At that point, I seem to drift off. Then I hear Damian’s voice loud and clear. ‘How are you, Sadie?’
‘Good,’ I mumble.
‘What do you feel?’
‘A slight rocking motion.’
‘Excellent. Can you see anything?’
‘No, it’s ... it’s cramped and dark. And there’s something pressing against my face.’ I stiffen slightly.
‘That’s OK, just relax. You’re safe and in control.’ Damian’s deep voice infiltrates the space. ‘Tell me what you can hear.’
‘A muffled thumping noise. It sounds like a drumbeat. Now there’s talking, like a radio announcer.’
‘Good, that’s very good, Sadie. Can you hear what they’re saying? Try and focus.’
I struggle to hear. ‘No, it’s too muffed. But—’ Two words suddenly jump out at me clearly: ‘Tay FM’.
When I open my eyes, Damian is smiling at me, and Hester and Floss are excitedly scrolling on their iPhones.
‘What happened? Did it work?’
‘I think you managed to connect with Elliott—’ begins Damian.
Hester interrupts excitedly. ‘You heard Alexander listening to Tay FM in the car. It’s a local Perth radio station, so he must be up that way. He’s driving north, to the Highlands.’
‘That motherfucker!’ I growl. ‘If he touches a hair on Elliott’s head, he’ll have me to answer to.’
Chapter 6
Sadie | London, 1758
The gentleman’s house is more than a five-minute stroll, and as we walk down one damp cobblestone street after another, I’m growing tired. It’s been an eventful night, and I’ve decided that I’ve been too hasty in agreeing to go with him. I would rather be at the pub having a drink with the girls, then heading home to bed.
‘How much farther?’ I ask impatiently, glancing up at him.
We’ve kept to the darkened back alleys. But under the occasional street lamp, I’ve glimpsed the tip of a nose and a flash of a dimpled chin and felt the strong grip of his leather-gloved hand tightening round mine whenever I stumbled. But now as we emerge into a wider road with better lighting, his profile is outlined in stark relief as he glances left and then right up the empty street. I catch my breath. I have been walking with a beautiful man. A man who has been sculpted from pale marble by some mastercreator; his features are elegant and strong, and he stands taller than average, black curls tumbling unbidden to the upturned collar of his dark woollen cloak. Beneath its swinging folds is the merest glimpse of a red silk waistcoat. I’ve had some handsome customers in my time, but none who made my cunny slick with desire from a single glance. I’m tempted to forgo my payment and fuck him for the sheer pleasure of it. And it would be a pleasure, I’ve no doubt.
The gentleman looks down at me, his striking amber eyes flashing with heat, as if he can read my lustful thoughts. He tightens his hand in mine, and his soft sensual lips curve in a smile.
‘My house is right here. I apologise for the roundabout route. There are some people I wish to avoid.’ His voice is smooth and deep, authoritative, and carries a hint of confidentiality like he’s trusting me with a secret.
He doesn’t elaborate further. But I know, from that remark, that he’s not an upstanding member of society. He’s evading detection for some reason. Just as I am.
‘I understand,’ I tell him with a light touch to my nose. ‘Your secrets are safe with me, as I hope mine are with you.’
‘Good. And yes, do not fear. Discretion is my middle name.’
What is his name?I wonder. But he may not want to tell me if he’s that keen on hiding.
The gentleman releases my hand and places his on the small of my back. He guides me towards a dark-green door across the street. The place looks right posh with a neatly tended front garden and a gravel pathway. There’s even a black iron gate, which he unlocks and swings open for me to enter.
‘After you, Miss Smith.’
That makes me hesitate in surprise. ‘But ... how do you know my name?’
He cocks his head. ‘I have eyes and ears. You’re quite famous in certain circles.’
