He folded his arms. “Never you mind.”
“What…what do you intend to do with me?”
“I haven’t yet decided. Be a good girl, and it may be more pleasure than pain.”
“Pleasure? You deceive yourself. And coming from a man who must resort to kidnapping women.”
His eyes flared. “You are my insurance, my lady. And I’d pray you remain necessary to me if I were you.”
“Insurance?” Althea stilled as ice threaded through her veins. “Against what?”
“Should Lord Montsimon become…difficult.”
She stiffened in outrage. “Montsimon is close to the king, a renowned diplomat. Cross swords with him, and you’ll never live in England again, in the unlikely event you survive.”
“It seems he has impressed you,” he said coolly.
“He is a friend as you said.”
“A friend? A practiced lover I imagine.” He glowered at her. “But he isn’t the only one with such talents.”
“I shouldn’t worry about your prowess, Crowthorne. Unless it’s useful in Newgate.”
“You assume I’ll be accused of a crime.” He leaned back, unruffled. “I will soon have something the king wants very badly. Almost as much as he wishes his wife to die. I believe it to be an excellent bargaining tool.”
Althea’s curiosity got the better of her. “What is it that you value so greatly?”
“If I tell you, you will have to die, my lady.”
“You plan to kill me, anyway.” She raised her chin, aware that it wobbled. “I want to know.”
He shook his head with a chuckle. “Once I have it, I shall live a very comfortable life in Paris. My wife won’t be accompanying me, but you are most welcome.”
“How ludicrous!” Althea said. “You’re insane.”
Crowthorne shrugged seemingly unaffected. “I suggest you rest. While you can.”
It was like trying to pummel at the wind. Fear threatened to paralyze her. She must think. Crowthorne would use her to get the better of Flynn. She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to calm herself. Flynn must be warned, but it was useless to exhaust herself now. An opportunity to escape might come soon.
*
The house wasfinally empty, the last of the servants gone to their new positions. As dusk fell, Flynn roamed the rooms, checking the windows and doors. He considered leaving a window open but thought better of it. That would be a little too convenient for Crowthorne and make him suspicious. Satisfied, he joined the men hidden in the garden. Flynn had thought it better not to tell Althea of his intention to let Crowthorne break in. Hopefully, there would be minimal damage. He needed to catch the men red-handed with the prize in their hands.
Clouds scudded across the moon, turning the garden into distorted gray shapes. A wintry breeze stirred the leaves of the azalea bush where Flynn hid. Garden smells assailed his nostrils, few of them sweet. With a grimace, he crouched on the dew-drenched grass and sought the best view of the house.
Hours passed, and his legs had grown stiff when the chill from the ground began to invade his bones. Their pre-arranged signal of two owl hoots came from the side of the house where one of his men was stationed. The loaded pistol in his hand, Flynn searched the dark but saw only the pale limestone house where a shard of moonlight sparkled on glass, as if some ghostly presence from the past peeked out.
A flickering light appeared. A man crept around the corner of the building, holding a lantern high. Its glow fell on the two others following him.
Flynn held his ground, hoping his men would do the same.
“Empty,” Crowthorne said. “Bound to find it now that we can make a thorough search unhindered.”
“How do you want us to get in, Sir Horace?”
“Fool! Don’t bandy my name around. Must I tell you everything? Break a window.”
At the sound of shattering glass, Flynn’s men emerged out of the dark like silent specters, clutching flintlocks. “Stay and hold your fire,” he whispered. “We’ll catch them after they enter. I want to see what they find.”
