by Candace Camp
“He just doesn’t want to take any chances. I think it’s rather charming.”
“Not so charming after three days of being stuck inside the house.”
Lilah laughed. “Are you terribly bored? As I recall, you were fond of sitting in the library reading, anyway.”
Sabrina smiled a little sheepishly. “Yes, I was. And no, it really has not been bad. It’s just that time seems to be crawling by.”
“Will you be safe after your birthday? I don’t want to alarm you, but even though Mr. Dearborn will no longer have control over your property, he could still try to abduct you and force you to marry Peter.”
“I think it’s far less likely. He must know that he wouldn’t be able to persuade me. I certainly would not take any food or drink from him. Besides, people know about it now—you and the Morelands. They’re a formidable group.”
“Yes, I’ve seen.” Lilah smiled. “I’d put the duchess up against anyone, and I have little doubt that Alex and the others would quickly come to your rescue.”
“Alex thinks that he can use that confession the actor signed to keep the Dearborns in line. He’s looking into the things Mr. Dearborn did with my property.”
“He thinks Mr. Dearborn was misusing your funds?” Lilah’s eyes widened.
“Yes. That’s what Con has been investigating. He’s bribed a clerk in Mr. Dearborn’s agent’s office to get a look at his books.”
“Really? I thought he only went about investigating bizarre things.”
“No, I think he does quite a bit more than that.”
“And Alex intends to blackmail Mr. Dearborn?”
“Well...yes, I guess that is what it is. Alex says I will be...” Sabrina heard the little hitch in her voice, and she quelled it. “He says I will be free to go wherever I want. Do as I please, without fear.”
Lilah studied her friend, her head tilted a little to the side. “Yet I think that you are not eager to do so.”
“Of course, I will be exceedingly happy to not have to worry about Mr. Dearborn. And I will enjoy being able to decide everything for myself and—” She sighed. “But I don’t really want to leave Broughton House.”
“Broughton House or Alex Moreland?” Lilah asked shrewdly.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Your face lights up when you speak of him.”
“Does it?” Sabrina put her hands to her cheeks. “I have, um, grown close to him these last weeks—Oh, bother, why am I trying to hide it? I love him, Lilah.”
Her friend smiled. “But surely that’s good. I’ve seen his face, too, and I would dare swear he feels the same way about you.”
“I thought so,” Sabrina admitted. “But things have been different since we returned.”
“In what way?”
“I’m not sure.” She could hardly tell the very proper Lilah that Alex had not come to her bedroom since they came back, that the kisses and caresses had disappeared. “We don’t talk as much, and we are not together as often. Sometimes it feels...almost awkward around him.”
“That’s only natural, don’t you think? When you were on the trip with him—” Lilah’s cheeks colored faintly. “I mean, of course I’m sure nothing wrong transpired between you, but the two of you were alone. Here, with all his family around, it would bound to be less comfortable.”
“Yes.” Lilah was more right than she knew in that regard. It would be very imprudent for Alex to visit Sabrina’s bed or even to kiss her. In this house, someone might come upon them at any moment.
“It’s no wonder you’ve seen him less. He’s been out trying to unearth information about Mr. Dearborn.”
“You’re right.” Sabrina paused, then said rapidly, as if she could not contain it, “But he hasn’t said anything about how he feels about me.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t want to be too forward,” Lilah reasoned. “You haven’t reached your birthday yet. And such a sudden engagement might cause gossip.” When Sabrina raised her eyebrow at that statement, Lilah chuckled. “Yes, all right, gossip scarcely matters to a Moreland. But he might feel concern about you, wouldn’t want any gossip to affect your reputation.”
“I suppose.”
“Or perhaps he wants to move slowly. You haven’t known each other long. Maybe he doesn’t want to rush his fences, so to speak. Or he might be uncertain how you feel about him.”
“No, I wouldn’t think that’s the problem.” A reminiscent smile touched her lips as she thought about her enthusiastic response in his arms.
