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How long had he been down here?
Drake continued to pace the large, dank, low-ceilinged room that had become his prison, his thoughts in utter turmoil, his skin crawling with the need to break free. He’d expected that once he was safely caged, his brother would come to rub it in his face, and that was when he’d planned to strike. But as the hours stretched on, his consternation grew. What if Danbury wasn’t behind this?
His gaze fell upon his lovely companion.
Heather Fields.
He’d been lying when he’d said he didn’t remember her name. And he wasn’t certain why he’d felt the need for such artifice. She was a lady’s maid, for heaven’s sake. Yet, he’d been struck by her the moment Quinn O’Brien had introduced them, and then, as now, he really hadn’t understood why.
Of course, her breathtaking beauty would be enough to catch the attention of any man. She reminded him of a porcelain doll his sister Amelia had when they were children. Wide, bottomless blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, her black hair pinned up neatly but with tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her features were lovely—high cheekbones, rosy cheeks, and full, bow-shaped lips. When she’d taken off his hood, he’d towered over her, but her voluptuous curves were obvious even in the modest, serviceable gown she wore.
Yes, she was a beauty, but he’d known many beautiful women.
He studied her now as he paced, glad for the momentary distraction from his untenable predicament. She sat in profile to him, her lovely face downcast as she picked at a loose thread near the elbow of the sleeve of her dark blue dress. Her even white teeth worried her lush bottom lip, and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he suddenly had an idea of why his brother might have taken her.
“Do you know my brother, Viscount Danbury?” he asked, more sharply than he’d intended.
She startled, then turned those luminous blue eyes his way. “Do I seem like someone who would know a viscount?” Her tone was soft, but he knew he’d offended her earlier with his dismissal of her low station, and he felt a pang of regret. She was his only ally in this mess, and he didn’t want to upset her when she was already frightened out of her mind.
“Think carefully,” he said, crossing to her side and kneeling before her. “He might not have identified himself as such. But have you recently turned down a man’s affections? A man who dresses like a dandy and looks somewhat like me?”
Drake had only recently admitted to himself that Mortimer was the notorious murderer known as The Viper, although he’d suspected it for some time. The thought that this lovely girl had been brought here to be Danbury’s next victim brought bile rising to the back of his throat.
He’d seen the women that The Viper had brutalized. His childhood friend Lady Evelyn Lindsay had been the last, only a few months ago. He couldn’t bear to think of such a thing happening to Miss Fields, and he made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t allow it. He’d guard her with his life.
Unfortunately, he very much feared that might be what it came down to.
She shook her head, gazing at him as though he’d lost his mind. “I think I’d remember it if a man like that had shown an interest in me,” she said slowly. “It’s not as though I have dozens of suitors hounding me day and night. I’m a spinster by anyone’s reckoning.”
He stared at her a moment longer, wondering about the shadows in her eyes. He sensed that she was telling the truth about Mortimer but was hiding something else.
With a relieved sigh, he pushed to his feet, turning away to pace once more. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Of course, that didn’t mean that Mortimer hadn’t picked her to play his twisted games with for some other reason. Perhaps he’d chosen her simply because of her connection to O’Brien. If Danbury knew that Drake was on to him, he had to know that O’Brien and Sebastian Ness, the current head inspector of J Division, were as well.
“What time do you think it is?” he asked in frustration. “I feel as though whoever took us should have come in to tell us what they want with us by now, don’t you?”
“I have no idea,” she answered tiredly. “I’ve never been kidnapped before so I’m not certain of the rules. But it seems like I’ve been here forever.”
He smiled slightly, appreciating her attempt at levity. “It was dusk when they grabbed me, so I’m guessing it must be near midnight by now.” He paused and took in the weary set of her shoulders and the dark shadows under her eyes. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll wake you if anything happens.”
She frowned and bit her lip. “Shouldn’t you get some sleep as well?”
The mere thought of lying down and closing his eyes, of being weak and vulnerable when their captors returned, made his skin crawl. “I need to stay awake. I might only get one chance to overpower whoever comes down here. I need to be awake and alert when that happens.”
“How long do you think you can stay awake?” she asked hesitantly. “Perhaps we can take turns standing watch?”
A wave of unexpected tenderness swept over him at her suggestion. Most of the women he knew would be quivering masses of hysteria if they’d been through what had happened to her today. But she seemed remarkably composed, and he found her offer misguided but very brave. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll be fine all night, I believe, but if I feel myself dozing off, I’ll wake you.”
