Shana Galen (13 page)

In front of her, across the wide expanse of the bed, was a randy man who wanted to bed her. Had Winn really sent him? If so, was he a spy? Could he help her escape Foncé?

“I grow impatient,” the man said, the threat in his tone clear.

Her hands trembled as she placed them on the satin coverlet. The material slid through her fingers as her hair slid over her shoulder, blocking her limited view of the room. But she sensed movement. The man was coming toward her.

What was she going to do? She could not stand here and allow herself to be raped. Perhaps when he was behind her, she could scramble over the bed or knee him in his nether regions. She had to do something.

He was behind her now. She could feel his warmth, and then she jumped because he slid his hand along her ribs, over her breasts, and then down her arms.

“If you know who Foncé is,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady as his hands roamed her hips, “then you know the danger we are in. He has taken me prisoner, and he knows my husband is a spy.”

His hand closed on her ankle and then traveled up her calf, under her skirts. She trembled with fear as his fingers slid higher. This was her last chance. She had to make her escape now.

She kicked back, her heel slamming into something hard and solid. She heard a grunt, and the hand holding her knee let go. Quick as a cat, she scrambled onto the bed. She was halfway across when an unforgiving vise gripped her ankle and hauled her back.

She kicked and thrashed, trying to break free, but he did not release her. She grabbed handfuls of the comforter, but the smooth material slid through her fingers. And then she was jerked to the bed’s edge, flipped over, and her hands pinned.

She fought harder, biting and kicking, and wriggling to free herself.

“Stop fighting,” the man ordered. “Listen closely if you want to survive.”

***

Winn could feel the sharp rise and fall of her breasts as she struggled against him. Unfortunately, the action was doing nothing to cool his desire. He had not expected to react to merely touching her body. He’d been searching for hidden weapons, because one could never be too careful, and one could not afford to trust anyone—not even one’s wife. But what should have been a perfunctory search turned into erotic torture as her rounded bottom pressed against his hardening flesh. Now he held her tightly and fought to regain control.

“Winn?” she asked.

He’d forgotten to disguise his voice, but it served him well, as she ceased struggling, and he could think again. “You sound surprised. Did you think I was going to leave you in Foncé’s clutches?”

“I didn’t know what to think. This… this building wasn’t in my plan. This is all wrong. And Foncé—he’s mad, and he knows who you are.”

“I realized that when I determined that he’d abducted you.”

“You knew?”

“I’m a spy, Ellie. It is my job to know these things.”

“But then why didn’t you come for me? Why did you allow this?”

He could not see clearly, but he thought he saw her hand gesture toward the room. He pushed up and away from her. The feel of her warm flesh, her bare arms, was muddling his brain. He needed distance. “How else was I supposed to reach you?”

“But we’re trapped here. I wanted to meet at Almack’s. I thought I could escape from there. Foncé must have changed my letter.”

“There was another note enclosed with additional instructions,” Winn told her.

“How dare he!”

“Elinor. Listen.” He’d cut her off because her argument was valid and, unfortunately, useless. If he’d really been the expert spy he claimed, he would have known Foncé’s location, and all of this would have been unnecessary. Instead, he had been forced to walk into a trap, knowing, even as he stepped into the room indicated in the note accompanying Elinor’s missive, he was going to be ambushed. “We don’t have much time. Foncé will be here in a few moments.”

She jumped up. “Then we have to go. We have to escape before he reaches us.”

“And exactly how do you propose we do that?”

She stared at him for a long, long moment. “You don’t have a plan?”

Of course he had a plan. He wouldn’t be a very good spy if he didn’t have a plan. Winn just didn’t think Elinor would like his plan very much, as it involved allowing Foncé to capture the both of them. It was risky, but what choice did he have? He could either refuse the meeting, in which case Elinor would still be in Foncé’s hands, and the leader of the Maîtriser group would be considerably less happy with her, or he could come to her aid and allow himself to be taken. Assuming he could escape later, the Barbican group would then know Foncé’s whereabouts. If he was not able to escape—or not able to escape with Elinor… Winn did not particularly wish to consider that outcome. In fact, when he’d discussed his plan with Melbourne, Wolf, and Blue, none of the three men had mentioned the possibility of failure either.

