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Thomas noticed the apprehension in Trevor’s face. He stepped closer. “It’s about Stormy. Come downstairs, so I can explain.”

Trevor blanched. If something had happened to his only child, he would never forgive himself for having brought her to England. Hopping from one leg to the other, he finally managed to drag on the breeches and hurriedly followed Thomas down the servants’ stairs.

“What has happened to Stormy?” he demanded through gritted teeth. His voice sounded unsteady even to his own ears.

“Wait until we get to the study. André can explain it to you.”

Trevor’s lips compressed into a thin white line. Forgetting his earlier concern and the fact that he had helped to rescue him, he snapped, “If that cad has harmed a hair on her head, I’ll have his on a platter.”

Thomas opened the study door and pushed his brother through. “Keep your voice down.

You don’t want to wake the whole household.” He quietly shut the door behind them.

André got to his feet. He kept his arms at his sides, certain that Trevor would not shake his hand. The man’s eyes bored into him in a mélange of questions, accusation, and dislike.

Before André had a chance to say anything, Trevor gritted, “What have you done with my daughter? Where is she?”

André held up both hands, palm up, and Trevor noticed that his normally blue eyes were dark with anxiety. “If it makes you feel better, you can blame me for everything. The fact is that Snowden has your daughter.” He repeated the story he’d told Thomas. “I know Snowden wants me. I am willing to surrender myself in exchange for Stormy.”

The room fell silent with the portent of André’s offer. Trevor sank heavily into a nearby chair and Thomas walked over to sit on the edge of the desk.

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“We can’t let you do that. It would mean a sure death sentence for you. After what you told us, I know that Stormy is to blame for her predicament, though she does not deserve to be held captive by this man, whose mind is undeniably unstable.”

Tears glistened in Trevor’s eyes. “God help me, but at this moment I can’t even feel angry toward the minx. I want her back and I hope to heaven she wasn’t harmed.”

A tap against the glass door had the three men exchanging nervous glances. “If this is not the worst night of my life, I don’t know what is.” Thomas reached once more for his pistol and edged toward the door.

Stuart stood outside, dressed almost identically like André. He waited silently until Thomas had identified him, then slipped like a wraith through the opened door.

André stood up, his expression one of incredulity. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be riding to Bellingshire.”

Stuart swayed on his feet, his voice barely audible, he said, “What kind of friend would I be? I followed you at a distance. I had to know, if Stormy would make it home safe. So much is at stake here. I caught up with you just before you got off Noir and disappeared into the thicket. I saw what was happening up ahead and I kept out of sight in case I could make a difference with my unexpected appearance.”

Stuart reached for the nearby desk to steady himself.

“Sit down,” Thomas ordered. “We don’t need more problems than we have already.

Stuart’s return of course changes the whole equation.”

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Whatever bravado Stormy had mustered earlier, the ride to Greenbriar sucked all the energy and optimism out of her. She lolled in the saddle like a rag doll, uncaring if she lived or died. But oh how she wanted to be able to lie down and snuggle into a comforter. No, she wanted to be back home on Dreamscape, smell the honeysuckle and feel the warm sun on her skin.

Big tears rolled down her pale cheeks, when the man sitting behind her reined his horse in and dragged her roughly from the saddle. She cringed at the thought that she would be taken to the cellar, and her feet refused to move.

“Take her to the study and tie her to a chair. I’ll be in directly.”

She inhaled a shaky breath of relief. But it was short-lived, when a big hand smacked her between the shoulder blades to urge her forward.

“We don’t have all night, strumpet. If the sheriff don’t let us have a turn on you tonight, we might as well get some shut-eye.”

Moments later, Stormy found herself in a study much like the one at Emerald Hills.

Book shelves lined three sides of the room and long windows with comfortably upholstered seats were spaced in between for reading. For a second she tried to picture André as a young boy curled up in one of those seats, reading a book. She shook her head. Why should she even have such silly thoughts? By now he and Stuart would be riding hard for Bellingshire and had probably forgotten all about her childish escapade.

* * * *

Damn, but it was her own fault that she was in this fix. When would she ever learn to leave well enough alone? Frustrated, furious, she struggled against the rope that tied her to an arm chair. Fresh tears of regret coursed down her face. What a fool she had been. No one would notice that she was gone until morning, and even then they might not check, thinking she would want to sleep late after the night’s rescue mission. Oh, God.

She must have dozed, because she awoke to a hand covering her mouth and someone whispering into her ear. Fear coursed through her, her heart hammered in protest. She heard the words, but her brain refused to process them. All she knew was that Snowden had come back to make good on his threat to have his way with her. She whimpered.

He shook her. “Stormy. It’s me, André. I’ll have you out of here as fast as I can manage.” There was a pause, but the hand did not move from her mouth. “Nod your head that you won’t scream.”

She obediently nodded, giddy with the prospect that she would be free soon and that André had come for her. She could not see him. It was so dark in the study and she knew he was dressed in black. There would be time for questions later.

She felt his knife slice through the ropes on her hands first. She rubbed her wrists to restore the circulation, quivering with trepidation, while he sawed through the bonds on her legs.

And then he pulled her up and held her in his arms.

She burrowed against him, reveling in the comfort of his solid embrace. For the space of a heartbeat she blocked out the world around her and wished this moment would go on forever.

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Touched by her neediness, he bent and let his lips caress hers for the briefest moment, before he resolutely stepped away to look down at her. Turning her toward the glass paned double doors of the study, he strived to make out her features.

“We have to hurry. Can you walk?” His voice sounded urgent.

He got no further, since a clatter of boots sounded down the hall. Excited voices sounded the alarm that there was an intruder on the premises.

