‘Where in Hades is Sarah? Why don’t either of you know? Miss Lambert, you’re her chaperon for Christ’s sake.’
Malcolm scowled at Sarah’s maiden aunt as she cowered upon a settee with her face in her hands, before shooting a glance at his sister. Damaris stood by the private parlour’s small fireplace, watching her mask twirl at the end of its ribbons; she might be feigning boredom but Malcolm could tell she was vexed by the way she pursed her lips. No doubt, her irritation was related to the fact he was keeping her from pursuing her latest conquest, and not because Sarah was missing.
Neither woman was immediately forthcoming with a response to his oft-asked questions, which didn’t really surprise him. They’d already recounted Sarah’s last known movements several times and he was still none the wiser. She clearly wasn’t in any of the places one might expect her to be—they’d all searched the ballroom, card room, supper room, ladies’ retiring room, the library, and even the terrace. And no one he’d discreetly questioned—their hosts, the footmen at the front door, nor any of the other staff at Kenmuir House—had seen Sarah leave.
She’d all but vanished into thin air.
‘My lord,’ began Judith Lambert in a thin, quavering voice. ‘I’m afraid I have nothing else to add. As I told you before, when Sarah left me here to rest, she intended to return to the ballroom to seek you out. When we departed, you were dancing with Lady Glenleven. I wish I knew more but I do not. I’m just as worried as you.’
I seriously fucking doubt it. Malcolm ground his teeth together to stop himself snapping at the foolish woman. He needed funds. Desperately. Ergo, he needed Sarah.
Only today, his man-of-business had been forced to placate a creditor by arranging the sale of his second-last carriage and half his town stable. Taymoor Castle had already been stripped of most of its artwork, tapestries, carpets, and any furniture that was decent—thank God Sarah and her aunt hadn’t visited yet. He had no more unentailed properties, land, or any other business assets to sell. He was up to his ears in unpaid debts and overdrawn at the Royal Bank of Scotland. Even the jewels Damaris wore were paste. The contents of Tay House here in Edinburgh would be the next to go to auction. He’d already dismissed a good deal of his staff. Whoever remained was for show alone…
If he didn’t wed the Lambert chit, he would be utterly ruined—both financially and socially.
He had to find her.
Malcolm removed his silver snuffbox from his coat pocket and inhaled a good pinch to loosen the tight knot of panic in his chest. He’d love to down a glass or two of Kenmuir’s cognac, but he needed a clear head so the snuff would have to do.
As his pulse slowed, he considered what action to take next. He was about to quit the parlour with the intention of checking every single room in Kenmuir House from attic to cellar, when Judith spoke again. ‘I didn’t mention it before, but Sarah did not seem herself earlier on. She denied feeling unwell, but now I wonder…’
‘Wonder what?’
‘If something was wrong. She seemed distracted. Bothered.’
Damaris yawned. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Malcolm. Sarah probably grew tired of looking for you and went back to Tay House. It’s easy enough to hire a sedan chair along the Canongate. Don’t fuss so.’
Suddenly the pieces fell into place. Sarah had been looking for him… and she’d been troubled. Oh, Christ. What if she’d discovered he’d been fucking that blonde chit, Nell, or whatever her name was?
Malcolm clenched his fists and somehow swallowed down the urge to slap Judith Lambert for not mentioning such a pertinent detail earlier.
If Sarah hadn’t been such a cold fish, he wouldn’t have had to slake his lust elsewhere. Not wanting to scare her off before they were married, he’d been the epitome of a gentleman—aside from pressing a few kisses on her—during their tedious, drawn-out engagement. If only her fucking father hadn’t died, then they’d already be wed and he’d have taken over her entire fortune months ago.
After he’d drawn a few deep breaths to calm the rage pounding through his veins, Malcolm redonned his mask. ‘Damaris, go and scour the ballroom and card room again. Miss Lambert, check the ladies’ retiring room once more. And the library for good measure. Make sure your inquiries are discreet—I won’t have either of you stirring up a scandal. I’ll question the footmen at the front door again about guests who’ve taken sedan chairs. Meet me back here when you’re done.’
