“I have great affection for you, Amanda, but you will not be a thief again.”
“Then how can we follow this other item to my mother?”
“We will do it without any more theft.”
Did he intend to buy it? Assuming the owner would sell, that might work. “Am I to live in your house until we learn if this new plan will work?”
His expression hardened. “Yes.”
That hurt her enough that she almost wished she had sent him away when he arrived in her chamber. He was a duke and she was a thief. They might set aside who they were for a few hours, but their differences would always be there.
“So you will continue as my gaoler,” she said, getting to her feet. “That is good to know.”
“Amanda—”
“No, please. Do not try to explain. I understand why. I think I understand even better than you do. Let us go and tell Vincent that he will not get to thrash a man today. I think he will be disappointed.”
* * *
Over the next several days, Amanda became less of a novelty in the house. The watch on her slackened, as she’d guessed it would.
One day when the gardeners were nowhere to be seen, she considered the possibility of escape. Over the wall, and a fast run down the alley—then what? With no clothes, no money, no home, she would be destitute. Worse, she would lose any chance of finding a way out of her predicament. As long as she stayed, though she might be a prisoner, there was still a chance.
Langford left the house as he normally would. He went to the last balls and parties of the Season, and she assumed he visited his club and did whatever else dukes did. Perhaps he attended sessions in Parliament. She began to guess which days he did by how crisply he dressed when he left. No casual cravats or bright waistcoats those days.
He did not come to her chamber for several nights. Perhaps he thought it unseemly to do so considering that he continued to hold her against her will. That did not mean he did not want to. She could see it in him and feel it when they were together. The bonds between them became hard-pulling tethers that tried to yank them into each other’s arms.
Finally, after one dinner where their desire thundered and cracked across the table with every look and every word, she concluded his being a gentleman had grown inconvenient again. Before she left that meal, she boldly invited him to her bed.
He gave her incredible pleasure, as always, that night and during the subsequent nights. New pleasures. The devil had learned much on his frequent visits to hell. And, for a few hours, she again cast off the shackles of the past and present and future and knew no fear or guilt.
She spent the days reading. There was little else to do. Women’s publications joined the newspapers bought each day. Whether the housekeeper and butler thought of that or Langford ordered it, she did not know. She read about society events and the winding down of the Season. She followed the exit of the best families from town and which ones chose to remain. She learned that the Duchess of Stratton had shown herself at a ball, far earlier than the writer of the notice thought sensible.
She had one respite from prison. Every day, Vincent and Michael accompanied her when a carriage took her to Mr. Peterson’s Print Shop to see if another letter had come for Mrs. Bootlescamp. Her presence was not required. Anyone asking for letters for that name would receive them. The outings were little more than excuse to give her time some purpose, at the duke’s discretion.
A week after her abduction, one finally emerged from the box Mr. Peterson kept under his counter.
When Vincent saw it, he spoke a few words to Michael. Michael hurried down the street. Vincent said not a word to her. He handed her into the carriage and took his post on its rear stand.
She examined the letter once she was alone. Her mother’s hand showed this time. That relieved her. She broke the seal.
My dear Amanda,
Forgive me for not writing the directions last time. A moment of ill-advised courage made me refuse to provide the hand to force your actions further. Only later did I realize you might think something more serious had prevented it.
I must regretfully write that, as I feared, he is not yet satisfied. Even as I write this, he promises this will be the last labor on your part. I hope so.
There is a dagger of similar style that you must obtain. The hilt is gold with decoration much like the brooch. A large red stone is set at the end. The hilt alone is a man’s handspan long.
It is owned by the Duke of Brentworth and among the items in his collection. I am hoping that you can avoid any danger. If he hosts a large party or ball, you can do it the way I always did, and be gone quickly.
The rest will be the same. Send a note when you have it, and directions will come for its delivery.
I send you myloveanddevotion.
Mama
The Duke of Brentworth. Langford had mentioned him on occasion. She expected all the peers knew one another.
