Chapter 7
Pain shot through Torrance’s arm as he pushed himself up right. He was pleasantly surprised to find his back in contact with plush cushions rather than a dirt-packed wall or wooden crates. In addition, both his hands and feet were unbound. Peculiar. He rolled his wrists and then ran his hand over the velvety material next to him. A settee? He squinted into the darkness, but his vision remained foggy. Where in the blazes was he?
He turned toward what he guessed to be the window, where miniscule rays of silver moonlight seeped into the room. Gradually his sight cleared, but unable to gauge the distance to the window, he remained seated. Unlike his rash younger self, he knew better than to move before fully assessing his predicament. He faced forward and tried to make out his surroundings. Something glinted to his right. Books. The wall was lined with tomes with gold and silver embossed spines, shelves stretching into the gloom. He was being held in a study or library of a well-to-do gentleman. That was a presumptuous thought—he could very well be captive of a wealthy widow. He should consider every possibility until he obtained more facts.
Letting his eyes close, he sat for a moment and concentrated on the sounds and smells around him. There was a slight hint of lavender in the air. Lavender brought to mind Lady L, a senior agent for the Home Office. Banishing the absurd thought that he’d been abducted by a fellow agent, he held his breath and focused on what he could hear. Aside from the occasional gust against the windowpanes, there was only silence. His big burly kidnappers mustn’t be near or surely he would have heard them.
He squeezed his thighs to get the blood flowing to his limbs that ached with a soreness he normally only experienced after having to chase down bandits. Damn—he was getting old.
Hands firmly placed on the edge of his seat, he pushed himself up to roll to his feet. The room swayed for a moment before his knees buckled and he fell backward back upon the settee.
From the furthest corner of the room, a woman said, “You might want to remain seated until the effects of the potion wear off.”
He turned toward the lady’s voice. She was well hidden in the shadows. So much so, he couldn’t even make out her silhouette. “Potion?”
“A special concoction I created…a little bit of poppy powder mixed with this…and that. Nothing that will cause long term damage…well, not that I know of.”
The woman’s sinister laugh had chills running down Torrance’s spine. She wasn’t right in the head, and he had been definitely wrong about imagining Lady L had something to do with his kidnapping. Was paranoia a side effect of the potion he’d been given?
He leaned back against the cushions, crossed his leg over his knee, and stretched out his left arm to rest it along the seat back. The inviting pose was to lure the woman out of the shadows. He needed to see who he was dealing with. “Well, that is rather reassuring, Lady…?”
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” The swoosh of skirts was followed by the sound of a fan being snapped open. “Lord Kilman. You didn’t think I’d simply fall for your good looks and your ever-so-tempting physique, did you?”
Torrance uncrossed his leg and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Hands pressed together, he rubbed them back and forth slowly. “Are you claiming you’re not in the least curious?”
The click of heels against wood rang through the room. Had he succeeded—was his captor standing? His hopes were dashed at the sound of skirts rustling once more.
“I’m afraid I’m not quite ready to reveal myself to you, my dear Baron Kilman. However…if you answer all my queries, you might receive a reward.”
The way she emphasized his title made him wonder how he was acquainted with the woman. Was she not of the peerage? Her refined diction would indicate she was, yet he suspected she didn’t have blue blood running through her veins.
While he attempted to place the woman’s voice, Phoebe’s reassuring tone rang in his head as if she was sitting next to him and saying, “Trust your instincts.”
Unwavering loyalty is what he’d come to expect from Phoebe, and she had never disappointed him. She had become his voice of reason and purpose for living. Her disappearance a few weeks ago had confirmed his feelings for Phoebe. Damn. He hoped Phoebe wasn’t even half as worried as he had been when she went missing. He wouldn’t wish the horrible nightmares he endured upon any one, not even the treacherous woman who had drugged him and was now calmly sitting in the corner.
He steepled his fingers and said, “What type of boon would you be offering me?”
“Do you have something in mind?” The syrupy tone employed by the woman reinforced Torrance’s distaste for sweets.
“My freedom?”
She laughed at his response and replied, “No, not your freedom, but maybe your life.”
He chose to remain silent as the woman’s threat hung in the air. Weighing the risk associated with a response versus silence, Torrance rested his forehead against the tips of his fingers that remained pressed together. His priority was to figure out a way to escape, and to do that he needed to know where he was and for what purpose had he been taken.
“Not the worst offer I’ve ever received. What is it you wish to know?”
“I want to know how the crown jewels mysteriously reappeared in the Royal Treasury.”
Aha. Everything made more sense. He was presumably talking to the mastermind behind the theft of the gems that Phoebe had recovered.
She wasn’t going to like his answer. He raised his gaze to the corner and said, “I don’t know how or who returned the gems to their proper owner.”
“Lies will only make your stay here unpleasant.” Her tone no longer held any hint of amusement.
“I’m telling you the truth.” He scooted to the opposite end of the settee, hoping the change of angle would allow him to capture a glimpse of the woman, but he only saw a faint outline of a woman wearing all black with a large-brimmed hat from which a veil fell over her face.
“Then perhaps I have no use for you.”
The woman’s ruthless tone left no doubt in Torrance’s mind that she wouldn’t hesitate to issue the order to end his life. “I don’t know the details. However, as you know, I do have connections. If you release me, I might be able to investigate and find out the information you are after.”
He needed more time. No, what he had to do was make himself critical to her success.
“Your resources evaporated the moment you resigned.” She raised her hand and rapped on the wall three times. A bear of a man, probably one of the bandits who had attacked him, strode in through the door and moved directly to the corner. He bent over the feminine shadow.
Damn it to hell, the woman’s soft whispers were indistinguishable.
The broad-shouldered guard straightened, and Torrance frowned as he made out the silhouette of a petite woman being cradled in the man’s arms. The way the woman’s legs draped over the man’s sinewy arm and the extra care with which the brute appeared to be taking with his master had Torrance suspecting that the woman had lost the ability to walk. He squinted hard but failed to gain a peek at the woman’s features; they were well hidden behind a veil.
“Don’t try to escape. There is nothing but miles and miles of forest beyond these doors.” His captor was carried out of the room, leaving him all alone.
If they were in a remote area as she claimed, that would explain why his hands and feet remained unbound. He rose to stand on his own slightly shaky legs and carefully made his way through the dark over to the window. With the thick curtains pushed back he placed his palms on the cold glass—snow blanketed the ground as far as he could see. Drained of energy from the simple act of walking to the window and dressed only in his lawn shirt and waistcoat, he would freeze to death before making it back to London, and that was assuming he knew in which direction to head.
Collapsed against the edge of the desk, Torrance stared out the glass planes and reviewed his conversation with his kidnapper. The woman was extremely well informed. Bloody hell, how had she known of his very recent resignation?
He held the curtains back to let in the moonlight and glanced once more about the room. The study appeared similarly styled and furnished to a wealthy peer’s country estate. Who was this captor who had dared to steal from the Royal Treasury, and what did she really want?