Of course, the footmen had no further information that was of help. A few guests had arrived in private sedan chairs but no one had asked for a public chair to be summoned. Indeed, only a handful of guests had left all evening. And none at all fitting Sarah’s description.
His guts roiling with frustration, Malcolm returned to the supper room. He’d made a quick sweep of the terrace earlier, but not the walled garden. He doubted Sarah would be out there—it was freezing and a light snow had begun to fall—but at this point, he couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned.
Turning up the collar of his cape, he pushed through the door and strode along the length of the deserted terrace until he reached the very end—or what he’d thought was the end, until he realised it extended around the side of Kenmuir House. Pulse hammering, he turned the corner… then swore. There, on the marble balustrade, gleaming in the light emanating from the nearest window was a gold domino dusted with snow. Sarah’s?
Malcolm seized it with shaking hands. It had to be Sarah’s. A strand of fair hair was caught in the silk ribbons. He spun around, searching for any other clues that might help him locate her, then cursed again. Bloody, bloody hell.
The nearby window gave him a clear view of the parlour he’d taken Nell to. The fireside where she’d fellated him and the settee she’d bent over so he could take her from behind.
Fuck. Malcolm sank onto the balustrade. He’d been so consumed with lust, he hadn’t noticed the curtains hadn’t been drawn. Shit. His fist crushed the mask and it snapped in two.
As much as it rankled, he was going to have to do some serious grovelling when he found Sarah. She must have fled when she’d seen him. Perhaps Damaris had been right. If Sarah had been upset, she might have slipped away and returned to Tay House on her own. There was probably a garden gate out here somewhere. Or she might have used an out-of-the-way servants’ entrance.
If she leaves me… Sheer panic shot through Malcolm, turning his blood to ice and freezing his heart.
He had to catch up to Sarah to stop her from doing anything drastic like breaking off their engagement.
***
When Malcolm Campbell stormed back through the terrace doors into the supper room, Alex’s lips curled into a smile of deep satisfaction. By now the cur would have realised that Sarah was no longer within Kenmuir House or its grounds. He might even have guessed that she’d accidently stumbled upon him rutting with Nell. But he was yet to learn how dire the situation really was.
Oh, how I’d love to be a fly on the wall when that happens.
Lady Kenmuir touched his sleeve, drawing his attention. ‘My dear Mr Price, would you like more champagne?’ She leaned closer and her plump breasts pressed against his bicep as she murmured into his ear, ‘Of course, if nothing here is to your taste, I’m sure I could find something else to whet your appetite.’
‘As tempting as your offer sounds, my lady, I’m afraid I must depart.’ Now that he’d had the pleasure of witnessing Lord Tay’s descent into full-blown panic, and had established an alibi by flirting with his rather attractive hostess, he needed to return to his townhouse. Sarah would probably sleep for hours but he wanted to be at home when she woke. He bowed over Lady Kenmuir’s hand and glanced a kiss across her knuckles. ‘You and your husband have been wonderful hosts and I thank you for your most generous hospitality.’
Lady Kenmuir’s other hand slipped to his back, and then lower. ‘Oh, that’s such a shame,’ she said before whispering, ‘Lord Kenmuir departs for London in a sennight. If you need a diversion…’ She squeezed his buttock.
‘I will know your door is open,’ he murmured.
Lady Kenmuir threw him a coquettish smile. ‘Most definitely.’
Alex kissed her hand again for good measure—if he hadn’t embarked on the course he was currently on, he might have considered the marchioness’s invitation—then quit the room and Kenmuir House. As his carriage clattered along the Royal Mile, he toyed with his onyx ring and mentally steeled himself for the long night and journey ahead.
***
Something was wrong… very wrong.
Cold foreboding slid down Sarah’s spine as she forced her heavy eyelids open. Her vision blurry, she blinked and squinted, trying to focus on her surroundings, but everything was cast in shadow, the edges of everything hazy. A dark memory hovered at the edge of her mind… Something terrible had happened. There’d been a man… a blonde-haired woman in a red dress… and Malcolm.
