Several hours later, Elinor supposed she was going to have to rescue herself, as Winn did not seem capable of doing so. What kind of spy allowed himself to be captured? Not a very good one, obviously. She supposed she was going to have to rescue the both of them, for now they had been returned to Foncé’s lair and were running out of time.
She glanced at the cellar floor, where Foncé’s men had left Winn’s crumpled body. Tolbert had carried her husband, who was almost as tall as that big bear of a man himself, as though he were a small child. Except he dropped him in Winn’s current resting place without much care. Tolbert had then grabbed her arm, prepared to drag her back to the room she had occupied earlier. Once again, she’d assumed her authoritative look and stance and demanded she stay with her husband. She’d pointed to his unconscious form. “He needs me. Just you try and make me leave his side.”
Tolbert had not wanted to deal with her rebellion, and he’d lumbered up the cellar stairs and closed the door, leaving only a weak candle burning. Elinor shivered now. It was cold, dark, and that candle would not last the night. Soon she would be in complete darkness in the cellar of a madman. How long until Foncé made his way down here equipped with his tools? He’d seemed to take enormous pleasure tonight in watching his men punch and kick Winn, who did little to defend himself. Elinor had tried to stop them, but Tolbert had held her firmly.
Earlier on the carriage ride back to Foncé’s headquarters, she’d checked Winn’s breathing, relieved he was still alive. Now, she bent down and checked it again, pushing him onto his back. The floor was hard, but the position looked more comfortable than the one he’d been left in. “Winn?” she whispered. “Winn?”
No response. Elinor rose and lifted the candle, placing it on the floor so she could see him better. She hunched down and ran a finger over the bruises beginning to appear on his temple. “That is going to give you a terrible megrim,” she said to herself. “And your eye is going to be black before the end of the day tomorrow.” She combed a strand of his hair away from his face, allowing her fingers to linger on the hard plane of his cheek. When she was not with him, it was easy to forget how handsome he was, especially now that his features were relaxed. He often looked so cold and hard. She rarely saw him in unguarded moments.
She brushed some dust from his forehead and smoothed the lines on his brow. Even in unconsciousness, he frowned. “I sincerely hope this wasn’t your plan,” she murmured, loosening his cravat and the buttons of his linen shirt, “because it’s not what I would consider a success.” Not that her own plan had been any more productive.
Tolbert had tossed her spencer in a heap on the stairs when she’d begun to argue with him, and now she made her way to it and pulled it over her gown. At least it would ward off some of the chill. She did up the fastenings of the spencer and then went back to check on Winn. His breathing seemed easier now, the breathing of a man deep in slumber.
Just like a man to sleep during a crisis.
She looked around the cellar, hoping to spot a possible escape option. But with only the candle for light, she could not see anything not directly in front of her. She supposed she would have to wait until morning to explore the cellar further. It did not appear to have any windows, but Foncé might have instructed his men to board them up. In the morning, telltale slivers of light would peek through, and she would have an idea of the cellar’s vulnerabilities.
That was, if she lived until morning.
She rubbed her eyes. Two nights of little sleep were finally catching up with her. No one had hit her, but she had a megrim herself all the same. She looked back down at Winn in his greatcoat. He looked warm enough. Perhaps if she lay beside him for a few minutes and closed her eyes, she would feel better and would be able to think clearly again.
She woke when Winn groaned, her every sense coming instantly alive. She’d fallen asleep, and for far longer than an hour or so. The candle had sputtered out, leaving a pool of wax at the bottom of the holder and on the cellar floor. She sat quickly, wincing at the pain in her back and shoulders. She was not used to sleeping on the floor.
Winn groaned again, and Elinor turned to him, rising to her knees. “Winn? Are you all right?”
“Am I alive?” he muttered.
“Yes.”
His eyes squinted open, and she could see one was red and bloodshot. “Was I unconscious?”
She nodded. “Yes. All night.” Elinor realized it must be morning. The cellar was no longer pitch black, only gloomy and shrouded.
“Is there any way you could hit me over the head again?”
