Chapter Thirty-Two

Theo had hoped to have a chance to escape that night, but when Sir Montague accompanied her to her room and, unchivalrously, locked the door, she swiftly saw there was little chance for escape. Her room was devoid of weapons and the only thing outside her window was the ground, two storeys down. Even the fireplace was small and narrow, and there was no way of climbing up.

And , she thought ruefully, being trapped on the roof overnight was hardly an improvement on her situation.

Mrs Clayton had been surprised to find Theo had no luggage, but Sir Montague had explained that away with tales of ill maids and unfortunate accidents, which explained the injury on his leg. Blinded by trust, Mrs Clayton had accepted his word, provided Sir Montague with bandages and hot water, and offered Theo a nightgown that swallowed her whole. The next morning, she would be obliged to wear the same dress she had arrived in, creased and crumpled.

Still, after a night of tossing and turning and planning, she had a plan .

If she was lucky, which given her track record seemed unlikely, Sir Montague would be in so much pain he would remain in his room. If he was not, however, she would have to rob him of the ability to hold her captive.

And to do that, she would need his gun.

When she descended, finding her door unlocked once more, it was early enough that breakfast had not yet been made. However, it was not so early that she did not encounter Sir Montague, something she should have predicted from the moment she found her door unlocked. He limped to greet her as she entered the library where he sat, a little too far from collapse for her liking. A pity.

"Duchess," he said with his usual sardonic smile. "You rose early."

Theo looked up into his face and tried to remember the days when she had believed him her every romantic ideal. If she was going to be convincing, she needed him to believe she had a fondness for him.

As she held his gaze, a frown touched his brows and the rather hard expression in his eyes melted into cautious confusion. He had offered her marriage, and she believed him. All she would have to do was use that affection for her against him.

At the thought, her stomach twisted.

"I wanted to know what would happen next," she whispered, still looking up at him. "With you and Nathanial."

"He must be gratified to know he has inspired such dedication in his wife."

She licked her lips and his gaze darted down to the movement. Suddenly, the room felt too tight and they felt too large in it. Sucking in a large breath, she stepped back, only to find a shelf preventing her from moving away.

Sir Montague didn't move, watching her with mingled suspicion and hope .

"I like a title," she said, and swallowed. "And he has been kind to me."

Her heart was thudding so loudly she felt sure he should be able to hear it. And when his eyes narrowed, she knew she had gone too far; she had been too suggestive when she should have been subtle. Would he use her dagger on her? Or perhaps the pistol she was attempting to steal?

Her fingers trembled.

He took a step forward. "What game are you playing, little mouse?" he murmured, leaning closer. His gaze dropped to her mouth again, but this time, the glance was deliberate; a warning about his intentions. She stiffened. "I warn you, you might not like the rules."

Her heart stuttered before picking up at twice the rate, tapping staccato against her teeth. He was so close now, and from the way his pupils bloomed in his eyes, he was just as aware of their proximity. She reached up and placed both hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded under the material.

She had thought, given his presumably extensive experience in this area, he would be suave. But he seemed as taken aback by her gesture as she was nervous, and he hesitated as she flattened her palms against him.

In order to get his pistol, she would have to reach down into his pocket, but there was no chance she could do so without him noticing.

Which meant she would have to distract him in other ways.

Seducing one's husband was one thing; seducing one's kidnapper was entirely another.

"What do you want, Theo?" Sir Montague asked, his voice low and rough.

She stepped even closer, until a mere inch separated their bodies. It felt natural now for her hands to slide down his sides to his waist, and his gaze didn't flicker.

Almost there .

His lips parted slightly, and she knew he would try to kiss her momentarily—and no doubt would presume her amenable, given their current position.

Her hand slid down even lower, almost brushing his pocket.

"If you become Duke," she whispered, "will you make me your Duchess?"

His gaze didn't stray from hers. "Yes."

Something about the unhesitating way he said that made her chest hurt, but she slid her hand into his pocket. The pistol was cool against the palm of her hand, and she gripped it as his breath shuddered and her mouth came within brushing distance of his.

"Theo," he said again, then seemed to realise what she was doing. He cursed and jerked back, but he was too late. She held the gun. Rage and betrayal flickered in his dark eyes as she levelled it at him.

"I do not need a man to save me," she said, her voice quiet but clear. Her finger curled around the trigger and she prayed it was loaded, because she had no way of knowing otherwise. The way his gaze flickered to the pistol then to her face, and the way he came no closer, suggested it was.

Good.

"So it seems," he said dryly, but there was an undercurrent of anger to his voice that scared her. He swept into a mocking bow. "My congratulations, little mouse. I have been outplayed."

If only it were that easy. Despite his words, bitterness suffused his words, and any hint of ardour was gone. Cruelty and anger fought for dominance in his expression, and she tightened her hold on her gun.

"Come any closer and I'll shoot," she said, hoping it was true. "I won't have you harming Nathanial any more than you already have."

"I was not the one who pulled the trigger. "

"You ordered the shot to be taken."

"Did you know he came to see me after you were taken ill? He accused me of having harmed you and told me you were dead. For sport, one presumes." His lip curled. "If I did not already want his title, I would have wanted him dead for that alone."

"For a few minutes of fear?"

"I have always had a damnable temper." He did not phrase it as though he thought a temper was any bad thing. "And when I think he took you from me without even availing himself of a husband's right? You must have been deceived indeed."

When I'm better, I will show you just how difficult waiting has been .

Sir Montague gave a short, sharp laugh. "What excuse has he given you? Do you believe he loves you? Poor, sweet child."

Theo jerked back, colliding with the bookshelf behind her. She didn't think Nathanial loved her, precisely, because the word ‘love' encompassed so much—more than she could ever deserve. But she did believe he was fond of her.

No, he was fond of her.

"If you don't believe he loves me," she said, sucking in a deep breath, "why did you kidnap me?"

"Because a man always seeks to protect what's his, little mouse." He advanced closer, closer, until he was close enough to touch her, reaching out and brushing back a curl. "Even when she isn't any longer."

She jabbed the pistol against his stomach, her shaking hands unable to raise the pistol any higher. "I'll shoot."

His hand fastened over hers, squeezing her fingers until they hurt. The anger in his eyes swamped any fondness that had once been there. Her little trick must have hurt him more than she had supposed.

"No you won't," he said, and his voice was mocking. "Do you know how I know, my sweet thing?" He leant in even closer, until his breath skimmed her cheek. "Because you have excellent moral fibre, just like your husband, and that will be your undoing."

Moral fibre? Theo wanted to snort, but instead, she did the only thing left to her.

She pulled the trigger.