Oh, God. Malcolm.
The stab of his betrayal pierced Sarah’s heart anew and hot tears pricked her eyes. Dashing them away with the heel of her hand, she pushed herself upright. For a moment the room swam horribly and then panic flared as she took in her surroundings—she was in an unfamiliar tester bed dressed only in her shift.
Whose bed? How long had she been asleep? Was she still at Kenmuir House? She wasn’t in the guest room of Tay House. The glow from the fireplace revealed that the bedchamber was well appointed: swathes of plush golden velvet adorned the windows and the bed; an ornate walnut armoire and matching washstand stood against one wall; and her ball gown was spread upon a nearby settee. Sarah’s brow knitted. She had no recollection of undressing. Who had removed her clothes?
Then all at once the fog cleared—the man, Alexander Black, had forced her to drink something vile. Something that had made her lose consciousness. Laudanum perhaps.
Terror gripped her insides and nausea roiled. I’ve been drugged and kidnapped. Stripped. With a shaking hand, Sarah reached below the fine linen sheets and touched between her thighs but everything down there felt as it should. As she moved her legs, she noticed there was something wrapped around her right ankle.
What on earth? She threw off the covers and shrieked. She’d been tethered to the bedpost with a gold silk rope. Like a prisoner. An animal. Pushing herself down the bed, she began to frantically tug at the knots at her ankle and at the bedpost. But they were tight and the silk was slippery. Tears of frustration blurred her vision as her trembling fingers failed to loosen her bonds even a fraction.
‘Ah, yer awake, lassie.’
Sarah jumped and her gaze darted to the door. A stout, middle-aged woman dressed in a plain grey gown and white cap entered the room and placed a large china ewer on the washstand by the fire. She then returned to the door and locked it with a key that hung from a large iron key ring tied at her waist. Was she the housekeeper?
A spark of hope leapt in Sarah’s heart. A woman could be reasoned with, surely. ‘Where is Mr Black?’ she said in the most authoritative tone she could muster. ‘I demand you untie me, help me dress, then take me to him. Or better yet, let me go. He cannot keep me here.’
The woman clucked her tongue as she crossed to the washstand again and rummaged in a drawer. ‘The master did warn me tha’ ye may be a wee bit feisty.’
‘I don’t much care what your master said about me. What he’s done… What he’s doing is wrong. If you release me, I will make sure you shan’t be prosecuted.’ Sarah lifted her chin. She wouldn’t plead or beg. If she acted like a victim, she suspected she wouldn’t get anywhere with this woman. ‘My affianced…’
Was Malcolm still her fiancé? Did she want him to be? Sarah swallowed past the tight ache in her throat and started again, ‘The Earl of Tay is a most powerful man. He may even reward you for your assistance. In fact, I shall reward you myself. I have the means.’
The woman steadfastly ignored her; she turned her back and placed a white linen towel and a washcloth beside the ewer and a bowl. Then, without so much as a glance towards the bed, she crossed to the fireplace and poked at the coal before throwing another lump of wood into the fire.
Frustration as bright and angry as the embers in the grate stirred inside Sarah. ‘Why won’t you answer me? I’ll scream. Very loudly. Someone will hear me. Then you’ll be sorry.’
The woman heaved a weary sigh and at last turned to face her. ‘Now, now, miss. I ken you’ve had a verra nasty shock. But no harm will come to ye.’
‘No harm will come to me? Your wicked scoundrel of a master forced me to drink laudanum, and has locked me,’ Sarah tugged on the silk rope, ‘nay, tied me up in a bed, against my will, for God knows what purpose. And considering I’m wearing naught but my shift, it’s quite obvious his intentions are nefarious.’
The woman crossed her arms over her ample chest and humphed. ‘Ye can scream all ye like, lassie. No one will hear ye. But you dinna have to worry. The master willna hurt ye as long as you go along with wha’ he wants.’
‘But what does he want?’ Sarah’s voice broke as a sob clogged her throat. ‘I don’t understand any of this. I just want to go home. Please let me go.’ To her mortification, tears began to run down her cheeks.