“Winn!”
He held up a hand. “Not so loud.” He braced himself on an elbow, and she tried to help him rise. “Let me do it,” he said, his voice surly. “I need to see how bad the damage is.” He rose to a sitting position. “It feels like I was dragged behind a horse.”
“Foncé’s men weren’t exactly gentle with you last night.”
“No.” He gritted his teeth and pushed to his feet. “Where’s the fun in that?” He wavered, and she jumped beside him, putting her arm about him to steady him. He scowled. “I said I didn’t want help.”
“You’re going to fall on your face.”
“Don’t coddle me.”
“Fine.” She stepped away. “Fall down then, but don’t think I’m going to drag you behind me when I escape.”
He lifted a brow, a look that appeared comical over his swollen eye. “You have an escape plan?”
She frowned and peered quickly around the cellar. No visible windows or doors, other than the one at the top of the stairs. She imagined it was both locked and guarded. “I’m working on one.”
“Oh, good.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You might sound a little more enthusiastic. After all, someone has to save us.”
“And you think you can do it?”
“I can do a whole lot more than you! All you’ve managed to do is allow yourself to be captured, beaten within an inch of your life, and rendered unconscious for the last six hours or so.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about the inches of my life,” he said through clenched teeth. “I have a few left.” He seemed to study the cellar now. “At least you listened and managed to remain with me.”
“Yes, a lot of good that did me. I can’t see any way out of this place, and I imagine once Foncé has breakfasted, he’s going to want some entertainment. In case you haven’t realized it yet, you and I are the entertainment.”
“I know exactly what he’s capable of.”
“Then why did you allow yourself to be captured?”
“Because, madam, there are larger considerations than you or I. Your capture gave the Barbican group the perfect opportunity.”
“Wait a moment.” She held her hands out in front of her. “Are you telling me that you planned this? That you did not come to rescue me at all?”
“I’m still hoping to rescue you.”
“Don’t bother.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the cellar walls. She was going to find a way out of this place on her own. She was done with spies and husbands and men in general. There were a few streams of light coming from one of the corners, but the area was barricaded by crates and what looked to be the remains of the house’s previous kitchen. She spotted a stove lying on its side and a broken table. The table she might move, but not the heavy stove.
Winn was behind her, still talking. “Ellie, we’ve been looking for Foncé for months. This was our chance to find his headquarters.”
She whipped her head around and stared at him. “And so you used me?”
He opened his mouth and seemed to consider. “I wouldn’t say that. You are doing a service to your country.”
“I don’t want to do a service to my country.” Not anymore. She was through with spying. “I want to go home.”
He reached for her, and she slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me. We’ve been married fourteen years. Fourteen years of lies and deceit. Fourteen years when I have asked almost nothing of you. I asked one thing from you. One.” She held up a finger. “And you won’t even give me that. You care more about your precious spy group.” She spun back, using her anger to heave the table out of her way. Then she started stacking crates up toward the slivers of light coming through.
“You actually expected me to rescue you?” His voice sounded incredulous.
She shook her head. How was it possible she had married such an idiot? “It would be lovely if once”—she lifted another crate—“just once, you pretended to care about me.”
“I do care about you.”
She slammed another crate down. “No, you don’t! Do you know what it was like for me when we first married?” She kept stacking crates, studiously avoided looking in his direction. Her vision blurred from all the dust in the cellar, and she swiped at her eyes. “I was a new bride. Away from my parents for the first time. I was in a new house. My whole life had changed, and all I wanted was to please you—my new husband. That’s all I wanted.”
“Ellie—”
She felt him move closer, and she skirted away. “But you couldn’t even pretend you cared for a few days. As soon as we were married, you were gone—away on one of your missions, I’m sure. I waited for you every day and every night. I would have been elated with a simple note.” But she’d received nothing. And when he had come back, he hadn’t seemed to remember she was his wife. She’d changed her hair, her gowns, hosted a ball, but nothing drew his attention. “Nothing I did would ever make you love me. You didn’t even notice me.” She swung around now to face him. “What is wrong with me, Winn? I know I’m not beautiful or witty or terribly accomplished, but I am your wife. Can’t you even rescue me?”
