Ransomed Jewels (6 page)

“If you and your brother are as close as you indicate, don’t you find it strange he hasn’t been to see you yet? It’s been more than a week already.”

“He must be gone.”

“Do you think so? He did not take his valet with him. Don’t you find that strange?”

Claire clenched her trembling hands and she shook her head. “Perhaps he—”

“Nor did he take as much as a change of clothes. How would you explain that, Lady Huntingdon?”

Claire grabbed handfuls of soft covers in her fists and squeezed. “How should I know? Please. Leave me be.”

She fought to keep the fear and terror at bay, but failed with every breath. Alex was suffering by the hour while she lay pampered and cosseted in her bed. And she was running out of time before Roseneau threatened to kill him.

She gasped for air as the room closed in around her. She needed to escape. Was frantic to get away from here. From him.

She threw off the covers and tried to sit upright. She slapped his hands away when he tried to hold her down.

When he refused to release her, she did the only thing possible . . .

She screamed.

Chapter 8

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, releasing her, then stepping away.

Claire sat on the edge of the bed. Then stood. She lost her balance. He grasped her arms when she staggered, then lowered her to the bed.

For a moment, the room spun in dizzying circles. She fisted her hands to the mattress on either side of her and held on tight.

“I need to get up.”

“You’re not strong enough yet. You need to stay in—”

She shrugged off his hands and struggled to her feet, leaving him no choice but to help her—or watch her fall. He wrapped his right arm around her waist to steady her and reached his left in front of her to take her hand.

“Where do you intend to go?”

“I don’t know,” she gasped, making her way to the door. “Out of this room. Downstairs.”

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

She ignored his argument and walked out into the hallway and toward the stairs. Tilly, the third-floor maid, came out of one of the rooms as the major picked Claire up to carry her to the first floor. The servant’s eyes opened wide and she drew her hand over her open mouth to stifle a gasp.

“Your mistress needs a robe and some slippers,” he ordered. “Bring them down at once.”

“Yes, Major.”

“Where do you want to go?” he asked when they reached the first floor. “The sitting room? The morning room? The blue salon?”

“The sitting room.”

“Very well.”

It struck her that he didn’t ask directions; that he was familiar enough with her town house to know which room was the sitting room.

He walked down the long hallway, past the morning room facing east and the drawing room facing west. He didn’t pause before the blue room on the right or the massive Huntingdon library on the left, but walked to the next door on the right. Timothy, one of her footmen, rushed to open the door and the major carried her inside.

“Build a fire,” he ordered the footman as he walked with her to the settee closest to the fireplace. Timothy rushed to do his bidding and the major stood with her in his arms.

“You can put me down,” Claire said, searching for her voice. She didn’t want to be in his arms. Didn’t want to be held next to him, to feel the heat from his body burn through her. Being held put her entirely too close. She wasn’t used to the swirling deep inside her when he touched her. These feelings were wrong. She knew it. She’d never felt this way with Hunt. Not even at first when she’d tried to be a wife to him.

The major held her as if he hadn’t heard her request, and watched Timothy build the fire. When Tilly rushed into the room with Claire’s wrapper and slippers, he slowly lowered Claire to her feet. He didn’t release her until he was certain she was steady.

“Hold on to me,” he said in a low, soft voice. With a swift movement he reached out for the robe Tilly had in her hand and held it so Claire could slip her arms through the sleeves.

She gasped when he pulled the satin folds across her breasts then reached around her waist for the satin belt. Even through the material, the feel of him sent a shiver racing through her, and she staggered backward.

“Hold on,” he issued again, then backed her to the settee and helped her sit. Without hesitation, he took the slippers from Tilly’s hands and knelt at her feet.

Claire tucked her feet beneath the settee. “Tilly can do that.”

“Tilly’s going to bring us tea and ask Cook to make you something to eat,” he said in a commanding voice. The second the shy maid glimpsed his intimidating gaze, she bobbed a swift curtsy and nearly ran from the room with Timothy on her heels.

“Please, don’t do that,” she said as he picked up her foot and held it in his hand.

“Do what?”

“Touch me so.”

He arched his brows. “It’s not necessary to play the innocent. You and Hunt were married for more than seven years, my lady. It’s not as if you’ve never been touched by a man. Or that you cannot tell the difference between the manner in which I’m touching you and an intimate caress.”

He reached for her other foot and held it in one hand as if proving his point, then slipped on her slipper. Claire pulled her foot out of his grasp as quickly as she could.

He ignored her discomfort and rose to his feet. “Put this over your legs,” he said, placing a quilted coverlet across her lap. “If you get cold, let me know and I’ll send someone for another cover.”

“I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She was burning hot, and the heat had nothing to do with her recent illness.

“After I left your brother’s home, I stopped by the Foreign Office.” He looked up. “The Russian delegates will be here in a little more than two weeks.”

Claire held his gaze even though she wanted to turn away from him. Her heart plummeted. Roseneau would be here before that.

“Everyone was busy making preparations for the meeting between Russia’s delegates and Britain’s foreign minister.”

Claire watched the major step to the small table on the left side of the window. A porcelain figurine of an elegant lady with tiny pearls in her golden hair and an evening gown of emerald green sat on a tatted doily. He picked up the figurine and examined it closely, then carefully set it on the floor before swiping his fingers carefully over the table.

The table had a narrow drawer in the front that opened by pulling a small, round ivory knob. He opened it and sifted through the contents before closing it and tipping the table to search the underside for any other hidden drawers or compartments. When satisfied that whatever he was searching for wasn’t there, he set the figurine back on the doily and lifted his gaze to hers.

“I was tempted to assure them that they’d have in their possession something that would give them an advantage in the negotiations. But of course I didn’t.”

Her heart thundered in her breast, the blood pounding against her ears.

