Page 15 of After the Abduction

Uncle Lew eyed him suspiciously. “Mine? Why?”

“Since you’re the troublemaker who invited them to stay, you must make my excuses at dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. The less she sees of me, the less chance she’ll recognize me as her kidnapper.”

“Surely your absence will rouse her suspicions even more.”

“Remind her that I’m a recluse. Or say that talk of my brother dredged up my grief. Just keep Lady Juliet away from me until they leave.”

“Are you sure mere evasion will do the trick? Your pretty sprite seems rather determined to root you out.”

“She’s not my sprite!” Realizing that his uncle might read something into his strong protest, he modulated his tone. “She’s not my anything, I assure you. And though she puts up a brave front, it can easily be punctured.”

At least he hoped so. Though Juliet had been coddled and cosseted all her life, she’d shown quite a bit of spirit the night she’d discovered he was kidnapping her. Still, she’d always tended to acquiesce to her family’s opinions. “As long as her brother-in-law’s suspicions can be assuaged, she can probably be managed.”

Uncle Lew shook his head sadly. “You are a cold one. How can you talk of the poor girl’s feelings so callously? From what I gather, you hurt her rather badly.”

His uncle’s comment disturbed him, but he shoved it into the closet where he’d had to keep his conscience for the past few years to meet the demands of familial responsibility. “It isn’t callousness—it’s merely practicality. She’s young. She’ll get over her hurt feelings as time passes, and more quickly if she thinks Morgan’s dead.”

“You think so, do you?” Uncle Lew extracted a scented handkerchief from his coat and dabbed snuff from his prominent nose. “You made her care about you, then spurned her. My dear nephew, if you think she’ll stand by and let that pass, you lack a basic knowledge of the female sex.”

The memory of how she’d cared for him—once—left Sebastian feeling unsteady and out of breath, not a feeling he relished. Especially if his uncle was right, and all that caring had now turned into a burning desire for revenge. “I hope you’re wrong. Because if you’re not, we’re in for a long and arduous battle.”

Chapter 4

Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.

Homer’s Iliad, written on a design for a sampler by Juliet Laverick but never worked

An hour after dinner was over, Juliet approached Lord Templemore’s study. The door lay open and the room was dark.

I knew it! she thought. I knew his uncle was lying!

His lordship wasn’t “perusing the estate ledgers in his study.” That was a humbug. Nor was he the sort to retire early. No, he was elsewhere in the house, avoiding her.

That was why she’d pretended to retire when Griff and Rosalind had. Why she’d hunkered down under the bedclothes fully dressed to feign sleep when the maid had come in to undress her. And why she’d sneaked out of her room to come here.

She entered the study to confirm that it was empty. Not that his lordship’s absence or defection from dinner surprised her. He was avoiding her because he knew she didn’t believe one jot of that nonsense about his twin being her abductor. She’d thought about it all afternoon, picking away at the loose threads of his tale, exposing the gaps in the seams. She still hadn’t figured out the how and why of it, but one matter she was sure of—Lord Templemore was the one who’d kidnapped her.

Steps sounded in the corridor, startling her. Quickly, she ducked behind the door and held her breath as candlelight poked a finger of light into the dark room.

“Sebastian, are you in here?” came a voice so near she jerked. But it was only Mr. Pryce, who was also apparently looking for his lordship. Fortunately, he couldn’t see her.

“Off to your guns again, are you?” the older man muttered as he continued down the hall instead of returning the way he’d come.

She hesitated. She really shouldn’t follow men around strange houses, but she could hardly resist this opportunity to confront his lordship alone. Depending on how he responded to her suspicions, she might garner enough evidence to convince Griff to act.

Griff was being incredibly stubborn, insisting upon leaving in the morning. He’d heard her protests and her reasons for not believing Lord Templemore, then dismissed every one! She supposed she couldn’t blame him. If she hadn’t met Morgan herself, she’d have been skeptical, too.

But she had. And that changed everything.

The sound of Mr. Pryce’s steps climbing a stairway prodded her into hastening after him. Perhaps he could lead her to her nemesis.

Following him was easy enough. Years of walking softly to and from her father’s chamber during his illness had made her light of foot, and the years of penury they’d suffered before Rosalind’s marriage had taught her how to navigate poorly lit corridors.

Stealthy as moonlight, she edged up the staircase at a discreet distance, relying on Mr. Pryce’s stiff tread above as her guide. She froze when he reached the top. Then she slipped onto the landing below to wait breathlessly. Light shot into the hall from a door being opened.

“Still hiding yourself away up here, are you?” Mr. Pryce said as he walked inside.

Only then did she dare climb to the top. Heart pounding, she skirted the square of light and pressed into the shadows beyond to wait until Mr. Pryce came back out. She’d dearly love to eavesdrop on their conversation, but dared not venture nearer. Being caught would defeat her purpose.