He stared at her—at least she thought he did. Her eyes were watering too much—horrid dust—to see him clearly.
“Ellie, I’m so sorry.” He reached for her again.
“No!” She jerked away. “I do not want your apologies. Not now. It’s far too late for that. Just answer my question.”
“There was and is absolutely nothing wrong with you. I was a fool.”
“No, I am the fool. What did you say a moment ago? You actually expected me to rescue you? How you must laugh at my foolishness.”
“Never. Ellie—Elinor, I was never going to be able to rescue you. That was a trap. Surely you knew that.”
“Of course I know that now,” she said, throwing a crate in his direction. “This is not how I planned it. But you are a spy. I expect you to be capable of escaping a trap.”
He was silent for a long moment, and she glanced over her shoulder to look at him. “Never thought about that, did you? Never thought about actually rescuing me.”
“Of course I did.”
“Liar.” She kicked a crate, angry at the way her eyes burned with unshed tears. She would not cry. He’d never loved her. Nothing had changed. Why cry now because she had more evidence for what she already knew to be true?
“Elinor.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she shook it off and went back to stacking the crates.
“This conversation is not over.”
“It is for me.”
There was a long silence, then he cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
“I’m escaping.”
“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I see no window or door.”
She jabbed a finger at the light streaming through the slats near the top of the cellar walls. “See that light? It’s coming from somewhere. I thought perhaps the windows or a door might be boarded up. I want to climb up and take a look.”
“Huh.” He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling.
“Huh? Your response is huh?”
“It’s not a bad idea.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to stacking crates.
“Elinor.”
She ignored him and continued working.
“Elinor.” He took the crate from her hand, set it down, and took hold of her shoulders. “I…”
She waited for him to continue. Never had she seen him look so completely uncomfortable. Never had she seen him stumble over words.
“You…?” she prompted.
And still he didn’t speak.
“Is this going to take long? I have an escape to plan.”
He clutched her shoulders. “Will you forget about the bloody escape? I’ll take you out of here.”
“Forgive me if I have my doubts.”
“I was terrified. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Not particularly.” Although she had never heard him say anything actually expressing an emotion before, so this was a novel moment. She might have enjoyed it if she did not have crates to stack and an escape to plan. She wanted him to release her. “Let me go.”
“I thought you were gone. I thought you were dead.”
She stilled and forgot about her escape plan for a moment. “You were terrified for me?”
“And me. I didn’t know how I was going to go on without you.”
“I imagine as you always have.”
He shook his head and brushed a finger along her cheek. “No. That’s no longer possible. I find, wholly unexpectedly, you have become necessary.”
She shook her head. She could not be hearing him correctly. “Necessary for what?”
“My happiness. I need you, Ellie, and I was afraid I’d lost you.”
Elinor wanted to melt. She wanted to feel warm and happy and exactly as she’d always imagined she would when she dreamed about this moment. She remembered her first dance with Winn, and the feel of his strong arms around her. She remembered the first time he’d called on her, endured a quarter hour of her mother’s simpering, and the stuffy drawing room of her family’s rented London town house. She remembered the first time he’d kissed her—at the wedding breakfast.
She remembered the first time she’d told him she loved him, and his response, “What does marriage have to do with love?”
She’d been shocked to realize he didn’t love her, but then why should she have been? He’d never said as much, never acted like a man in love. But she couldn’t help feeling deceived. He’d made her love him with his wit and charm, and though he must have known her feelings, he never did anything to discourage her.
And now, after all of that, he said he needed her. She should think it all the most wonderful turn of events. But there was one small point that bothered her. “And yet, you did not rescue me.”
“Bloody hell. What do you want from me? If I spirited you away, how many countless others would die? I cannot let my feelings interfere with my work. Too many people are counting on me.”
“I was counting on you!”
