Chapter 9
Five days. Five damn infuriating days had passed. Had Archbroke really abandoned him? Torrance rolled his head from side to side. He’d given the Home Office his prime years. Surely his comrades were looking for him. Giving up hope would mean the end. But how long could he continue the battle of wills with his captor? While he tried to engage in conversation with the woman who had him under watch every minute of the day, she studied him. Hours upon hours the woman’s gaze had been solely focused upon him. He was on display like those poor creatures at the Royal Menagerie.
The menagerie. The crown jewels. London Tower.
Sleep deprived, he struggled to retain his train of thought. Except this time, bells were ringing in his head. Torrance stared directly at the darkened corner that his captor masterfully blended into and said, “The London Tower is a maze, is it not?”
No reply. Not that he expected one. Not after days of silence as a response.
The woman rarely spoke, and when she did it was only to ask a question of her own.
Deprived of visual reactions to his questions, he relied upon the sounds in the room to provide him clues as to what the woman was thinking. The swoosh of a skirt meant his query had made her uncomfortable. The tap of a heel meant she was agitated or angry. And the click of nails upon wood indicated she was pondering.
They had spent many hours in each other’s company. However, he’d gleaned very little insight into the woman’s intent or purpose. Cursing himself for not managing to devise any sort of escape plan, Torrance rose to his feet to pace about the room. He was granted the freedom to move about the room but not afforded any privacy. After the first night and his failed attempt at saving himself, his captor rarely left the room, but when she did her burly bodyguard remained behind.
A maid wheeled in a cart laden with food and positioned it in the shadowed corner. Like all the other staff that had come and gone, the maid carried out her duties without speaking and left. Tortured by the scent of freshly baked bread, Torrance’s stomach rumbled.
Moments later a roll flew at him and he snatched it out of the air. “How gracious of you to share.”
“I’m beginning to find your comments rather annoying.” The edge to the woman’s voice was new.
Was she too beginning to tire?
He took a bite from the still-warm bread roll and slowly chewed to prevent him from making a snarky reply that might provoke her further.
Her bodyguard, who Torrance had begun to refer to as Mr. Big B, moved into the shadows, and then to his surprise left the room, leaving his captor extremely vulnerable.
“Aren’t you worried I might try to overpower you and demand release?” Torrance asked.
The clink of metal hitting a plate was her response.
Should he approach or remain at a safe distance? He had no clue if she wielded a weapon. With no light to reflect off a pistol or knife, it might be a trap. Best to remain right where he was.
“I’m disappointed in Lord Archbroke and his men, but more so in Lady Phoebe. Aren’t you?”
Something was amiss. She’d given him food without issue. She’d dismissed her bodyguard. And now she was engaging in conversation. What was the woman up to?
“Why would I be disappointed in Lady Phoebe?”
“I provided her and only her a slew of clues necessary to find you, yet she has failed to appear.”
Torrance choked as he tried to swallow. Damn. The woman was indeed trying to kill him.
While he continued to cough and sputter, his captor continued, “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she isn’t in love with you as I’d presumed. Or…might it be that your Lady Phoebe is not as clever as everyone believes her to be.” The horrid clicking of nails against wood echoed through the room. “Although, it was Lady Phoebe who managed to track me down first and with no aid from you—a feat I hadn’t considered possible. It would be rather sad to think that Lady Phoebe might share the same affinity as Lord Archbroke, who is often too focused on the trees right before him to enjoy the beauty of the forest.”
“I believe you have that backward, Archbroke is a master at viewing matters in their entirety.”
“Hmm…I doubt that I’m wrong in my estimation of Archbroke. Having studied the man for years, I’m confident I could predict the man’s moves before he’s even conceived them…as I proved a few weeks ago. However, you might be correct when it comes to matters of the Home Office, but when the issue is of a more personal nature I believe I’m spot on. You are important to him, a key part of Archbroke’s life. Hence his inability to take action for fear he’ll make a mistake.”
Torrance sank down upon the settee. This wasn’t a woman out for vengeance. This wasn’t even about the crown jewels. “Why did you kidnap me?” he asked.
“I saw an opportunity and I seized it.”
“An opportunity for…”
Before he could finish his question, Mr. Big B swung open the door and gave Phoebe a shove from the back. Torrance rushed forward, but Phoebe had already regained her balance by the time he had reached her.
Uncaring of who was about, he wrapped Phoebe up in his arms. “Are you hurt?” Phoebe shivered in his arms and he squeezed her tighter to him.
“I…I can’t..I can’t breathe.”
He loosened his hold on Phoebe but did not let her go. “I missed you.”
“I missed you.” Phoebe cupped his face and stared straight at him. “I found you.”
The heartwarming comment had him smiling from ear-to-ear. “You did good.”
He peered over Phoebe’s head to search for Mr. Big B.
The bodyguard was nowhere in sight, and the scent of lavender was also distinctly missing from the room. He released Phoebe and marched over to the darkened corner, where his captor had sat watching over him for days.
The woman was gone.
He strode over to the door and peered out into the corridor.
There was no sign of Mr. Big B.
Torrance whirled around and jogged over to the window. He pushed back the thick curtains and spotted a figure approaching the house. “Foxton?”
“Oh, has Lord Foxton been released?” Phoebe joined him at the window. “What a relief.”
The material fell away from his grip as he turned to face Phoebe. “Released?”
“Yes. Boodles—you know the rather brutish bull of a man who escorted me in—well, his counterpart Ossie caught us attempting to enter the mansion through the back entrance last night. I was locked in an upstairs chamber and I overheard Ossie ordering Lord Foxton to be retained in the stables. It was awfully cold last night. I hope Lord Foxton didn’t fall ill.” She started to walk toward the door and added, “I wonder where Lady Margaret disappeared to. We should search the house.”