“I have heard that men are sometimes reluctant to admit they love a woman.”
“But he hasn’t even said he will miss me when I leave. He hasn’t suggested that I stay longer or...well, anything.”
Lilah started to speak but broke off as the butler entered the room. “Excuse me, Miss Blair. This message just arrived for you.”
“From Alex?” Sabrina reached for it, brightening.
“The boy who delivered it said nothing, but I would venture to say that is not Mr. Alex’s hand.”
Sabrina’s eyes fell to her name across the front of the envelope, and her stomach dropped. Hollowly, she said, “Yes, I see.”
“Sabrina? What is it?” Lilah started toward her in concern.
“That’s Mr. Dearborn’s hand.” Sabrina stood up.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, I’ve seen it several times.”
“Don’t open it,” Lilah said swiftly. “We must get Con.” She turned toward the door.
“Excuse me, Miss Holcutt,” Phipps interrupted politely. “But Mr. Constantine left the house a little while ago.”
“Oh.” She turned back to Sabrina. “We should send for him.”
“No.” Sabrina managed a fair imitation of a smile. “I’m being silly to be so alarmed by a letter. Thank you, Phipps.” She nodded to the butler in dismissal. Then, taking a deep breath, she tore open the envelope. Inside was a folded note and another small object. “No. Oh, no.”
“What is it?”
Sabrina didn’t answer as she opened the note and quickly scanned it. She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. “I have to go.”
“No. Wait. You mustn’t leave. You can’t put yourself in Dearborn’s hands.”
“I have to.” With trembling fingers, Lilah reached into the envelope and pulled out a gold cuff link. “They have Alex.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“WHAT!” LILAH STARED at Sabrina. Sabrina responded by simply handing the note to her friend and heading for the door. Lilah hurried after her. “Sabrina, wait. How can you be certain that this is true?” She shook the piece of paper. “He says that Alex is with them and advises you to join them—and notice how carefully they skirt around saying they’re holding him for ransom—but you don’t know that Mr. Dearborn is telling you the truth. This could be a trick to get their hands on you. Alex may be perfectly fine. We should see if we can find him before you do anything rash.”
“He’s not fine. This is his cuff link.” Sabrina held it out, cupped in her palm. “You see? It has the letter A on it. He told me Con gave them to him as something of joke, saying that now he couldn’t get away with borrowing Con’s cuff links.” The threat of tears roughened her voice.
“He could have lost one, and the Dearborns picked it up or—” Lilah stopped at Sabrina’s derisive look. “Yes, I know it’s a weak argument. But it is possible.”
“Alex is in trouble, Lilah,” Sabrina said flatly. “I know it. I feel it.” She jabbed her finger at her chest. “In here.”
“You feel it? Sabrina, you’re not speaking rationally.”
“It’s not rational,” Sabrina insisted. “But it’s true, nonetheless. There’s some part of me, inside, that...that belongs to Alex, that connects me to him. I don’t understand it. I cannot explain it, obvious
ly. But it’s always there, and just now, when I read that note, I tried to summon it up. And it was all wrong. It was jumbled and...and spiky, somehow. Almost painful.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“I know. I don’t really understand it, either. But I’m certain of this—Alex needs me.”
Sabrina pushed past Lilah and hurried down the hall. For a moment, Lilah stared after her, astonished, then ran after her. “Sabrina, wait!” She grabbed her arm and pulled Sabrina to a stop. “I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about. But I do know this—they’re going to demand you marry Peter! You can’t possibly marry him.”
“If that is what I have to do to save Alex, that’s what I’ll do.” Sabrina felt a certain calm determination settling over her.
It must have showed in her face, for Lilah sagged and said, “If you insist on doing this, at least let me go with you.”
“It says I must come alone. I can’t risk Alex’s life by doing anything other than what Dearborn told me to.”
Turning, Sabrina strode to the front door, Lilah trailing after her. A footman sprang to open the door, looking askance at Sabrina. “Miss, your bonnet, your gloves... I’ll fetch them.”