“I knew if they even got a hint at what you’re hiding, you’d be residing in one of London’s renowned prisons before you had time to throw a gown in a valise.”

She fought the urge to look away from him. His piercing glare dared her to fight him. She didn’t. She knew it was a battle she would lose. How could she match his wit and determination when she could barely think straight watching him search her home?

She’d gone over this room more than once in the weeks following the first threat and hadn’t found anything. But what if she’d missed it? What if she’d overlooked where Hunt had hidden the necklace and the major found it?

He moved to the matching table on the other side of the window and repeated the process. This figurine’s hair was dark and sprinkled with tiny diamonds, and her gown was of deepest gold. He picked it up. Examined it.

Claire followed his movements as if in a trance. She couldn’t think past the roaring in her head. All the time she prayed he wouldn’t find the necklace. Because he’d never give it over to her. Never. She was more convinced of that than ever. And Alex would—

“Your tea is getting cold,” he said, pointing to the tea Claire didn’t realize had been delivered. She reached out with trembling hands and picked up the cup and saucer Tilly had brought. Her hands weren’t steady enough to bring it to her lips. She could barely breathe while he moved from the small side tables dotting the room, to the matching china cabinets in two corners, to the narrow bookcase between the windows on the east, and finally to the gilded escritoire against the far wall.

“Did Hunt discuss the trip to France when you returned?” he asked, lifting the two elegant Chinese vases on each corner of the mantel and looking inside them.

“No.”

He picked up the small tinderbox at the rear of the mantel and lifted the lid. “What did you think of Roseneau?”

Claire tried to focus her thoughts. “He was very charming. But that was before you and my husband emptied his safe.”

The major’s hands stopped midair, and he glanced over his shoulder. His gaze locked with hers for a brief moment before he resumed his search. “Did Hunt know about you and Roseneau?”

Her heart leaped in her breast. “Know what?”

“How close the two of you were?”

“Regardless of what you think, we were hardly close, Major. We barely knew each other.”

“Really.”

He said the word not as a question, but as a statement of fact. He’d seen her with Roseneau and believed the worst. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want him to. “Monsieur Roseneau attended an informal dinner party at our home less than a year ago. I found him very charming. That’s why I didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary when we were invited to his home in France. He and Hunt seemed on quite good terms.”

“I’m sure they were. Hunt obviously didn’t know of your feelings for the Frenchman.”

“There was nothing to know,” Claire said, her temper rising.

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe that little lie,” he said, the look on his face hard. Accusing. “You forget. I happen to know differently.”

Claire watched him skim his hands between the cushions of the furniture scattered throughout the room. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

“He may possess
you
, my lady,” he said, looking up from the chair he was searching, “but he will never possess the necklace.”

The breath caught in her throat and the room shifted around her.

“I’d like to go back upstairs,” she said, clutching the cushions on either side of her. She couldn’t take any more of his accusations. Every nerve in her body was stretched tight, the pounding in her head growing more painful with every minute.

“Of course.” He walked to her and took the cup and saucer from her lap. He set them on the table. “You didn’t eat anything.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Then you’d best tell yourself when you wake up from your rest you’re going to be exceedingly hungry. I’ll have both our dinners served in your room. I am confident you will eat everything on your plate. Is that understood?”

She leveled him a serious look. “I prefer to eat alone.”

“People under house arrest are hardly allowed the freedom they desire. Be thankful you are permitted to leave your room.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Can’t I?” Without giving her time to answer, he scooped her into his arms.

She thought she was prepared, thought her anger would keep her from feeling anything when he pulled her against his muscled chest. But it didn’t. Every muscle in her body tightened, and she held herself stiff to keep from falling against him. He looked down at her with a frown on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No. Please, put me down.”

He ignored her request and strode across the room and down the hall. She didn’t look at him while he carried her up the stairs, or when he placed her in her bed.

“I wouldn’t try to get up if I were you,” he warned her from the doorway. “I’ve given your servants orders to check on you every few minutes to make sure you’re resting.”

“And you think they’ll report to you if I’m not?”

He smiled. “If they value their freedom, they will.”

Claire turned her face toward the wall. She knew her servants were loyal, but she didn’t want to put them in a position where they’d be forced to lie for her.

She listened as he made his way across the room, and sighed in relief when the door closed firmly behind him.

She was alone. She squeezed her eyes tight, fighting to keep the tears from escaping. But lost the battle.

He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. From now on she wouldn’t even be able to move around in her own home without him watching her. Even if she was the one who found the necklace, he’d take it the minute she recovered it. And Alex would die.

Claire lay in the quiet room and stared at the ceiling. The shadows lengthened as the sun began its descent. Eventually, she closed her eyes and fell asleep knowing what she would do. Knowing the only choice left to her.

Claire placed another bottle back in the rack and leaned her forehead against the cool wall in the wine cellar. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the cold, damp underground, but knew it had been hours. Perhaps three. Maybe four. And she couldn’t stay much longer. It would be dawn before long and the house would begin to stir.

Cook would be the first to rise, to mix her dough and bake her biscuits and bread for breakfast. Next Timothy would rise to light a fire in the dining room. And later Tilly would come to her room to help her rise.

And
he
would come to see how she’d slept.

Claire pushed herself away from the wall and searched through another row of wine bottles. Her head spun and she reached out to steady herself. She’d stayed up far longer than she was used to—far longer than her body was strong enough to handle, but she had no choice. She had to search for the necklace while everyone slept. Had to look for it while he wasn’t aware of her every move.

She thought of the hours she’d spent with him last evening. He’d been true to his word and had their dinners served in her bedroom. He’d evaluated every bite she put in her mouth, then ordered her to eat more when she told him she was finished. And for at least a puzzling moment or two, she thought he was truly concerned about her.