‘Crying willna help, lassie. And we are wasting time. The master says we will be leaving in a half hour.’
‘Leaving? Where am I now? And where are we going?’
The servant huffed and poured steaming water into the bowl. ‘It’s no’ fer me to say. It’s time to wash and get dressed.’
Was she actually still in Edinburgh? Sarah couldn’t hear any of the usual noises that she associated with the city at night. Nor did she have any idea how long she’d been unconscious. Her throat was dry and her head felt like it was stuffed with feathers. Her gaze travelled to the windows and icy fear shivered over her skin; the pale light of morning was beginning to seep in around the edges of the curtains. She’d clearly been asleep for hours and hours.
Was Malcolm looking for her? Had he even noticed she’d gone? If he hadn’t, Aunt Judith certainly would have. Yes, Aunt Judith would be looking for her. If she were in Edinburgh, her aunt would surely go to the Town Guard to enlist their help. They would find her.
When the serving woman approached with the washcloth, a towel, and the bowl, Sarah ventured a question. ‘May I ask your name? If you are to act as my lady’s maid, I should like to know what to call you. I’m Sarah Lambert, by the way.’ If she could distract the woman and wrest the bowl from her, perhaps she could use it to knock her unconscious. She didn’t want to hurt her, but if this was her only chance to get away…
But the serving woman was cannier than Sarah had anticipated. She deposited the bowl on a small bureau well out of reach, soaked the washcloth, wrung it out with her red, work-roughened hands then passed it to Sarah. ‘My name is Aileen.’ she said gruffly, ‘and I ken yer name, lass.’
‘Oh…’ Sarah took the cloth and wiped her face, neck, and hands before handing it back to Aileen. ‘Then you may have also heard how wealthy I am. I could pay you whatever sum you asked for if—’
The woman grunted. ‘Money doesna matter to me. I dinna want yer coin, lassie. Ye canna bribe me.’ She gave Sarah the towel then nodded at the floor. ‘If you need the chamber pot, it’s beneath the bed. There’s enough length in the rope fer you to be able to stand and use it. Then I shall help you with yer gown.’
She picked up the basin but then turned back, her expression grim. ‘But mind ye dinna try anything. I’m a braw woman and I’ll best you in a struggle. And if ye think to try and brain me with the chamber pot, I’ll be forced to call the master. He’ll make ye take the laudanum again. And I dinna think you would want to be leaving here in only yer shift. It’s a wee bit cold outside.’
Sarah slid carefully to the floor and held onto the side of the bed for a moment. When her head stopped spinning—the effects of the laudanum hadn’t totally dissipated—she reached for the chamber pot. Made of heavy porcelain, it would make a decent weapon. But if she failed to knock Aileen out, the consequences did not bear thinking about. The last thing she wanted was Alexander Black arriving on the scene whilst she was in this state of undress. And she certainly didn’t want to be drugged again.
‘You still haven’t told me where we’re going,’ she remarked a few minutes later, when Aileen approached her with a pile of garments that included a riding habit of claret-red wool. She eyed the items with suspicion as the serving woman laid them upon the bed. ‘Those are not mine. I wish to wear my own gown, stockings, and stays.’
Aileen crossed her arms. ‘Lassie, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can get dressed in these,’ she thrust her chin towards the bed, ‘or you can freeze yer bonnie wee arse off in yer shift. Whilst yer ball gown is verra fine, it isna fit fer travelling. Or yer boned stays; they are far too tight. You willna be able to breathe.’
Sarah pressed her lips together. ‘Very well,’ she gritted out. ‘But I don’t see how this is going to work whilst I’m tied up like… like someone’s dog.’
Aileen tutted as she held out soft stays for Sarah to slip her arms through. ‘Weel, I shall untie you when we get to tha’ part. But I’m trusting you to behave yerself now tha’ you know what will happen if you do no’.’
As Sarah submitted to Aileen’s ministrations, her mind worked feverishly to come up with another escape plan. Once she was untied, perhaps she could flee the room and find a door leading outside. Aileen might be stronger than her but she didn’t think she’d be as agile.
