Page 83 of Bargaining with the Devil

Of course, it was her own actions that had set those fearful circumstances in motion. And for her, there could be no happier outcome.

What Quinn had said wasn’t an ultimatum, for all it could be interpreted as one—except he knew her mind and heart, just as she knew his. There was no future for them together, even if the threat of Lymington was removed from her life once and for all.

Despite being strung tight with nerves, despite her whirling thoughts and fears, she somehow managed to fall asleep. She woke in the predawn to the tread of a shadowed figure in her bedroom. The candle had burned itself out.

Groggy, she sat up. “Quinn?” And quickly came all the way awake, because even before the man leaned over her, something wasn’t right. His shape, his smell, his manner of being were wrong. Terribly wrong.

The shadow laughed, a cruel laugh. “Not Quinn, princess. And we have some unfinished business, you and I.” The shadow advanced, resolving into Lymington’s profile.

She was cornered. She groped beside the bed for something, anything, with which to defend herself . . . and came up short. Nothing, not a shoe, not a book, nothing but her wits. Hands and feet and teeth too if she must.

She curled her fingers into fists, but as she swung them blindly at him, his hand shot out, gripping her by the throat.

“Thinking of fighting? Too late for that.” Fingers squeezed, cutting off her air. “And this time, your lover won’t reach you in time.”

Quinn. She must find a way . . . No, it was Isobel she needed to find. No. Someone else mustn’t find Issy; that was it. But she couldn’t reel in what.

Palms cracked into her cheeks, one after the other. She forced her eyes open.

Lymington, slapping her.

The fuzziness partially dissipated, although the dizziness remained . . . and she couldn’t move when she tried to evade the next slap.

He’d bound her. Once around her hips and again at her ankles. Both ropes were secured to her table.

There was stronger light than in her chamber. Lymington’s cruel eyes met hers as he backed away. “Ah, you’ve come around. As you’ve no doubt noticed, I’ve bound your legs only.”

Her hands were free. Why? She could work at her bindings. There was some trick here.

“You see, it creates a delicious opportunity for more amusement.” His smile ratcheted up her fear.

Keep him talking. Surely Quinn or Nathaniel will realize something is amiss. “How so?” she managed.

“Don’t you wish to know why I’m unconcerned about your lover or your brother-in-law?”

Reluctance. It was reluctance and the appearance of fear that would keep him talking, goading him to further cruelty. He fed off fear.

Compton was the same way.

She’d learned quickly to push fear deep with Compton, to present him with ambivalence and lack of emotion. He lost interest when he couldn’t provoke fear. And she’d known he wouldn’t kill her. She was too useful; he’d told her so, many times.

But Lymington’s aim was to kill her. And so now she must do the reverse. She must give him reason to continue engaging rather than finishing what he’d come to do. I need only allow the fear to show.

Which was not difficult, truly. The quaver in her voice was entirely genuine. “What have you done to them?”

“I’ve done nothing. My men have drawn them away. They may well be taking care of Blackmore and Quinn at this very moment.”

He doesn’t know about Mr. Pereira. He was boasting about his cleverness. He’d have mentioned Mr. Pereira, if not by name then in some other way.

And he drastically underestimated Nathaniel and Quinn. They were the two deadliest men she’d ever known, even entangled in treason in France among dangerous men.

And she hoped they were using those deadly skills right this minute.

“I’ve not bound your arms because it gives you a sporting chance of freeing yourself,” Lymington said, almost as though imparting a treat. “If you can do so before the smoke overcomes you.”

Smoke . . . Smoke was beginning to fill the cottage. There was no crackle of flame yet, but it was a matter of time.

Fear. He needed her fear. Show him how scared I truly am. “Please don’t leave me here. Please.”