Seduce Me (30 page)

As long as she was in his life, she was in danger. The Raven would use her against Fielding, and he wouldn’t always be able
to protect her.

Pandora’s box lay hidden in the bottom of a travel chest in his room. He pulled it out to examine it. The ornate carvings
of the gods and goddesses were so intricate and detailed, it seemed unlikely they were made with human hands.

Every turn they’d taken since finding the box seemed to lead to the unbelievable. The stuff of novels and fairy tales, not
modern-day England. Yet, there was part of him that very much felt as if he’d been under some sort of curse. Only it wasn’t
lust he’d been afflicted with, but rather love for a woman he couldn’t truly have because he didn’t deserve her.

And in the end the Raven would do what he could to retrieve the box. Not only that, but they were now only one day away from
the lunar eclipse. Fielding couldn’t allow Esme to face her fate alone.

He withdrew the key from his pocket. Esme had not noticed him swipe it from her bedside table yesterday after their argument.
With a click, the box opened, and Fielding reached inside.

He felt the final bracelet latch onto his wrist. Now they were in this together. The Raven couldn’t get any of the bracelets
off without Fielding present. And if worse came to worst, he and Esme would face the end together.

A
knock sounded on his bedchamber door the following morning. Fielding rose, and upon opening the door found Thea standing
there, her hands knotted in an old handkerchief.

“Is Esme with you?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t seen her all day. I went out for a while earlier and thought she was still abed.” Actually, he’d assumed she
was still in her room avoiding him.

“She’s not in her room,” Thea said with a choked sob. “And her maid hasn’t seen her since yesterday morning. I think something
dreadful has happened.”

Alarm spread through Fielding. “You know Esme; she probably went for a walk on the grounds,” he said, trying to soothe the
older woman.

“You have to do something,” Thea pleaded.

He squeezed the woman’s arm, then stepped around her and into the hall. “I’ll take care of it.”

Twenty minutes later he’d scoured the house and found no sign of Esme. Only one servant, a footman, remembered seeing her
leave the house in her cloak around eleven-thirty the previous morning. Fielding had already left for the museum by then.

He glanced at the clock in the hall, quarter of seven. The Raven had her; it was the only explanation. He climbed the stairs
back to his room and threw open the packing trunk. There was only one way to get her back. He pulled out the box and dropped
it into a bag. Five minutes later he was in a borrowed coach on his way to Black Manor.

He’d never known his uncle to harm a woman. The man had done his share of wretched things, the least of which might include
murdering Mr. Nichols, but Fielding had never seen him take advantage of a lady. Once upon a time his own mother had loved
the Raven; surely that meant a heart beat inside the man’s chest.

The carriage had not even rolled to a complete stop before Fielding had jumped down and scaled the steps. A quick pound on
the door, and the butler had given him entrance. “Where are they?” he demanded.

“The master of the house is out,” the butler said.

Fielding grabbed the old man by his jacket and held him up to his face; the servant’s breath was sour with age. “Tell me where
they are.”

The only sign that the butler felt threatened was the slow swallow he made before he spoke. “I do not know where he went.”

With one last look, Fielding shoved the old man away from him and left the house. Where the hell would the Raven take her?

“I trust you’re comfortable,” the Raven asked, though he couldn’t have expected an answer considering he’d gagged Esme before
they’d left his estate. She was crouched on a dirty wooden floor in an old house with no fire and only two lamps to light
the room. The Raven eyed her as if he did in fact want her to answer. So she merely nodded.

She had no idea where they were. At some point after he’d ordered her held in the tower room, that old butler had brought
her back downstairs, and the Raven had tied her up and tossed her into the back of a carriage. The room they were in now was
not large and sparsely furnished, holding only the small wooden table the Raven currently sat near, and two chairs.

“Do you know what this place is?” he asked. He came to his feet then and spread his arms out to encompass the room. “This
was my home at one time.” He looked down at her. “I know it’s hard to imagine, considering the house I live in now. But there
was a time when I’d lost my inheritance at the tables playing cards, and my brother wouldn’t give me another dime.” He shook
his head. “No, he had a family to care for.”

Esme eyed the door and momentarily considered attempting to run while he was distracted, but with her ankles strapped together,
she doubted she would get far.

“Without my brother’s aid, I had to move here and start over. But I did it.” He pointed at her. “First I acquired and sold
one antiquity, and then another, and the fees I earned impressed even me. In less than a year I was able to move out of this
hovel, but I never sold it. No, I wanted a reminder of where I’d come from.” He smiled broadly at her. “Impressive, isn’t
it?”

She nodded fervently.

He stood above her and pulled her to her feet. “You are most agreeable, Miss Worthington. I like that in a woman.” He pulled
her into the next room and tossed her down on a dirty feather mattress. “You need to get your rest. I have plans for you later.”

Fielding was trying, in vain, not to panic. The Raven was simply toying with him, sending him on a chase just to remind Fielding
who had the upper hand. He’d searched his mind, trying to think of anywhere the man would take Esme. At the moment he’d stopped
at Thatcher’s house, a two-story brick townhome near Piccadilly Square.

Fielding tore through the front door. “Thatcher!” But there was no answer. He checked every room on both floors, but he found
no sign of Esme. Fielding picked up a lamp and slammed it into a wall, the glass shattering and oil spilling all over the
floor.

He swore loudly, then raked his fingers through his hair.
Think
. Where could he have taken her?

Waters’s place was out of the question as the man never stayed in one place for very long. He was content to rent rooms here
and there and spend his money on women and ale.