She seemed satisfied with that and kicked off her shoes, stretching out on the narrow cot with a sigh, but lying so stiffly she reminded him of a mummy.
Still feeling strangely protective, he walked over and grabbed the blanket he’d put around her shoulders earlier, spreading it over her from chin to toes. He’d undressed enough women to know how many layers of clothing she still wore, how very tight and constricting it must be, but he didn’t feel comfortable telling her that she should take a few layers off.
He leaned down and squeezed her shoulder. “Rest now. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I believe you,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
He nodded abruptly, turning away to stare balefully at the door once more, still somewhat surprised that no one had come to talk to him yet. What did they want? Was this Danbury’s way of torturing him? It seemed likely. His brother was like a cat playing with a mouse, wanting to see it run this way and that, trying to get away, when he had the power to pounce at any moment.
He couldn’t believe how solid that door was. All he’d managed to accomplish with his frenzy of fury earlier was bruise his knuckles. They obviously weren’t going to be able to break through it, but strangely, there didn’t seem to be anyone on the other side. If there was some sort of guard, they were being extremely quiet.
With a sigh, he scrubbed his hand over his tired eyes. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Why would they need a guard when the door was strong as iron?
He’d never been a patient man. He was used to barking orders, used to getting things done. Having to sit here and wait for the whim of another was excruciating. He wanted to scream and break things, but he doubted his cellmate would appreciate that. He feared he’d already terrified her when he’d tried to break the door down earlier.
His gaze strayed once more to the dark corner where she lay rigidly on the cot. He was certain she wasn’t sleeping, but then again, he’d be surprised if she could, with their future up in the air and unknown terrors waiting for them outside that door.
He wished he were the sort of man who knew how to offer her some sort of comfort but he’d never been good at that sort of thing. He had no experience with it, after all. His mother had died when he was seven, and though his older sister had tried to give him love and affection, his father hadn’t thought that necessary and had soon sent Amelia to live with their aunt, preferring to raise his sons with an iron hand.
No wonder Danbury had become such a monster.
Miss Fields’ breathing seemed to have nearly stopped altogether, and he realized she must feel his stare. Cursing himself, he turned his gaze toward the door. He didn’t want to make her even more frightened while he contemplated how to comfort her.
When was the last time he’d been alone in such close quarters with a woman he wasn’t having sex with? He couldn’t remember if such a thing had ever happened. The rules of the ton were specifically designed so that its fragile flowers avoided compromising situations. However, that meant most young women had never been alone with a man until their wedding night, when they were expected to allow one into their bodies.
It all seemed faintly ridiculous to him. And since, as a younger son, he had no obligation to provide an heir, he’d been mostly spared the vapid entertainments of the Season and the quest for a rich, pedigreed bride.
As a result, the only young women he ever spent time with were spoiled young wives looking for a bit of fun, vivacious actresses, and the occasional high-class courtesan, none of whom ever expected him to make conversation.
Heather Fields, as neither a lady nor a woman of loose morals, was a complete anomaly to him. He had no idea what to say or do to make this easier on her.
With no way to tell what time it was, the seconds seemed to tick by like hours. He got up and paced in front of the door sporadically, stretching his legs and willing it to open, only to eventually sit back down at the table.
Nerves frayed to the breaking point, he felt himself growing closer and closer to some sort of internal explosion, when suddenly, Heather gave the daintiest little snore. He turned toward her, some of the fury and fear within him abating and a reluctant smile stretching his lips.
Dear God, she was adorable.
Drawn like a moth to a flame, he stood and walked toward her, pausing only feet away. She lay curled up on her side, one arm beneath the flat, lumpy pillow, the other hand beneath her chin. Her inky hair spread out in all directions, having come undone as she tossed and turned. Her face was even lovelier in repose, so innocent, and the strange tenderness he’d felt earlier returned.
Whatever the bastards who’d taken them had planned for her, he was determined to protect her.
The urge to crawl into that small bed and pull her against him, sheltering her against his body, was nearly impossible to resist. He wanted to press his cheek against her hair and fall asleep with her in his arms.
Had he ever felt the desire to simply sleep with a woman before? He didn’t think so.
Shaking his head, he forced himself to turn away. Morning would come soon, and with it, they’d certainly finally meet their captors. He had to be ready.