Why in the devil were there so many people moving about on the pavement today? Adam was having a bloody difficult time seeing his wife. It was rather like the crowds at Newmarket cheering on their horses—without the horses and without the cheering. Just a packed mass of humanity.

Emma's height—or lack of it—also contributed to his difficulty in seeing her. Several tall men walking behind her obscured her from his view. He regretted that he'd chosen to ride in the cart at a discreet distance behind her. "Can we not move up a bit more?" he asked the soldier driving the cart.

"If you'd like." The driver flicked the ribbons, and they gained several feet on the pedestrians to their right.

When her ermine bonnet came into view, he sighed with relief, but he didn't like the way the man behind her was pressing so closely against her. "Stay at this pace. I want to keep her in our view."

She began to move to her right. She likely wanted to get away from the rude man behind her.

Adam tensed. The damned man was also moving to the right!

She slipped into an alley.

That man followed her.

Fear knotted inside him. What the hell was she doing? "Stop!"

Adam leapt from the cart. He was knocked to the ground by a horse coming up on their right. "Watch where yer going! You could be killed," the horseman shouted.

Adam got up and tried to race toward the pavement, toward that alley. His blasted knee hurt like the devil. Limping, he pushed through the pedestrians and rounded the corner onto the alley.

His heart stopped.

A dilapidated coach sped down the alley and rounded the corner to the next street.

He started after it, running as fast as he could on the injured knee. He didn't care about the pain. All that mattered was getting her.

One of his own soldiers flew past him. When he reached the point where the carriage had turned, he stopped. Adam caught up with him.

There was no sign of the coach.

He wife had been abducted. Ashburnham would kill her this time.

Adam had to save her.

* * *

Just when Emma’s wrists were starting to heal, the rough rope which bound her hands in front of her cut into the sore flesh. And once again, a thick cloth covered her mouth. She couldn't even ask where she was being taken.

An abduction in broad daylight meant Ashburnham was desperate. He was going to kill her.

I've brought this upon myself. She had offered to be bait. How could a simple clerk have outwitted all those Birmingham soldiers as well as her husband? She'd put too much faith in Adam's abilities. Now she suffered the consequence of her naiveté.

She had imbued her husband with every admirable trait a man could possess. Not only that, she was convinced he was the best in the world at each. Nothing could possibly happen to her when one as perfect as Adam was watching her.

Wherever they were taking her, it wasn't close to Piccadilly. They rode along for nearly an hour. Through a frayed hole in the curtains at the carriage window she could glimpse the narrow streets they sped along, glimpse the even narrower buildings in various stages of decay. This was a section of London she'd not yet seen.

They must be drawing nearer to the Thames because the foghorns sounded closer. The rickety houses gave way to huge warehouses. It was to one of these they took her.

The coach came to a stop. The brute next to her threw open the door, disembarked, and yanked her out. She surveyed her surroundings. Not a soul could be seen. Across the lane was an abandoned building, its windows either missing or broken, part of its roof caved in. The building in front of them also appeared to be abandoned.

Even if her mouth had not been bound, she couldn't have called for help. There was no one to hear her in so isolated a place.

It was just her, her captor, and the man who'd driven the carriage. Both men were fairly youthful, and both looked vaguely familiar. It took her a moment to realize the two bore a strong resemblance to James Ashburnham. They must be his brothers. Kinship produced loyalty. She had no hope of buying them off. Even if she could speak.

A brother got on each side of her, grabbing her upper arms, as they forced her into the building to their front. On the ground floor, crates from the Ceylon Tea Company were stacked—confirmation that James Ashburnham was responsible for her abduction. Would he also be her murderer?

They went up a flight of stairs, careful to avoid boards where the old wood had rotted away.

"Is my husband being kept here?"

Her captor laughed. "We don't have yer husband. 'Twas a ploy to kidnap you."

Did that mean there was hope that Adam could still find her?

