What Happens in London (25 page)

She moved back toward the window, hooking her head around the edge of the curtains again, this time succeeding on the first try. She placed her ear against the glass, listening for…anything. Music? People? Shouldn’t there be some indication that there was a massive party going on in the same building?

Maybe she
wasn’t
in the ambassador’s residence. No, no, it was a huge building. She could easily be far enough away not to hear anything.

But she could hear footsteps. Her heart slammed in her chest, and she half shuffled, half jumped her way to the bed, managing to flop herself down just as she heard the two locks clicking undone.

As the door opened she began to struggle. It was the only thing she could think of that might explain why she was out of breath.

“I told you not to do that,” her captor scolded. He was carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups. Olivia could smell the tea steeping from across the room. The scent was heavenly.

“I am very civilized, yes?” he asked, lifting the tray slightly before setting it down on a table. “I have worn such a gag before.” He motioned to the one wrapped around her head. “It does make the mouth very dry.”

Olivia just stared at him. She wasn’t sure how she was meant to respond. Literally,
how
. Surely he knew she could not speak.

“I will remove that so you may have some tea,” he said to her, “but you must remain quiet. If you make a noise, anything louder than a whispered thank you, I will have to make you again unconscious.”

Her eyes widened.

He shrugged. “It is easy enough to do. I did it once, and quite well I must say. You do not even have a headache, I am guessing.”

Olivia blinked. She
didn’t
have a headache. What had he done to her?

“You will be quiet?”

She nodded. She needed him to remove the gag. Maybe if she could speak with him, she could convince him that this was all a mistake.

“Do not try anything heroic,” he warned her, although his eyes were somewhat amused, as if he could not imagine her startling him in any way.

She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes earnest. They were her only means of communication until he removed the gag.

He leaned forward, reaching out his arms, then he stopped, drawing back. “I think the tea is done,” he said. “We wouldn’t want it to over…how do you say it?”

He was Russian. With that one phrase—
How do you say it?
—Olivia was finally able to recognize his accent and determine his nationality. He sounded exactly like Prince Alexei.

“Silly me,” the man said, pouring out two cups of tea. “You cannot say anything.” Finally, he moved to her side and removed the gag.

Olivia coughed, and it took her several moments before her mouth was moistened enough to speak, but when she did, she looked directly at her captor and said, “Oversteep.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The tea. You didn’t want it to oversteep.”

“Oversteep.” He repeated the word, appearing to test it out on his tongue and in his mind. He made an expression of approval, then handed her a cup.

She grimaced and gave a little shrug. How did he think she would hold it? Her hands were still tied behind her back.

He smiled, but it wasn’t a cruel smile. It wasn’t even condescending. It was almost…rueful.

Which gave Olivia hope. Not much, but some.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust you enough to untie your hands,” he said.

“I promise I won’t—”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lady Olivia.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Oh, I do not think you realize you make false promises, but you will see something you think is an opportunity, and you will be unable to pass it by, and then you will do something foolish, and I will have to hurt you.”

It was an effective way to end the discussion.

“I thought you would come to see my opinion,” he said. “Here, do you trust me enough to allow me to hold your cup?”

She shook her head slowly.

He laughed. “A smart woman. The very best kind. I do not have patience for stupidity.”

“Someone I very much respect told me never to trust a man who tells me to trust him,” Olivia said quietly.

Her captor chuckled some more. “That person—is it a man?”

Olivia nodded.

“He is a good friend.”

“I know.”

“Here.” He brought the cup to her lips. “You have no choice but to trust me in this occasion.”

She took a sip. She didn’t really have a choice, and her throat
was
dry.

He set the cup down and picked up his own. “They were poured from the same pot,” he said, taking a sip. When he was finished he added, “Not that you should trust me.”

She raised her eyes to meet his and said, “I have no connection to Prince Alexei.”

One corner of his mouth tilted up. “Do you think I am foolish, Lady Olivia?”

She shook her head. “He was courting me, it is true. But he is not any longer.”

Her captor leaned forward a few inches. “You disappeared for nearly an hour this evening, Lady Olivia.”

