Callum bade the man goodnight and returned upstairs as carefully as he’d descended. It would be better if none were aware he’d ventured into their space downstairs, as some did not take pleasure in having the line between these worlds become so blurred.
He bypassed his study and instead retired to his quarters, his thoughts churning with questions about the woman. There was no doubt she was in some way complicit with the gang’s crimes, but he could believe there was a motive that he knew not of. It at least gave him hope that he might see his property again, even if he now worried about the creature he had locked away.
Chapter 7
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Beatrix heard the key turn in the lock to her cell. The door opened only a hair’s breadth, but it was enough for her to see someone look in at her. Were they intent on doing her harm? She could not be certain in the dimness of the empty room.
The door opened a bit more and she could make out her captor’s face. What was he playing at, invading this space at such an hour? His esteem dropped impossibly lower in her eyes, and the sooner she found a means of escape, the better of she’d be.
“He’s lucky I didn’t claw his lovely face,” Beatrix muttered, still indignant at being gawked at in the night.
It mattered not that he’d closed the door as quietly as he’d opened it. Perhaps he had only been looking in on her. More likely, she surmised angrily, he was ensuring that she hadn’t managed to get free. Men like that tended to be overly concerned with conquest and victory, and she knew he would not take it well if he’d opened the door to find an empty room.
Beatrix grinned in spite of herself, imagining the tantrum a pampered, spoiled boy like that would have once she managed to outwit him. He’d likely kick his feet against the floor and bang his fists, whining for his toy until some governess boxed his ears and sent him to the nursery!
“Perhaps they’d bring his whipping boy to take his punishment while he nibbled at some chocolates!” she said, imagining the man as a slovenly child who grinned like an imp while the innocent boy cried out in pain.
To alleviate the boredom—and to bring some warmth back into her bones from sleeping on the stone floor—Beatrix rose before the sun and paced the perimeter of the tiny room. She made a game of it, counting the laps at the corner beside the door, turning and striding in the other direction, walking backwards now and then. She kept moving, knowing that curling up on the floor and having a good cry was the first stage of succumbing to sadness.
The pacing calmed her slightly and a new thought intruded. The image of her captor’s face when he appeared in the dark swam in her mind. Beatrix refused to think of him as handsome, angry as she was at him, but she knew that in different circumstances he would have struck her as breathtakingly good-looking.
But it was his expression that now stood out to her. Beatrix remembered the look of… was it regret? His usual scowl had been replaced by something unexpected, something softer somehow.
She shook her head angrily. “What care have I that he may rue his terrible actions?” she thought, storming around the room even faster now.
Instead, Beatrix allowed the robust exercise to increase her anger. How dare she be held captive this way! When her father learned of it, there would be a mound of broken bones piled behind them!
Not too long after the sun rose, the key turned in the lock again. Beatrix hurried to the corner where the door swung up, grabbing up the makeshift pillow and threadbare blanket to give the appearance that the room was empty. The guard entered the room carrying a meal on a tray, but Beatrix kicked his backside smartly and sent him sprawling forward to the floor, the dishes clattering against the stones.
“Stop her! She’s getting away!” he managed to shout, turning just in time to see Beatrix slide around the door and run from the room.
She sprinted down the hallway and was surprised to find herself in an enormous kitchen filled with people. They turned to stare at her open-mouthed when she burst in, and the shock of seeing her emerge left them speechless. Beatrix looked about wildly for an exit, and seeing one across the room that led outside, she nearly vaulted over the table and scrambled for the door.
Two sets of hands grabbed her arms and pulled her back. Screaming every obscenity she’d chanced to learn from her father’s men—purely by mistake, as they tried to guard their tongues in her presence—Beatrix was half-carried, half-dragged back to her cell.
“Your food’s still in there!” her guard said angrily as he moved to close the door behind her. “Hope you enjoy the specks of dirt and dust in it, seeing as how it’s your fault it’s on the floor!”
The door slammed behind her and Beatrix fumed, sitting down near the scattered remnants of a bowl of oats, several pieces of toast, and a piece of ham. She was surprised at the fare, but for a moment she was too proud to eat such a meal from the floor. The small tin teapot had mercifully landed with its right side up, and only a little had sloshed from its spout. She moved across the floor to retrieve the small mug that accompanied it and poured herself something to drink.
Taking up the spoon from where it had slid close to the window, she ate the hot oats that were on top of the pile, taking care to avoid scraping the floor beneath. Brushing off the toast and ham with the edge of her skirt, she nibbled at those last.
The entire event would have made a lesser woman miserable, she was sure of it. Instead, Beatrix was fueled by the anger that welled up in her as she ate her food from the very floor. That, coupled with visions of her father’s wrath, even made her smile inwardly.
Several hours later, the door opened again to the same guard, this time bearing a small tray for tea. He cast a look towards the scattered mess on the floor and grimaced at the obvious signs that Beatrix had eaten her food anyway. He looked over his shoulder to ensure that the second man was still waiting outside in case anything was amiss.
“So they sent you with reinforcements this time?” Beatrix said, taunting him. “And here I thought the prissy well-to-do class were stupid.”
“I’ve brought some tea,” the man explained patiently. “If your breakfast was… unsatisfactory, I can request something else.”
“Oh no, it was the best meal I’ve eaten in ages,” she drawled, still mocking him. “Besides, I’d hate to tear you from your important duties of enabling a man who’s kidnapped me.”
The guard ignored her insult and cleared his throat, then asked, “The Marchess of Bellton wishes to inquire as to your name, miss.”
“My name? You mean, I’m held captive here and the man does not even know the identity of his victim?” Beatrix asked, pretending to be alarmed. “How very… well, I was going to say odd, but no, it fits. These toffs do as they please because they know there shall be no consequences. It’s those around them who have to suffer them as fools.”
“Miss, if you please… your name?” the guard pressed, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.
“You may report back to your master that I have been referred to asLadyBeatrix my entire life, and that I am steadfastly intent on remaining so.” She turned her attention away from the man, ignoring him by looking to the wall, until he set down the tray with tea and left.
