“I don’t mind risking death if it means shutting him up.”
“Very well.”
Frederick scurried off, muttering something about the insignificance of Portugal. With a sigh, Cecilia began to follow. But Ned caught her arm and pulled her back, and she turned to scold him. He pressed the hand holding the pistol against her mouth.
“I’m sorry for the chloroform,” he whispered, “but I didn’t know what you might say. And if they doubted I was Morvath’s man, they’d have killed me and taken you anyway.”
The explanation made sense, and she felt her heart hug itself with relief. But her mouth still tasted like bitterness and gunmetal. “It’s fine, don’t worry,” she whispered back. “I’m glad they didn’t kill you.”
She gazed up at him big-eyed through her eyelashes, and he swallowed dryly. His hand dropped from her mouth and she smiled. Leaning closer, she whispered near to his ear, “Because I want to kill you myself.”
She yanked herself out of his hold, but he caught her again before she could turn away. “Please believe me, Cecilia. I’m on your side.”
“Then why are you standing here with a gun pointed at me, forcing me back into imprisonment?”
He frowned as if the answer was so obvious he could not believe she’d even asked. “This is the lair of the villain. Evil abounds in every corridor: pirates, mercenaries, creepy spiders. Good God, woman, you can’t run around like it’s Mayfair on a Sunday morning. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”
“Are you calling me weak and stupid?”
His frown buckled; he blinked a few times. “No, of course not. I’m calling you—” He hesitated, and her eyes narrowed.
“Yes?”
“I’m— Look, this is not safe. There are probably spiders above us at this very moment, waiting to pounce.” He glanced at the dustybeams overhead, and Cecilia huffed a laugh. Looking at her again, he held her gaze so intensely that the sardonic tilt to her mouth slipped. “Please,” he whispered. “Just go back into the bedroom.”
“Fine,” she relented. “But only to save you from the hideous fanged arachnids that are even now lowering themselves toward your face.” She lifted her chin imperiously and began to turn away, but he abruptly drew her so close their heartbeats knocked against each other.
“The Society are being held in the cellars. Be wary of Frederick.”
“And don’t turn your back on me, Captain, unless you fancy a knife in it.”
When she pulled away this time, he let her go. She marched into the bedroom.
Ned came behind. “Your father wants to see you at breakfast,” he said. “A bath is being prepared for you now.”
“I’m not—” she began, but then Frederick was rushing over, grasping her hand in both of his.
“Fear not, dear cousin,” he urged. “Lightbourne is a brute, but I will keep you safe with me, your tender limbs and gentle heart ensconced in my protection despite—”
Cecilia turned, took Ned’s gun from his hand, and smacked the butt of it into Frederick’s forehead. He gave a little scream and collapsed among the dolls on the bed.
“Much better,” Cecilia said, handing back the gun.
Ned grinned. “Listen, Cec—”
“Miss. Bass. Ing. Thwaite.”
“But—”
The door opened, admitting a footman and two henchmen carrying guns and soft, folded towels.
“Your bath is ready, ma’am,” said the footman. “If you will follow me.”
Ned dropped his words into grim silence. On the bed, Frederickgroaned. Cecilia shook her head in disgust and walked away without a backward look.
Far below, in the musty gloom of the abbey cellar, Pleasance stood chewing her thumb knuckle unhappily. She’d spent years dreaming of being captive in the dungeon of a madman, but the reality proved not as deliciously woeful as she’d expected. It was, in fact, plain uncomfortable. And boring, too. The Wisteria Society ladies had taken the opportunity to catch up on gossip, but as a mere housemaid Pleasance was ignored, even if she did know how to fly a house and seven ways to rob a duchess of her diamonds. She hoped something interesting would happen soon, before she lost all faith in melodrama.
If only the guards would enter. All they needed to do was take three steps into the cellar. Three little steps. The prisoners had been stripped down to their underwear and divested of enough concealed weaponry to supply a battalion, so what harm could it do to walk three steps inside?
