Terror filled her. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you, my dear are very important to the Duke of Lionston and he and I have tangled much in the past. It is time that he understand the damage he has caused and you are going to help me in issuing that payment.”
“Who are you?” He had to be mistaken. “What makes you believe that he cares for me.”
“I know he does.” The man chuckled lightly. “Élise Marchand,” he began. “The lovely woman who has so easily seduced your brother has witnessed much. She is the reason you are here now. But Lionston is the reason you will die.”
Lord help her…she had done it now. She really should have listened to Leander. “Then it will not hurt you to tell me your name. Shouldn’t I know the man who will ultimately end my life.”
“I suppose it will not hurt to tell you that much.” His voice was tinged with menace. “You will not be spilling my secrets to anyone. But you shouldn’t worry about when you will die, my dear. It isn’t quite time for that yet. We must wait for your lover to witness it and as he is not here, we have much to discuss.” He leaned forward. “As to my name, it is Bastien.” He paused. “Bastien Girard”
That name meant little to her, but then again, why should it? What was Leander involved in? Did this have something to do with the war. “Bastien,” she began, “Why do you hate him?”
She did not have to clarify what him she referred to. There was only one other him that mattered in this—Leander. She waited for him to speak and then he said in a calm tone, “Because he is the reason my wife is dead. She was a spy and he outed her. I understand it is the nature of spies, but she was the love of my life. So, he must pay. It matters not that he is no longer working for the crown and that his spying days for them are over. It only matters that he is the reason Amélie is gone.”
“Leander isn’t a spy…”
“Ah, my dear, naive girl.” He shook his head. “Apparently, we have much to discuss. There is much you do not know about your duke then. It will be my pleasure to expel all of his secrets and ruin him in your eyes. What a pleasant little bit that will be to add to my revenge. It is too bad you must die. You are lovely, truly, but this plan has been in the works for some time. It took much to ensure. Starting with the deaths of his father and brother. He had to return home you see. It had to be here that he lost everything.”
She wanted to ask Leander many questions, but she would probably never get the chance to do that. This man, Bastien, had ensured she would never have another moment alone with Leander. She had made so many mistakes but there was no turning back. She would have to find a way to save herself. She could not depend upon Leander to rescue her. For now, she would just have to bide her time and pray an opportunity for escape would come to her. Otherwise, she would indeed die this night…
Ten
Rain has begun to fall softly at first in a gentle tapping against the mullioned windows of Lionston House, but the sound soon grew into a steady, insistent rhythm. Almost as though nature itself sought entry. Leander Ashby, Duke of Lionston, scarcely noticed. He sat at his desk in the library, pen in hand, though he had written the same sentence three times without progress.
His thoughts were fixed on Sabrina.
Every hour that passed without word scraped against his nerves like a dull blade. She had disappeared without explanation two nights earlier, and though he had mobilized half the county to search for her, not a whisper of a clue had surfaced. He should have had someone watching her, but he had thought she would remain safe at home. How wrong he had been. He still could not believe she had gone missing and had no way of discovering who could have taken her. If she had been taken… There was always a possibility she had gone off somewhere on her own, but he doubted that. His instincts had never steered him wrong before. Something inside of him knew she was in trouble and he had to find her. He just needed something to help him ascertain where to look…
A sharp knock cracked through the quiet of the room snapping him out of his own thoughts. He shot his gaze toward the door. Leander straightened and barked, “Enter.”
The door opened—not to admit one of his footmen, as he expected—but a woman he recognized with a cold jolt of displeasure. Élise Marchand. He had learned much about her ever since he had seen her with Sabrina’s brother at that ball—including her full name. French-born, quick-witted, sharp as glass, and a woman he had immediately distrusted at first glance. She held a parchment in her hand and he stared at it with distaste. Any message carried by her hand was certain to be poison.
She dipped into a calculated curtsy. “Your Grace.”
Leander stood slowly, his every instinct sharpening. “Mrs. Marchand. Why are you here?”
“Is that anyway to greet someone with information you seek?” she said lightly, stepping forward with the grace of a cat. “I am to give this to you.” Her gloved hand extended a sealed missive.
He did not take it at once. “Who sent you and what is this regarding?”
“It will become clear enough who sent me after you read it.” Her lips twitched in a twisted smile. One that made him uneasy. “It is from someone one who holds something you value most dearly,” she murmured, her dark eyes gleaming with knowledge she should not possess. “You will find your answers within.”
A cold dread unfurled in his chest. He snatched the letter and broke the seal. The handwriting was precise, unfamiliar, but the content—God, the content—ignited terror and fury in equal measure.
We have your lady.
Come at once to the ironworks on Hollowbridge Road. Bring no guards. Bring no friends. If anyone accompanies you, she dies. Mrs. Marchand knows the way. Follow her.
No signature. No explanation. But the meaning was carved in blood. Leander’s pulse roared in his ears. Sabrina had definitely been taken and she was in grave danger. Was this because of him or was it somehow regarding her brother? He had little information to go on.
He lifted his gaze to Élise. “Who sent this?” He hoped she would answer him, but he doubted she actually would. He needed something to go forward with. Especially considering the note’s demands. He knew it was a trap. They wanted him for some nefarious reason. He just didn’t know what it was or what they hoped to achieve.
Her smile was thin, evasive. “One who believes you owe a debt, Your Grace.”
“Why Sabrina?” His voice was dangerously low. There was only one woman that missive could have been referring to. She was the only lady anyone could believe was his. Because she was his in all but name. He would rectify that soon enough. He wanted her to be his wife. His duchess. Just his…
“Because hurting her,” she said, “hurts you.”
