I dug the letter opener in harder, and he flinched.
‘All right, all right,’ Mr Hart said hastily. ‘I will stop.’ He withdrew slowly to the end of the bed and crouched there like a gargoyle.
But when he saw what I was holding in my hand, he burst into laughter. ‘My god, I thought you had a knife! “Killed by a letter opener”, that would have been even better than Royden’s demise!’
I said nothing but kept brandishing it in front of me so he knew I meant business.
But Mr Hart looked entertained rather than scared. ‘If I really wanted to, I could knock that paltry weapon out of your hand and take you here and now. But I do admire your spirit.’ He wiped his mouth thoughtfully with his sleeve and smiled at me disarmingly.
I kept the letter opener aloft, my heart thumping in my chest. I knew that look. Whatever he was planning next, I had to keep my wits about me as he was a fast mover. But his next words were something altogether surprising.
‘As you are feeling so playful, Felicity, and since I am a generous host, I will make you a deal,’ he said. ‘You have ten minutes to try to escape the castle, and then I am coming after you. If you manage to get out, I will let you go. However, if I catch you, you agree to be mine and submit willingly to whatever I wish to do to you.’
What other choice did I have? I was in a precarious situation, and at least he was giving me some chance of escape.
‘Deal,’ I said. Swiftly, I leapt off the bed and was out the door before he had time to react.
‘Run fast, little mouse!’ he called out laughingly after me.
Chapter 21
Sprinting down the stairs, I had a sinking feeling that Mr Hart had engineered it so it would be impossible for me to escape. Sure enough, the main door in the foyer was locked tightly, and there was no key. My plan to greet the mail coach with my letter was foiled from the start, even if I had not fallen asleep.
There was nothing for it but to try the back entrance while I still had time. I raced into the kitchen, ignoring Mrs Webber at the sink, and down the stone hallway. The back door was missing its giant iron key too, and I already knew it was locked before I tried the handle and discovered that it was. Mr Hart had been toying with me for his own amusement. He knew there was no escape, but he thought it would be fun to see me try.
A wave of panic washed over me, and I fought back a sob. My peaceful, uneventful life in Derbyshire—where I was safe and had a husband who truly loved me—had never looked so good as it did at that moment.
Feeling hysteria threatening, I ran back to the foyer and looked around wildly. I was about to enter the parlour andattempt to squeeze through one of the small windows when I saw Mr Hart slowly descending the stairs, taking his time.
He paused on the bottom step and leaned against the banister with an amused expression. ‘Looking for these, little mouse?’ He dangled two iron keys from his finger, looking pleased with himself.
Grabbing a nearby antique vase from a table, I hefted it at him. It hit the banister and exploded into shards of china, causing him to jerk back in shock. ‘Do not call me that!’ I yelled.
I did not wait around to see if blood had been drawn but raced off to the kitchen. Mrs Webber, now chopping a cucumber swiftly on the bench, glanced up, startled. ‘Mrs Fitzroy, I thought I saw you running off just now. Can I help you?’
‘Where is Maurice?’ I whisper-gasped.
She gestured with her chin to the dungeon. ‘Down there, collecting potatoes.’
Her eyes dropped to the juice-stained ruined neckline of my dress and drove back up again to rest on my untamed hair. But I had neither the time nor inclination to explain my appearance.
‘Please do not tell Mr Hart where I am,’ I begged. I needed to tell Maurice what was happening and to enquire if he had a spare key.
She nodded and, to my surprise, crossed the kitchen and opened the small window above the sink.
‘I’ll tell him you went through there,’ she said, tapping her nose. I doubted he would believe I could squeeze through it but it might buy me some time.
‘Thank you,’ I said gratefully and slipped through the dungeon door and padded softly down the steps into the musty space.
Maurice was stooped over a tray of potatoes, picking out the good ones and dropping the rotten into a wooden bucket by the light of a lantern. The scene was medieval, and I felt like I had been transported back three hundred years.
He looked up and started when I emerged out of the darkness, my boots rustling the strewn straw.
‘Maurice, please help me,’ I said in a low voice. ‘Jane and Lucinda have taken the mail coach to the inn, but Mr Hart ... H-he is keeping me here against my will. I tried to get out, but he has locked both doors and taken the keys.’
Maurice’s kind brown eyes widened in the lamplight, taking in my disorderly appearance.
Alarm flickered across his face, but then his jaw tightened. ‘I thought he had stopped all that ...’ he murmured despondently.