“Do you think it was easy for me to allow myself to be captured? To watch Foncé walk out of that room with you and not know if I would ever see you again? To pray to God and all that is holy I was not hurt so badly that he carved you up before I had a chance to tell you, just this once, what you mean to me?”
Elinor shook her head. Why was he saying this? Was it another lie? To what purpose? “I don’t understand,” she finally answered.
“Neither do I.” And he pulled her hard against his chest and crushed his mouth to hers. At first Elinor could not move, and she wanted to fight him. She wanted to reject him for all the times he’d turned away from her. But Winn was holding her too close and too tightly, and she had no choice but to succumb. Gradually he relaxed his hold slightly, cradling her head with one hand and cupping her cheek with the other. His kiss gentled, became something sweet and poignant. Unable to resist, and feeling the old rush of excitement at his touch flooding through her, she opened herself to him. The cellar and Foncé and her escape plans faded away for the moment, and there was only Winn. Winn surrounded and enveloped her, and she had no fears, because she knew he would take care of her.
He trailed kisses over her eyes and her cheeks, touching his lips lightly to her temple. “Ellie, Ellie.”
I love you, she thought. Damn it! After everything, I still love you.
But she did not say it. She would never say it again.
“I know what you are going to say,” Winn murmured.
She raised a brow. That was good, because she had no idea.
“We need to think about escape.”
She hadn’t been about to say that, but it seemed like what she should have been thinking of saying. She nodded.
“While I like your tower, and I am always a proponent of unconventional methods, I do not think it our best strategy in this situation.” He bent and lifted a shard of broken wood lying on the ground.
“And what is our best strategy?” she asked, relieved he was finally willing to discuss escape options.
“Let me show you.”
***
Winn believed in a straightforward approach whenever possible. As he had told Elinor, he was not averse to the unconventional. He was known for his unconventional methods, though what one man considered unconventional, another considered direct and efficient. That was the case today. Conventional wisdom said to find a back door exit, but the most efficient path—unfortunately also the most lethal— pointed him toward another approach, an approach Foncé and his men would least expect. And it was a hell of a lot better than spending a quarter hour making a crate tower only to discover there was no way to exit the cellar.
Winn knew of one certain exit—the one at the top of the cellar stairs.
Elinor was looking at him expectantly, her cheeks pink and her hair loose and tangled about her face. There was a smudge of dirt beside one eyebrow, and he itched to wipe it away. She looked more beautiful than he could remember. Scenes of her throughout their lives together flashed before him—the light behind her at the altar of the church where they’d married, her softly rounded belly when she was carrying Georgiana, the way she’d looked down at Caroline and crooned to her softly in the middle of the night when she did not know he watched.
She’d always been beautiful—this woman, this wife, this mother. It was he who had not taken the time to notice or appreciate it. She had been right about that at least. But he’d never known she blamed herself. If he could only go back, he would have done it all differently. He would have loved her as she deserved to be loved.
But he could only go forward, and he might have hurt her too badly ever to win her back. His gut twisted in knots when he even thought it, thought he might be too late to save their marriage.
But he could still save their lives. He took her arm and steered her toward the wooden stairs leading out of the cellar. Slats were missing, and the wood was so warped it listed to one side, but it had survived the weight of that hulk of a man carrying him down here, so Winn felt fairly certain it would support the two of them. “We walk up those stairs, ram the door, and face Foncé’s men directly.”
She stared at him.
He raised his brows. “Well?”
“I thought you were hoaxing me.”
Winn scowled.
“That is your solution?” Elinor asked, glaring at him.
“What is wrong with it? We have the element of surprise in our favor.”
“What is wrong with it? For one”—she lifted a finger—“we are outnumbered.”
Winn waved his hand. “I am not going to discuss this with you. I’m the operative, and I say we are going up the stairs.”
“Secondly,” she said, tugging his shoulder before he could start up the steps. “The door is locked. I already tried it.”
He frowned at her. “I’m not worried about a locked door.” He started up the stairs again, but she pulled him back.
“Very well, you may be strong, but you cannot fight all of them. Foncé has at least five guards here.”
