Page 56 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“They hid under the bed. I don’t think the Carabinieri are interested in them anyway. They didn’t conduct a search.”

Oscar tipped his head back and crossed his arms over his chest. He glared up at the ceiling.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “As far as Signore Scala knows, we’re still trying to retrieve his stolen spell. Why have us arrested?”

Neither Oscar nor Miss Wheeler seemed to have heard me. He continued to stare up at the ceiling, and her gaze was focused on his muscular forearms. Their inattention was somewhat irritating. I cleared my throat then repeated my question.

“Perhaps he truly does think we’re anarchists,” Miss Wheeler finally said. “Perhaps he thinks we’ll lead the Carabinieri to others in the local cell.”

We both looked to the iron bars and the corridor beyond. No one came to interrogate us.

“We need a plan for when we’re released,” she went on. “Mr. Defoe will be here soon. I’ll convince him I’m not ready to leave Monteoro today. He can go without me, but I need to be here to see this through.”

“If you have the chance to leave, you should,” I urged her. “It’s not safe for you here. For any of us.” I looked to Oscar, his back to the bars, still glaring at the ceiling as if something up there was to blame for our predicament. “Oscar? Do you agree?”

His lips flattened, causing the cut to bleed again. He hissed as it stung and gingerly tested it with his fingertip.

Miss Wheeler went to him. “Allow me.” She produced a handkerchief from her bodice and gently pressed it to his lip. The symbolic nature of where the square of white cotton had been wedged to where it now touched wasn’t lost on me. It wasn’t lost on either of them either, going by their heated gazes. Something seemed to flare between them. It wasn’t tangible. It was a mere change in the air, a shift in energy. I may never have experienced intense desire, but I recognized it in others clearly enough.

As if she were pulled by an invisible string, Miss Wheeler moved closer to him, crushing her skirts between them. Oscar swallowed heavily. Whatever he saw in her gaze seemed to have mesmerized him, trapping him as thoroughly as her body did, and he didn’t mind in the least.

He unfolded his arms and gently caressed her jaw with his thumb. His other hand settled on her narrow waist, fingers flexing as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch her there. It occurred to me that his lip was going to sting more when they kissed.

It was then that I realized the moment they were sharing was for them alone. I wasn’t in the bubble they’d placed around themselves. I looked down at my hands clasped between my knees and pretended I hadn’t been watching.

The sound of steady footsteps on the flagstones in the corridor had Miss Wheeler stepping back. She was once again seated beside me by the time the officer’s keys jangled.

Although she appeared quite composed, Miss Wheeler’s breath sounded a little ragged and shallow. Oscar looked equally composed, except for the smoldering of his eyes as he looked everywhere but at Miss Wheeler.

The door opened and the officer signaled for her to leave with him. “Just her,” he said when I got up, too.

“Why?” she asked.

“Mr. Defoe vouched for you. Not them.”

The muscles in Oscar’s face tensed. Then he scoffed.

“No!” Miss Wheeler said through a clenched jaw. “All three of us or I won’t leave. Tell Defoe.” She crossed her arms.

The Carabinieri officer looked bored. “Just you, signorina. Come. Now.”

“Go,” Oscar said.

“Yes, do,” I urged her. “Ask Defoe to help us. If he won’t, please get in touch with someone who can. I have the address for the British consulate in Milan in my valise. No, not them. Contact Matt in England. Matthew Glass, Lord Rycroft.”

She clasped my hands and nodded. “I will get you out of here.” She looked to Oscar. He regarded her from beneath hooded eyes. “I will.”

Miss Wheeler left with the officer. The tumbling of the grille lock echoed around the cell, as did their footsteps on the stones. If Mr. Defoe was waiting for her in the outer office, we couldn’t tell. No voices reached us through the thick wall separating the cells from the office. It must have been built to withstand a Medieval battle.

Oscar and I sat together on the floor and waited. My heart sank a little more with each passing minute as time stretched on and on. When an officer brought us bowls of food, my heart finally sank to the pit of my stomach.

Miss Wheeler wasn’t returning.

“I’m sure Defoe tried to get us released,” I said. “But since I was the one who expressed sympathy for the anarchists, not Miss Wheeler, the Carabinieri wouldn’t budge.”

“Perhaps he didn’t try.”

“Oscar, we may be rivals in the matter of the book, but he’s not going to leave friends of his assistant imprisoned if he can help it.”