Bannet blinked. “She gave notice after you left, sir,” he explained. “To me. And I told you, just now, as soon as you arrived home.”
David closed his eyes. Brilliant, just bloody brilliant. “All right, I’ll hire another cook. In fact, I’m going to re-staff the house, immediately.” Bannet bobbed his head in acknowledgment. David turned to go, then thought of something and turned back. “But in the meantime, go around to Exeter House and have Cook there pack up a hamper for a day. And see if she has any talented helpers who might like to take the post of cook here.”
“Yes, sir,” Bannet said.
Feeling rather proud of himself, David took himself off to attend to his other business. By this evening, surely, Mrs. Gray would see that he meant what he said, and she’d tell him where the ring was. Then he would let her go back to thieving and throwing knives, and he could go back to being responsible and respectable.
Chapter Five
The door closed behind him, and then, ominously, she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.
Vivian snatched up a candlestick with both hands and drew back, ready to hurl it at the door in a fury. Then she paused. The candlestick was heavy, but not massive enough to break down the door. And even if it took a chunk out of the door, it wouldn’t free her, and most likely would just bring him back. Vivian didn’t want to see him again.
She put the candlestick down and prowled around the room. It was a good size and, although dusty, still a very fine room. There was a rug on the floor, without a single worn spot that she could see. There were two windows, although they looked out on a neglected little garden, at least twenty feet below, without a single foothold she could use to climb down. She tapped her fingertips against the glass in ire. Perhaps she could use the bed linens? She crossed the room and yanked back the coverlet on the bed. A cloud of dust flew up, leaving her choking and even more frustrated. There were no linens on the bed.
But it was a fine deep mattress, and once she’d waved aside the dust and sat on it, she decided it was very comfortable, too. Rich bloody sod, she thought furiously. She examined the coverlet for any chance of ripping it up and turning it into a rope, but it was thick and heavy. With her blades she could slice it to make a rope, but without them she had no hope. Everything in here was too well-made to help her escape.
She must think. Crossing her arms across her chest, Vivian rolled her lower lip between her teeth and tried to see the path out. He said he wouldn’t let her go until he had the ring; she didn’t have the ring. She couldn’t even tell him where to go find the ring, for Flynn would move on once she didn’t return or send word. And she didn’t doubt that her captor would go to retrieve it with a brigade of constables at his side, ready to arrest Simon and the rest. Perhaps if she persuaded him to let her send a message to Flynn? But Flynn, shifty old bugger that he was, wouldn’t set foot in London himself, and he certainly wouldn’t hand over any valuables just to save her neck.
Not that she actually wanted to hand over the ring now. When the bloke had first snatched her off the street, she would have; if it had been in her reticule, she would have flung it at him and scampered into the safety of the rookery shadows. By making her his prisoner, though, he had worn out her goodwill, and now she was determined to escape without giving him the satisfaction of getting what he wanted. It would make things harder, but there was really no way she could get the ring unless she was free anyway.
So, she had to figure out a way around him. Why on earth did he want that ruddy ring so much, she fumed. Surely a nob like him could afford to get another, and another, and another. One for each finger on his hands, and probably enough for his toes, too, if he felt so inclined. And that Burddock! She’d spread the word on him, she would. He’d never see fresh goods again, if she had anything to say about it.
Of course, she couldn’t do anything before she made it out of here. She went back to the window and examined it. It was well-fitted, and all the glazing was intact. It probably kept the wind out in winter, just as surely as it was making it warm in the room now. When she tried it, the sash went up easily enough, but then wedged fast after only a few inches. She pulled and strained, but it refused to budge. She got down on her knees and squinted at the underside, to no avail. Even his window wished to thwart her, it seemed. She cursed at the glass, circling the room in search of anything she could use to pry the window open.
Simon would be wild with worry for her. Flynn probably wouldn’t care, beyond the lost money from her sale. She realized then that her wretched captor hadn’t taken her reticule, and she dumped the contents out on the bed.
