Chapter Thirty-Three
Darkness had fallen outside the little window, and Anastasia tried hard not to fall into a pit of despair. Brett came and went, making nasty comments whenever he returned, and she knew soon his patience would run out.
She was rather surprised when he returned with two plates of food and set one before her—although there was no way she could eat. He sat down on the bed and tucked into his meal with a hearty appetite, looking over at her every now and again.
“You should eat. It’s late, and we have no idea what the night will bring.” He pushed the spoon toward her. There was no way she could think of to use that as a weapon.
She watched him and tried to look for weak spots, tried to plan her attack for when he inevitably followed through on his threats. I’m sorry, she told the baby growing within her. I will keep you safe. I love you.
Tears sprung to her eyes, and she blinked them away, not wanting to show him any sign of weakness.
But he noticed anyway.
“No need to look so morose. I’m not the devil you’ve decided I am—merely a man who knows what he wants and will do anything to get it.” He finished his mouthful, put his empty plate on the floor at his feet, and wiped his hands down the front of his waistcoat. “Come now.”
He stood and approached her, and she shrank back into the corner, trying to make herself as small as possible. He reached down and plucked her wrist from her lap, roughly pulling her up to stand before him.
She forced herself to look him in the eye. He was the devil—she just needed to survive him.
“I’ve always liked a challenge,” he said, and leaned in to give her a rough, unwelcome kiss. The smell of beer and onions on his breath and the feel of his beard against her delicate skin made her want to throw up, and when he pulled away, she almost did.
He reached forward and put a hand on her waist, and she steeled herself to kick him hard where she knew it would hurt. Although what she would do once he was down, she did not know, for the door was locked, and she did not know where the key was.
Perhaps, if she could render him unconscious, she could find it…but she did not know if she was physically capable of doing so.
And then a knock at the door saved her from having to find out whether indeed she could.
Hope bloomed in Anastasia’s chest, and her eyes remained fixed on Brett as he covered the short distance between the corner she had been trying to hide in and the door.
He only opened it a crack, yet Anastasia could tell that the man on the other side was not anyone she knew. Was he a friend of Brett? Or someone who might be inclined to help a damsel in distress?
She waited for a moment, listening hard to hear what they were speaking about in hushed tones.
“There’s a man downstairs looking for you,” she was fairly sure he said.
“No one should know I’m here,” Brett replied.
“Well, I don’t know how he knows, but he does—and he’s damned angry. Threatening to smash the place up. I don’t want no trouble, Brett. I don’t want the law involved, or my place of business destroyed, you hear me?”
“You’ve nothing to fear, and besides, I pay you handsomely for your…understanding. Now, let me come and see this gentleman, and get rid of him for you.”
Anastasia saw her window of opportunity slamming shut.
If whoever the angry man was had come to find her—if it was Oliver, or even better, Laurence—then she couldn’t let Baron Brett go down and give them some story about her whereabouts that would lead them to leave her here.
She could not be left here. Not with him.
She rushed forward. “Please, help me! I’m being held against my will, this man—” Baron Brett turned, raised his hand, and slapped her clean across the face.
She gasped as the pain overwhelmed her and blinked back tears that had begun to fall unbidden.
“I warned you,” Brett said, seemingly unshaken by the entire incident. “Shut your mouth. Now, let me deal with whoever is downstairs causing trouble.”
And with that, he closed the door, locking it behind him and leaving Anastasia with her cheek stinging, and tears pouring down her face.
Laurence paced up and down the bar as he waited for the innkeeper to return. There was something about the shifty look in the man’s eye that made him sure Brett was here—no matter what the man said to the contrary.
It hadn’t been easy to find this place. After visiting the location of the proposed exchange of money for Anastasia, having worked out the clues in the letter, they then had to threaten and bribe those around to find out where Brett was likely to be.
He knew this was still a long shot, but he would try anything. And when he had threatened to destroy the place, something in his eyes and voice must have rung true, for the man had immediately excused himself—and was hopefully returning with Baron Brett.
Oliver, coward that he was, was waiting outside.
Laurence wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d left already, but he didn’t care.
If anything had happened to Anastasia, he would find Oliver, and he would exact his revenge.
There was nowhere Oliver could hide to avoid retribution for abandoning the woman that Laurence loved.
The woman he loved. He couldn’t unpack the feelings at that moment, for the proprietor returned, with Brett striding behind him.
Laurence balled his hands into fists and reminded himself that if the man was dead, he could not tell him the whereabouts of his wife.
“Where is she?”
“Lord Walsham, what a pleasure to see you,” Brett said, a smarmy grin upon his face.
“I’ve seen the note. I know you have her. Now where is she? Don’t mess with me, Brett—I’m not some milksop like Carrington. You will regret it.”
“If I know the location of your wife—and it really is rather reckless and careless of you to misplace her—then as I made clear in my note, I would only part with such information for a fee.”
Laurence gritted his teeth. He would part with any amount of money to see Anastasia safe—and at the same time, he did not wish to give the man a penny.
What would stop him from pulling the same stunt again if it worked?
And yet he knew he would do anything to get her back, even if it meant giving every penny he had to this man for her safe return.
And he could keep Anastasia under surveillance twenty-four hours a day if he had to.
“Give her to me, safe and unharmed, and you can have your money,” he spat.
Brett tutted. “This is not the location agreed upon, and if you read the note, you’ll know I require the money before any such exchange.”
“Goddamn it, Brett, give me my wife.”
“You know, I just don’t totally believe that you will give me my money.
Perhaps you’re as fickle as Carrington—never giving me a penny he owes me, even when his sister was pawning her worldly goods—or should I say, your worldly goods—to give him the money to do so.
Whoops, I hope I haven’t got her into trouble. ”
Laurence didn’t care if she pawned every item of value in the house. He just needed to see her safe.
“Give me the money first, and then—”
“Enough!” Laurence roared. Brett was pigheaded and arrogant and didn’t seem to fear anybody or anything.
But he was not the only person in this inn who knew where Anastasia was—Laurence was sure of it.
He turned to the innkeeper, who was pretending to polish glasses while clearly listening to every word that was said.
“You. Have you seen a redheaded woman with this man?”
“I…” He trailed off, looking to Brett for an answer.
“Whatever he’s paying you isn’t worth what I will do to this place if I do not find my wife.
I am not a cruel man, unlike this one—but I will stop at nothing.
I will burn the place down, I will make sure you never have another penny to your name, if you are hiding my wife from me.
He may be a baron, but I am a viscount—and believe me, I can make your life far more miserable than he can. ”
For a moment, it looked like the man wasn’t going to speak, and his gaze darted to the door as if he wished to run away.
Laurence shook his head. “This is not your fight. Tell me where she is, and I can protect you from him.”
The innkeeper swallowed, looked up at Brett, and then said, “Upstairs. Top floor. The attic bedroom.”
Laurence didn’t need to be told twice. A string of profanities from Brett’s mouth rang in his ears, but he was already taking the stairs two at a time, praying to God that Anastasia was unharmed.