It simply was not an option.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he said to Elinor now. “Whatever else happens, stay with me. I can take care of you, if you stay with me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t want to be taken care of. I want to be rescued.”

“And I’d like to oblige you, but there is no way out of this room except through that door, and I doubt your henchman is going to allow us to pass.”

Elinor shook her head in a disbelieving gesture. “Can’t you hit him over the head or something? Render him unconscious so we can flee?”

“To what purpose?” Winn asked. “I’m certain Foncé has every exit guarded. In fact”—he consulted his pocket watch—“I imagine he is on his way up the stairs right now.”

Elinor’s head whipped toward the door, and he saw naked fear in her eyes. “Ellie.” He stepped closer, put his hands on her arms. “I told you I will take care of you.”

Booted steps sounded in the corridor outside, and she shook off Winn’s hands. “Do not talk to me. Do not even speak to me!”

Winn refrained from pointing out those were the same thing. “I’m not going to allow anything to happen to you,” he said as the door burst open.

But, really, how was he going to keep that promise?

Several hours later, Elinor supposed she was going to have to rescue herself, as Winn did not seem capable of doing so. What kind of spy allowed himself to be captured? Not a very good one, obviously. She supposed she was going to have to rescue the both of them, for now they had been returned to Foncé’s lair and were running out of time.

She glanced at the cellar floor, where Foncé’s men had left Winn’s crumpled body. Tolbert had carried her husband, who was almost as tall as that big bear of a man himself, as though he were a small child. Except he dropped him in Winn’s current resting place without much care. Tolbert had then grabbed her arm, prepared to drag her back to the room she had occupied earlier. Once again, she’d assumed her authoritative look and stance and demanded she stay with her husband. She’d pointed to his unconscious form. “He needs me. Just you try and make me leave his side.”

Tolbert had not wanted to deal with her rebellion, and he’d lumbered up the cellar stairs and closed the door, leaving only a weak candle burning. Elinor shivered now. It was cold, dark, and that candle would not last the night. Soon she would be in complete darkness in the cellar of a madman. How long until Foncé made his way down here equipped with his
tools
? He’d seemed to take enormous pleasure tonight in watching his men punch and kick Winn, who did little to defend himself. Elinor had tried to stop them, but Tolbert had held her firmly.

Earlier on the carriage ride back to Foncé’s headquarters, she’d checked Winn’s breathing, relieved he was still alive. Now, she bent down and checked it again, pushing him onto his back. The floor was hard, but the position looked more comfortable than the one he’d been left in. “Winn?” she whispered. “Winn?”

No response. Elinor rose and lifted the candle, placing it on the floor so she could see him better. She hunched down and ran a finger over the bruises beginning to appear on his temple. “That is going to give you a terrible megrim,” she said to herself. “And your eye is going to be black before the end of the day tomorrow.” She combed a strand of his hair away from his face, allowing her fingers to linger on the hard plane of his cheek. When she was not with him, it was easy to forget how handsome he was, especially now that his features were relaxed. He often looked so cold and hard. She rarely saw him in unguarded moments.

She brushed some dust from his forehead and smoothed the lines on his brow. Even in unconsciousness, he frowned. “I sincerely hope this wasn’t your plan,” she murmured, loosening his cravat and the buttons of his linen shirt, “because it’s not what I would consider a success.” Not that her own plan had been any more productive.

Tolbert had tossed her spencer in a heap on the stairs when she’d begun to argue with him, and now she made her way to it and pulled it over her gown. At least it would ward off some of the chill. She did up the fastenings of the spencer and then went back to check on Winn. His breathing seemed easier now, the breathing of a man deep in slumber.

Just like a man to sleep during a crisis.

She looked around the cellar, hoping to spot a possible escape option. But with only the candle for light, she could not see anything not directly in front of her. She supposed she would have to wait until morning to explore the cellar further. It did not appear to have any windows, but Foncé might have instructed his men to board them up. In the morning, telltale slivers of light would peek through, and she would have an idea of the cellar’s vulnerabilities.

That was, if she lived until morning.

She rubbed her eyes. Two nights of little sleep were finally catching up with her. No one had hit her, but she had a megrim herself all the same. She looked back down at Winn in his greatcoat. He looked warm enough. Perhaps if she lay beside him for a few minutes and closed her eyes, she would feel better and would be able to think clearly again.