Her lips parted. She could feel herself blush and prayed that he could not see it in the darkness.

“So did Prince Alexei.”

“He was not with me,” she said quickly.

The gray-haired man took a leisurely sip of his tea. “I do not know how to say this without insulting you,” he murmured, “but you smell like…how do you say it?”

Olivia had a feeling he knew
exactly
how to say it. And as mortifying as it was, she had no choice but to say, “I was with a man. A different man.
Not
Prince Alexei.”

This caught his interest. “Really?”

She nodded once, curtly, so as to show him that she did not intend to elaborate.

“Does the prince know?”

“It’s not any of his business.”

He took another sip of tea. “Would he disagree with you about that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Would Prince Alexei think that it was his business? Would he be angry?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia said, trying to be honest. “He has not called upon me for over a week.”

“A week is not such a very long time.”

“He is acquainted with the other gentleman, and I believe he is aware of my feelings for him.”

Her captor sat back, assessing this new information.

“May I have some more tea?” Olivia asked. Because it was good. And she was thirsty.

“Of course,” he murmured, holding forth her cup again.

“Do you believe me?” Olivia asked, once she was done with her drink.

He spoke slowly. “I do not know.”

She waited for him to ask her Harry’s identity, but he did not, which she found curious.

“What will you do with me?” she said quietly, praying she wasn’t a fool for asking.

He had been looking at a spot over her shoulder, but his gaze shifted swiftly back to her face. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“We will see if Prince Alexei still values you. I don’t think we will tell him of your indiscretions. Just in case he still hopes to make you his wife.”

“I don’t think he—”

“Don’t interrupt, Lady Olivia,” he said, his voice
holding just enough warning to remind her that he was not her friend, and this was no ordinary tea party.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“If he still desires you, it is in your best interests that he thinks you are a virgin. Do you not agree?”

Olivia held still until it became apparent that this was not a hypothetical question. Finally, she gave a single nod.

“After he pays to get you back”—he gave a fatalistic sort of shrug—“then you can sort it out as you wish. It will be of no interest to me.” He watched her with silent intensity for several moments, then said, “Here, take one more sip of tea before I cover your mouth again.”

“Must you?”

“I am afraid I must. You are far more clever than I had imagined. I cannot leave any weapons at your disposal, including your voice.”

Olivia took her final sip of tea, and then closed her eyes as her captor reaffixed the gag. When he was done, she lay back down, staring stonily at the ceiling.

“I would recommend that you take a rest, Lady Olivia,” he said from the doorway. “It is the only good use of your time here.”

Olivia did not bother to look at him. Surely he did not expect a reply, even one made with only her eyes.

He made no more comment as he shut the door. Olivia listened to the clicks of the two locks, and then finally, for the first time during her ordeal, she wanted to cry. Not to struggle, not to rage, just to cry.

She felt the tears, silent and hot, slide along each temple, down to the pillow below. She couldn’t wipe
her face. Somehow that seemed the worst sort of indignity.

What was she supposed to do now? Lie here and wait?
Rest
, as her captor had suggested? It was impossible; the inaction was killing her.

Harry must have noticed that she was gone by now. Even if she had only been unconscious for a few minutes, he would have had to have noticed. She’d been locked in this room for at least an hour.

But would he know what to do? He had been a soldier, it was true, but this was no battlefield, with clear, well-labeled enemies. And if she was still in the ambassador’s residence, how would he question anyone? More than half of the servants spoke only Russian. Harry could say please and thank you in Portuguese, but that wasn’t going to get him far.

She was going to have to save herself, or at the very least, do her best to make it easy for someone else to save her.

She swung her legs off the bed and sat up, placing her moment of pity firmly behind her. She couldn’t sit here and do nothing.

Perhaps there was something she could do about her bindings. They were firmly tied, but not so tight as to dig into her skin. Maybe she could reach her ankles with her hands. It would be awkward, since she’d have to bend backwards, but it was worth a try.

She lay on her side and curled her legs up behind her, reaching back…back…

There. She had it. It wasn’t rope but rather a strip of fabric, tied in an extremely tight knot. She groaned. It was the sort of thing she’d more likely cut through than attempt to work open.