The coins from Burddock jingled out. She scooped them up with an apprehensive glance at the door; she didn’t want him to come back and take them. She held them in her fist, trying to figure out where to hide them. Nowhere on her person seemed safe, after the way he’d run his hands over her. She could still feel his fingers slipping beneath the garter of her stocking to extract her little knife, and she shuddered. Thank God she hadn’t put the knife in her corset. For that reason, she discarded the idea of putting the money down her bodice. On no account did she want to tempt him to stick his fingers there.
Finally she decided on the hem of her dress. With her teeth she worked a hole in the stitching just large enough to force the coins through, and then painstakingly fed each one through it. There. She stood up and turned, watching her skirts swirl. They felt heavier, and fell straighter, but she didn’t think it was obvious where the money was. Satisfied with that one small victory, she put her hands on her hips and looked around. What the bloody hell was she supposed to do now?
There wasn’t anything useful in the room that she could see. The grate in the fireplace was cold and musty, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. She opened the wardrobe in the corner and found nothing except a huge amount of dust. She ran her fingers along the walls, trying to see if any of the moldings would come off and give her a weapon. Finally, in a huff of exasperation, she sat on the room’s only chair. She could heave the chair through the window, but that would be pointless if she didn’t have a plan for getting safely down. Drumming her fingers against the windowsill, she thought.
He’d said he wouldn’t hurt her; he fancied himself a gentleman. He obviously had money, which meant he could be somebody important. Something resurfaced in her memory. She’d said she would cry murder, and he hadn’t been the least bit disturbed. No one would pay it any mind, he had said. Vivian swallowed nervously. Perhaps he did this all the time, and his neighbors were used to women being dragged in and out of the house, screaming at the top of their lungs. He was so much bigger and stronger than she was, Vivian knew she wouldn’t be able to protect herself for long. Not that she wouldn’t try, of course.
But…if he fancied himself such a gent, he’d have to feed her, which meant the door would open.
She jumped when the door finally did open, the metallic scrape of the key in the lock startling her. She backed up, bracing herself, but it was the servant who shuffled into the room. He carried a covered tray.
“Some luncheon, madam,” he mumbled, setting the tray on the small table.
Vivian bolted. He was between her and the door, but she squeezed around him and out the door. In a flurry she ran through the hall, aware that the servant was calling out behind her. The stairs appeared around the corner, and she grabbed at her skirt, practically falling down the steps. Then she almost fell on her face as a tall, dark, dreadfully familiar figure appeared out of thin air in front of her.
Vivian shrieked, scrambling madly out of his reach. “Going out?” he asked, stalking after her, his eyes aglow with that unholy light. “I wasn’t quite ready to say good-bye.”
“Bugger yourself,” she snarled.
He smiled, a devilish smile. A pirate’s smile, she thought. “You didn’t hurt Bannet, did you? He’s my only servant at the moment, and I shan’t look kindly on him being indisposed.”
“I got no quarrel with him.” Sh
e eyed the door, visible through the crook of his elbow. She stared at it long and hard, until he was most definitely aware of her interest, then feinted to his left. He lunged, and she sprang in the other direction. He cursed, but had overbalanced; he fell, landing on his knee, and the curse that came from his lips that time shocked even Vivian. He snagged a handful of her dress, stopping her in her tracks. Desperately, Vivian kicked, thinking of his broken rib, but he dodged her foot, grabbing her ankle instead and pulling her onto the floor as well. She felt him trying to rein in her flailing limbs, and then he fell on top of her with a thump that almost knocked her unconscious.
“You’re downright vicious,” he said in disbelief. “I see harsher measures are called for.” He took advantage of her rather stunned state to scoop her into his arms, and then carted her up the stairs again. He dropped her none-too-gently on the bed, and Vivian flopped onto her back, still gasping for air.
“That will do, Bannet,” said the black-hearted fiend to the servant, who was still standing by the door holding the tray cover. “I’ll see to Mrs. Gray from now on.”
