O’Leary’s eyes sharpened. He angled his head, studying her. “What are you saying?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “You saw me leave Doctor Wolf’s office a few months ago.”
“And?”
It was easier to produce a sly smile now that she had him hooked. All that remained was to reel him in. “My husband bedded a lot of women before we married. Unfortunately, one of them left an unpleasant reminder of their time together, for which I now have to suffer.”
O’Leary’s mouth fell open. “You have the pox?”
She held his gaze. “Have your way with me and I’ll give you more than you bargained for.”
His hand closed around her throat. He leaned in. A grimace of utter disgust curled his lips as he searched her face. “You’re lying. I reckon you met with the doctor because you’re increasing.”
Samantha struggled to keep all emotion buried so deep he’d not know for certain. “Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”
He sneered at her, then released her neck and stepped back. “The next time you try anything, I’m breaking your arm.”
She heard the truth in his words and knew he meant it. Head held high, she watched him leave, waited for the door to close and lock before expelling the breath she’d been holding.
Upon which she started to shake.
Ensconced in darkness, Murry listened to the slow drip of water that had kept him company since his arrival. He never should have allowed his captors to take him or his mistress. He should have fought.
But they’d been outnumbered. Six to three, if he’d counted correctly. They’d also had the advantage of surprise. Had he stood his ground, they’d likely have killed him before he managed to do any damage. It would have been a wasted death since they’d still have taken Mrs. Croft.
At least this way they’d taken him too, though likely to a different location. He questioned the logic of such a decision since it meant the group would have spread itself thin. Unless, of course, it was all a ruse to make him and Mrs. Croft think they’d been separated and had no hope of helping each other.
He tugged on the cord that bound his wrists behind the chair on which he sat. His ankles were tied to the legs, which made it impossible for him to stand. But if he could find some way to smash the chair to pieces, he’d be free and able to plan his escape.
Pushing up from the soles of his feet, he hopped to his right a couple of times. Just an inch or so before he was forced to sit back down and rest a moment.
He repeated the action, hopping and resting, until he met a wall. Now for the challenging part. Carefully, he started tipping forward, onto his toes. A pause to steady his breath and calm his movements allowed him to find his balance. He inhaled as he swung the chair slowly away from the wall, then straight back against it with added force.
The only sound was a loud bang.
Undeterred by the strength of the wood he made another attempt. The chair smashed into the wall. Over and over, until Murry’s calf muscles screamed for him to give them rest.
He refused and stubbornly sent the chair into the wall once more.
A faint groan met his ears.
Panting, he finally sat and allowed himself to gather strength. It seemed he was either unguarded or so secluded his captors couldn’t hear him or they would have come to see what the noise was about. Hopefully this would remain the case a while longer, for it sounded as though the chair’s structure was finally starting to weaken.
He took another deep breath, resumed his position, and continued swinging the chair against the wall. Once…twice… His voice was hoarse as he kept on counting. Eleven…twelve…
Something snapped and he instantly felt the strain in his right arm ease. Part of the right back post had broken and this gave him hope. He resumed his efforts with force until additional splintering sounds filled the room. The chair’s backrest was breaking apart.
Stilling his movements, Murry resumed his seat and bent forward. The action raised his arms at his back and allowed him to feel for one of the broken slats. Finding one, he pushed the rope binding his wrists down against it, forcing the splintered remains of the slat between the coils of rope.
It didn’t take long before they started to slacken. A bit of added wriggling and he was able to pull his hands free, allowing him to work the rope that tied his legs to the chair.
Free at last, he blew out a breath and gave himself a moment to gather his strength. The room was still pitch dark. Not a window in sight, which meant his only escape would be through the door.
He stood, stretched out his limbs and rotated his shoulders, then dropped to a squat and searched for the best broken chair slat he could find. His hand connected with a sharp piece, and he curled his fingers around it.
Back on his feet, he prepared to seek out the door by using the wall for guidance, when a loud clanging echoed around him. He turned in the direction from which it had come and watched a sliver of light appear in the darkness. It spread, growing in size as the door swung open, revealing a man who matched his own size.
Murry stared at him for the second it took to assess the situation and make a decision. His captor appeared to do the same. He started raising his hand, drawing Murry’s attention toward the weapon he carried.
