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  The carriage rattled to a halt. Rathe opened the door, revealing the mews behind Carstairs’s house in quiet Mayfair. He could have had a more fashionable address, but the relative isolation of the neighborhood suited both his tastes and his requirements.

  Rathe held up his hand and Alicia permitted herself to be helped from the carriage. Her eyes darted this way and that, but Carstairs came up right behind her, reminding her she was outnumbered, even before Lynne jumped off the box to land lightly in front of them. Lynne bowed gallantly to Alicia, then led the way through Carstairs’s small but well-kept garden. Alicia walked calmly between himself and Rathe, but Carstairs felt tension radiating from her. Perhaps he’d been wrong. She was angry at her treatment, and humiliated. These feelings were passions in their own right. She might not be able to muster the will to fight, but she might find the ability to run.

  Carstairs handed Rathe his keys so the Sorcerer could unlock the back door. Rathe disappeared into the shadowed interior to make sure the house was empty. Carstairs trusted his servants with his life and the secrets of his house, but he’d still sent them away for this night. There were too many ways his scheme could go wrong. He did not want to unnecessarily risk those who had been loyal to his family for so many years.

  With Lynne behind them, Carstairs guided Alicia up the back stairs to the plushly carpeted corridor of the second floor. They arrived just as Rathe stepped out of the door to the guest apartments.

  “Is everything set, Lynne?” asked Rathe over Carstairs’s shoulder.

  “Aye, sir.” Lynne carelessly touched his knuckle to his brow in imitation of a sailor’s salute.

  “Very good.” Carstairs faced Alicia. “Now, Alicia, you’ll go in that room and take off your pelisse and bonnet.”

  “Why should I?” she inquired icily.

  “Because you don’t want me taking them off you.”

  Alicia’s eyes slid from Carstairs, to Rathe, to Lynne. “You could be planning some ruse. Why on earth should I help you?”

  “She’s got a point there, Carstairs.” Lynne’s green eyes flashed with sharp mischief.

  “You’re not helping, Lynne.”

  Alicia faced the fair-haired former pirate, evidently guessing him to be some sort of weak link in her captor’s chain. “Take me out of here,” she said. “My family will pay well for my return.”

  “I’m sure they will.” Lynne attempted to school his face into an expression of gravity. “But there’s not money enough in the world to induce me to return you to them.”

  “What’s it to be, Alicia? Will you do as I say, or will I strip you down myself?” Carstairs clenched his hands to fists so she would not see them tremble. God in Heaven. He was a barbarian with no restraint of mind or manner. He could be walking into a snare, with her as the sweetest lure of all, and yet he seemed determined to quicken his pace. Carstairs was very conscious of Lynne and Rathe both watching him, waiting for some sign he might be wavering from his duty.

  “Well, Alicia?” Carstairs said through gritted teeth. “What is your decision?”

  “I am not given much choice.” She strode through the bedroom door and shut it firmly behind her.

  Lynne had sense enough to turn away before Carstairs could threaten to wipe the smirk off his face. “I’m never going to be able to explain this to Jane,” he muttered.

  “Miranda’s not going to be any too pleased when she hears of it, either.” Rathe started down the main staircase.

  “Where are you going?” Carstairs growled at Rathe.

  “To stand under your betrothed’s window,” he answered. “Just in case she’s been reading Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels and has ideas about making herself a rope from the bedsheets.”

  Which only made Carstairs angrier, because he should have thought of it. As Alicia herself had pointed out, she might not have many sensibilities available to her, but she did possess a very fine brain.

  “You’d better watch the kitchen door, just in case,” he snapped at Lynne. Lynne saluted again and disappeared down the hall.