Once Sarah’s stays were laced, Aileen bade her to sit on the bed so she could untie the rope from her ankle. The servant’s large, strong fingers deftly loosened the tight knots and the silk noose slipped free.
When Aileen bent down to slide an ivory wool stocking over her foot, Sarah took the opportunity to strike. Leaning back on her hands for purchase, she lifted her other foot and kicked at Aileen’s shoulder with all her might. The serving woman flew backwards onto her rump with a grunt and Sarah dashed to the bedroom door. Her heart hurtling against her ribs, she grasped the handle but it wouldn’t budge.
Damn, damn, damn. In her desperation, she’d forgotten Aileen had locked it and still had the key.
Tears of frustration flooded her eyes as she leaned her forehead against the door. This cannot be happening. I must be in some sort of nightmare.
The sound of a key scraping in the lock made her jump and back away from the door… and in stepped Alexander Black, as bold as you please. He’d changed out of his evening finery into plainer garb and even though he was even more handsome without his mask, to Sarah he was detestable, from the top of his raven locks to the tips of his shiny black boots.
When he smiled in greeting, pure rage washed through her, lending her a bravado she hadn’t known she possessed. ‘You! You despicable rogue,’ she cried, poking at his hard-as-a-rock chest through the ruffles of his cambric jabot. ‘How dare you drug me and hold me prisoner? I knew you were up to no good as soon as I laid eyes on you but I never imagined you’d… you’d go to these lengths. What are you about?’ Bristling with indignation, chest heaving, she planted her hands on her hips. ‘Actually, I do not want to know. Just let me leave.’
Black pushed the door closed, then leaned back against it with his arms crossed. His shoulders seemed to take up the whole doorway. ‘Like that, Miss Lambert?’ he asked, cocking a black winged brow. Amusement danced in his dark grey eyes.
Sarah felt a furious blush spread over her entire face. She might be dressed in only a thin shift and stays but she wasn’t backing down. ‘Of course not. I’m not some doxy even though you are treating me like one. Worse, actually. Incapacitating a woman and then tying her up is appalling.’
Black’s attention slid past her and his expression softened. ‘Are you all right, Aileen?’ he asked.
‘Aye, sir. I’m verra sorry about this. She caught me off guard. You were right. She is a wee bit feisty. And cunning.’
‘Stop talking about me like I am not here,’ fumed Sarah. ‘I want my clothes and I want to go back to Tay House.’
Black’s gaze narrowed in judgement as he looked down the strong blade of his nose at her. ‘You really want to go back there?’
Sarah raised her chin. ‘My aunt and my possessions are there. Besides, it’s none of your business what I do.’
He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, his flint-like gaze locking with hers. ‘I’m afraid it is my business, my dear Miss Lambert. You are not going back to Tay House. You are going to get dressed in the garments I have provided and you are coming with me.’
‘No.’ Sarah resisted the urge to step away from him. She wouldn’t be bullied and abused. ‘I won’t.’ Oh dear, now I’ve done it.
The expression in Black’s eyes grew colder and a muscle twitched in his lean jaw. He reached into the pocket of his navy wool frockcoat. ‘I didn’t want to make you take this again,’ he said, withdrawing his silver pocket flask. ‘But if we have reached an impasse…’ He shrugged.
‘No.’ Sarah stepped backed. ‘I won’t drink it. You cannot make me.’
‘I can and I will. But really, we can avoid all of this unpleasantness if you would just do as I ask and get dressed.’
Sarah scowled at him. It seemed she had no choice but to comply. She could hardly resist him and Aileen. And part of her really did want to put some clothes on. Facing down Black was difficult to do in a state of dishabille. She’d never felt so naked and vulnerable in her entire life.
