Engaged in Sin (43 page)

But these were the slums, and no one came. No one would come to the aid of a shrieking woman, fearing they would end up in danger.

One more flight of stairs and she could race out the door, run for her carriage. Her feet thundered on the creaking steps. How had Mick found her? He must have followed her. But if he’d found her house, why not attack her there?

Idiot
. She’d come here alone, of course, so she wouldn’t frighten Thomas. Mick must have been waiting for her to make such a stupid mistake—

Something slammed into her back. She slid off the step, but a hand grabbed her clothing. Mick wrenched her so hard she fell against his chest. His arm locked around her.

Her dagger. She could slip it out. She had to. It was the only way to save herself. But threatening Mick with it wouldn’t be enough. She would have to stab him. She clutched the neck of her pelisse, praying he would think
it was a gesture of fear. She worked her fingers inside and touched the handle of the knife. Once she stabbed at him, she would have to kill him.…

Oh, dear God, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take a life. Not even Mick’s.

“Get moving, Annie,” Mick snarled. “The viscount’s waiting.”

He dragged her toward an open door. Her heart sank. He was going to take her out a different way—not through the front door. Her servants would not know she was gone, at least not for several minutes. Long enough for Mick to make her vanish.

She had to at least threaten him.

One hard tug pulled out the dagger. Wincing in horror at what she was going to do, she thrust it at his arm. But she was clumsy. The blade didn’t go in; it slid along his biceps.

Mick roared. “Going to make trouble, are you, Annie? Stupid whore.”

The word bit into her soul as Mick ruthlessly jerked her wrist. She tried to cling to the handle, but her fingers opened against their will. The knife clattered to the floor. Mick shook her with such force that her brain seemed to slosh in her skull. Something white swooped at her face. She tried to rear back, but she only banged into Mick. Wet fabric was slapped to her mouth, and a sugar-sweet, cloying scent twisted her stomach. Anne struggled, aware of her limbs growing numb. Blackness rushed in. From miles away, a laugh of triumph brushed against her ear, then the floor dropped away from her and she fell dizzily into the dark.

BRUPT SHAKING WOKE
her. Anne felt her brain bang around in her aching head again. “No …” she croaked. Desperately, she tried to reach up to stop the person—it must be Mick—from hurting her, but her hands wouldn’t move. No matter how hard she strained, her arms wouldn’t budge. Awareness trickled into her confused mind. Her hands were bound behind her back.

She couldn’t see Mick, but he must have set a candle down, for a large circle of light spilled around her. She lay on the floor, arms and legs bound, and a shadow loomed over her from behind.

“Let me … go.” Her lips felt swollen, and she could barely move them. “Mick—”

“It’s not Mick Taylor, my dear.”

She recoiled at the voice but could not pull away. “Seb … astian.” She tried to turn, to see him. Her head pounded with pain. She swallowed over and over, fighting the urge to be sick.

“That idiot Taylor bruised you quite badly.” Fingers stroked along her cheek, and she shuddered. Her cousin prodded a tender place on her face, and she gasped.

“Painful, is it? What hell you’ve endured because you
rejected me, because your mother refused to make you my bride.” Her cousin’s fingers were as elegant as Devon’s, but the way he touched her—it was awful. It was as if he enjoyed the bruise on her cheek.

“I—I was fifteen when we left,” she croaked. “You—you frightened me.” Whatever Mick had given her to knock her senseless still fogged her thoughts. She sounded like the girl who had cried helplessly after her cousin forced her to sit on his lap and touched her in a way that made her skin crawl. The girl who had frozen in shock after she threw her chamber pot at him and knew he would take his revenge. The old sense of being afraid and trapped washed over her.

It was a feeling that stole her strength. It paralyzed her. She remembered it from when she had first been in Madame’s brothel. She’d never before equated it with how she’d reacted to Sebastian’s attentions. Was this why she hadn’t been able to find the courage to escape Madame—because the old emotions she’d felt with Sebastian had taken control?

Memories she had pushed far back suddenly rushed out as if a dam had burst. Threats. When she was very little, Sebastian had threatened her. He’d destroyed her favorite doll to make her let him kiss her. He’d threatened to break another toy if she told. When Father died and Sebastian ruled their house, he’d threatened to hurt her mother, to send her mother away, if she didn’t let him touch her breasts. She had given in—to protect her mother. It happened only once, but after that he had come into her bedroom and climbed on top of her, and she’d felt … as if she’d given him encouragement by letting him touch her. Then Mama had taken her from the house.

Images swamped her like rushing water, threatening to drag her down into dark depths, into madness, just as Devon had feared his memories could do to him.

She understood what Devon had to endure when the battle memories took control of him. He’d confronted his worst nightmare when they’d rescued Thomas: the choice of having to hurt a child to save a life. If he could face that, she could face her fears now.

She forced courage into her voice. “What do you want?” Mick had said Sebastian wanted her to be his mistress, but to tie her up like this, he must have accepted she would never willingly let him into her bed. “Are—are you going to rape me?”

As though strolling in a park, Sebastian walked slowly around her. As his boots moved, she craned her head and tried to see. Her head felt less dazed, her eyes accustomed to the shadows. Where was she? Not in his house. The floor was rough plank, the walls had broken plaster, and a musty smell filled her lungs. This looked like an empty warehouse, but a moth-eaten mattress lay in one corner.

“Rape you?” His voice was harsh, mocking. The mere sound made her freeze—then she squirmed on the floor, so she wouldn’t become paralyzed. Something stabbed into her thumb. A splinter. The sharp prick of pain made her think … and gave her a spurt of hope. Sebastian couldn’t see what she did behind her back. She began to slowly stroke the twine binding her wrists against the splintered floorboard.

