Amelia’s heart dropped into her stomach. She imagined it landing with a splash of bile and acid.
The door was locked. The door waslocked.
She tried it again, sure she was mistaken. Frantically jiggling the handle, she felt her panic mounting. She felt sick. A sudden gust made the flame flicker, and she hastily set down the candle, terrified that her one light in the gloomy room was going to desert her.
Think rationally.The door is locked. It’s locked. Now what?
She glanced around the room, looking for other doors, other exits, and finding none. The windows were mostly painted shut, or their latches were rusted shut.
He locked me in.
She tried her best to dismiss that thought. It would mean the unease she’d felt upon entering the house had nothing to do with the creepy old place at all. No, the portraits on the walls weren’t glaring at her. They were warning her.
Warning her about Harry.
Amelia squeezed her eyes shut.
How could I have been so stupid?
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside, and she jolted back, a chill shooting up her spine. There was shuffling outside, a click, and the door opened. Harry stepped inside, balancing a heavy wooden tea tray on one hand.
“Making yourself comfortable?” he asked, beaming.
“You locked me in.”
He went still. “What? No, I didn’t.”
“I tried the door after you left,” Amelia said, lifting her chin. “It was locked.”
Harry gave a tight-lipped smile, pushing the door closed behind him with his heel. He set the heavy tray down on a table, and she saw that a teapot sat upon it with a pair of teacups. No milk, no sugar.
And a knife.
There was a long, sharp-looking knife, the sort of thing a cook might use to hack meat from the bone of a joint.
“The door sticks,” Harry said, pouring two cups of tea. “That’s all.”
“It wouldn’t open, Harry.”
“You probably didn’t pull hard enough.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
He turned to face her, that tight-lipped smile still on his face. “Oh, do forgive me. A woman like you deserves respect, doesn’t she?”
His fingers ghosted over the handle of the knife. He didn’t pick it up, but it was there. Tendrils of panic curled around Amelia’s heart, gently squeezing. Quite slowly, as if it had always been his intention, he lifted the knife, turning it over and over in his hand.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she breathed. “What was I thinking?”
“Yes, whatwereyou thinking, Amelia? I hadn’t expected you to be a sharp-witted lady fresh from finishing school, but I didn’t expect a heavy-handed blockhead.”
“Put down the knife, Harry. Please.”
Perhaps if she kept holding his gaze and using his name, he would remember that they shared blood. She wanted to back away, but was afraid that any movement might set him off.
I’m in danger. So much danger. And nobody knows where I am.
“Why would I touch the knife?” Harry responded, tilting his head. In the gloom, the flickering candle cast an eerie glow over his face, carving deeper circles beneath his eyes, hollowing his cheeks, and sharpening his jaw. “The knife is for you.”