She’d never had patience for this sort of thing. It went with the embroidery she hated, and the lessons she’d skipped…

If she could get this knot undone, she’d learn French. No, she’d learn Russian! That would be even more difficult.

If she could get it undone, she’d finish
Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron
. She’d even find the one about the mysterious colonel and read that one, too.

She’d write more letters, and not just to Miranda. She’d deliver charity boxes, not just pack them. She would bloody well complete
everything
she started.

Everything.

And there was no way she was going to fall in love with Sir Harry Valentine and not marry him.

No way at all.

H
arry sat in silence while Alexei downed his second shot of vodka. He said nothing when he took his third, or even his fourth, which was actually the one he’d originally poured for Harry. But when the prince reached for the bottle for his fifth shot—

“Don’t,” Harry snapped.

Alexei looked at him with surprise. “I beg your pardon.”

“Do not take another drink.”

Now the prince appeared merely confused. “You are telling me not to drink?”

One of Harry’s hands clenched into a fist, hard and tense. “I am telling you that if we need your assistance in finding Olivia, I don’t want you stumbling and puking down the hallway.”

“I can assure you, I never stumble. Or—what is this puke?”

“Put the bottle down.”

Alexei did not comply.

“Put. It. Down.”

“I think you forget who I am.”

“I never forget anything. You would do well to take note of that.”

Alexei merely stared at him. “You make no sense.”

Harry stood. “You do not want to provoke me right now.”

Alexei regarded him for a moment, then turned back to the glass and bottle in his hands. He started to pour.

Harry saw red.

It was the first bloody time in his life he’d seen the color, but he would have sworn that the entire world seemed to turn a different, hotter hue. His ears roared and tensed on the inside, as if he’d climbed to the top of a mountain. And he no longer had control. Of anything. His body leaped forward of its own volition, and his mind certainly wasn’t doing anything to stop it. He landed on the prince like a human cannonball, and they crashed against a table and then onto the floor, the vodka spilling on them both.

Harry nearly gagged at the heavy scent of the alcohol. It soaked his clothes, and it was cold, so cold against his skin.

But it didn’t stop him. Nothing could have stopped him. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t think of anything to say. For once in his life he had no words. He had nothing but rage. It poured through him, pulsed with fury, and when he raised his fist, ready to slam it into the prince’s face, all that came forth was a cry of fury. And—

“Stop it!”

It was Vladimir, stepping nimbly into the fray, yanking Harry off Alexei and shoving him toward the opposite wall. “What the hell are you doing?”

“He is insane,” Alexei hissed, rubbing his throat.

Harry did nothing but breathe, but it was a rough, furious sound.

“Shut up,” Vladimir said. He glared at Harry, as if anticipating an interruption. “Both of you. Now listen to me.” He stepped forward, and his foot met with the bottle on the floor. It skittered across the room, spraying what was left of the vodka. Vladimir grunted in disgust but made no comment. After eyeing both men assessingly, he continued speaking. “I have inspected the building, and I believe that Lady Olivia is still inside.”

“Why do you think that?” Harry asked.

“There are guards at every door.”

“For a party?”

Vladimir shrugged. “There are many reasons to protect the contents of the house.”

Harry waited for more, but Vladimir did not elaborate. God above, it was just like talking with Winthrop. Harry hadn’t realized until this very moment how much he hated it—all those vague sentences and
We have our ways
.

“None of the guards saw her depart,” Vladimir continued. “The only door she might have exited without detection is the main one, where the party is.”

“She did not return to the party,” Harry said, then clarified: “She went to the washroom, but she did not return to the party.”

“Are you certain?”

He gave one sharp nod. “I am.”

“Then we must assume she did not leave the building. We don’t know if she reached the washroom—”

“She did,” Harry interrupted. He felt like an idiot for not mentioning this sooner. “She was there for some time. Her friend told me she saw her there.”

“Who is this friend?” Vladimir asked.

Harry shook his head. “I can’t recall her name. But she won’t have any useful information. She said she left before Olivia did.”