His boots came close to her face and she had to stop moving. She looked up, meeting her cousin’s cold blue eyes as he glared down at her. This was the first time in seven years that she’d seen Sebastian. Once he’d been handsome, with his muscular form, golden hair, bright blue eyes, charming smile. After she had seen the monster in him, though, that was all she could see.

Over the years, the monster appeared to be getting out. Muscle was turning to fat. His coat strained at his
waist. Lines creased his forehead, framed his mouth. His jaw had gone soft.

He crouched near her. A sneer distorted his face. “After all those men had you in that brothel? March may be willing to plow another man’s leavings, but I am not. How could you still be so lovely, Anne, after what you’ve become?”

He hated her. He had been the one to try to attack her, yet
he
hated her. It was … mad. Utterly mad.

Why had he brought her here and tied her up? For what purpose if he didn’t want her? She tried for reason. “You don’t want me, so let me go. You’ll never have to see me again.”

“I am sorry, Anne, but I cannot do that.” He turned and began to stride away.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

But he picked up the candle, and his boots slapped against creaking boards. She forced her body to roll so she could see him. Was he leaving her here to starve slowly? “Sebastian! This is madness. I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Nothing? You put me through hell, Anne Beddington—or should I say Annie Black, as they called you in that filthy brothel.
Annie
.” He shuddered with distaste over her name, for heaven’s sake. “I went to a great deal of trouble to find you. I had to search for years, combing through these disgusting slums. I had to negotiate with a whoring madam for you. I had to dirty my hands over you in so many ways, you little tart. Why would I let you go now, when I am so close to having exactly what I want?”

Dear God, he had admitted to her that he was going to buy her from Madame. But if he had killed Madame for her, why was he leaving her like this now? Was there no appeal she could make to a complete madman? “You could let me go because you are human.”

No response came, only the sound of his boots moving farther away. A door groaned on its hinges and the glow of light grew fainter. If he had killed a woman over her, he was
not
human. She should let him go. She would rely on herself.

The door slammed and she was plunged into blackness. Immediately, fears sprang to life. Buildings in the stews were filled with rats. She hated this, hated being blind. But Devon had survived being blind. He had learned to cope with it, and she had helped him do it. Surely she could keep her wits in her head and help herself now.

Groping with her fingers, Anne found the broken board again. This time, she sawed her bonds ferociously against it.

Faintly, over her panting breath, she heard glass break. She strained to listen, but as seconds ticked by she wondered if it had been her imagination. Then she did detect a sound—a strange roar. An acrid smell floated to her, one that seeped into her lungs and made her cough.

She’d lived in the country. She knew what happened in dry summers when lightning struck or a cooking fire got out of hand. She knew the smell, the sound. The building was on fire.

How? Why? She let her head fall back to the floor. For some mad reason, her breaths came even faster, as though she was eager to suck in smoke. She had to calm down. She couldn’t panic, but that was easy to say and very difficult to do.

Once, the stables at a nearby house to Longsworth had gone up on a hot August night. Flames had reached so high they seemed to lick at the moon. She would never forget how fast the fire had moved, how unstoppable it seemed, how viciously it consumed everything in its path.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Sebastian had done this.
He didn’t want to make her his mistress anymore; he wanted to burn her alive. Could he hate her so much? For the chamber pot and refusing to marry him? For ending up in a
brothel
?

Hysterical laughter bubbled up. Was her cousin really going to punish her—
murder
her—as retribution for her ending up in the place that had ruined her life and her future, that had almost stolen away all her hope and her strength? Her wits were all tangled up, but one emotion pounded above all others: She was
furious
. Did Sebastian think she’d happily chosen to go to Madame? Did he think she’d done it because she was wanton?

Who was he to pass judgment on her? She was
not
going to die in his trap. She was going to get out—then find him, denounce him to Bow Street, and watch him pay for every wicked thing he’d done.

Fury renewed strength, and she dragged the rope along the board. Her gloves shredded to pieces, and splinters ripped into her skin. Her shoulders screamed in pain. She pulled so hard along the board, she cut the back of her hand. Pain stung, but the rope broke. Thank heaven … but her wrists were so sore, her hands so numb, it took precious moments to unwind the rope.

The smell of smoke was growing stronger. There was a strange sound, like water rushing, but it must be flames eating up the wooden building. She tore at the knot binding her ankles. It was infuriatingly tight. She twisted a large splinter until it broke from the board, then she sawed frantically until the cord finally frayed and snapped.

Her legs wobbled as she stood. Her feet were numb from being bound. It was so dark, she couldn’t quite tell which way was up, and she almost lost her balance. She sucked in smoky air, coughing. The smell was so strong, the sounds so loud, the fire must be close.

Sebastian would have wanted to set it near her if he
wanted to kill her. The hallway beyond the door could be filled with flame. Oh, God. Was there another way out of the room? Windows? What had she seen in this room when there was light? There had been boards on the wall across from her—they
must
be boarded-up windows.

Which way were they now? She tentatively moved forward. She had to go faster, but it was so hard when she couldn’t see. How did Devon ever get used to this? His courage amazed her.

She ran forward blindly. She slammed into the wall and felt along until she reached the jagged edge of a board. Curling her fingers around it, she pulled, but the board was nailed in place. Feeling along the wall, she tried all the windows. Hope vanished. Each board held fast.

A dark void separated her from the door, but she thought of how confidently Devon had learned to move. She ran across the floor, made it safely to the other wall, and groped. At least Sebastian hadn’t locked the door. The knob wasn’t hot—that had to be a good sign. She tore it open and rushed out to a long corridor. Light spilled in at the end of the hall—it must mean there was an uncovered window. She ran in that direction.