“Never mind that.”
“For pity’s sake,” Lilah exclaimed. “At least take a parasol.” Grabbing one from the stand by the door, she held it out to Sabrina.
For the first time, a faint smile crossed Sabrina’s face. “Very well. Perhaps I can whack someone over the head with it.”
She sailed through the front door and down the street to the carriage waiting at the far end.
* * *
HE WAS RUNNING. Running and running as he had that time across the roofs of the buildings, his captors behind him. But this time it wasn’t roofs over which his feet flew, but cobblestones in narrow, twisting streets. And he was running, not toward freedom, but toward something even more important. It was the most important thing in the world to him, and if he failed, if he lost, everything would end. His head ached, and his mouth was so dry it felt like cotton batting. He could feel his energy flagging. He was sweating, and yet he was cold all over. He stumbled. They would soon be on him.
He could not fail. He could not.
Alex jerked awake. He actually was cold, he realized, and his head was pounding like the devil. Alex sat up, and the world tilted alarmingly. Curling his fingers around the wooden side board of the bed frame, he set his teeth, waiting. After a few moments, the dizziness receded.
Where the devil was he? This was not his room. Not anyplace he’d ever seen. He looked around, careful not to move his head too quickly lest he bring back the vertigo. It was a small room and dimly lit, the only light coming through a small window high in the wall. His stomach lurched.
This was the room of his dream. It wasn’t the room from his childhood captivity. It was this damp, cold tiny box of a room, with walls of stone rendered grimy through the years. He was imprisoned. The familiar terror washed through him. But this time it had a reason.
Sabrina was in danger. They had taken her or were about to. Fear paralyzed him, and for an instant the past and present mingled, the ice that had lain in that boy’s chest long ago growing now in the man. The dark closed in.
But, by God, he hadn’t given in to fear then, and he wasn’t going to now. He could get away; he could figure it out. He’d always been able to meet whatever came. Idiotic to think he couldn’t do it now. Alex surged to his feet.
He wavered but planted his feet farther apart and let the dizziness subside. He lifted his hand to the back of his head, where the throbbing pain was centered. It hurt like hell to touch it, and something sticky matted his hair. Blood.
The fog in his mind was beginning to lift. What the devil had happened? He closed his eyes, calling up the memory. He had been in his office working. He’d heard a noise and stepped outside into the hall. There had been a street urchin there, grubby and thin, and he’d said, “Help me, mister.” Alex had started toward him. Then his head had exploded, and he remembered nothing.
Good heavens, what a complete ass he’d been. He should have known that was a trick. They must have knocked him out and carried him somewhere. That had been noon because he had just begun feeling hungry. A fair amount of time had passed, given that he was much hungrier now. But surely he hadn’t been knocked out for several hours. Light was still coming through the window.
So, it was afternoon. And wherever he was could not be too far from his office. It would have been hard carrying an unconscious man, not to mention noticeable, even if they’d wrapped him up in something to conceal him. They could have put him in a vehicle, but in London even that was slow-going, given the traffic. They wouldn’t have wanted him waking up in transit, so they would have had a hiding place nearby.
Well...none of that was any help. He turned, taking stock of his prison for the first time. A short, stout door stood on the opposite wall. There was a narrow open slot three-fourths of the way up, no more than an inch or two wide. No doubt it was some sort of spy hole through which one could check on the prisoner.
There was nothing in the room besides the bed and a tray sitting in front of the door. He moved closer. The scarred wooden tray held a cup of water and a bowl of some sort of soup, as well as a slice of coarse brown bread. Alex’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the food, and his mouth felt dryer than ever. But he thought of Sabrina’s drug-laced soup. He didn’t dare eat or drink anything.
It was a basement room; it had the damp chill of belowground, and he could see the wheels of a cart rattle by the high window. He thought of somehow climbing up to the window, but it was too small for him to fit through. Breaking it and yelling for help might be an option.