“She may have seen something. Find her,” Vladimir ordered. “Bring her to me. I will question her.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Harry told him. “Unless you’re prepared to hold
her
hostage. She could not keep a secret if her
own
life depended upon it, never mind someone else’s.”

“You question her, then. We will meet back here.” Vladimir turned back to Alexei. “You stay here. In case they send another message.”

Alexei said something in response, but Harry did not hear him. He was already well down the hall, in search of that girl—whatever her name was.

“Stop!” Vladimir called.

Harry skidded to a halt and turned impatiently. They didn’t have time to waste.

“You don’t need to look for her,” Vladimir said gruffly. “It was a ruse to get you out of the room and leave him”—he jerked his head toward the small salon where Alexei waited—“in.”

Harry’s mind raced but his voice was even when he asked, “Do you suspect him of involvement?”

“Nyet
. But he will be a nuisance. You, I think, now that you have had time to calm down…”

“Do not mistake this for calm,” Harry bit off.

Vladimir’s brows rose; nonetheless, he reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, handle first. He held it out to Harry. “I do not think you will do something stupid.”

Harry’s hand wrapped around the handle of the gun, but Vladimir did not let go. “Will you?” he asked.

Do something stupid?
“No,” Harry said. And he prayed it would be true.

Vladimir kept his hand in place for several seconds more, then abruptly let go, waiting while Harry inspected the weapon. “Come with me,” he ordered, and the two of them moved swiftly down the hall and around a corner. Vladimir stopped in front of a door, glanced both ways, and then ducked into an empty room, motioning for Harry to follow. Vladimir held a finger over his lips, then inspected the room, making sure it was empty.

“The ambassador has her,” he said. “Or rather, his men do. He is still at the party.”

“What?” Harry had never met the man, save for that evening’s receiving line, but still, it was hard to believe.

“He needs money. He will be recalled to Russia soon, and he has little resources of his own.” Vladimir shrugged, then waved one his arms expansively, indicating their opulent surroundings. “He has become used to living in this palace. And he has always been jealous of his cousin.”

“What makes you think he took Olivia?”

“I have other men here,” Vladimir said cryptically.

“And that is all you’re going to tell me,” Harry said disgustedly, finally fed up with never being told 100 percent of a story.

“That is all I am going to tell you, my friend,” Vladimir said. He shrugged again. “It is safer that way.”

Harry did not speak. He did not trust himself to do so.

“Lady Olivia’s parents have noticed her disappearance,” Vladimir said.

Harry was not surprised. It had been well over an hour.

“As far as I know, it has not been noticed by anyone else,” Vladimir continued. “There is much vodka in the room. I do not think they realize there is some in the lemonade.”

Harry looked at him sharply. “What?”

“Did you not know?”

He shook his head. How many glasses had he had? Bloody hell. His head felt clear, but then again, would he even know the difference? He had never been drunk, never even the slightest bit impaired.

“It has also been noticed that the prince is gone,” Vladimir continued. “Her parents are worried that they are together.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a flat, firm line. His chest burned at the insinuation, but this was not the time for jealousy.

“They wish to keep this quiet. They are with the ambassador right now.”

“They are with him? Has he—”

“He is playing the concerned host to perfection.” Vladimir spit on the floor. “I have never trusted him.”

Harry stared down at the wet spot on the floor with some surprise. It was the largest show of emotion he had seen him display. When he looked back up, it was clear that Vladimir had noticed his curiosity.

The huge Russian looked at him with steely eyes. “I especially detest men who prey on women.”

There was a world of history behind that remark, but Harry knew better than to ask. He nodded once—a show of respect—and then asked, “What now?”

“It is known where the prince is. That is where they will deliver a note. He has strict instructions not to do anything, and I think he is wise enough to do as I say.”

Harry hoped this was true. He thought it was, but then again, Prince Alexei had been drinking.

“While he waits, we search.”

“How big is this bloody mausoleum?”

Vladimir shook his head. “I do not precisely know. More than forty rooms, to be sure. Perhaps more. But if I were to hold someone, I would take her to the north wing.”

