Page 115 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

He looked at her. “Your family.”

She said nothing.

“Who are they?”

Honora remained silent.

“Where do they live?”

“Why should I tell you anything?” she asked, using all the indignance she could muster. “You are starving a baby, for heaven’s sake. Why would I help you?”

The man stepped farther inside. “You can tell me, or we can find out.”

Honora held his gaze. He was trying to frighten her. It was working. But she knew better than to let him see it.

“What would you do with the information?”

He shrugged. “That depends on how cooperative you are.”

Honora looked toward Cecily. The baby was sitting on the bed, rubbing one tired eye, and the man followed her gaze. “Her family too.”

Honora’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

“Because somebody is going to pay.”

“Who?”

He smiled without humor. “You think you are asking the questions.”

Honora said nothing.

He stepped closer. “We can find your family without you.”

“Then do it,” she said, hoping to bluff the man.

He was not bluffed. He smirked, shaking his head.

“That would take longer,” he said. “And since you are so worried about that baby eating, I think you would be more willing to speed this along. We get what we want, and you get what you want.” He paused, grinning evilly. “Perhaps.”

Honora swallowed. She thought of her father. Gideon Bellamy. The house in Wiltshire, the address she knew by heart.

He had sent Cecily away, had taken the child from her, had lied to her. But if these men sent a ransom letter, he would understand. He would know she was alive; he would know Cecily was with her. And he would know where to look. That mattered more than whatever anger remained between them. And more than her father’s lack of money. He would not need money to send help for her. He only needed a clue as to where she was.

And she knew just what clue to give. She could lead her father to Leopold. Leopold would lead them both to Isolde. And if she was responsible for what was happening, Isolde would have no choice but to lead her father and Leopold to Honora and Cecily.

“My father,” she said at last, carefully measuring her words so that it sounded like a resigned admission rather than enlightened calculation.

The man waited.

“Gideon Bellamy.”

“Where?”

She gave him the address. He repeated it to make sure he had it right.

“And the duke?”

Honora’s heart leapt. She had expected to need to find a clever way to mention him. But the man had just handed her the opportunity.