The man brooded, and Anne counted his rasping breaths. Somewhere in the house, a door opened, followed by a woman's guttural moan. Just when Anne began to despair, he untied her wrists and ankles. Thousands of prickles coursed through her as blood returned to her limbs, and Anne had to clamp her mouth shut to avoid crying.
He grabbed her hand cruelly and, pulling her upward, shoved her face against the window. "Ulrich chose this bedroom for a reason. Do you see the square? You will have a prime seat to watch when they hang your lover."
"No—"
"Ulrich has a man working in the jail, you know? If the trial takes too long, the famous Count of Almoster will be gutted like a common thug."
Laughing, he strutted out of the bedroom.
When the door clicked shut, and she heard the ominous turn of a key, Anne slid to the floor. Ice crept up her spine, and Anne fought its gripping tendrils.
Pedro needed her.
She launched herself onto the drapery and pulled it away. Outside, night still reigned. The window latch would not budge. It had been sealed shut. She pushed all her weight against it, to no avail.
Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes, but she kept tugging. If she had a sharp object to peel off the plaster...
Anne searched the room, opening drawers, and wrenching an armoire open. Finding only gaudy dresses and flimsy lingerie, Anne shoved the cabinet's door shut, a scream locked in her throat.
Panting, she gazed from the door to the window. After Ulrich came for her, there would be no saving Pedro. A vase rested atop the commode. It would have to do. She enveloped it in a pillowcase to avoid unnecessary noise and smashed it, then chose a pointed shard from the remains.
Anne stumbled to the window and worked furiously over the plaster. When the first chinks of paint fell over the floor, she felt a glimmer of hope.
Chapter 40
Dawnhadcoloredthesky when Gabriel found the will to leave his club and return to the solar. He climbed the carpeted steps to his room, secluded at the back of the house. By God, how had he become trapped in this? Implicated in Ulrich's conspiracy, a participant in his schemes. Exhaling, he pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped on the tall-backed chair. Bile rose in his throat, and he took a swig ofaguardenteto push it down.
Fumbling with his jacket, he felt around the inner pocket for the note. The paper was of the lowest quality, and his vision blurred as he stared at the crooked handwriting. Ulrich champed at the bit for his society's entrance. He asked—better yet, demanded—that Gabriel arrange it for next Friday. How could Gabriel uncover proof of his involvement in Braganza's murder and slave trading in only eight days? All his hopes rested on Santiago scouting Ulrich's address. Would his friend be able to enter the Siren and find clues about Ulrich's den? What if Ulrich caught him? Gabriel shouldn't have involved him in this sordid mess.
Gabriel gulped another mouthful of the volatile drink. He pushed the bottle away and grabbed a pencil. Rolling his shoulders, he brought the graffiti to where light pooled on the paper and freed his hand to draw. A curve of a cheek, the down-sweep of long hair, an impish nose, arched brows. A silhouette took form. Anne Maxwell evading her eyes, just like she had back under the umbrella pine. Why possess the ability to conjure her image so well when she was beyond his reach? He crumpled the drawing in his fist and sagged against the chair.
His bedroom door crashed into the wall. Manu bounded inside, hair flowing around her face, freckled cheeks bright red.
"When will you learn to knock, imp?" Gabriel exhaled and rubbed his forehead. "I don't have time for your antics."
She tugged his arm. "Come quickly."
Gabriel pulled away and stored the drawing in his pocket. This wasn't the right day to try his patience. He had caught her wrist to guide her out when he saw her eyes. Disturbed, they couldn't seem to focus anywhere.
He cradled her face. "What is it, dear?"
"Pedro Daun came last night. He spoke with Father. I don't know what happened, but Father is distraught."
Gabriel sucked in a breath. Had Fontes somehow discovered the truth? "Where is he?"
"Good morning, sir." Gabriel entered his father's bedchamber, glad his voice rang even.
Father buttoned his military coat, watching his reflection in the mirror. The jacket sagged on his frame, evidence of the weight loss since Pedro had been accused of murdering Braganza. He seemed older, his carriage hunched, the skin around his face sallower."Why didn't you attend dinner last night? I'm on my way to Saint George’s Castle."
"What happened?"
"You should accompany me." He lifted his eyes from his reflection, and their gazes met in the mirror. "I've doneyourduty and arrested the Count of Almoster."
Gabriel's breath caught. "Arrested Pedro? How?"
"It is not important." Father's voice wavered, and he lowered his gaze.
Gabriel loosened his cravat and exhaled through his mouth. "Did he say something?"