She woke when Winn groaned, her every sense coming instantly alive. She’d fallen asleep, and for far longer than an hour or so. The candle had sputtered out, leaving a pool of wax at the bottom of the holder and on the cellar floor. She sat quickly, wincing at the pain in her back and shoulders. She was not used to sleeping on the floor.

Winn groaned again, and Elinor turned to him, rising to her knees. “Winn? Are you all right?”

“Am I alive?” he muttered.

“Yes.”

His eyes squinted open, and she could see one was red and bloodshot. “Was I unconscious?”

She nodded. “Yes. All night.” Elinor realized it must be morning. The cellar was no longer pitch black, only gloomy and shrouded.

“Is there any way you could hit me over the head again?”

“Winn!”

He held up a hand. “Not so loud.” He braced himself on an elbow, and she tried to help him rise. “Let me do it,” he said, his voice surly. “I need to see how bad the damage is.” He rose to a sitting position. “It feels like I was dragged behind a horse.”

“Foncé’s men weren’t exactly gentle with you last night.”

“No.” He gritted his teeth and pushed to his feet. “Where’s the fun in that?” He wavered, and she jumped beside him, putting her arm about him to steady him. He scowled. “I said I didn’t want help.”

“You’re going to fall on your face.”

“Don’t coddle me.”

“Fine.” She stepped away. “Fall down then, but don’t think I’m going to drag you behind me when I escape.”

He lifted a brow, a look that appeared comical over his swollen eye. “You have an escape plan?”

She frowned and peered quickly around the cellar. No visible windows or doors, other than the one at the top of the stairs. She imagined it was both locked and guarded. “I’m working on one.”

“Oh, good.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You might sound a little more enthusiastic. After all, someone has to save us.”

“And you think you can do it?”

“I can do a whole lot more than you! All you’ve managed to do is allow yourself to be captured, beaten within an inch of your life, and rendered unconscious for the last six hours or so.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about the inches of my life,” he said through clenched teeth. “I have a few left.” He seemed to study the cellar now. “At least you listened and managed to remain with me.”

“Yes, a lot of good that did me. I can’t see any way out of this place, and I imagine once Foncé has breakfasted, he’s going to want some entertainment. In case you haven’t realized it yet, you and I are the entertainment.”

“I know exactly what he’s capable of.”

“Then why did you allow yourself to be captured?”

“Because, madam, there are larger considerations than you or I. Your capture gave the Barbican group the perfect opportunity.”

“Wait a moment.” She held her hands out in front of her. “Are you telling me that you planned this? That you did not come to rescue me at all?”

“I’m still hoping to rescue you.”

“Don’t bother.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the cellar walls. She was going to find a way out of this place on her own. She was done with spies and husbands and men in general. There were a few streams of light coming from one of the corners, but the area was barricaded by crates and what looked to be the remains of the house’s previous kitchen. She spotted a stove lying on its side and a broken table. The table she might move, but not the heavy stove.

Winn was behind her, still talking. “Ellie, we’ve been looking for Foncé for months. This was our chance to find his headquarters.”

She whipped her head around and stared at him. “And so you used me?”

He opened his mouth and seemed to consider. “I wouldn’t say that. You are doing a service to your country.”

“I don’t want to do a service to my country.” Not anymore. She was through with spying. “I want to go home.”

He reached for her, and she slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me. We’ve been married fourteen years. Fourteen years of lies and deceit. Fourteen years when I have asked almost nothing of you. I asked one thing from you. One.” She held up a finger. “And you won’t even give me that. You care more about your precious spy group.” She spun back, using her anger to heave the table out of her way. Then she started stacking crates up toward the slivers of light coming through.

“You actually expected me to rescue you?” His voice sounded incredulous.

She shook her head. How was it possible she had married such an idiot? “It would be lovely if once”—she lifted another crate—“just once, you pretended to care about me.”

“I
do
care about you.”

She slammed another crate down. “No, you don’t! Do you know what it was like for me when we first married?” She kept stacking crates, studiously avoided looking in his direction. Her vision blurred from all the dust in the cellar, and she swiped at her eyes. “I was a new bride. Away from my parents for the first time. I was in a new house. My whole life had changed, and all I wanted was to please you—my new husband. That’s all I wanted.”

