Page 38 of An Enchantress for an Earl

“A good question.”

“Let us go in now – I don’t think that this calls for any subtlety in the matter, although I’d suggest that drawing that rather excellent blade from your sword cane is likely a good idea.”

Trent did as suggested, and Setford opened the front door. From the other end of the hallway, they heard a cut off half-scream, and thumping. It was, obviously, time to hurry. Setford’s men behind them, they ran, and Trent prayed that the men sent to cover the back door were in place.

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Violet had been sure that she was being quiet as she crept down the hall of the dusty old building – so dusty that it made her want to sneeze, a desire which she repressed as hard as she could. She had reached the door to a room from which came the sound of quiet voices, and pressed her ear against it, trying to discern what was being said.

“…not sure I could replicate that, my Lord – so many tiny lines and patterns overlaying each other – getting it exactly right would be a work for a more skilled engraver than I am.”

“Surely you could manage… I’ll give you extra if you can – far more than you’ve had so far…”

“I’m still not sure, my Lord.”

Violet shifted her feet, and the dust which rose tickled her throat, causing her to emit a quickly strangled half-cough. She froze, praying that she hadn’t been heard. For a moment, nothing happened, and she almost breathed again.

Almost, because, just as she did, the door was wrenched open, and she tumbled into the room, completely off balance.

Hands caught her, and spun her around until she found herself clamped with her back hard against Lord Villeham, her arms trapped by her side.

“Listening at doors really isn’t ladylike, Lady Violet. I’m afraid that I take exception to your presence here. But now that you’re here, and you’ve overheard things you shouldn’t have, I’m afraid that I can’t let you leave.”

“What – what do you mean?”

“Why you’ll have to remain my guest, in this delightful establishment, until my requirements are met. And even then, perhaps I’ll keep you. For my own… entertainment.”

Violet felt positively ill at the implication of his words, but refused to let him see just how much that threat affected her. She stared across the room, wishing that she had not been so foolish as to come here alone. No one knew where she was - except her coachman – that at least was hopeful. The dirty window on the other side of the room reminded her that, perhaps, even if Villeham tried to trap her here, there might be ways of escape.

She studied the window, and for a moment, she saw a face in the narrow gap of the curtains. Hope surged. Was it? Surely it couldn’t be – she must be dreaming – but it had looked, to her somewhat fevered brain, like Lord Merryfield. Villeham was speaking again, and she twisted in his grasp, suddenly desperate to avoid his touch.

He tightened his grip, laughing again.

“You’ll not get away so easily, Lady Violet. George, bring me some rope.”

“I’ve no rope, milord. There’s only the cords the paper bundles come tied with.”

“Then bring me those.”

“Yes milord.”

Violet twisted her head a little, and barely caught a glimpse of a man with ink-stained fingers as he limped from the room, closing the door after himself. Villeham brought his lips close to her ear and she shuddered, unable to prevent it, and spoke rapidly, before he could speak, or worse.

“You won’t get away with this – someone will come looking for me.”

“Not if I make sure that no one can tell them where you are. I’ll deal with that matter once I have you secured.”

Guilt filled her – her rashness had just put a loyal servant into danger. But what else could she have done? She stood here, in a building where the evidence of the forgery was clearly present – all she needed to do was escape, and tell Lord Setford exactly what she had seen. Although… she had to admit, if Villeham did bind her with something, escape might be much harder than she had thought.

“Someone will still come looking. My father will not easily accept my disappearance.”

“Oh, he will – once he, and others, receive ransom letters. He’ll not come looking, because he will know that to do so will put you in danger.”

She squirmed again, but his grip was too strong. He simply laughed at her, whilst muttering about George being slow with the bindings. But, as he did, Violet heard another sound, from the hallway – not the uneven tread of the limping George, but a softer footfall.

Her heart pounded – had she truly seen what she thought she had, at the window? Had he, somehow, miraculously, come to save her? It was foolish to hope, foolish to cast him somehow in the role of hero, yet even so, she could not stop herself.

Villeham pulled her around so that they faced the door, just as the door burst open and Lord Merryfield rushed into the room.