Page 44 of Bargaining with the Devil

“I’d gag you, but there seems little point. There’s no one here but the gulls to hear you scream. I’ve had plans for you ever since I discovered you lived near here. I hardly expected you to fall so easily into my hands today, in such a remote location. Quite the unexpected boon. It makes things easier, for certain. Cleaner. Tidier.”

She stared him down, working to keep fear from her face. With luck, revulsion hid it.

“Whatever are you doing on Heston Isle all alone?” he mused.

Alone. He thought she was alone. No one had seen Quinn follow her across the shingle as the storm blew up and night fell, or if they had, Lymington hadn’t yet heard about it.

Quinn will find me. He will. She must believe that. When she didn’t return, he would come looking for her. If Quinn could find her, if he caught Lymington . . .

If she could get Lymington talking right now, get him to reveal his intentions, she’d be less helpless. And she’d look for an opening to fight back. Whatever he had in store for her, she would resist whenever possible. And she might buy time for Quinn.

I do have a chance. “Where are you taking me? And what do you mean to do with me?”

He laughed, and she immediately shivered in revulsion. His voice was similar to his brother’s, but when he laughed, they might have been the same man. She’d had that cruel laugh echoing in her mind for two and a half years.

“Curious little bird, aren’t you?”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t wish to go blind to my fate,” she said with as much spirit as she could muster.

“Feisty too. It’s a wonder my brother didn’t keep you for himself. He always most enjoyed the women who fought back.”

Her stomach heaved. Was that true? Had what she’d gone through been a kinder fate than what might have been? At the time she’d thought the worst fate she could suffer was being penniless and friendless on the wharves in Boulogne. Although what followed—what Compton made her do and what he’d done to her—had her second-guessing her worst fate. But by then it was done.

She hadn’t fought Compton, too worn down, heartsore and numb. Everything else on the ship to Boulogne and during the early days in France had unfolded around her; she wasn’t part of them any longer. Her physical self was present, but the rest of her was not.

She’d had the slightest taste of Compton’s private use for a woman. It had been more than enough, and she’d lived with the shame of that ever since. And she’d been reminded of it every time he looked her way afterwards. Every time she was forced into his company on Cuvelier’s arm.

Lymington studied her. Looking for a reaction, probably. Whatever response he hoped for from her, she wouldn’t give it. She said nothing.

“Of course, had you been one of my brother’s playthings years ago, you wouldn’t find yourself in this current predicament. You would by now be dead. They all died eventually.”

Perhaps that would have been a blessing. More than once she’d had the thought that it would have been better had she thrown herself overboard in the English Channel rather than clinging to survival.

Except that later, when she’d come back to herself somewhat, she’d realized she wasn’t ready to give up so easily. She was without friends or resources in France, but it wouldn’t always be that way. She’d clung to that belief, and she’d catalogued every scrap of information she heard.

And when the opportunity to use that information came to harm Compton and the others, she’d done so without hesitation or regret.

“I tire of this.” Lymington’s faux-bored sigh was bone-chilling. “I believe we will proceed with this little adventure.” He jerked her forward by her bound wrists. “I have a particular cave in mind that is just begging for your presence.”

Was there any way to leave a trail for Quinn? She had no idea just how many caves were on this side of Heston, but surely not so many that Quinn would be unable to find her given enough time? If Lymington had no one else with him who’d catch Quinn unawares as he had her?

Perhaps if she scuffed her feet under the pretense of stumbling, she could disturb the ground and leave some semblance of a trail. It wouldn’t be obvious with the shingle wet and newly rearranged by the last outgoing tide, but there was little else she could do to leave signs. She would try. She would not give up. And this time she would fight with whatever means she had.

Chapter 15

She tried. And failed.

She wasn’t strong enough to prevent Lymington from securing her to a boulder, not with her hands already bound. Not with the height difference between them.

The cave was small, open to the sea, and the sand within it was very damp. Even if Lymington left her here alive tied to the boulder, she feared what that damp sand meant: the tide due to come back in.

Quinn would find her soon. He must. He would.

After tying her securely, Lymington backed up nearly to the entrance of the cave, some ten or twelve yards from her.

Quinn will find me. He will.

She needed Lymington to remain verbally engaged. He was more talkative than his brother had been. She could try to—no, would—use that to her advantage. She needed every edge she could gain.