A Forbidden Love (32 page)

But she didn’t feel the pain. Drenched in a cold sweat, her belly in tight knots, she thought only of her one chance to escape. And it was upon her, that one chance. She sensed the door of the carriage swing wide open, the weight inside shift as one kidnapper stepped down.

It was time, she thought. Heart throbbing, she waited for one brute to grab her by the ankles and haul her out of the carriage. The second her feet touched the ground, she was off.

Bound and blindfolded, though, she didn’t get very far. Within seconds, two sturdy sets of hands pinched her upper arms, bringing her to a complete stop.

But her stark fear wouldn’t allow her to submit quietly, and she kicked and thrashed ’til her toes stung.

It was only when the same burly hand as before came to close around her neck and squeeze, that she gave up the struggle entirely.

“So we have ourselves a little spit-fire fiend, do we?” The harsh laughter was followed by a wallop to her behind. “That was for trying to get away.” Another hard smack. “That was for all the kicks.” The brute then leaned in close to whisper, “And if you try any more tricks, you’ll get one hell of a beating—and you won’t have your skirt for padding next time.”

The tears gushed forward, followed by the hot bile rising in her chest, burning her throat.

Sabrina was dragged. She couldn’t fathom to where. But with each wretched step she was forced to take, the gripping hand of despair tightened around her heart.

To offset the panic welling in her breast, her thoughts turned to Anthony. At least he was safe—for now. So long as Gillingham believed she had the locket, he would not harm the viscount.

But the ruse could not go on forever. Gillingham wanted the locket. Since she didn’t have it, he would eventually go after Anthony. After all, she was seen coming out of the viscount’s home. Gillingham would naturally suspect she and Anthony were cohorts in some way, concealing the locket and its secret.

A chill fell over her. The panic was back. How was she going to protect Anthony? How was she going to convince Gillingham the viscount was not involved in this whole miserable affair?

There was a cruel irony to her present predicament. Having abandoned Anthony with the intention of forgetting all about him, she’d found herself in a situation where she could do nothing else but think of him. And fret over him. And yearn to be with him.

Forget Anthony? She was a fool to have thought it was possible. How could anyone forget such a man, with eyes like shimmering gemstones and a smile to warm the soul?

Sabrina was forced to stop. Orders were shouted to open the gates. And they were massive gates by the sound of the rattling wail of rusted hinges.

But the true horror of it all didn’t nestle in her gut until she heard the moans. Moans of such misery, her heart sank to her toes in an instant.

There were so many voices, so many whimpering pleas and aching howls. The din was like a death chant, suffocating her soul.

A fierce tug at her arm urged her to move on. But she wouldn’t budge. Fixing her heels to the ground, she refused to go another step.

“That beating is looking ever more promising,” came the gruff threat by her ear.

Curse that devil and his promises of pain! Did he think she would simply walk into hell without a whimper of protest? She wanted to rail and brawl and cleave to the fresh spring air.

But her captors were impatient and so much stronger than her, and she was whisked through the gates without a chance to resist, stumbling over her own feet in all the haste.

The low boom of heavy wood doors closing behind her echoed throughout the room, her bones shuddering in response.

Trapped.

“This way!” came the barked order, and she was pulled along in a roughshod manner, still unable to see her surroundings.

But her other senses were working just fine, and what she picked up on made her stomach churn.

A dank stench filtered through the thick burlap sack. A bitter odor of sweat and filth.

Her nostrils flared in offense of the stinging intruder, so foul, it made her choke and gag. She whisked her head from side to side in a desperate attempt to fan away the pungent scent. But the rapid movements only sent pain to her temples, and she was compelled to steady herself. Once she did, she took heed of the oddly soft floor beneath her feet, so slimy and clammy, she could feel the icy wetness seep through her leather boots and bite her toes.

Sabrina shivered. Her salty tears brought her some mild relief, cooling her burning cheeks, all scratched and raw from the rough burlap sack.

But tears alone could not alleviate the crushing weight that was pushing down on her chest, squeezing her heart. A weight of utter agony, as she moved further and deeper into the hell that would become her home for the next few…hours? Days? Weeks? She had no idea. God forbid it was years. Years of isolation and perhaps torture, until she turned into one of those groaning, howling voices herself.

Another door opened.

The hairs on her arms bristled at the sound of the whining hinges. With a swift movement, the binds at her wrists were severed, and she was shoved inside a room. A small room, for she collided with a wall almost straight away.

The sack was the first thing to go, whipped off her head, the cool air dousing her flushed features.

But in the moments it took her to get accustomed to the light, it was gone. Darkness fell over her once more, the door swinging shut with a thunderous thump.

Alone.

Sabrina just stood there, quietly staring at the thin, luminous crack under the door frame. How she wished she was small enough to fit through that crack and scramble on to freedom.

But maybe there was another way to escape? She glanced around and quickly discovered her eyes were of little use to her. Instead, her trembling hands went up to press against the wall. A rutted and dewy stone wall. She moved along the frosty surface, dust and debris crumbling through her widespread fingers.

Nothing.

The space was so small, she had circled every inch of it in a matter of minutes and found nothing. No hole in the corner, no weakness in the door. Nothing to help her escape.

Only a small barred opening high above her head provided the room with air and a faint source of light. Too faint to be practical. A ghostly pale glow from the outdoor lanterns filtered in, but with the vines twisting around the iron bars, obscuring much of the opening, only a bare trickle of illumination made its way into the…what? Dungeon? Is that where she was?

