“I certainly won’t make things pleasant for you.”
After a moment, she sat on the dusty chair and stared at him. With an injured leg, he was less of a threat, but she couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t overcome the pain to keep her there. That seemed entirely something he would do.
“You should have given these poor people warning we were arriving,” she said.
“How could I, when I barely knew myself until we were on the road?” He leant his head back and closed his eyes. “I had no guarantee you would come, and I only knew of your arrival in London because the boy I employed to watch the house told me of the carriage.”
“All this was achieved on awhim?”
“Not a whim, but I could hardly know when my plan could come to fruition. And I wanted to give Nathanial no indication of what I was planning.” His smile was wolfish. “I couldn’t have him disrupting me, could I?”
She cast another glance at his leg. In her opinion, stabbing him had been a disruption in its own right. “I wonder,” she said, giving his person a quick once-over, “what your intentions are when Nathanial arrives?”
“A worthy question, little mouse.”
“He will not come unarmed,” she continued, hoping this would be true. Surely he wouldn’t be so foolish as to come here without at least one gun. She knew there were two pistols—beautiful things—in Norfolk House. Two guns. Could she take one?
Or could she somehow avail herself of Sir Montague’s?
She looked at him again, wondering where he might be keeping a pistol if he did have one.
“Fear not,” Sir Montague said, a sardonic note in his voice now. “I won’t let your husband shoot me, though that’s what you wish, isn’t it?”
Theo didn’t reply. What could she say, except to agree?
“I am also armed,” he said. “Both with a pistol and the knife you were so good as to give me.”
Despite herself, she flushed. “Well, you should not have tried to capture me.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “Touché. You may reassure yourself on one point, however. You defended yourself admirably.”
She looked at Sir Montague’s coat again, negligently open, and thought she saw the gleam of a pistol butt protruding from his waist. If Nathanial truly was coming, and Sir Montague seemed certain he was, he probably thought he needed to rescue her.
But perhaps, she didn’tneedto be rescued. Perhaps she could rescue herself.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Theo had hoped to have a chance to escape that night, but when Sir Montague accompanied her to her room and, unchivalrously, locked the door, she swiftly saw there was little chance for escape. Her room was devoid of weapons and the only thing outside her window was the ground, two storeys down. Even the fireplace was small and narrow, and there was no way of climbing up.
And, she thought ruefully, being trapped on the roof overnight was hardly an improvement on her situation.
Mrs Clayton had been surprised to find Theo had no luggage, but Sir Montague had explained that away with tales of ill maids and unfortunate accidents, which explained the injury on his leg. Blinded by trust, Mrs Clayton had accepted his word, provided Sir Montague with bandages and hot water, and offered Theo a nightgown that swallowed her whole. The next morning, she would be obliged to wear the same dress she had arrived in, creased and crumpled.
Still, after a night of tossing and turning and planning, she had a plan.
If she was lucky, which given her track record seemed unlikely, Sir Montague would be in so much pain he would remain in his room. If he was not, however, she would have to rob him of the ability to hold her captive.
And to do that, she would need his gun.
When she descended, finding her door unlocked once more, it was early enough that breakfast had not yet been made. However, it was not so early that she did not encounter Sir Montague, something she should have predicted from the moment she found her door unlocked. He limped to greet her as she entered the library where he sat, a little too far from collapse for her liking. A pity.
“Duchess,” he said with his usual sardonic smile. “You rose early.”
Theo looked up into his face and tried to remember the days when she had believed him her every romantic ideal. If she was going to be convincing, she needed him to believe she had a fondness for him.
As she held his gaze, a frown touched his brows and the rather hard expression in his eyes melted into cautious confusion. He had offered her marriage, and she believed him. All she would have to do was use that affection for her against him.
At the thought, her stomach twisted.
