She’d expected him to be understanding, to be helpful. But she had not expected to be drawn into his arms, nor the flame to be reignited in her in such a way. She had not even realized how much she longed for his touch, how much she missed the strength of his arms, until he offered it. Now it captivated her and opened her thoughts up to what the future could look like.
But as lovely as the thought was, she must continue todiligently guard her heart—as diligently as she strove for freedom. After all, Anthony had promised to help her and not to leave her to face this alone. But he made no promises beyond that—just like he made no promises four years prior.
She propped herself up on her elbows and blinked in the darkness, allowing a few moments for her eyes to fully adjust, and she realized something was missing.
Normally, Rebecca would have a fire roaring by the time Charlotte awoke, but the silver strip of dawn outside her window confirmed the usual hour for the activity had passed, and all that was left from the previous night’s flame was a faint orange glow.
She shivered in the morning stillness, and she moved to the fire and picked up the poker, intending to stoke it to see if she could revive any flame. As she reached for the iron utensil, it slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
She whipped her head up, fully expecting the sound to wake Henry.
But it did not.
She frowned.
The baby was not a sound sleeper. Normally such a sound would send him wailing.
She returned the poker to the stand and approached the cradle, the floor creaking beneath her with each step.
The sight found therein froze her blood.
It was empty.
Frantic, she plucked the blanket away.
Nothing.
She fell to her knees to peer under her bed.
She called his name.
But Henry was nowhere to be found.
Rational excuses bombarded her. Perhaps Sutcliffe took him to the kitchen to let her sleep longer. Perhaps Rebecca woke early and decided to feed him.
And then as she yanked yet another blanket free from the cradle, a piece of paper fluttered toward the floor.
She snatched the missive before it even hit the ground.
It was as if she no longer had control of her own movements. Like a puppet, fear controlled her every movement, causing her fingers to tremble and her breath to shudder.
No part of her body would work fast enough as she popped the wax seal and squinted to see in the dark.
Bring the jewels to the cottage at the foot of Thoms Tor tonight at dusk. Come alone. Or else.
That was all.
Her mind mapped the facts: the note was demanding an exchange.
An exchange for her baby.
***
The sound of his name, cried by a distant feminine voice, yanked Anthony from a light slumber.
Then another call of his name, followed by the pounding of approaching footsteps outside his door, catapulted him from thebed. Out of instinct he reached for his weapon but stopped midaction when the bedchamber door flew open.
Charlotte, clad is a dressing gown, hair wild and loose, complexion ghostly pale, eyes wide, cried, “Henry’s gone!”
