Page 108 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“Ha!” Wallace scoffed. “You’re a fool if you think people like that will stir themselves to help you.”

“They know you have the Eye, as well.” It occurred to Desmond, too late, that he shouldn’t have reminded them about Thisbe’s family. It might occur to Wallace that the owner of the Eye was the likeliest person to be descended from Anne Ballew, and the last thing he wanted was for Wallace to go after Thisbe. Quickly, he did his best to divert them from the possibility that the Eye had been passed down through Anne’s descendants. “The dowager duchess’s great-grandfather bought the Eye, and, however little right she has to it, that woman holds on to what she possesses. You want to go up against her? I wouldn’t advise it. The Duchess of Broughton will hunt you down like a wolf on a rabbit.”

Wallace sneered. “I am hardly frightened by the prospect of a doddering old woman’s wrath.”

Desmond snorted. “Then you’re the fool here.”

“You’ll feel differently after you’ve spent some time thinking about your choices.” Wallace nodded to the other men. “Gentlemen. Let’s leave Mr. Harrison to contemplate his future.”

Desmond sagged against the back of the chair after they walked out of the room. It was tiring keeping up this pretense of sangfroid. He didn’t feel cool or calm or reasonable. What he felt was an overpowering need to get out of this place.

That blasted Eye was too strong, too dangerous. He’d resisted its pull today, but he didn’t want to be put to the test again. He hadn’t felt its power when the duchess showed it to them before. He had wanted to examine the thing, to test it, but no more than he usually desired to understand things. But today... Maybe Thisbe’s fear regarding the Eye had infected him, but he didn’t want to experience that compulsion again. He no longer desired to see what the glass might show. He feared it.

What would happen when Wallace realized he wouldn’t get what he wanted from Desmond? He could scarcely allow Desmond to tell everyone Wallace had kidnapped him. The only way to get rid of that possibility was to get rid of Desmond.

And what about Thisbe? She was bound to come after him—he felt a little qualm, thinking she might believe he had voluntarily left her, but surely she knew him better than that. In any case, whatever she thought regarding Desmond, Thisbe suspected the Eye was here, and she would come for that. The idea of Thisbe winding up in Wallace’s clutches made it even more imperative that he get out of here now.

Twisting, Desmond worked at untying the rope from the chair. It was incredibly difficult to unfasten the tight knot with his wrists bound. The chair was heavy; he didn’t think it would be possible to break the back from it. Perhaps there was something in the room he could use to cut the rope. He glanced around the room for a letter opener or scissors—anything with a sharp edge. Could he manage to get a coal out of the fire and burn through it? Use the fireplace poker as a lever to break the chair?

He stood up. It was bloody awkward, as the short length of the rope would not allow him to stand straight, but he grasped the chair and began to pull it. Hearing a noise in the hall outside the room, he turned quickly.

“Thisbe!”

“DESMOND!” THISBE RUSHED across the room to Desmond. They’d tied him to a chair. Fury rose in her.

“No. Get out. Get out.”

“That’s hardly the greeting I’d hoped for,” Thisbe said drily and pulled Theo’s knife from her pocket.

Desmond’s eyes widened. “You’re armed?”

“Only with Theo’s penknife. I’m afraid it won’t do much damage, but it was the easiest to hide.” She sawed through the rope. “Oh! Look at your wrists. They’re bleeding.”

“I was trying to get loose.” He sounded faintly apologetic. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I found a window unlocked,” she explained. “I’ve been creeping about the house looking for you. There!” The knife finally cut through the last fibers, and she pulled off the rope. “Here, you take the knife. I have another weapon.” She held up her reticule, which only made him look confused, but there was no time to explain.

“Here! I say!”

They whirled around to see Professor Gordon standing in the doorway. As one, Thisbe and Desmond charged him, and the older man stumbled back into the corridor. But as they turned to run, Zachary Wallace popped out of a door down the hall and started toward them.

“This way!” Thisbe whirled to run in the other direction, but stopped when she realized Desmond had gone straight at Wallace. Desmond punched Wallace, first in the stomach, then on the chin, and the other man folded.

Professor Gordon, recovering from his stumble, grabbed Thisbe’s arm, and she swung her reticule at him. She intended to hit his head but he dodged surprisingly quickly, and her blow landed on his shoulder.

Letting out a yowl, Gordon dropped her arm and grabbed his shoulder.

“What do you have in there?” Desmond asked in astonishment.

“Billiard balls.”

He began to laugh, then took her hand, and they started again toward the front door. Wallace struggled to his feet, facing them. Desmond unfolded the knife, his eyes and voice cold in a way Thisbe had never witnessed before. “Really? You want to try that? I believe I have the reach on you.”

“And I have the gun on you,” a voice behind them said. Thisbe and Desmond froze and pivoted slowly to see Grieves standing in the hallway behind them, grinning, a revolver in his hand. He strolled forward, keeping the weapon trained on Thisbe. “Now. Drop the knife.”

Desmond opened his hand and let it fall to the floor.

“And that bag!” Gordon pointed at the reticule in Thisbe’s hand, then returned to rubbing his shoulder. With a sigh, Thisbe dropped the purse.