Page 8 of Part of Your World

Mr. Erickson rose to his feet and stalked toward her. Octavia’s throat tightened as if his fingers had already closed around her throat. She forced herself to remain seated, however, her features smooth and unconcerned. The chances of him actually accosting her were quite small. Not in her home with servants to bear witness.

“I want you to burn it,” he demanded as he stormed over to her chair. “Now.”

Did he think she would give in to his wishes simply because he loomed over her? Octavia shot him a scathing glare as she slowly gained her feet. “I already explained that wouldn’t be possible. The only way to dispose of that page is for you to pay the full amount up front.”

“I’m prepared to do that. Five hundred dollars, isn’t it?” He pulled an envelope from inside his coat pocket. It bulged in a quite delicious fashion.

“Five hundred fifty,” she corrected.

“Right.” He looked far too cocky for her peace of mind.

She tipped her head and studied him, suddenly wary. “I’ll need to count it.” She extended her palm.

He moved the envelope toward her then jerked it back. “Not until I see the journal.”

“You don’t trust me?” She batted her lashes.

He raised a brow. “Not even a little.”

She sashayed around him toward the bookshelf that lined the wall behind where he’d been sitting, a location always within her field of view. Feeling his gaze burning a hole in her back, she crouched down to reach the shelf second from the bottom. She slid the journal from between two outdated copies of The Farmer’s Almanac and returned to the table.

“Show me the page,” he demanded, waving the envelope between them.

Standing well out of his reach, she opened the journal to his wife’s page then turned it outward for him to see. She pressed the back of the journal against her breast, keeping it close as she tightened her hold.

She gestured with her chin toward the table. “Count the money where I can see it. When you’re done, I’ll remove the page, and we can trade.”

He opened the envelope, held up a fifty-dollar bank note for her inspection, then counted out ten more upon the table.

Her heart raced faster with each one.

“Now, the page.”

Octavia raised her voice. “Rogers. Come in here, please.”

Her butler entered the room a moment later, a burly former sea captain who wasn’t adverse to using his fists when called upon to protect his mistress.

“Yes, madam?”

“Keep an eye on our guest while I prepare his documentation, would you?”

He gave a nod then planted himself between her and Mr. Erickson.

She crossed to the small desk in the corner and removed a penknife from the drawer. She laid the journal on the desktop, extended Mrs. Erickson’s page upward, then carefully cut it free of the binding. After tucking the penknife back into the desk drawer, she held out the removed page.

“Rogers, you may make the exchange.” She still didn’t want to get too close to Mr. Erickson. Not while her instincts continued to fire warning signals.

Her butler approached and collected the page. Then, before she realized what had happened, he snatched the journal from the desk with his other hand.

“What are you doing?” She jumped from her chair and grabbed for the journal, but he tossed it to Mr. Erickson with a flick of his wrist before she could reach it.

“No!” She chased the flying volume. That journal was her life! But she made it only two steps before her butler captured her arm and wrenched it behind her back. “Ow! You oaf. Let go of me!”

She kicked at his shins, but he ignored her paltry efforts to inflict pain and inflicted more of his own when he clasped her second arm and forced it behind her back to join the first. Holding both of her wrists with one meaty hand, he pulled something from his pocket. A cord. One he used to bind her wrists before forcing her into a chair.

“Vanessa! Help!”

“She and Cook are a bit tied up at the moment.” Rogers stood above her, arms crossed.