Perhaps the simplest solution was the best. Walking over to the door, he began to pound on it and yell. He was beginning to wonder if no one was there when finally there was the thud of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Alex bent and peered out through the narrow viewing window. He could see nothing but a stone wall a few feet opposite him.
The footsteps stopped, and Alex began to pound and yell again, eliciting a loud “Shut up in there!”
The guard came closer and Alex could at last see him. “Let me out. Please.” And then he spoke words his egalitarian brain had never thought he would utter. “Do you know who I am?”
“Aye, I ken who you are,” the man said in a thick Scottish accent. “A murderin’, thievin’ Sassenach bastard.”
Wonderful. His jailer was an English-hating Scotsman. “I promise you, I have never murdered nor thieved. And my family owns nothing in Scotland.”
“Huh! Ye canna fool me. Yer kin of the Butcher.”
“Who?” Alex searched his mind. Clearly he should have studied Scottish history better. “Oh! Cumberland? You mean Lord Cumberland? We are in no way related to him, I assure you. Not one drop of royal blood.”
“Well, ye would say that, wouldn’t you?”
“Look, I can pay you. More than they are.”
“Nae. They said ye’d try that. Ye’ll play no tricks on me. And none of your witchery, either.”
“My witchery!”
“Aye, they told me about yer family. I don’t hold with magic.”
“Has it occurred to you that perhaps they’re lying?”
“No. Now close your mouth. Yer not gettin’ out on my watch.”
He lumbered out of sight. Alex pounded on the door in frustration, picturing getting his hands around his guard’s neck. It took him a few minutes to pull himself back from his rage and return to reason. There was obviously no hope of being set free.
He thought of and discarded several impractical methods to push something through the spy hole and open the door from the other side. Sitting back down on his bed, he put his elbows on his knees and lowered his head to his hands. He shoved his fingers into his hair, pressing them
against his skull, as if he could force the solution into his head.
He could not give in to despair. He had to get to Sabrina. She had been safe in the house when he’d left, but who knows what had happened since then. If Con and the others had gotten word of his abduction, they might have dashed out to find him, leaving Sabrina alone and open to attack.
Or Sabrina herself might leave the house to search for him. It would be foolish of her, but he knew well how much the heart could overwhelm the brain. It was no doubt perfectly wretched of him, but he could not help but feel a certain warmth to think she might care so much.
He wished in vain that he had something more useful in his pockets than money. He should carry his lock-picking tools with him. What could he use to get out? He’d been favored with money, status, strength—but none of it could help him. He wished he did have some of this witchery the guard imagined he did.
Of course, there was his “talent.” That seemed useless as well in this situation, but there was that connection with Sabrina. He concentrated on Sabrina, but there was only the faint remnant of that familiar sense of her. He didn’t feel the disruption he believed he would if something had happened to her, and that was good.
He thought of the way he and Con communicated effortlessly, sensing each other’s thoughts or feelings. Perhaps it was possible to do the same with Sabrina through their “connection.” Feeling a bit of a fool, he closed his eyes and focused on Sabrina. Picturing her in his mind, he told her not to leave, not to search for him, to stay safe. He felt nothing in return.
Perhaps the mysterious link he felt with her was not as strong as his lifelong tie to his twin. Or maybe it wasn’t well enough established—or, a sobering thought, the link was only on his side. So he reached out mentally to Con and thought at him, telling him to guard Sabrina, to not be fooled into chasing down Alex. But he felt nothing, only that same, steady sense that Con was alive and not in trouble.
It occurred to him that such communication of thought might not be possible unless he was actually with Con. He had never before tried to send Con a mental message when they were apart. In fact, when he thought about it, Alex realized he hadn’t ever really tried to transmit his thoughts to Con. He had just known what Con was thinking and vice versa. Perhaps it was something that could not be forced. Or it only worked one way—he could receive but not return. Why hadn’t he and Con ever thoroughly examined it before? They’d just accepted it the way they did the color of their eyes or the shape of their noses.