“Is that what he tried with you? Made you linger so he could frighten you?”
“Something like that. It didn’t work, though.” The last was a lie. She did not want to talk about what had frightened her and how she had lingered in part to watch how the dusky light made him even more handsome, casting his face in silvery tones so he looked like a beautiful statue come to life.
She plunged her hands into the water. She could be such an idiot at times.
Chapter 4
Adam woke with the dawn. He lay abed a good while, not wanting to relinquish the warmth of the coverlet. For a prison, the room had a comfortable bed.
He finally cast the bedclothes aside, strode to the fireplace, and threw on some fuel. A blaze roared. He stayed there while it heated the small chamber and the pail of water, then went to the window and bent to look out. Already he could tell that the sun would shine today, but the frost on the window’s glass indicated it would not help much with the temperature.
He judged there to be a good four or five inches of snow. While he took its measure on the wall below, two figures emerged from the house and climbed the stairs, bundled and anonymous. One hat looked like the same as that worn by his male abductor, though. That figure walked away, and the other returned to the kitchen door.
He washed, shaved, and dressed, deciding that his own garments would survive one more day. Those brought to him yesterday looked to almost fit, although whoever owned them was a bit stouter. Not as stout as the old man, but more so than the young abductor. While he would not buy the coats himself, they were of better quality than he expected, and the shirt had been ironed. The cravats had no starch and would only be acceptable in the most informal of ties. Still, no one intended to make him look like a rustic.
Having finished his day’s preparation, he pulled the chair to the door, sat, and examined the latch and closure. Last night, lacking anything to occupy him, he had begun testing the bar on the other side. First he tried the razor but quickly nicked himself. One of the journals brought by Miss Dunham had firm binding and was thin enough to press through the small crack, however. It seemed to him that when he slid it up, the bar had initially resisted but then risen a bit. Could he raise it enough that it slid down one of the makeshift ledges holding it on either side of the door?
He slid that journal through again. The bar rose an inch or so, but then he felt its weight defeating the journal. He pulled the journal out, lest it crumble and get caught, bearing evidence of his activities.
Being right at the door, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He swung the chair away to the table, and threw himself in it just as the bar scraped. The door opened.
Miss Dunham carried in breakfast. That brought a smile to his spirit. Her absence last night when the tray was taken had disappointed him.
She appeared fresh and bright and all business. The morning light cast her pale complexion in the coolest whites. Her dark eyes and hair made a stark, memorable contrast. She wore the simplest of dresses in brown, plain wool with a white knit shawl tied around her shoulders.
She strode across the chamber and all but dropped the tray on the little table. “We all have things we must do today. It may be hours before anyone comes for this.”
He lifted the cloth and noted the food but also the implements. “If you leave the door open, I would be glad to bring it down myself.”
She folded her arms over her chest and lowered her gaze on him. “You must think I am very stupid.”
“Not at all. I give my word as a gentleman not to escape.”
“Would that I could trust that word.”
“I have given you no reason to think you cannot.”
“Your whole life is a reason I cannot. Do you think we are so isolated we don’t hear about the gossip and scandals in London and elsewhere? Such stories are prized in these parts since they give people something to talk about.”
“What ones have you heard about me?”
She shrugged. “I can’t remember the recent ones.”
He laughed. “Are my scandals so bad that it embarrasses you to mention them?”
She flushed. “Fine. There was that problem you had with that actress you threw over who was going to kill herself, for one thing.”
“She had no intention of killing herself. She dined for a month over the threat of it, though.”
“And that family who accused you of breach of contract, and intended to see you in court.”
“Which they never did, because I had contracted nothing and promised even less. When I said sue or be damned, they went away.”
She set her hands on her hips and lowered her lids. “In the last eight months your name has been linked to three women at least, who were described as your mistresses.”
She had him there. “Such friendships are apart from matters of honor, such as keeping my word.”
“Three. In eight months,” she reiterated bluntly. “Such inconstancy does not speak well of your character.”
