“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she replied cautiously, attempting to step around him.
“Forgive me. Dr. Farnsworth, physician to His Grace.” He extended his hand, which she did not take. “Mr. Peterson was concerned you might not have received his message. He’ll be relieved I found you so quickly.”
Olivia hesitated. “Peterson mentioned no physician by name in his note.”
A flash of annoyance crossed the man’s face, but he quickly recovered. “I was only called in this morning when Dr. Lambert required assistance. Now, if you’ll allow me to escort you—” He reached for her arm.
Olivia stepped back sharply. “Thank you, but I know the way to my father’s house perfectly well. Good day, sir.”
Before she could turn away, two more men appeared from the carriage. One gripped her arm with painful force while the other glanced nervously up and down the street.
“I’m afraid I must insist, Your Grace,” said the supposed physician, his pleasant façade abandoning him entirely. “Get her inside, quickly.”
Panic surged through her as the men forced her toward the waiting carriage. She opened her mouth to scream, but one of the men placed his arm around her throat and tightened. The world began to spin dizzyingly around her as she fought to catch her breath.
Her last conscious thought was of Victor and that he would save her.
When Olivia regained consciousness, she found herself in unfamiliar surroundings. A small, sparsely furnished room with a single high window admitted weak afternoon light. Her head throbbed painfully, and her mouth felt dry, as though she’d been chewing cotton. With effort, she pushed herself into a sitting position on the narrow cot where she’d been placed.
“Ah, the duchess awakens,” came a familiar voice from the doorway.
Edward Reynolds leaned against the doorframe, looking far more composed than when she’d last seen him with blood streaming from his split lip courtesy of Victor’s fist.
“My father,” Olivia managed, her voice hoarse. “Is he truly ill?”
“A necessary fiction, I’m afraid,” Reynolds replied with an insincere smile. “The Duke of Harborough remains in excellent health at his country estate, blissfully unaware of his daughter’s current predicament.”
Cold understanding washed over her. “The messenger boy ...”
“Also in my employ. Given my situation, I require information that only your husband’s military connections might provide.”
The realization of how easily she’d fallen into the man’s trap made her stomach clench with dread.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded, rising unsteadily to her feet.
Reynolds stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with an ominous click. “Your husband’s interference has cost me dearly with my French patrons. He and that bloody Atherton couldn’t just leave well enough alone.”
“You should be hanged for betraying your country!”
Reynolds withdrew a small pistol from his coat pocket, its barrel gleaming dully in the dim light. “Now, shall we begin our discussion of what your husband knows about the inner workings of the King’s guard?”
“I know nothing of such matters,” Olivia replied, her voice steadier than she felt.
“Perhaps not directly,” Reynolds conceded, “but a wife overhears much. Tell me everything you’ve heard.”
As Reynolds closed the distance between them, Olivia’s thoughts turned to Victor. If only she had waited for him instead of rushing headlong into danger. Again.
“Your efforts are wasted,” she said with far more confidence than she felt. “Victor shares nothing of political or military significance with me.”
Reynolds’ eyes narrowed as he studied her, the pistol still trained steadily at her midsection, forcing her to instinctively place her hands there. “I don’t believe you.” His gaze traveled over her body with deliberate insolence. “What secrets might your husband reveal to keep what’s his? What might he divulge to keep another man from claiming you?”
A chill ran through Olivia as his meaning became unmistakable. Reynolds’ gaze lingered on her breasts.
“Not that I haven’t already done so,” he continued, his free hand reaching out to trace the air just above her cheek. “So do you think that would make your husband more angry or less if I were to experience his wife again?”
Olivia recoiled, disgusted with the vile man before her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Reynolds’ smile widened, revealing a predatory edge. “Your husband took everything from me. Perhaps it’s only fair that I take what belongs to him in return.”