Then an idea hit him. It would fit in with the Raven’s desire to taunt him. Fielding jumped back onto the rig and grabbed
the reins from the startled driver. The chilled night wind bit at his face and made him wish he’d thought to bring his greatcoat,
but his own comfort didn’t matter right now. He’d promised Thea he’d bring Esme back safely, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t
make good on that vow.

Fifteen minutes later he pulled the horses to a stop in front of his own townhome. Not a single light shone through any of
the windows; still, they could be in there. The Raven would likely move here to Fielding’s house for his own amusement, see
how long it took Fielding to locate them. But as he searched through the darkened rooms, he found no sign of life.

His every nerve was on alert, waiting for any indication that Esme was nearby. He knew he’d smell her lilac-scented hair or
hear the melodic tone of her voice. If she was here, wouldn’t he be able to feel her, sense her somehow?

Fielding swore loudly, his voice echoing through the empty halls of his home. “Esme,” he whispered. He fell to his knees.
For several moments he stayed in that position. And then, as if the answer had been whispered in his ear, he knew immediately
where the Raven had taken her.

He only prayed he wasn’t too late.

Fielding slowed the carriage to a halt two blocks from the house. The element of surprise might give him an edge he desperately
needed. He hopped down and snuck quietly through the darkness toward the small wooden structure at the edge of the pier. In
the distance waves from the Thames lapped softly against the shoreline.

Boats creaked, rocking against the piers in a rhythmic beat. The moon hung heavy and low in the sky, lighting his path but
also reminding him of the ticking clock he and Esme were facing. The eclipse was only one day away. They were running out
of time.

Fielding made it to the small house and pressed himself against the outer wall. Inside he could see the flickering of an oil
lamp. They were here. He felt sure of it.

He pulled the pistol from the back of his pants as he crept to the entrance. One, two, three, then he slammed his shoulder
against the door. It crashed to the floor, and he held his arms steady as he let his gun lead the way inside.

“I told Miss Worthington you would come for her.” The Raven’s slick voice came from the dimly lit room.

“Where the hell is she?” Fielding grounded out.

“She didn’t believe me, though,” he continued. “Claimed you had no tender feelings for her.”

Guilt stabbed at Fielding’s gut. She’d been abducted yet again, brought to this tiny home where she probably thought she was
going to die, and she didn’t know how Fielding felt about her. In his mad desire for her, he had used her body but offered
no solace to her heart.

The Raven stepped out of the shadows, and Fielding was faced with the image of his lineage for the first time since discovering
the truth. For years Fielding had noted physical similarities between himself and the Raven—their height, for one. Though
Fielding had always thought he got his eyes from the man he’d believed to be his father, the rest of his facial features were
quite similar to those of the man standing before him.

“She’s safe,” the Raven said. Fielding noted a bloodied rag encased in his uncle’s hand.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing.

An unnatural laugh came from the Raven’s throat. “What’s left of your old friend Thatcher.”

He’d killed him. Just as he’d killed Mr. Nichols. Had he done the same to Esme? Nausea crashed through Fielding. “I want to
see Esme,” he said. This was his father, Fielding reminded himself. It was on his tongue to tell the Raven, to let him know
that Fielding knew. But that would give him too much pleasure. Had the man not destroyed his family simply by holding that
secret over their heads? No, there was no reason for him to know that Fielding knew the truth.

“In due time. Tell me, did you reconsider my offer? Have you come back to work? Because as you can see”—he held out the offensive
mass, and Fielding finally realized it was a severed hand—“I’m down to one employee.” Again he laughed.

Fear ate at his stomach, but he refused to let the Raven see it. “There is nothing in this world that would make me work for
you again,” Fielding said.

“Pity.” He leaned against the doorjamb of a connecting room. “Still, you must know I’m not going to hand her over for nothing.
You must know me better than that, boy.”

“I have what you want. It’s yours, once I have Esme safe with me.”

The Raven stood straight. “Pandora’s box? You will trade the box for the girl?” His eyebrows arched. “And she was so certain
you wouldn’t. Interesting.”

“The condition being that you will never again go anywhere near her. Is that understood?” Fielding asked.

“You are becoming quite the romantic.” The Raven exhaled slowly. “I do believe you’ve got yourself a bargain. Show me the
box.”

“First, bring me Esme.” And just to prove to the Raven that Fielding was serious, he cocked the gun, allowing the bullet to
roll into the barrel.

Both eyebrows rose. “You intend to shoot me?” the Raven asked.

“Merely a precaution,” Fielding said. “I don’t precisely trust your word.”

“Suit yourself.” He stepped out of the room for a moment, then returned pulling Esme by her elbow.

Aside from her red-rimmed eyes, she looked unscathed. And she held her head high with an inherent dignity that made Fielding
proud, despite the gag and her tied limbs.

Relief washed over him so forcefully he came close to dropping the gun. But he couldn’t afford to lose his concentration;
he needed to get her out of here first. “Untie her,” Fielding demanded.

The Raven did as he was told.

“Fielding,” she said.

Fielding held out his hand. “Esme, come here.”

He didn’t have to ask twice, and she was there close to his side. Her scent of lilac permeated his senses, and he sent up
a silent prayer, thankful she was in one piece.

Once she was safely behind him, he turned his attention back to the Raven. “Catch,” he said, then he tossed the bag into the
air.

Once they were rolling down the street, Fielding pulled Esme close to him.

“You scared me,” he whispered.

“I was rather terrified myself.” She looked up into his eyes. “Not initially. I didn’t think he would harm me.” A frown shrouded
her face. “But then he got so angry with Thatcher. He just pulled that sword off the wall”—her voice hitched—“and cut Thatcher’s
hand off.” She snuggled closer. “The bracelet still wouldn’t come off. That’s when he killed him.”