The man bowed, mumbled something, and left.
“Bloody hell,” she wheezed, trying to scoot out of his reach. “You’re the devil, you are.”
“Perhaps.” He closed the door after his servant and propped one shoulder against it as he studied her. Vivian managed to sit up on the edge of the bed, bracing herself on both arms. Her chest ached with every breath. “But now you’re completely at my mercy.” She shot him a hateful look, but said nothing.
He picked up the chair and carried it across the room, setting it down right in front of her and then sitting on it. For a moment he just looked at her, as he might contemplate a puzzle. “You’re a clever girl,” he said at last. “Surely you see that I’m going to win. I’m being rather reasonable,” he added when she only sneered at him. “If I turned you over to Bow Street, they’d send you straight to Newgate.” Vivian seethed in silent fury.
“All you’re accomplishing is subjecting yourself to further torment,” he said in the same sympathetic tone. “Until you tell me where my ring is, I shall have no choice but to subject you to my charming presence. From this moment, you shall see no one but me, speak to no one but me, and hear from no one but me. Now, I’ve already made clear my wishes. Speak now, and spare us both.” He waited, watching her closely, but Vivian simply glared at him.
“Right.” He got to his feet. “Bannet has already brought your luncheon, so you might as well eat.” He stopped by the small table and inspected the dishes. “Don’t worry that it’s poisoned.” He flashed her a faintly amused look. “Can’t have you turn up your toes before you return my property, can I?”
Now that he mentioned food, Vivian realized how hungry she was. And how mouth-watering that tray of luncheon smelled.
“I’ll be back shortly to take the tray. I suggest you reflect on the consequences of continued refusal,” he said, his voice growing stern. She made a rude gesture with one hand, and he let himself out the door, laughing heartily. She could hear him still chuckling for several seconds after the key turned in the lock again.
Hateful wretch. Holding her side, Vivian gingerly slid off the bed and crept over to the table. Luncheon was a bowl of soup, some rolls, and a small glass of wine. Her stomach growled and her mouth watered. She was so hungry, she’d have eaten it even if she did suspect poison. Without hesitation she grabbed up the spoon and ate every last crumb on the tray.
When it was gone, she sat back with a sigh of pure pleasure. Food, glorious hot food, and not a bite of it rabbit. She ran her finger around the inside of the bowl and put it in her mouth, sucking off the traces of soup. That certainly made being a prisoner more enjoyable, to tell the truth; she hadn’t had a meal like that in her entire life. She still wanted to escape, of course, but the food mitigated her suffering somewhat.
Her eyes fell on the empty plate that had held the bread. It was china. And there was the wine glass. She could carefully break either of them and give herself a sharp little weapon…which her captor would probably use against her.
This was a quandary. It seemed she was stuck. There was no way she could send a message out to Simon and the others, not from this rich neighborhood, and she didn’t dare let her jailer know where she would send word. For all she knew, he would see every last one of them hanged by the neck until dead. No, she didn’t trust him. He’d caught her, which was bad enough, but she wouldn’t help him to her brother, too.
At least he wasn’t starving her to death. She licked the spoon once more and set it back on the tray. She would just bide her time, then. Until a reasonable avenue of escape appeared, it seemed best to outwait him.
He returned some time later and collected the tray. Vivian could feel his eyes on her the whole time, although she resolutely kept her back to him, staring at the wall.
David wanted to laugh at the sight of her, pert little nose in the air, arms folded, spine perfectly straight. She was the image of outraged dignity—she, who had thrown a dagger at him, punched him in the ribs, and called him any number of vulgar names. “The cut direct,” he said. “I admire your spirit, madam. It won’t do you any good, of course, but it’s noble and heroic all the same.
“I have consulted Bow Street,” he went on, watching carefully and noting her small start with satisfaction. Of course he’d done no such thing, but she wouldn’t know. “The man I spoke to offered to come extract a confession from you himself, but he was a big brute. It seemed cruel to allow such a person to…persuade you. Surely I can do so myself.” She darted a scorching glance over her shoulder, and David smiled innocently. “I’ve always been rather persuasive with ladies.”