Stormy’s heart skittered in fear. Frightened for her own safety and André’s life, she simply stood frozen in place. But André already tugged on her hand and pulled her along to the nearest bookcase; one that adjoined one of the deep cushioned window seats.

Her heart continued to beat in an uneven tattoo, her knees threatened to buckle, while her eyes looked in the direction of the door, expecting it to open any minute. She was barely aware of André’s frantic search for something along the wall.

Just as the door to the study opened, something clicked and the book case opened to a narrow passage. André wasted no time. He shoved her ahead of himself, pulling the shelf shut behind him. Utter darkness closed around them in a cloud of dust and fetid air.

André’s hand found her mouth with uncanny accuracy. “Don’t make a sound. There are some air slits in this bookcase, which will keep us from smothering to death. But they also can give away the slightest noise.”

Stormy nodded. And then she realized that the tiny light refractions against the wall, where they were standing, actually came from the candelabra someone had brought with them to the study.

“Damn, they’ve escaped. But they can’t have gotten far. Fan out and search the grounds and the rest of the house. I know there are secret passages. These old homes all have them. I just haven’t been able to find them. I should have asked the old prune, before she died.” A malicious chuckle followed that last statement and sent a skitter of repulsion down Stormy’s spine.

“Shoot to kill, when you sight them. I’ll come up with a plausible motive.”

The sound of boots scuffing across the wood flooring, the slamming of the doors to the garden and then there was silence. At least Stormy thought they all had left.

“Now what?” she asked in a low voice.

André would have groaned, if he hadn’t known it would carry, too. He quickly covered Stormy’s mouth again in warning. Hell, he could almost see the wheels turning in Snowden’s head. And he was sure that the sheriff was still in the study. He was not the kind of man, who would want to do the dirty work; he just liked to direct it.

Their space became lighter as someone approached the bookcase with the candelabra.

They could hear surreptitious breathing, the kind that indicated that someone was nearby, listening intently.

Neither André nor Stormy moved a muscle. Stormy could taste blood, where she had bitten through her lip. God help her, but why had she even asked? André had come with a plan, he knew the house. He would also know what move to make next.

There was an ominous rattle of the book shelf. Muffled curses sounded loud in Stormy’s ears. This time, when André urged her forward, she did not ask where they were going, she simply put one foot in front of the other until he abruptly stopped her by wrapping his arm around her middle.

“Sit down, we have to slide,” he whispered into her ear.

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She felt herself pushed to the ground, suddenly locked between his muscular thighs, his arms still around her middle, and then he shoved away from the top.

At any other time the slide would have been thrilling. But in the pitch dark and knowing they were being hunted, gave it a rather sinister aspect.

They came to a jarring halt at the bottom. Shocked and shaken, Stormy tried to get her bearings. She turned to see what André was doing and her mouth opened in a surprised O, when she saw him arrange a pitchfork at the bottom of the slide. Any unsuspecting person would surely get hurt, if they came down that way, but before she could voice her concern, he caught her elbow and propelled her forward.

“We need to get out of here. Noir is waiting nearby. All I have to do is whistle. But I have no idea how many men Snowden has sent to hunt us down and how soon he can command them back to the house. Everything depends on luck right now. And I beg you to trust me.

Don’t ask any questions once we get outside, don’t utter a single word.”

He pulled her behind him as he inched his way toward the same trapdoor they had come down to rescue him—had that been only hours ago?

Stormy breathed deeply of the fresh air. The air in the passage and the cellar had been fetid. But she had little time to enjoy that bit of comfort, because one shrill whistle brought Noir at a gallop.

André threw her into the saddle and vaulted up behind her in a flurry of motion, and then they hurtled down the long drive in a careless run for their lives.

Shouts and gunshots sounded behind them, but André paid them no heed. As soon as he could, he veered off into the woods that bordered Greenbriar from all sides. He weaved in and out of the trees, making it difficult if they should come after them with the hounds.

“We’ll be meeting your father, uncle, and Stuart at the crossroads. Stuart offered to ride Noir, while we take Rebel and one of your uncle’s geldings and ride for Bristol.”

“Bristol? What are we going to do in Bristol?”

She looked up at André with such innocence that he felt the need to lean down and kiss her. It was a quick, hard kiss, one that was part desperation, part lust.

He grinned, suddenly feeling sure that things would work out. “Your father offered me the Mystic as a getaway. He thinks I am going to sail to the Americas with you, but I can’t do that. I have to see Sheriff Snowden brought to justice. Besides, I can’t just walk away from my ancestral home and the people who have come to depend on making their living there.”

Stormy stared. “Where does that leave me?” She cocked her head to the side to be able to look into his face. “I am allowed to speak, aren’t I?” she said with some hesitation.

André chuckled. “Yes, I don’t think anyone can hear us, and it is my hope that we have enough of a head start to pull this double cross off on Snowden.”

Noir snorted his displeasure of a sudden, and André pulled back on the reins.

“Noir has an uncanny sense for danger. He knows that there are horses up ahead. But even though I know it is your father, I want to make sure.”

He stopped and handed her down from the horse. “Wait here. I should be back within a few minutes. If I don’t return, I want you to stay hidden until it is completely light. Your father and uncle know the route I took, so if something happens, they will find you.”

Her hand reached for the bridle. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear life without you.”

Her plea cut to his heart. Up to this moment he had known that she had touched him in a special way, but he had not considered her more than a passing whim.

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He could not allow his heart to rule the moment. They were in grave danger and it was his responsibility to see her to safety. With a deliberate rakish smile, he leaned down and touched her nose with a long finger.

“There is nothing to worry about, petite. I will be back in a few shakes of a lamb’s tail as my English friends are fond of saying.”