Julia Quinn - What Happens in London

It was an effective way to end the discussion.

“I thought you would come to see my opinion,” he said. “Here, do you trust me enough to allow me to hold your cup?”

She shook her head slowly.

He laughed. “A smart woman. The very best kind. I do not have patience for stupidity.”

“Someone I very much respect told me never to trust a man who tells me to trust him,” Olivia said quietly.

Her captor chuckled some more. “That person-is it a man?”

Olivia nodded.

“He is a good friend.”

“I know.”

“Here.” He brought the cup to her lips. “You have no choice but to trust me in this occasion.”

She took a sip. She didn’t really have a choice, and her throat was dry.

He set the cup down and picked up his own. “They were poured from the same pot,” he said, taking a sip. When he was finished he added, “Not that you should trust me.”

She raised her eyes to meet his and said, “I have no connection to Prince Alexei.”

One corner of his mouth tilted up. “Do you think I am foolish, Lady Olivia?”

She shook her head. “He was courting me, it is true. But he is not any longer.”

Her captor leaned forward a few inches. “You disappeared for nearly an hour this evening, Lady Olivia.”

Her lips parted. She could feel herself blush and prayed that he could not see it in the darkness.

“So did Prince Alexei.”

“He was not with me,” she said quickly.

The gray-haired man took a leisurely sip of his tea. “I do not know how to say this without insulting you,” he murmured, “but you smell like…how do you say it?”

Olivia had a feeling he knew exactly how to say it. And as mortifying as it was, she had no choice but to say, “I was with a man. A different man. Not Prince Alexei.”

This caught his interest. “Really?”

She nodded once, curtly, so as to show him that she did not intend to elaborate.

“Does the prince know?”

“It’s not any of his business.”

He took another sip of tea. “Would he disagree with you about that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Would Prince Alexei think that it was his business? Would he be angry?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia said, trying to be honest. “He has not called upon me for over a week.”

“A week is not such a very long time.”

“He is acquainted with the other gentleman, and I believe he is aware of my feelings for him.”

Her captor sat back, assessing this new information.

“May I have some more tea?” Olivia asked. Because it was good. And she was thirsty.

“Of course,” he murmured, holding forth her cup again.

“Do you believe me?” Olivia asked, once she was done with her drink.

He spoke slowly. “I do not know.”

She waited for him to ask her Harry’s identity, but he did not, which she found curious.

“What will you do with me?” she said quietly, praying she wasn’t a fool for asking.

He had been looking at a spot over her shoulder, but his gaze shifted swiftly back to her face. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“We will see if Prince Alexei still values you. I don’t think we will tell him of your indiscretions. Just in case he still hopes to make you his wife.”

“I don’t think he-”

“Don’t interrupt, Lady Olivia,” he said, his voice holding just enough warning to remind her that he was not her friend, and this was no ordinary tea party.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“If he still desires you, it is in your best interests that he thinks you are a virgin. Do you not agree?”

Olivia held still until it became apparent that this was not a hypothetical question. Finally, she gave a single nod.

“After he pays to get you back”-he gave a fatalistic sort of shrug-“then you can sort it out as you wish. It will be of no interest to me.” He watched her with silent intensity for several moments, then said, “Here, take one more sip of tea before I cover your mouth again.”

“Must you?”

“I am afraid I must. You are far more clever than I had imagined. I cannot leave any weapons at your disposal, including your voice.”

Olivia took her final sip of tea, and then closed her eyes as her captor reaffixed the gag. When he was done, she lay back down, staring stonily at the ceiling.

“I would recommend that you take a rest, Lady Olivia,” he said from the doorway. “It is the only good use of your time here.”

Olivia did not bother to look at him. Surely he did not expect a reply, even one made with only her eyes.

He made no more comment as he shut the door. Olivia listened to the clicks of the two locks, and then finally, for the first time during her ordeal, she wanted to cry. Not to struggle, not to rage, just to cry.

She felt the tears, silent and hot, slide along each temple, down to the pillow below. She couldn’t wipe her face. Somehow that seemed the worst sort of indignity.

What was she supposed to do now? Lie here and wait? Rest , as her captor had suggested? It was impossible; the inaction was killing her.

Harry must have noticed that she was gone by now. Even if she had only been unconscious for a few minutes, he would have had to have noticed. She’d been locked in this room for at least an hour.

But would he know what to do? He had been a soldier, it was true, but this was no battlefield, with clear, well-labeled enemies. And if she was still in the ambassador’s residence, how would he question anyone? More than half of the servants spoke only Russian. Harry could say please and thank you in Portuguese, but that wasn’t going to get him far.

She was going to have to save herself, or at the very least, do her best to make it easy for someone else to save her.

She swung her legs off the bed and sat up, placing her moment of pity firmly behind her. She couldn’t sit here and do nothing.

Perhaps there was something she could do about her bindings. They were firmly tied, but not so tight as to dig into her skin. Maybe she could reach her ankles with her hands. It would be awkward, since she’d have to bend backwards, but it was worth a try.

She lay on her side and curled her legs up behind her, reaching back…back…

There. She had it. It wasn’t rope but rather a strip of fabric, tied in an extremely tight knot. She groaned. It was the sort of thing she’d more likely cut through than attempt to work open.

She’d never had patience for this sort of thing. It went with the embroidery she hated, and the lessons she’d skipped…

If she could get this knot undone, she’d learn French. No, she’d learn Russian! That would be even more difficult.

If she could get it undone, she’d finish Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron . She’d even find the one about the mysterious colonel and read that one, too.

She’d write more letters, and not just to Miranda. She’d deliver charity boxes, not just pack them. She would bloody well complete everything she started.

Everything.

And there was no way she was going to fall in love with Sir Harry Valentine and not marry him.

No way at all.

H arry sat in silence while Alexei downed his second shot of vodka. He said nothing when he took his third, or even his fourth, which was actually the one he’d originally poured for Harry. But when the prince reached for the bottle for his fifth shot-

“Don’t,” Harry snapped.

Alexei looked at him with surprise. “I beg your pardon.”

“Do not take another drink.”

Now the prince appeared merely confused. “You are telling me not to drink?”

One of Harry’s hands clenched into a fist, hard and tense. “I am telling you that if we need your assistance in finding Olivia, I don’t want you stumbling and puking down the hallway.”