Utterly lost and confused, Torrance followed Phoebe to the front door and muttered, “Boodles? Ossie? Lady Margaret?”
Phoebe stopped and tugged the front door open. “Lord Foxton! Your lips are blue.” She pulled Foxton, who looked like a walking block of ice, inside.
“G-g-good to see you, Kil-Kilman.” His friend”s teeth chattered.
Torrance slung his arm about Foxton and assisted the poor man into the drawing room where he’d been held captive. They headed straight for the fireplace that had been kept lit day and night. Which meant…Which meant there had been smoke pluming from the chimney for the entire duration of his stay. Torrance shook his head. The blasted woman hadn”t even attempted to hide their location. Nothing made any sense.
Foxton rubbed his hands together and then faced his palms toward the flame. “You look rather well for having been held captive for multiple days.”
Ignoring Foxton now that he was settled, Torrance turned and joined Phoebe in the darkened corner that he had come to hate. “Who is Lady Margaret?”
“The woman who is responsible for stealing the crown jewels and your disappearance.” Phoebe bent and picked up a piece of parchment left on the chair.
She walked over to a candle and began to read out loud.
Dear Lady Phoebe,
Your delayed arrival means that there is little left in the larder.
However, please feel free to make use of the house.
The staff and I shall not be returning any time soon.
I wish you and Lord Kilman a very happy future, and I’m terribly sorry I won’t be able to attend your wedding.
Yours sincerely,
Lady Margaret
P.S. Please passthe following message along to our dear Lord Archbroke:
Don’t try to find me, I won’t be leaving crumbs for you this time.
“Well,she is rather confident in her abilities.” Lord Foxton tucked his hands behind him and faced his back to the fire.
“And so she should be,” Phoebe replied.
Torrance sat upon the settee, occupying the seat he had claimed as his. “I doubt Archbroke will let the matter go.”
“I honestly don’t believe Archbroke will have a choice,” Foxton said. “I wonder where she’s headed.”
Phoebe answered, “My guess is the Continent.”
Foxton left his post next to the fire and sank into the wing-backed chair facing Torrance. “That will make matters interesting. If she ventures across the channel, the chase shall fall upon the shoulders of the Head of the Foreign Office. I wonder who they will send to track Lady Margaret down and bring her home to face the consequences.”
Again Phoebe offered her opinion before he could. “Rumor has it Middleton is the Foreign Office’s golden boy of late.”
“Middleton?” Torrance blurted.
“Yes. Isn’t Lord Middleton one of your closest friends?” Phoebe asked.
“Some might refer to him as my best friend,” Torrance answered, but at the sight of Phoebe’s displeased frown he added, “Not I of course.”
Foxton chuckled and then cleared his throat. “Boodles set our horses loose last night, and I doubt Lady Margaret was kind enough to leave us a mode of transportation home.”
Frustrated at his superior, Torrance said, “Well we can’t sit about waiting for Archbroke to arrive.”
“That is exactly what we will do. Alice only agreed to give us a two-hour head start,” Foxton retorted.
“If that is true then why did Archbroke and the others not arrive last night?” Torrance asked.
Torrance followed his friend”s gaze, which followed Phoebe as she paced in front of the fireplace.
“Phoebe?” Torrance prompted.
“Yes?”
Torrance was all too familiar with the guilty look plastered on Phoebe’s face. “What have you done?”
“Well…I might have given Lady Alice the impression that we were headed for Lord Galston’s country residence.”
Foxton rose to his feet. “Then where the bloody hell are we?”
“No need to cuss, Foxton,” Torrance chided. “If I’m correct we are ensconced in Lady Margaret’s family abode, which borders Lord Galston’s estate.”
Phoebe gave him a broad smile. “You are correct.”
“That still doesn’t explain why Archbroke hasn’t arrived,” Foxton said.
“This is not the main residence, but only one of the many cottages on the Duke of Dansworth’s property,” Phoebe explained.
“The smoke,” Torrance said.
“Lady Margaret is very clever. There are staff posted at some of the other dwellings.”
“How did you know which residence to search first?” Foxton asked before he could.
Phoebe shrugged and said, “I simply selected the one I would have, if I were in her shoes.”
“Then there is nothing to do but wait.” Foxton sighed and sank back into his chair. Foxton flickered his gaze to the door and then back to Phoebe—what was the man trying to tell him?
“I had hoped Lord Archbroke would arrive by morn.” Phoebe stopped her pacing.
The worry on her face had Torrance jumping to his feet and joining her by the fireplace. Voice lowered, he asked, “What is the matter?”
“There is only one bed chamber above stairs.”
Aha. That explained the sudden lack of color in Phoebe’s cheeks. He blinked and tilted his head. “And?”
“I’ve not a maid nor a companion with me.”
“And?” he asked again.
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to marry me.”
“I don’t.”
Phoebe glared up at him and her cheeks reddened. Oh, how he had missed her. He couldn’t help but smile, which sparked a twinkle in her eyes. He placed one hand on the mantle and leaned in closer. “It was not but a week ago that I asked you to marry me, and it was you who rejected me. As a result of Lady Margeret’s actions, there is no escaping the parson’s trap. So… I think it more befitting for me to be the one asking you if you will marry me of your own free will.”
His future wife’s lips turned up at the corners and rather than reply, she took him by the hand and led him past Foxton, whose eyes were closed. Torrance would have wagered the man was only pretending to be asleep. In typical Phoebe fashion, the woman preferred action over words, and he was happy to accompany her wherever she wished to venture.