Why was he even listening to her? He had the experience, not she. Of course, every point she made was valid, but what concerned him more than dealing with whatever lay on the other side of that door was waiting for Foncé to decide he was ready to deal with Winn. “Not every guard is in front of that door. It’s early. Some are sleeping.”
“But all of them have weapons. You are unarmed.”
“It’s never stopped me before. And I have this.” He raised the wooden section of board.
She reached for him, another attempt to delay him, but he grabbed her hand, kissed it, and placed it by her side. “I’m going, Elinor. Trust me on this.”
He was halfway up the steps when he heard her mutter, “Do I have a choice?”
But she came after him. She followed him up the stairs and stood a few steps below him while he studied the door. She’d told him it was locked, but he tried it anyway. He didn’t relish battering the door and making all of that noise unless it was necessary. It must have been latched on the other side, because he could not open it.
“I told you,” she muttered.
He ignored her and pushed against the door. One thing was certain. There was not a bar across the door, and that meant he could probably hit it hard enough to break the latch. “I’m going to break it down,” he said, his voice hushed. He had to lean close to her so she could hear, and he could smell the floral scent in her hair. “Stay close to me. I don’t know what we’ll find on the other side. Step down one more. Give me some room.”
She did as he bade her, and then he felt her tug on his shoulder again. “Elinor.” He all but growled her name, but when he turned to her, she reached up, took his face between her hands, and kissed him.
He was so taken off guard, he didn’t even have time to kiss her back before she pulled away. “What was that for?”
She looked sheepish. “It might be my last chance.”
“Don’t count on it.” He grinned. He turned back around, rolled his shoulders, took a breath, and slammed into the door. The wood splintered loudly and parted, but the door didn’t whoosh open. On the other side, Winn looked into the wide eyes of one of Foncé’s men. The man raised a pistol, and Winn ducked. The wood above him splintered, raining down on him like oak needles. Winn jumped up, cursed, and kicked the door hard. The tactic was loud but effective. The door came off its hinges—the bloody latch still didn’t budge—and Winn jumped into a room that looked like it had been designed for use by servants bringing food from the kitchen to the main floors of the house.
As soon as Foncé’s man saw Winn come through the door, he ran for the exit, but Winn scrambled after him, cutting his own leg on a slab of sharp wood at the bottom of the broken door. Winn tackled the man just as he reached the door, wincing at the pain in his leg. Fortunately, they were in the back of the house, and it would take Foncé’s men a moment to reach them. The fewer men to fight, the better.
“Winn!” Elinor’s voice snagged his attention, and the guard rolled and slammed his pistol into Winn’s cheek. Winn’s vision went slightly gray, and he dropped the jagged board he’d planned to use as a weapon. With his fists his only option, he wrapped one hand around the man’s wrist and grabbed his scraggly brown hair with the other and rammed the man’s head against the floor.
The useless pistol fell to the floor, but the guard wrestled one hand under Winn’s chin and shoved Winn’s head up. Winn looked over his shoulder at Elinor, who stood in mute horror in front of the battered cellar door. “I could use some help,” he said, jaw tight.
Her brows came together, and then she blinked. “Oh! Of course. What should I…?” She looked about and then reached for a lamp. Winn could only pray she would hit Foncé’s guard and not him. She started for him, and Winn released the man so the momentum of their wrestling bodies propelled them over. He hit a table, but the guard was on top. He couldn’t give Elinor a better target. “Now,” he yelled. The guard drew a fist back. “Now!”
The lamp shattered over the guard’s head, and the man went limp. Winn threw him off, sat, and dusted porcelain debris from his clothing. He glared at Elinor, who was staring with what appeared to be concern at the guard.
“He’s fine,” Winn said. “You waited long enough to hit him.”
“I wasn’t certain where to hit him.”
“A moment more, and I might be the one unconscious.”
“So now what?” she asked.
He rose to his feet. “Now we escape.” He reached for the door, his hand pausing on the handle when he heard the sound of approaching voices.
“Oh, no,” Elinor moaned.
Winn couldn’t have said it better.