That made her nervous. He could see the flicker of her eyelashes as she blinked several times, and the tiny twitch in her cheek. Good; let her worry. “How best to persuade you,” he said thoughtfully, drawing his finger along his jaw. “I can see you’re determined to be difficult. This may require…extreme measures.”
Now she was completely motionless, except for the rise and fall of her chest. David was certain he would see smoke coming out of her nostrils if she were to turn around. Mrs. Gray, he thought, was furious. For some reason this delighted him.
“I shall have to think on it,” he said, dropping his voice. Let her think about it for a while. “Until tonight, my dear.”
He picked up the tray and left.
Chapter Six
After two days spent trying to find a way to escape, Vivian gave up. The servant seemed incorruptible, for he never came to open her door. She thought up an elaborate story sure to make him feel very, very sorry for her, to no purpose. The man brought clean linens for the bed, and then never came again. She never had the chance to use her tale of woe. No possible escape route presented itself, as the room proved as ordinary, and as secure, as she had thought at first. The only person she saw was him, that hateful man who’d locked her in here, and he only brought her dinner and breakfast. Even though she didn’t want to talk to him, particularly not about his bloody ring, Vivian was growing a little edgy from having nothing to do and no one to talk to.
Frustrated and bored, Vivian took to pacing the room. What was she to do all day? Did he mean for her to fall into a stupor from sitting here staring at the walls? She dragged the chair over to the window and plopped into it, gazing out the window with longing. It was a lovely day. How she longed to be outside, to be free….
Then she could return to Simon. She missed her brother; she worried about him. What if he and Flynn came to blows over her disappearance? Flynn would be furious, no doubt, for not only was she gone and unable to set up other jobs, but she still had some of the profits from the last job with her. No doubt he would demand Simon hand over his share, to make up for what Vivian had hidden in her skirt hem. And her poor brother wouldn’t be able to stop Flynn from taking it.
Of course, if she returned to Simon, she’d also be returning to Flynn. Even furious as she was with the
gent who’d kidnapped her, she had to admit he was more pleasant than Flynn. Unlike Flynn, he fed her good food, gave her a luxuriously soft bed, and hadn’t once tried to feel her bottom. Things could be much worse, and Vivian acknowledged it. Once her initial outrage had dimmed a bit, she even began to appreciate the advantages of being locked up. True, she was no help to Simon, but she also had a respite from Flynn. She had time to consider her future, what she would do once she managed to slip out of this spot.
That was a thorny question. Especially now that she’d had a taste of real comfort, it seemed harder and harder to return to sleeping on the ground, eating oatcakes and watery stew, and constantly moving around to avoid arrest. It was quite nice not to have to worry about her brother making a mistake, or about Flynn bringing disaster down on them in a drunken fit. Only now that it was lifted, even for a short time, could Vivian appreciate how oppressive that worry and responsibility had become.
It had always been her hope to find an occupation that was, if not completely respectable, then at least settled. Vivian had lived in more places than she could count, and she didn’t care to remember most of them, cramped, dirty places that didn’t offer an iota of the comfort of this room she was in. She had learned to keep her few belongings in a handy bundle, ready to be snatched up at a moment’s notice in case the charleys had gone through in search of thieves. She glanced at the heavy wardrobe in the corner again, that big, solid piece meant just to hold a body’s belongings in one place. The man who lived here had never had to leave in the middle of the night for fear of being thrown in prison.
For that, she envied him. For as long as she could remember, Vivian had wanted that security, that knowledge that she had a safe, cozy place to return to every night. She wanted not to be cold at night, not to be hungry during the day, and more than anything she wanted to feel in control of her own life. Now, she knew that the few things in life she valued could vanish at a moment’s notice.
What a Rogue Desires Page 7