At the top of the stairs. she was shoved into a small room. A mouse scurried across the sagging floor and squeezed beneath the floorboards. The men slammed the door behind her. A lock bolted.

When she heard their steps descending the stairs, she was relieved that she was to be left alone.

For a while.

She went to the musty chamber's only window. Though it was streaked with decades of dust and dirt, she could peer at the barges and ships that floated down the river below. At one time, this warehouse must have been used for shipping.

Was there a way to escape? She turned back and surveyed the ten-foot-square room. Its dusty wooden floors showed signs of neglect and age. Nothing else was in the chamber except a handful of nails. She went to the door and tried the lock. Her hands might be tied, but they weren't useless. No matter how much she attempted to jiggle the door, the lock held. Why was it the only thing in the building that was solid was that blasted lock? There was no way anyone would ever find her here, no way she could ever extricate herself.

* * *

Adam had never felt so helpless. Or hopeless. He had failed Emma.

"No way we can we catch that coach," the soldier, Helmsworth, said to him.

"I know." He froze there for several moments, numb with fear and stupefied by his own powerlessness.

All he knew to do was to go for Ashburnham on the off chance it would lead to Emma.

"Get my brother William and tell him I've gone to the Ceylon Tea Company in Southwark. I'll send the other soldiers there."

* * *

He'd not trust that nag-driven cart to speed him through the Capital. They drove it to Nick's place at the other end of Piccadilly. Because his brother's town home was the largest in London, it housed a sizeable stable. Adam swapped his nag and cart for one of Nick's fleet-footed beasts, as did the pair of soldiers who had not mounted a horse. While his mount was being saddled, he raced into his brother's house, tossing off his woman's wig and shawl as he hastened to Nick's bedchamber and quickly threw on—with Nick's valet's help—men's breeches, boots and shirt. He didn't take time to tie a cravat. They all took off at a manic pace along the city's busy streets.

His confidence that his horse could move far more quickly than any carriage paid off. He pulled up in front of the tea company in a matter of minutes. The same journey in a coach at this time of day would have taken nearly an hour.

He raced upstairs and came to a halt in front of Ashburnham's empty desk. Then he remembered that the clerk had moved into Simon Hastings' old office. Its door was open, but there was no sign of Ashburnham. Hoping against hope, Adam sped to Fauke's office and threw open the door. "Where's Ashburnham?"

"He just received word that he was needed elsewhere and left. I didn't ask where. I assumed there was trouble with one of our customers."

Adam cursed. "Where does he live?"

Faukes shrugged. "All I know is that he lives in Southwark."

"There must be something that has the man's address!"

"You might ask the fellows in shipping down below. Perhaps one of them knows."

Downstairs, Adam questioned each man. One by one, they shook their heads. When he reached the final worker, a burly young man who could not yet have reached twenty, that man nodded. "I've never been to Mr. Ashburnham's house, but I seen him walk there many times. It's on me own way home from work."

"Come. Show me."

To the knot of soldiers gathered outside the tea company, Adam said, "Follow us!"

William came pounding up on a stallion, and as they rode through Southwark, Adam tired to explain—in short bursts—what had happened.

The street where Ashburnham lived was about a mile from the tea company. The Birmingham brothers dismounted and gave orders that the building be surrounded.

The extremely narrow house was of the style built more than a hundred years earlier. Not unexpectedly, the street was very quiet, given that people who lived in so modest a neighborhood had to work for a living.

Adam dispensed with knocking on the door. He tried the handle. It was locked. He then tried to smash himself into the door. It held.

William stepped over to the house's only ground-floor window and butted the hilt of his knife into it. It shattered.

William cleared away the broken glass to open it, climbed through the opening, and let his brother in the front door. The two men, swords drawn, went from room to room, searching for Ashburnham. There were two shabby rooms down, two room up. And no Ashburnham.

The only place he could have hidden was under the lone bed, but nothing was there.

How would they ever find Emma in a city as vast as London?