Nevertheless, the stubborn side of her insisted she make a last ditch effort at trying to extricate herself from this intolerable situation. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘Are you a fortune hunter trying to compromise me? To extort money from me? Or socially ruin me to force me into marrying you? Because if you are, I can offer you—’
Black snorted. ‘I know exactly how much you’re worth, but I don’t want or need your money, my dear. Although,’ he reached forward and wound one of her dishevelled locks around his finger, ‘now that I’ve seen you in next to nothing,’ his gaze dropped pointedly to the low, scooped neckline of her shift, ‘ruining you does seem rather appealing.’
Her pulse racing faster than a startled hare, Sarah batted his hand away. ‘Don’t jest so.’
‘What makes you think I’m jesting?’ Black’s gaze was intense. ‘You are a very beautiful woman, Sarah.’
Oh no, she’d woken the predator. Sarah swallowed. Surely he wouldn’t really take her by force. But what if he tried to? She wouldn’t be able to stop him. She’d been tethered to the bed before and he could easily tie her up again. Cold dread trickled down her spine as visions of Black taking her just like Malcolm had taken the blonde woman at the ball filled her head.
A loud ‘ahem’ came from somewhere close behind her and Sarah let go of the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. ‘Let me help you with yer gown, lassie. Here are the petticoats.’
‘You’re despicable,’ she shot at Black, before turning to Aileen.
‘You said that before.’
‘When Lord Tay finds me—’ Her throat convulsed. Why did she keep forgetting that Malcolm was not the man she thought he’d been? ‘Never mind,’ she murmured in a voice that was noticeably husky. Closing her eyes, she let Aileen fuss over all the tapes and hooks and ribbons, and when she was suitably attired in the claret-red riding coat and matching skirts with her hair brushed and tied at the nape with a bow, she slid her cream satin pumps on then turned back to Black. ‘Are you happy now?’ she asked with an arch of her brow. She was surprised the clothes fit so well. It was as if they had been tailored to fit—it was another bizarre occurrence she’d rather not dwell on at this point.
Black had moved to the fireplace whilst she had dressed, but at her words, he lifted his gaze from the dancing flames. His face was in shadow, his expression inscrutable as he ignored her question and said, ‘You look well, Miss Lambert.’ He approached and offered his arm as a gentleman would. ‘It’s time to go.’
Sarah glared at him, bunching her fists in her woollen skirts to stop herself slapping his arrogant, deceitful, too handsome face. ‘I cannot believe you are acting so when there is nothing remotely civilised about this entire situation.’ She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. ‘By rights I should be screaming and hammering at the windows, entreating someone to rescue me from whatever this is. But I rather suspect you would try to subdue me in whatever reprehensible manner you saw fit.’
Black’s mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. ‘You are correct. Don’t try me, Miss Lambert.’
***
Alex unlocked the door and ushered Aileen through, followed by a seething Sarah Lambert. She swept past him, claret-red skirts swaying around her slender hips, her blue eyes darting fire. He didn’t blame her in the least for feeling both outraged and terrified, and a better man would let her go. Indeed, a better man wouldn’t have abducted her in the first place. But needs must when the Devil drives and Miss Lambert was a pawn he had to play in order to best Malcolm Campbell. And even though the game was only just beginning, he was determined to win.
Lifting her skirts with one hand, Sarah held onto the carved mahogany railing with the other as she began to descend the stairs to the lower floor. Alexander followed close behind. He wasn’t at all certain that she wouldn’t try to make a break for it; not that it would do her any good. There was a loyal footman standing guard at every door.
They’d just gained the landing before the descent to the main hall when Sarah tripped on the edge of the Turkish runner. She let out a terrified squeal as she stumbled and pitched forward towards the stairs, and Alex only just caught her in the nick of time.
‘Careful, lass,’ he murmured as he pulled her backwards and she sagged against him. He could feel the frantic rise and fall of her chest, the pounding of her heart, and a small part of him almost regretted what he was putting her through. ‘Trying to break your neck to escape me seems a trifle drastic.’
Aileen, who was several steps below them, turned back. ‘Perhaps it is the laudanum, sir.’
Sarah put a shaking hand to her head. ‘I do feel a little dizzy.’
‘Well that won’t do.’ Alex swept Sarah up into his arms and began to descend the stairs again.
