally she managed to squeeze one hand free. She bit
her raw lip against the pain of the rough rope sliding against her bare skin.
The gloves she’d painstakingly inched off might have protected her bare skin,
but they were one more layer between her and freedom.
With a
wince, her wrists slid apart, and she exhaled softly, hugging her arms around
her chest. Her shoulders throbbed, and the simple act of rotating them in the
opposite direction was sheer bliss. She felt for the opening of the hood she
wore and quickly tore it off. Charcoal gray replaced the blackness. If the
cellar had openings of any kind, she couldn’t spot them in the dark of night.
She prayed it was still night and that morning would show her some sort of
escape.
And not a
stack of rotting bodies.
She had to
find a way out. By now her father must have realized she’d been abducted. He
would be frantic with worry. Had her captors sent a ransom note? Was that what
this was about? Colin would make the duke pay it. Colin and Lila had grown
closer since their mother’s death. He wouldn’t allow their father to ignore a
ransom note.
If there
was a ransom note.
What if the
Duchess of Lennox was behind this? Lila’s stepmother hated her, but even she
would not stoop to hiring mercenaries to abduct her stepdaughter.
Lady Selina
would. She and Lila had hated each other since their first Seasons, when Lord
Hugh had asked Lila to dance before Selina. From then on, it had been war.
Selina was
married now and certainly too busy to plan attacks on Lila. But Madeleine
Stratham, her cousin Rose’s friend, was not too busy, and she had intentionally
stepped on Lila’s gown at the ball tonight, hissing, “Watch out!”
Had that
been a warning?
Lila’s head
spun. If she tried to count all of her enemies, it would take hours. And who
knew what her abductors would do to her when they returned. She pressed her
hands against the cold, dirt floor beneath her, moving her fingers until she
found her gloves. She pulled them on again, for warmth as much as protection, and
moved cautiously forward, hands outstretched. Her knees trembled and wobbled.
“Please no
bodies. Please no bodies,” she chanted under her breath.
The cellar
was blissfully empty. She discovered a wall and followed it around to the base
of the stairwell. Her hands traveled over that rough wood until she found the
opening. The stairwell had no railing, so she carefully lifted her skirts and
moved slowly and silently upward. Her fingertips touched the wood of the door
at the top, and she stood listening.
She heard
nothing but silence and the strains of music farther away. Perhaps a tavern or
gin house was nearby. She couldn’t be certain a guard wasn’t on the other side
of the door, but she tried the handle anyway. The handle moved, but the door
did not budge when she pushed on it.
Some sort
of lock to keep it closed and secure.
Lila
waited, again listening for movement or an indication her efforts to escape had
been noted. When she heard nothing, she rattled the door. The wood was flimsy
and old. One serious push against it, and she could compromise the lock.
She took a
jagged breath and said a quick prayer. She’d never prayed so much—no, she’d
been her own god for too many years. Lila stepped back, careful not to go too
far and tumble down the stairs, then rammed the door with her shoulder.
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About Shana Galen:
Shana Galen is the national bestselling author of fast-paced adventurous Regency historicals, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Her books have been sold in Brazil, Russia, and the Netherlands and featured in the Rhapsody and Doubleday Book Clubs. A former English teacher in Houston’s inner city, Shana now writes full time. She is a happily married wife and mother of a daughter and a spoiled cat and lives in Houston, Texas.
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