“I have nothing to say to you.” She curled her lip and then turned around to search for her horse. She had tied it to a post the previous evening, but couldn’t quite remember where.
“Quite likely,” Mr. Ramsay agreed. “But I have much to say to you.”
She ignored him, her stomach churning as she searched for her horse.
Did someone take it? Did it run off? What on earth was going on?
“You won’t find it,” Mr. Ramsay told her.
“What?” She spun back.
“Your horse,” he said simply. “You won’t find it. I had one of my… employees take it earlier. Truly, that you thought to leave it out here unguarded… it is a wonder it hadn’t been stolen already. You really need to be more careful.”
“You…”
Helena’s eyes flicked over the little man, seeing on his visage a look she remembered well from the last time they met. A coldness spread through her body, the keen sense that something was wrong.
“Why would you do that?” she demanded. “What gives you the right?”
“Oh, I do not mean to offend,” Mr. Ramsay assured her. “I simply thought you might wish for a ride.” He gestured to his carriage with a sweep of his arm. “It is much safer that way. And far more comfortable.”
She scoffed. “I will be quite all right, thank you very much.”
“I must insist.”
“As I must insist that you leave at once.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You do remember who my husband is, do you not? And how do you think he will react when he learns that you have been harassing me?”
Mr. Ramsay chuckled. “What do you think I wish to talk to you about?”
Helena started. “What… what does that mean?”
“Not here, Your Grace.” Again, he gestured to his carriage. “Somewhere more private.”
It was only then that Helena felt a pang of fear. The realization that she was alone, that Mr. Ramsay’s being here was not a coincidence, and that he was not the type to be messed with. A fact that she had already found out firsthand.
“I…” She took a step back. “Anything you wish to say to me, you can say it at my estate. With my husband present.”
“Your Grace…” Mr. Ramsay chuckled as if it were a joke. “This was not a request. Now, please, I insist you join me in the carriage.”
“And if I refuse?”
The humor vanished from his face, replaced by a cold glare that she felt like a dagger driven through her spine.
“That would not be wise…” As he spoke, his hand drifted to his coat, which he pulled back to reveal a pistol tucked into the waist of his pants.
Helena’s eyes widened. “What are you?—”
“Not here,” he said. “Please.” He smiled and gestured a final time to the carriage. “After you.”
His hand stayed by the pistol, the implication clear. And while he smiled and chuckled in a friendly manner, Helena had no doubt now that there was nothing friendly about this.
She forced a smile, her heart thumping against her ribs like it meant to escape, as she walked past Mr. Ramsay and climbed into the small carriage. He was quick after her, closing the door and locking them inside.
“Ah, yes, much better,” he purred.
Helena pressed herself against the back of the carriage, as far from him as possible.
“What is this?” she demanded bravely, even if her voice cracked. “What do you want? My husband?—”
