Emma nodded.
“While murder and mayhem make for excellent novels, rarely is real life as exciting. People die all the time.” Her sister-in-law shrugged. “Heirs included.”
Could it be true? Could the rumors about the duke be nothing more than hearsay?
Excited voices and footsteps sounded outside the drawing room.
“The dancing lesson must be over,” Marianne said.
“And I must return before McLeod suspects anything.” Rising in a rustle of silk, Mrs. McLeod took Emma’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Promise me you’ll think about what we discussed?”
***
After Mrs. McLeod departed and Marianne went to shepherd the family to their various activities for the day, Emma decided to go out for a short stroll. Needing solitude, she didn’t call for a maid. She walked along the tree-lined streets of Mayfair, the sun beating down upon her bonnet as thoughts ricocheted in her head.
What on earth were Mrs. McLeod and Marianne talking about?
How could Strathaven’s hurting of Lady Osgood be part of agame? How could his controlling behavior be anything but dangerous? And why would any woman welcome being forced to submit to a man? ’Twas ludicrous and yet...
Perplexed, Emma considered whether her perception of what transpired in Lady Buckley’s garden could have been distorted. Had her dislike of Strathaven’s arrogance somehow prejudiced her, made her misjudge the situation? But, no, sheknewwhat she saw. From the time she was thirteen and her mama had passed, she’d relied on her own judgment to take care of herself and her family. Her ability to make sound decisions was one of her few virtues.
She could hear her papa’s voice:The only good is knowledge, and the only evil is ignorance.
Until now, she’d never found it difficult to discern right from wrong, fact from falsehood. She’d viewed the world in black and white, yet where Strathaven was concerned, everything seemed to be... grey. A stormy, turbulent shade that made it difficult to know what was what.
Was he a wicked rake or a grieving father? A coldhearted aristocrat or the caring brother to whom the McLeods apparently owed their happiness? An arrogant, abusive brute—or a lover who’d been engaged in some sort of incomprehensible game?
Chewing on her lip, Emma turned the corner onto a quiet street lined by sleepy mansions. What if Mrs. McLeod and Marianne were right, and she had somehow misunderstood the situation? Goodness, she couldn’t live with herself if she had wrongly accused an innocent man of murder...
At the clip-clop of approaching horses, she absently looked up. A black lacquered carriage pulled up beside her, its thick navy drapes drawn. She barely had time to note the painted gold crest on the door before it swung open. A large arm reached out, catching her by the waist. A gloved hand stifled her startled cry, and she was hauled into the carriage.
Chapter Eight
Alaric regarded his captive calmly. Despite her pale cheeks and heaving bosom, Miss Emma Kent’s eyes shot sparks at him. He was certain that if he removed the silk strips binding her mouth and hands, she’d be shouting the roof down and clawing his eyes out as well.
Which was why he’d had to resort to present measures. She gave him no choice.
“Listen carefully, Miss Kent,” he said. “I am not going to hurt you. You have my word.”
“Mfm mph gm.”
“I will release you,” he conceded, “after you give me an hour of your time.”
She muttered something darkly.
“It is your own fault. I told you not to test me, and yet you have. I told you I had nothing to do with Clara’s death, and yet you have persisted in making false accusations, in interfering where you have no business doing so. In short,” he concluded, his jaw tight, “you have succeeded in making my life a living hell.”
“Gmmd.”
His eyes narrowed. “On the contrary, Miss Kent, itisn’tgood. For me or for you. Therefore, you leave me with one alternative.”
The carriage drew to a halt.
“You wouldn’t listen to reason. So I shall have to show you the truth,” he said.
***
Emma should have been terrified. At the very least, her sensibilities ought to have suffered some sort of damage. After all, there she was, bound and gagged, a victim of kidnapping, standing in a room of what might possibly be a house of ill repute. Having never been in one before, she couldn’t be certain, but several clues supported the hypothesis.