  Left alone in the shadowed corridor, Carstairs could do nothing but pace. He tried very hard not to imagine Alicia on the other side of the door. In his overheated fancy, he saw her removing not just her pelisse, but also her dress. She’d struggle with her tapes, slipping her shapely arms out of first one muslin sleeve, then the other. She’d bare a light chemise that would allow a man clear sight of her curves…

  The knob turned. Carstairs straightened up and faced the door, holding himself to attention. He would be master of his own mind. His cock might think it belonged to a randy youth, but he was a gentleman, and Alicia was under his protection. He would behave like a gentleman, if it cost him everything he had…

  The door opened a crack, and a bundle of cloth flew out, hitting him square in the face. Startled, Carstairs shouted, and by the time he’d clawed the pelisse aside, Alicia was halfway down the stairs. Cursing, Carstairs raced after her.

  He caught up with her on the landing, grabbed her by the waist and hauled her off her feet. Pain jabbed his wrist. He swore loudly, but his grip loosened enough for Alicia to pull away. Carstairs lunged for her, and trapped her against the railing with his body, while he wrenched the hat pin from her hand. He tossed it aside and clamped his hands hard around her wrists. Otherwise he risked a slap, or a good clawing. She might not know how to fight, but she had good instincts, as the spot of blood welling up on his wrist clearly showed.

  “You will return to your room,” he growled.

  “No.” She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed. Even now her eyes searched for the hat pin. But Carstairs was not in the mood for any more games. With a blasphemous oath, he threw her inelegantly over his shoulder, and stomped back up the stairs.

  Alicia kicked uselessly a few times, and her fists pummeled his back, but now that she was disarmed, she could not muster a solid blow. When they reached the guest room door, he set her firmly down on the other side of the threshold. She tilted her chin up defiantly as he slammed the door shut. This time, he locked it.

  Still swearing, he retrieved the rumpled pelisse and bonnet she’d thrown at him and started down the stairs. Lynne and Rathe had evidently sensed something was amiss, because by the time he reached the foyer, they were both there to meet him.

  Carstairs handed Alicia’s garments to Lynne. “Take my coat and hat as well, and make it good.”

  “By tomorrow, there’ll be a half dozen carriage houses where the landlord will swear you and Miss Hartwell are on your way to the Scottish border,” Lynne assured him. He rolled the lady’s garments quickly into an anonymous bundle and tucked them under his arm as he strolled out the door.

  Carstairs faced Rathe. “You can tell our captain things are proceeding according to plan.”

  “I’ll tell him things are proceeding,” replied Rathe. “Are you sure you don’t want help?”

  “Alicia doesn’t deserve any more humiliation than she’s already had, and there are some things I—we—may do that…you don’t need to witness.”

  Although this plainly left Rathe unhappy, the Sorcerer nodded a curt farewell and took his leave. Carstairs looked up the stairs, all the way up to the second floor where its open corridor curved around his vaulted foyer. He could see the guest suite door from where he stood. Alicia waited on the other side, angry, frightened and trapped, but this time he was the one holding the key.

  That was not as nearly as enticing a realization now as it had been before she’d stabbed him.

  Damn.

  Carstairs climbed the stairs, steeling himself to confront his abducted fiancée.

  Seven

  She could have run faster. She could have tried harder. She was certain of it.

  Then why didn’t I? Alicia ran both hands over her thoroughly disordered hair. Her mind was entirely in an uproar. She wanted to fly home to safety and normality, even if it meant having to endure the worst scolding Aunt Hester had to deliver. But part of her wa
nted to stay in this room; to be right here when Edward came through that door.

  Ridiculous. Lord Carstairs had proved himself to be nothing but a callous brute. How could she possibly want to remain with him?

  Alicia surveyed the room, trying to formulate a fresh plan of escape. Under other circumstances, she would have found the apartment pleasant enough. More pleasant, certainly, than her own narrow chamber in Hartwell House. The walls were an attractive summer yellow with white trim. There was a fireplace that had comfortable chairs placed before it. There was also a writing desk and roomy wardrobe. The four-poster bed had a snow-white canopy and counterpane. It looked very comfortable. Just gazing at it, Alicia felt acutely how tired she was. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest. But she couldn’t, because Edward was going to come through that door. What would he think she was about if he discovered her in the bed?

