“Then we need to give the appearance that you are all alone,” Roswell said.
Lord Oxley grimaced. “I told you that this would happen if I didn’t do exactly what I was instructed to do. Anette was taken to force my hand.”
Roswell rose. “We will get her back.”
“I understand you want to believe that, but I am not as confident as you are,” Lord Oxley said. “I know what these men are capable of and Anette is nothing to them. They would just as easily kill her as set her free.”
He knew that Lord Oxley spoke true, but he didn’t dare admit it out loud. For everyone’s sake. They needed to have some smidgen of hope or else what was the point? But he knew in his heart, whatever happened to Anette, he would enact the same justice on her abductor.
ChapterEighteen
Anette’s head ached as she struggled to open her eyes. She felt as if her brain was in a fog and she couldn’t seem to find a way out.
What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was that someone had approached her from behind in the gardens of her townhouse.
She forced her eyes open and saw a man with spectacles staring back at her with mild amusement. He was short, at least he appeared so from his seated position. His hair was the color of ash and it was brushed to the side, highlighting his thin face.
The man spoke up. “Good, you are awake,” he said. “I was worried that my associate had hit you too hard over the head. We can’t have you dying… yet.” The way he paused on the last word caused a shudder to course through her.
Did that mean her death was inevitable?
Anette’s eyes roamed the small, rectangular room. She was sitting on a straw mattress and her back was up against a worn green-papered wall. A lone window sat along the back wall but it had been nailed shut. She could hear muffled noise coming from below the room, making her believe she was not alone in this place.
“Where am I?” she asked.
The man smiled, but it was not a smile that she trusted. “Where you are is not important,” he replied. “You are here just to entice your father to do the right thing.”
“What is the right thing?”
The man’s smile dimmed. “It would be best if you remembered that you are a guest here, for now. If you don’t behave, I can’t promise that you will be treated fairly.”
Anette reached up and touched the back of her head. She winced as she felt the large bump from where she had been hit and some dried blood matted in her hair. She was not one to be consumed by her appearance but she assumed that she looked a fright. Not that it mattered. She was being held prisoner by a man she had never seen before. How she looked was the least of her concerns.
“I am glad that you are smart enough to realize your situation is dire,” the man said. “There is no chance of escape for you here.”
Anette met the man’s gaze, determined not to show the fear that she felt deep within her soul. “I want to go home.”
“In due time, but that decision rests solely on your father.” The man leaned forward in his seat. “He possesses some information that I am in need of and he has been rather reluctant to hand it over.”
“My father won’t betray his country.”
The man chuckled. “I can see that you respect your father, but he is not the man that you think he is. Neither is your brother or your dear Lord Roswell.”
“Lord Roswell is not mine.”
A smirk appeared on the man’s lips. “No, but you want him to be. Don’t you?”
Anette remained silent, not willing to admit the truth to her abductor.
“It was easy enough to sway you to come to the gardens by pretending the letter was from Lord Roswell,” the man said smugly, clearly pleased with himself. “Did you even hesitate?”
She lowered her gaze, knowing how easily she had been deceived. Why had she been so quick to rush to the gardens? But she already knew the answer. She loved Roswell and wanted to believe the letter had been from him.
“Don’t feel bad, dear,” the man encouraged. “I do not fault you for falling for the desires of your heart. It is a woman’s greatest fault. You think with your emotions and not with facts.”
The man rose from his seat and walked over to the window. “I must admit that I had initially underestimated you when I sent someone to abduct you from Vauxhall Gardens. You were able to thwart his attack rather decisively.” He glanced at her curiously. “Do you always carry a pistol in your reticule?”
“I do,” she said. What was the point of trying to deny it?
