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Gideon had breathed in sharply. Now he put out his hand and clasped my wrist.
“Not a step closer!” he said.
The other man raised one eyebrow. “I’m only helping myself to a sandwich, if you have no objection.”
“Do please help yourselves. And if you will just excuse me for a moment…,” said my great-great-grandmother. As she left the room, the butler appeared in the doorway. In spite of the white gloves, he now looked like the bouncer of some really trendy club.
Gideon swore under his breath.
“Don’t worry about Stillman,” said the young man. “Although apparently he did once break a man’s neck. An accident, wasn’t it, Stillman?”
I stared at the young man. I couldn’t help it. He had the same eyes as Falk de Villiers, yellow as amber. Like a wolf’s.
“Gwyneth Shepherd!” When he smiled at me, he looked even more like Falk de Villiers, except that he was at least twenty years younger and his hair was jet black and cut short. The way he was looking at me was scary. He seemed friendly, but there was something in his eyes that I couldn’t interpret. Maybe anger? Or pain?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” For a moment, his voice sounded husky. He offered me his hand, but Gideon grabbed me with both arms and pulled me close.
“Don’t you touch her!”
The raised eyebrow again. “What are you afraid of, young man?”
“I know exactly what you want from her!”
I could feel Gideon’s heart beating against my back.
“Blood?” The man took one of the tiny, thin sandwiches and put it into his mouth. Then he held both his hands out to us, palms upward, and said, “Look, no syringe, no scalpel, nothing. Now, let go of the poor girl. You’re crushing her.” That strange glance again when he looked back at me. “My name is Paul. Paul de Villiers.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “You’re the man who persuaded my cousin Lucy to steal the chronograph. Why did you do it, Mr. de Villiers?”
Paul de Villiers’s mouth twisted. “It’s funny to hear you call me Mr. de Villiers.”
“And I think it’s funny that you know me.”
“Don’t talk to him,” said Gideon. His grip had relaxed slightly, and now he was holding me close to him with only one arm. With the other, he opened a side door behind him and glanced into the next room. Another man in white gloves was standing there.
“That’s Frank,” said Paul. “And since he isn’t as big and strong as Stillman, he has a pistol, did you notice?”
“I noticed,” said Gideon, closing the door again.
He’d been right. We had fallen into a trap. But how was that possible? Margaret Tilney couldn’t have been laying a tea table for us and stationing a man with a pistol in the next room every day of her life.
“How did you know we’d be here today?” I asked Paul.
“Hm. If I were to tell you I didn’t know, I just happened to look in by chance, I’m sure you wouldn’t believe me, would you?” He took a scone and sat down. “How are your dear parents?”
“Keep your mouth shut!” snapped Gideon.
“But I was only asking how her parents are!”
“Fine,” I said. “Mum, at least. My father’s dead.”
Paul looked shocked. “Dead? But Nicholas is a man like an oak tree, so strong and healthy!”
“He had leukemia,” I said. “He died when I was seven.”
“Oh, my God. I’m so very sorry.” Paul was looking at me sadly and seriously. “It must have been terrible for you, growing up without a father.”
“Don’t talk to him,” Gideon repeated. “He’s just trying to keep us here until reinforcements arrive.”