  She would find a way out of this. She clutched her brooch. She was calmer when she touched it, and yet at the same time it reminded her that Edward didn’t like it. They had quarreled about it. She remembered that much, but the details of what they’d said floated away like dandelion seeds on the wind. Her head ached. Her breath was suddenly coming short. Alicia lurched to one of the chairs in front of the fire and sat down heavily.

  I must think, she instructed herself. I must plan.

  But before she could find a way to begin, Alicia heard the metallic clacking of a key turning in a lock. The door opened, and Alicia had to scramble to her feet.

  Edward had switched his stiff morning coat to an older one of plain blue cloth and exchanged his Hessian boots for more comfortable shoes and stockings. In his hands, he carried an intricately carved wooden chest, about the size of a thick book. It was banded with black iron and an iron key had been left in its lock.

  “What is that?” Alicia asked.

  “Call it a wedding present,” Edward replied as he set the box on one of the room’s small tables. “I’ll show it to you later.”

  “This is not a wedding. This is—”

  “Unfortunate in the extreme,” Edward cut her off as he turned to face her. “I can only hope that before long, Alicia, you will understand I meant to help you.”

  “How? By holding me against my will?”

  She expected another one of his callous replies, but none came. Instead, he spoke softly. “Do you know what your will is, Alicia? Truly?”

  This question settled uncomfortably in her mind. It is just another of his tricks, Alicia told herself. “You are trying to distract me yet again.”

  “I assure you, I truly wish to know. What is your will, madame?”

  “I…” I want you to hold me, Edward. I want you to help me understand what’s happening. Pain shivered through her mind and she backed away from that thought. “I want to go home.” Yes, that was better. That was safe.

  “Very well.” Edward stood back. “There is the door.”

  Alicia’s knees trembled. Edward left her a clear path past him to the door. He now stood by the foot of the bed. If she wanted to leave, that was the way. He would not prevent her, but he also would not help her. She must make the decision.

  He’d done this before, Alicia recalled suddenly. She swung around and stared at him, memory and confusion swirling together in her mind.

  “You’re remembering,” Edward breathed. “Tell me what you remember, Alicia.”

  “This afternoon. You…We were together. You showed me…” No, no, not again. She could not rise to that desire and longing again. It would break her.

  “What did I show you? What did you feel this afternoon?” Edward stepped toward her, each movement carefully controlled, as if he was afraid she might collapse, again. “Name it, Alicia.”

  I can’t. Don’t make me. Alicia cast about for some way to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. She had no way out of this deceptively pleasant chamber except past Edward. He seemed to fill the room. There was no escape from his presence, because the moment she looked at him, she remembered his hands and his breath on her skin. She remembered his mouth as he kissed her. She remembered the lovers, Marcus and Freda, and Freda’s hands stroking that hard cock, and their cries of delight. She remembered how she had begged Edward to touch her.

  “What did you feel this afternoon, Alicia?” he repeated, softly, firmly.

  “Passion,” she heard herself whisper. “Desire.”

  “Yes.” He was nearer now. If she stretched out her hand, she would touch him. He would close his fingers around hers and pull her to him, as if they moved together in a country dance. “You wanted to know passion, and you wanted to know me. I could not show you as much as I would have liked then, but I can now that we are alone in my house.”

  “What is so very special about your house?” She meant to be haughty, like Verity when she was repulsing a clumsy beau, but to her own ears she just sounded breathless.

  That breathlessness made Edward smile. “My house is special because you are in it, and there is no one else to see what we do. Here, I can give you all you may desire.”

  His words seemed to caress her from the inside. He made her body into a traitor against her sense and safety. How was it possible he could arouse her without even touching her? She knew then if she stayed any longer she would give in to him and everything would end.

  “Please. Stop this. Let me go.”

