“I speak several languages, and one of them is English. I have – worked with the British forces on the Peninsula.”
“Worked with them, or against them?”
“Let us just say we both fought against the Imperial forces. I was at the Siege of Rosas, fighting with the Conde de Caldagues. You may never have heard of the siege, but I assure you, we were on the same side. I was acquainted with Captain Richard Bennett. He is your namesake, is he not? I heard them call you ‘the Bennet girl.’”
Is that what they called her? She should have expected something like that. As for de Riquer’s claim, Elizabeth had followed some of the battles on the Peninsula, but there were so many engagements it was hard to keep track. She had not heard of Rosas.
“I do not believe we could be friends,” said Elizabeth. “Not when you were captured during an attack on us. Clearly, whatever your past was, you were not working with the British now.”
Her statement did not seem to cause him much concern. Why would it? She was at his mercy.
“Do you mind if I sit down?”
He was certainly making an effort to be civil. “By all means.”
He sat on the edge of his bed. “I would offer for you to join me, but I do not believe your husband would approve.”
Was heflirtingwith her? She choked back a laugh. Of all the things she could have imagined when she awoke, that was not one of them.
As he swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the wall, she examined him. When she had seen him at the battle, he had been caked with mud and blood, and she had scarcely looked at him. Now she noticed that he was fully dressed in an elegant coat, his cravat meticulously tied. He might be considered handsome, with black hair fashionably styled, almond eyes with long eyelashes, and a strong, masculine face. She had to remind herself she was looking at a very dangerous mage.
She had not looked inside the cellar when she had set up the Wards. It was well-furnished, as befitted a gentleman. There was a carpet on the floor, a desk with ink and paper, a small bookshelf with books, a wardrobe, a free-standing mirror, and surprisingly, a very basic fireplace with a fire that was smoking a little but burning well enough. The wall had even been whitewashed. Considering that Matlock had ordered the room built in such a short time, it was remarkably well equipped. She wondered how he had managed the chimney.
Somewhere on the other side of the Channel, one of their mages was sitting in a similarly furnished room, waiting to be exchanged.
“How is it that you can use magic in spite of the Wards and the Muffling?”
His mouth twisted. “I wondered when you would ask.”
She waited, but he said nothing more.
“How much magic do you still possess, inside here?”
“Aha. Finally, a useful question. I possess most of my magic.”
Surely he was bluffing. “Enough to unravel the Wards around you?”
His eyes danced.
“I am not sure I should answer that. After all, you have declared yourself my enemy.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, stoutly.
“Why would I tell you such a thing?”
“To intimidate me, perhaps. How would I know what you are planning? For all I know, you could have arranged for me to be kidnapped.”
“I would only tell someone I trust what I am capable of.”
She gave a snort that was worthy of Lydia. “How can you say such a thing, when you do not even know me?”
“I recognize your signature. I have encountered it before.”
“Because you were one of the attackers?” She wondered what role he had played. She could not recognize his signature. It was not actually Muffled, she realized. It was hidden.
“No. That is not my role.”
“What is your role, exactly?”