Sabrina suddenly found it hard to breathe. She was, in fact, gasping for air, but she couldn’t seem to get enough of it. The thought that she might remain here, penned in this squalor for the rest of her days, ripped at her heart. She would die in confinement. Her entire life up to this point had been spent wandering in open spaces. Her spirit wouldn’t endure two days in captivity before it withered away.

That, in the end, might be her sole means of escape, she concluded in sorrow.

Wedging her shivering body in a corner, she sank to the soiled ground, her knees pressed up tight against her chest, her arms twisting around her legs. There she sat, rocking and cradling herself, weeping for comfort.

God, how she missed Anthony. How much she ached to be with him at this very moment. To feel secure in his tight hold. To hear his husky and soothing voice. To see his beautiful green eyes smiling at her.

Someone was coming.

Gaze darting to the thin beam of light flickering under the door frame, Sabrina saw nothing yet, only heard the poundings of quick and determined steps making their way toward her cell.

At last, shadowed feet appeared beneath the door.

She took in a long, shuddering breath.

The lock snapped and the door swung open.

She instantly knew who it was. “Gillingham.”

The rangy figure stepped into the dungeon, lantern in hand. He was alone. It would take only a second to slam her shoulder into his chest, send him stumbling backward into the corridor, and make a dash for her life.

But she didn’t shift from her corner. One look into his eyes, murky brown pools of mud, and she was pinned to the spot.

Sabrina knew that look well. A look of disgust and loathing. A look she had so often received from
gajos
throughout her life. But there was something more beneath his piercing stare of disdain. A reflection of cruelty. And despite his slender frame, she sensed intuitively that he would snap her in two if she tried to tackle him.

The door closed softly behind him. “So you think you know who I am, do you?” His voice was scantly above a whisper, and yet so cutting, she could feel his every word jab her in the chest. “What is in a name? It reveals nothing about one’s character. It certainly doesn’t tell you anything about my capabilities—which are varied indeed.”

Sabrina held her breath for a moment, as he set the lantern on the ground and crouched across from her. She saw more intimately the hard lines etched across his face. Lines of long-suffering frustration. And of resolve. Invincible resolve.

“I believe you have something of mine,” he said in the same low tone, eyes dropping to her neck in search of the gold locket. “Where is it?”

There was no sense in pretending ignorance. His aura of impatience and brutality convinced her it would be foolish to tangle with him. But she wasn’t about to reveal the truth either. To tell him that Anthony still had the locket would mean certain death for the viscount. And she would suffer grueling torment before she let any harm come to Anthony.

“I don’t have the locket anymore.” And then before Gillingham could clout her for her willful response, she added hastily, “I lost it in the struggle with your men.”

But he didn’t look like he was going to smack her. His fingers rested quietly between his spread legs. It was the fire stirred in his copper brown eyes that had Sabrina’s teeth clicking together.

“So you’ve lost the locket? That is a shame.” With a shake of his head, he made a
tsk
ing sound. “And here I thought this was going to be a simple exchange. Your peaceful death for my locket.” He heaved a sigh of feigned distress. “I see it will prove more complicated than that.”

“I told you, I don’t have the locket,” she grit through teeth and tears alike, gathering her crumpled wool skirt tight between her fingers.

He leaned in just a smidgen to whisper, “The trouble is, I don’t believe you.” Then rocked back on his heels. “Now, how to nudge your memory? Let me see. A fortnight in dark isolation might help you to remember the locket’s location. But unfortunately, I can’t wait a fortnight. So that leaves me with a rather grisly alternative.”

Sabrina’s muscles, pinched taut in apprehension, jerked wildly at the sound of the sudden shrill scream that ripped through the building.

Gillingham only grinned. “That must be Lizzy. Perhaps it’s time we find her a replacement? I think you’ll do very nicely.”

Fresh, briny tears soaked her flushed cheeks. “W-what will you do with me?”

“Well, you see, very beautiful women like yourself, who happen to find themselves locked away in here, will occasionally find themselves chained to a wall, where respectable gentlemen—who pay a small fee of course—are free to make merry havoc with their bodies.”

Sabrina gulped back a sob. She suddenly wanted to howl like all the other miserable souls trapped in hell.

But she kept her trembling lips pressed together. She wouldn’t give Gillingham the sadistic pleasure of witnessing her fear. And to stop from shrieking, she bit the inside of her cheek hard, the warm blood seeping through the corner of her mouth.

“Why don’t I give you some time to think about my proposition?” suggested the fiend, rising to his feet, lantern in hand. “And I advise you to think carefully on the matter. A quick death is so much more appealing than torture. You have until dawn to decide.”

The boom of the closing door was like a death knoll.

A choice? It was the last thing she had. For torture or no, she would never endanger Anthony’s life. That was final and absolute.

And so, the sorrow she had tried to hold back from Gillingham’s eyes now came rushing forth in a torrent of silent sobs, which only she heard and in which only she drowned.

Chapter 27

A
nthony found the door to his bedroom unlocked.

He paused in the corridor for a moment, glancing down both ends to find it deserted, before he entered the chamber.

His eyes went straight to the bed. It was the first place he always looked for Sabrina when he entered the room. He liked the thought of her curled under the covers of his bed, waiting for him to return, ready to welcome him into her outstretched arms. And he had great need of her arms tonight. The jaunt to Vauxhall, usually a mediocre event, had been trying and downright lonely. Masses had bustled all around him, and yet he had felt so isolated. Such a solitary condition had never affected him before. He didn’t like the feel of it. And there was only one soul he could think of to banish the disturbing sensation.

But where was she?

His eyes suddenly narrowed on a tiny obstruction. There laid out on his pillow was a cluster of knotted vines. The very same cluster of vines he had once seen Sabrina grapple for with a bush.