  “I’ve told you, Alicia, you are perfectly free to go. But if you do, you will be beyond my power to help or hold. Go now, and you go forever.”

  “You say that, but you don’t mean it.” As she spoke, Alicia realized she was hoping to find some anger toward him, but none came. Instead, the terribly comfortable mist rose up in her mind, tempting her as the bed had tempted her. It told her she could lie down and rest, and all this struggle would be done. “You will follow me.”

  Edward shook his head. His face had gone tight, and the moonlight softness in his gray eyes had vanished so that only the gleam of polished steel remained. “Not again, Alicia,” he said, and she thought she saw a tremor cross his shoulders. “Whatever happens now, it happens forever. You come to me, or you go to the mists.”

  Alicia’s ribs squeezed against her heart. “How do you know about the mists?”

  “I’ve seen them.”

  Alicia turned away from him. She could not look at him anymore. It was too disturbing. It was wrong that he should know of the state of her inner thoughts.

  Why, then, did part of her feel so relieved to hear his words?

  “You are laboring under heavy enchantment, Alicia.”

  “Enchantment!” The word whirled her around. Edward had not moved. She walked toward him, searching his face and finding nothing. He must be mocking her, but she couldn’t see it. That precious moment in the park when she’d been able to read his face had vanished.

  “Enchantment,” he repeated slowly. “Look inside, Alicia; look into your own mind. You know I’m telling the truth.”

  He could not be. It was impossible. And yet…and yet…he knew about the mists. In the park, he had spoken inside her very thoughts, and she had been able to answer him. What could that be if not magic?

  Alicia gripped her brooch. The edges dug hard into her fingers. The pain urged her to silence, to stillness. But she did not want to be still. She wanted to run; she wanted to fight. But fight what?

  “I can prove what I’m saying.”

  “How?”

  Edward moved carefully toward her, as an experienced horseman might approach a skittish mare. He covered her hand where she gripped the brooch and the warm press of his palm reminded her sharply of all the ways he had touched her so far. Her fingers went slack and he pulled her hand away from her brooch. Locking his eyes on hers, he undid the button on her glove, and tugged at the fingers, drawing it off so the kid leather brushed slowly against her skin. He gently spread her fingers, so they could both see the angry red lines from where the edges of the cinnabar’s gold frame bit into her skin.

  Ed
ward bent his head over her hand. Softly, he kissed each finger, right over those red lines. Alicia’s mouth went dry and her heart fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. Edward took her bare hand and laid it against his chest, directly over his heart. The beat was steady and strong. The warmth of him slipped into her blood and she welcomed it, like the desert might welcome rain.

  “Hear me, Alicia,” he whispered. She felt the words resonate through her palm. Hear me.

  Hear him. Hear. Here. Here in her mind. Hear him inside her, where he’d been before. No. This isn’t possible.

  It is. Let me come to you.

  As these words sounded inside her, the everyday room with its everyday furnishings faded away until they stood in another place entirely. Edward had somehow moved yards away across a winter nightmare of emptiness. Alicia felt her familiar and awful mists swirling at her back, filled with their numbing cold and implacable calm.

  Edward held out both his hands. Reach for me, Alicia.

  I can’t. I can’t, she answered, feeling herself close to panic. There’s a wall. I can’t…

  Show me. Picture it in your mind, and I’ll see it too.

  How could she picture a glass wall? How was any of this even possible? It was so hard to think and it hurt so badly. The mists were rising now. She could feel them surging around her ankles, her knees. Their cold, familiar caress promised her comfort. They promised she would never have to fight or fear again if she just backed away from Edward and into their embrace.

  Alicia stared into Edward’s eyes, and she remembered the conservatory with its high, mullioned windows where he had first touched her. As she thought of them, the windows seemed to take shape between herself and Edward.

  That’s it, Alicia. I see it. That’s good.

  How could this be good? This glass separated her from him. From everything.