She immediately began to wriggle and push at his chest. ‘Put me down. I can manage.’
‘I don’t think so. I need you alive and well, Miss Lambert.’
‘For what?’ Sarah’s blue eyes were bright with anger, the colour high in her cheeks. ‘I still don’t understand what is going on. Why are you abducting me? You say you don’t want my money.’ Her cheeks grew beet red as she added, ‘And I won’t become your whore.’
God, if she knew what he ultimately had in mind for her, she’d be terrified; but instead he simply said, ‘As lovely as you are, I don’t want you for that reason either.’ They’d gained the main hall and Alex followed Aileen towards the servants’ entrance at the rear of the townhouse.
‘Then why—?’ Sarah’s dark blonde eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. ‘Has this got something to do with Lord Tay and the blonde woman at the ball? The one he was with…’ Her voice cracked and she swallowed. ‘Was she someone you cared for? Are you stealing me away because of what Malcolm did? Because if you are—’
‘It’s complicated. And yes, this is about Lord Tay. But not the other woman. Or you.’
Sarah’s pretty pink mouth flattened into a disapproving line. ‘That’s hardly fair.’
‘I know.’
‘Surely there’s some other way.’
‘There isn’t.’
‘If we could just talk—’
‘Trust me, it won’t make any difference.’ They’d reached the servants’ entrance. Aileen stood by the door with a footman; both waited for his directions.
‘My carriage is outside, Miss Lambert. I’m going to put you down.’ He set her on her feet, facing Aileen, then he surreptitiously drew a silk rope from the pocket of his coat. ‘And I hope you’ll accept my apology in advance.’
***
Before Sarah could draw breath to question the reason for Black’s apology, he was deftly lashing her wrists together behind her back and Aileen was pushing a silk gag into her mouth.
Unbridled anger and panic coursing through her veins, Sarah attempted to scream as she struggled and writhed, but her efforts to escape were to no avail. Black had tied her in such a way that each movement seemed to pull the bonds tighter and her cries were nothing more than muffled moans. Tears stung her eyes as she slumped to the ground, refusing to walk, but Black simply picked her up and unceremoniously slung her over his shoulder so that she was upside-down, her derrière in the air.
Even though she kicked and twisted, it made no difference whatsoever—Black held her easily as though she weighed nothing more than a child. Within moments, the door had been unbolted and Black was carrying her outside into a cobbled close—at least Sarah thought it was a close, considering her view of the world was topsy-turvy. And then she was deposited onto a leather bench inside a carriage. She caught a brief glimpse of grey bricks and whirling snowflakes before the door slammed shut against the frigid morning air and any hope she had of freedom.
She glared at Black as he sat down beside her; his long, powerful legs were canted across the space between her and the door and she knew if she tried to launch herself towards it, it would be no effort at all for him to restrain her.
‘I will remove the gag and untie you as soon as we leave the city,’ he said gruffly, before lifting the black velvet curtain covering the window to peer outside. Was that a note of remorse in his voice?
The carriage rolled off and Sarah closed her eyes as the tears she’d been trying to keep at bay slid down her cheeks. It seemed she was still in Edinburgh. Not that it mattered. For the moment, she was trapped with no obvious way out. And after last night, she clearly couldn’t count on Malcolm to mount any sort of search and rescue attempt.
But somehow, some way, she would get out of this mess. She was smart and she was capable. And Alexander Black, for all his power and ruthless machinations, must have a chink in his armour. She would find it, and when the time was right, she would exploit his weakness and escape.
She had to.
***
Tay House, Edinburgh
15 February 1757
‘Milord, my apologies fer disturbing you…’
Malcolm groaned and prised open his eyelids. ‘Fuck, Drysdale. What is it?’ He straightened in his wingchair and cracked his neck. His head pounded and his mouth felt as dry and dusty as the ash-strewn grate. Why, in the Devil’s name, had he drunk so much last night? He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep by the fire. It was moments like these that he really wished he hadn’t dismissed his valet. ‘What time is it?’