“What is in the north wing?”

“It is more remote. And the rooms are smaller.”

“But wouldn’t he think that that would be the first place we’d look?”

Vladimir moved to the door. “He would not know anyone is looking. He thinks me a stupid servant.” He looked over at Harry with a heavy-lidded stare. “And he knows nothing of you.” He placed his hand on the knob. “Are you ready?”

Harry’s fingers tightened on his gun. “Lead the way.”

It took nearly half an hour, and Olivia was quite sure her shoulders were both falling out of their sockets, but finally her fingers slipped under a piece of the knot and she was able to get it partially undone. She
paused, listening attentively—were those footsteps she’d heard?

She stretched out straight, assuming the same position she’d held when her captor had left.

But no, nothing. There was no unclicking of locks, no opening of the door. She squirmed herself back around until she could feel the knot at the back of her ankles again. It was definitely smaller, but she still had work. Lots of it. She couldn’t be certain, but it felt like a double square. Well, one and a half, now. But if she could get the next section undone, she’d be…

She’d still be stuck.

She let out a long sigh, deflating in body
and
spirit. If it had taken her that long just to do one small part of the knot…

No, she berated herself. She had to keep going. If she could get the next
two
bits undone,
then
the rest ought to slip open with a little squirming on her part.

She could do this. She could.

She grit her teeth and got back to work. Maybe this one would go faster now that she knew what she was doing. She knew how to move her fingers, wedging one in the crease and then wiggling back and forth, back and forth, trying to loosen the knot.

Or maybe it would go faster because her shoulders had gone numb. Surely the lack of pain would be to her benefit.

She wedged…and wiggled…and wedged…and wiggled…and arched her back…and stretched…and rolled…and rolled back…

And lost her balance.

She landed on the floor with a loud thump. A really loud thump. She winced, praying that the change in
the bindings around her ankles wasn’t noticeable as she listened for the clicks of the locks.

But there was nothing.

Could he not have heard her? It seemed impossible. Olivia had never been graceful; tie both her hands and her feet and she was a complete gawk. Needless to say, she had not landed quietly.

Maybe no one was out there. She had assumed that her captor was sitting in a chair outside her door, but truthfully, she had no idea why she thought that. He certainly couldn’t have thought she might escape, and Olivia was fairly certain that this section of the building was deserted. The only footsteps she’d heard had been immediately followed by the appearance of the gray-haired man.

She waited at her spot on the floor by the bed for another minute, just in case anyone came in, then shoved herself across the wood to the door, where she could peer underneath. There was a sliver of space there, no more than three-quarters of an inch, and she couldn’t see much—the hall was only the slightest bit better lit than her room. But she thought she might see shadows, if there were any.

And she didn’t think there were.

So she wasn’t guarded. This had to be a useful bit of information, although given her currently bound state, she wasn’t certain how. And she really wasn’t certain how she might maneuver herself back onto the bed. She could try to prop herself up against one of the legs, but the table with the teapot was still blocking the one by the head of the bed, and—

The teapot!

A surge of excitement and strength burst through
her, and she literally flipped herself over in her haste to get back to the table. From there it was a scoot, scoot, shove, and—

She was there. Now how would she send it crashing down? If she could break the pot, she could use a shard to cut through her bindings.

With great effort she managed to get her feet beneath her. Using the side of the bed for support, she rose slowly, her muscles screaming, until finally she was standing. She took a moment to catch her breath, then backed up to the small table, bending at the knees until her hands were at just the right height to grab the teapot handle.

Please don’t let there be anyone out there please don’t let there be anyone out there.

She needed to get good force. She couldn’t just drop the thing on the floor. She glanced around the room, looking for inspiration. She started to spin.

Please please please.

She spun faster and faster, and then—

She let fly.

The teapot hit the wall with a mighty crack, and Olivia, terrified that someone might burst through the door, hopped back to the bed and lay on her back, although how she might explain the broken teapot on the far wall, she had no idea.

But no one entered.

She held her breath. She started to rise. Her shoes touched the floor and then—

Footsteps. Fast, moving toward her.

Oh God.