Page 33 of The Spy and His Lady Love
Chapter 10
Penelope satin the family drawing room, the only light coming from the blazing hearth and the one candle she’d brought with her. Since it was the middle of the night, the room had been chilled when she arrived. Her long ago skill in building a fire served her well as she ignited a warm orange flame in the hearth. Dragging a chair close to the fire, she sat down with a deep, wary sigh. Her body ached, as well as her heart, making her feel years older. Ever since Harry left that afternoon, there’d been no word from him. Even his valet had disappeared. No one in the house seemed to know where he went or when he would return.
Now that she knew about his dangerous job, his actual job, anxiety had her unable to sleep for worry about his safety. Surely, no good would come of being gone at all hours of the night.
Her mind still grappled with trying to make sense of what he explained about his life. How he had multiple personas. One good thing came of his explanation, though, she no longer felt guilty about being attracted to both Harry and Hugh. It made perfect sense that she would be attracted to Hugh, as he was Harry. One small consolation from the awkward and enlightening conversation.
A slight noise behind her had her heart accelerating in anticipation that Harry had come home to her. “Welcome home, Harry.”
No answer. Before she could turn around and wonder if she’d imagined the quiet footsteps, a middle-aged man dressed in black stood before her. “Sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but your husband is not home. It is I, Baron Littleton.” He toyed with a small brown glass bottle in his hand. “Will you come with me willingly and quietly, or will I need to drug you?”
Go with him? Was he out of his mind? Who was this man, and why would he want her with him? Her eyes widened and her heart slammed against her chest as reality dawned on her. This was Harry’s enemy. Her mind screamed out to go peacefully with him. That all would be well if she didn’t resist. Her body had other ideas. Either she tried to escape and scream for help, or she fought him with her person. Either way, she would lose. Too bad she didn’t listen to her mind telling her to be reasonable.
She flew to her feet, brought up both hands, and shoved the man back. He stumbled for a moment since she’d caught him off guard. She turned to flee, inhaling a deep breath, ready to scream for help. A hand reached out, grabbed her elbow, swung her around. He grabbed her lips, forcing her mouth open, and poured a vile tasting liquid into her mouth. Laudanum. Before she could spit it out, he clamped her jaw closed, and she had no choice but to swallow. Dizziness surrounded her as she felt her legs give way and blackness descend all around her.
“Well,well, well, you have finally awakened.” The man’s voice from the drawing room penetrated through her foggy mind. She tried to speak, but her mouth appeared sealed shut. So dry. The taste awful. For several moments she licked her lips, trying to moisten them and her mouth so she could form words.
“Where am I?” Her voice came out low and deep.
“You are safe…for now.”
Her eyes moved around the room, taking in her surroundings. Behind the brown velvet curtains lightness peeked around the window. Morning had come. Or afternoon. She had no way of knowing how long she’d been out from the vile drug. The moment it had hit her tongue, she’d known it was laudanum. The way he recklessly poured it into her mouth, it was a wonder she woke up at all. “Where am it?” she repeated.
Deep laughter traveled to her ears. “You are safe…for now. If you try to escape or scream for help, neither of which will aid you, I’ll be forced to tie you up and keep you drugged. The choice is yours, my dear. Easy or hard. Either way, I don’t care. I’m only using you to get to your dreadful husband.”
Her heart sank. He was using her. Why else had he taken her. Did Harry care enough about her to get her back? Rescue her? See her safely back home? Perhaps not. No. No. She must not think that way. He would find her. She had to believe that. If he didn’t care for her, he never would have married her. Which he did willingly. She needed to believe in him in order to survive her captivity. “I’ll not try to escape or call out. You have my word.”
“Your word,” he spat out with a snort. “The word of a bastard. A tragic day in society when a bastard becomes a duchess. Even worse, when Harry became a duke. The prince really needs to be more careful with whom he surrounds himself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a duke to reason with.”
The click of the lock turning in the door had her realizing she truly was a prisoner. Looking around her, she found herself in a small, stuffy, dreary room with only a small bed and dresser and the chair she sat on. Most likely servants’ quarters. Was the baron daft enough to have brought her to his London residence? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Did it really matter? No. A prisoner was a prisoner no matter where she was held captive.
She stood on wobbly legs and paced the small room, feeling closed in, and finding it hard to breathe. On the dresser sat a tray. She inspected it and found barely warm tea, a hard cold roll, and eggs. With her stomach unsettled, she sipped the tea and nibbled the hard roll as she continued her pacing. When she finally sank down into the wooden chair, she heard footsteps coming from the room beside hers. Was there someone else being held captive?
She tiptoed in her slippers to the wall. Why she tiptoed she did not know. She pressed her ear against the wall and listened to the footsteps. The turning of a key. The creaking of a door. Then the unmistakable voice of the baron. Only he spoke quietly. She could not make out what he was saying. Once in a while she recognized a word, but not enough to understand what he said. Or whom he said it to.
After he left, she raised her hand to the wall and knocked and spoke. “Hello. Is someone there?”
A knock back. Then a man’s voice. “Yes. Smythe here. Who are you?”
“Penelope. Duchess of Newbury.”
“My God. How did you?” Silence. “Never mind. Harry will come for you. And that is the problem. He wants him dead. The French want him dead. Actually, more than dead, they want information. They will hold you hostage until they have what they need, then torture and murder him.”
Penelope gasped, one hand covering her mouth, the other her heart. Harry dead? The thought paralyzed her insides. “He mustn’t come here.” If anything happened to him, how would she forgive herself. If he hadn’t married her, none of this would be happening. Her heart believed that, but her mind knew otherwise. If the French wanted information and death for Harry, they would have found another way. If not through her, through someone or something else.
“He will come. You’re his wife. His responsibility. From what I’ve gathered in the little time I’ve worked with him, no more honorable man exists elsewhere. The people he worked for and with say it, so it is so. He will come. To him he will have no choice. His honor won’t let him do otherwise.”
That was what she was afraid of. He would be honor bound to save her. He could send his people, but he wouldn’t. He alone would be obligated to come for her. Tears stung the back of her eyes when she thought of never seeing him again. Never kissing him. Holding him. Seeing his handsome face, with or without his disguise, across the dining table. Never waltzing with him. Or making love. Or carrying his babe. No longer were the tears burning her eyes, they were running freely down her cheeks. She didn’t bother wiping them away as more would only take their place. Instead of continuing her conversation with Smythe, she crawled on the small bed, curled into a ball, cried, and prayed Harry stayed away from her. From this vile place that would only bring forth his death.