The wizened butler hovered by the heavy oak bedchamber door, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Seven of the clock, milord. Again I apologise but—’
‘Seven o’clock? You useless cock. Why are you waking me at such a godforsaken—?’ Malcolm froze. Shit, Sarah. Sarah’s gone. He swallowed and rubbed his face with a shaking hand as reality dashed over him like a bucket of cold water. Sarah hadn’t returned to Tay House and he hadn’t a clue where she’d gone. All of his discreet inquiries and a search of the streets between here and Kenmuir House had proved fruitless. He cast a narrow-eyed look at Drysdale, not daring to hope he had any news. ‘Well, out with it, man. Is this about Miss Lambert?’
The elderly butler hobbled toward the fireside and proffered a folded piece of cream coloured parchment upon a tarnished silver tray. ‘A message was delivered verra early this morning, milord. And you said tha’ if there should be any word aboot Miss Lambert…’ The butler swallowed audibly. ‘Weel, MacThomas, the night footman, says tha’ someone pushed this letter under the front door some time before dawn. And whilst we dinna know if it is aboot yer affianced—’
‘Christ, just give it to me.’ Malcolm snatched the parchment from Drysdale and cracked the plain red wax seal.
Tay,
Your pretty little heiress is now in my possession. To ensure her safe return, a substantial sum is required. Further directions shall be delivered at my convenience in the coming days. But harbour no illusions, if you do not provide what I ask for, when I ask for it, Miss Lambert will be no more.
Janus.
‘Fuck!’ Malcolm stared at the paper in his hand. How could this be? Surely this had to be some sort of mad prank or sick joke.
But of course, he knew it wasn’t.
Someone had kidnapped Sarah. How in the Devil’s name was he to pay the ransom? He couldn’t even afford to pay his bloody servants properly.
Malcolm sent Drysdale for coffee then tossed the paper onto a nearby table where his silver snuffbox and an almost empty bottle of brandy sat. The kidnapper—this Janus, whoever he was—hadn’t stated how much money he wanted exactly. ‘Substantial’ could mean anything depending on who was making the demand; it could be one hundred pounds, a thousand, or ten thousand. Even the King’s bloody Crown Jewels.
He picked up the brandy and sloshed what remained into a sticky glass before taking a sizeable swig. The problem was, he had virtually nothing left to give. Of course, marrying Sarah would’ve been the solution to all his woes; she was worth an absolute fortune. But now the stupid bitch had allowed herself to be kidnapped by some prick calling himself Janus.
Who the bloody hell was he? Malcolm ran a hand through his hair, racking his brains for some kind of answer. Who did he know who was both short of funds and desperate enough to carry out such a brazen attack?
He grimaced. No one except himself.
One thing was certain, he had to get his hands on more money, and discreetly. It was a predicament like no other. He couldn’t afford to lose Sarah, but he also he couldn’t afford to let it be known that she had been kidnapped. The resultant scandal would kill him. If society learned the mighty Earl of Tay was in dire financial straits, and he couldn’t pay the ransom, he’d be well and truly fucked for all time. He’d wouldn’t have a hope in Hades of finding another gullible heiress.
He supposed he could always approach Sarah’s former legal guardian and executor of the late Edwin Lambert’s will, Charles Swindon, as a last-ditch plan. Sarah had only recently come of age so perhaps Swindon still had access to her fortune… It meant he would have to travel to Newcastle—another expense if he were to stay at an inn rather than sleeping in his carriage at the side of the road. There was also no guarantee the journey would be worth it.
He’d only met Charles Swindon on a few occasions and he’d come across as a stuffy tight-arse.
Malcolm downed the last of the brandy then took a pinch of snuff. Perhaps all was not lost. The wait for the next lot of instructions would be excruciating, but in the meantime, he could approach a friend or two to see if he could acquire some extra funds. And of course, Damaris would probably be willing to fuck a few more noblemen in exchange for jewels, which he could then pawn. They’d done it before.
He’d best stay away from the gaming tables…
One way or another, he would get Sarah back and her fortune would be his. Anything else was unthinkable.