“Ellie—”

She felt him move closer, and she skirted away. “But you couldn’t even pretend you cared for a few days. As soon as we were married, you were gone—away on one of your missions, I’m sure. I waited for you every day and every night. I would have been elated with a simple note.” But she’d received nothing. And when he had come back, he hadn’t seemed to remember she was his wife. She’d changed her hair, her gowns, hosted a ball, but nothing drew his attention. “Nothing I did would ever make you love me. You didn’t even
notice
me.” She swung around now to face him. “What is wrong with me, Winn? I know I’m not beautiful or witty or terribly accomplished, but I am your wife. Can’t you even rescue me?”

He stared at her—at least she thought he did. Her eyes were watering too much—horrid dust—to see him clearly.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry.” He reached for her again.

“No!” She jerked away. “I do not want your apologies. Not now. It’s far too late for that. Just answer my question.”

“There was and is absolutely nothing wrong with you. I was a fool.”

“No, I am the fool. What did you say a moment ago?
You
actually
expected
me
to
rescue
you?
How you must laugh at my foolishness.”

“Never. Ellie—Elinor, I was never going to be able to rescue you. That was a trap. Surely you knew that.”

“Of course I know that now,” she said, throwing a crate in his direction. “This is not how
I
planned it. But you are a spy. I expect you to be capable of escaping a trap.”

He was silent for a long moment, and she glanced over her shoulder to look at him. “Never thought about that, did you? Never thought about
actually
rescuing me.”

“Of course I did.”

“Liar.” She kicked a crate, angry at the way her eyes burned with unshed tears. She would not cry. He’d never loved her. Nothing had changed. Why cry now because she had more evidence for what she already knew to be true?

“Elinor.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she shook it off and went back to stacking the crates.

“This conversation is not over.”

“It is for me.”

There was a long silence, then he cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

“I’m escaping.”

“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I see no window or door.”

She jabbed a finger at the light streaming through the slats near the top of the cellar walls. “See that light? It’s coming from somewhere. I thought perhaps the windows or a door might be boarded up. I want to climb up and take a look.”

“Huh.” He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling.

“Huh? Your response is
huh
?”

“It’s not a bad idea.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to stacking crates.

“Elinor.”

She ignored him and continued working.

“Elinor.” He took the crate from her hand, set it down, and took hold of her shoulders. “I…”

She waited for him to continue. Never had she seen him look so completely uncomfortable. Never had she seen him stumble over words.

“You…?” she prompted.

And still he didn’t speak.

“Is this going to take long? I have an escape to plan.”

He clutched her shoulders. “Will you forget about the bloody escape? I’ll take you out of here.”

“Forgive me if I have my doubts.”

“I was terrified. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Not particularly.” Although she had never heard him say anything actually expressing an emotion before, so this was a novel moment. She might have enjoyed it if she did not have crates to stack and an escape to plan. She wanted him to release her. “Let me go.”

“I thought you were gone. I thought you were dead.”

She stilled and forgot about her escape plan for a moment. “You were terrified for me?”

“And me. I didn’t know how I was going to go on without you.”

“I imagine as you always have.”

He shook his head and brushed a finger along her cheek. “No. That’s no longer possible. I find, wholly unexpectedly, you have become necessary.”

She shook her head. She could not be hearing him correctly. “Necessary for what?”

“My happiness. I need you, Ellie, and I was afraid I’d lost you.”

Elinor wanted to melt. She wanted to feel warm and happy and exactly as she’d always imagined she would when she dreamed about this moment. She remembered her first dance with Winn, and the feel of his strong arms around her. She remembered the first time he’d called on her, endured a quarter hour of her mother’s simpering, and the stuffy drawing room of her family’s rented London town house. She remembered the first time he’d kissed her—at the wedding breakfast.

She remembered the first time she’d told him she loved him, and his response, “What does marriage have to do with love?”

She’d been shocked to realize he didn’t love her, but then why should she have been? He’d never said as much, never acted like a man in love. But she couldn’t help feeling deceived. He’d made her love him with his wit and charm, and though he must have known her feelings, he never did anything to discourage her.