was dragging her back from the edge of unconsciousness and making her aware of all the things that she did not like about her current situation.
There was plenty to dislike. For a start she was standing up, which accounted for the weak trembling of her legs, which protested that the most urgent thing for her to do right now was to lie down. Then there was the fact that her arms were by her side and tied tightly to something hard. Then there was the darkness. She could see nothing at all. She could feel, though. She knew that something-or someone-was pressed close against her and that there was a soft weight like a blanket draped over her head, adding to the general ache and preventing her from breathing deeply through its smothering folds.
‘Richard?’ she said cautiously.
‘Yes?’ His voice came softly out of the darkness, right by her ear. Deb realised that he was standing directly in front of her, his body pressed against hers.
‘Why do you not release us?’ Deb asked. ‘Are we to stand here in the dark all night?’
‘Very probably.’ There was a hint of rueful amusement in Richard’s voice now. ‘I cannot release us, Deb, because I am tied to this easel with you.’
‘The easel?’ Deb’s voice rose as the truth hit her. ‘You mean that someone has tied us up in the ballroom where the watercolour book was displayed? Of all the fiendish ideas-’
‘I am afraid so,’ Richard said. He sounded, Deb thought, remarkably calm. ‘You are tied to the front of the easel, Deb, and I am tied up facing you. I apologise that you are obliged to be in such close proximity to me, but I cannot move away.’
Deb shifted slightly as she began to assimilate the truth of their situation. It was as Richard said. She was standing with her hands tied behind her back, fastened to the easel. It appeared that their captors had made Richard face her and then tied him up directly in front of her so that his arms were about her and his body was pressing against hers. Deb gave a small, exploratory wiggle and almost immediately felt Richard go tense.
‘Please do not do that,’ he said politely. ‘It is not helping the situation.’ Deb went still.
‘Why have they done this to us?’ She whispered.
She felt Richard move slightly. The easel creaked again. ‘To make fools of us-humiliate us.’ His voice hardened. ‘The spies grow so arrogant that they want to show us they know we are after them. This is a statement-one that shows their mastery. They want to ridicule us and show us they are too clever for us.’
Deb let her breath out in a long sigh. ‘Then they do not intend to kill us.’
‘I doubt it. We are to be a laughing stock rather than a sacrifice. When Lady Sally’s guests come into the ballroom for the private view, the view they will see will be of us, tied up in this position. I have no doubt it will create a sensation, albeit not the one that Lady Sally intends!’
‘Lady Benedict,’ Deb whispered. ‘I am sure she must be behind this. I cannot believe it is Lady Sally, so Lily Benedict is the only other person it could be…’
‘This has all the hallmarks of her malice,’ Richard agreed.
‘Yet she was in the dining room when I left, as was Lady Sally and Sir John Norton. How could any of them be responsible for this?’ Deb rested her aching head back against the cool wooden upright. ‘It does not make sense!’
‘No, I agree. Once we are out of this damnable mess we must put an end to their games once and for all.’ His voice changed. ‘What were you up to, Deb, to be caught in this situation?’
Deb shifted irritably. ‘I smelled the same scent that was in the poetry book,’ she said, repressing a shiver of horror. ‘Camphor and fusty old clothes and illness. It is hard to explain. The smell was coming from one of the rooms, so I went in to see who, or what, was behind it-’
‘And promptly walked into a trap.’
Deb wriggled pettishly. ‘If it comes to that, how did they manage to trap you? You are supposed to be good at this sort of thing.’
She heard Richard give an equally irritable sigh. His breath stirred her hair. ‘I had other matters on my mind,’ he said, with commendable restraint. ‘A servant brought a message to me, Deborah, purporting to be from you. He said that you wished to speak with me as a matter of urgency and I was to meet you in the library. Naturally I thought-’ He broke off with a shrug and the easel creaked in protest.
‘You came because you wanted to speak with me,’ Deb repeated softly. Despite the extremity of the situation she suddenly felt a lot warmer.
‘And got knocked on the head for my pains,’ Richard confirmed bitterly. ‘I cannot believe that I fell for the oldest trick in the book. I suppose this is the nadir of my career as a spy catcher. I had best resign.’
‘If you do, you will have to find another purpose in life,’ Deb said.
‘Very true.’ There was an odd note to Richard’s voice now. His hand reached for hers again, caught it and held it. ‘Could you give me that purpose?’ he asked.
Deb had nothing to go on but his voice and the touch of his body against hers. The first was steady but the second conveyed something sweet. All thoughts of the Midwinter spies fled as more important matters caught her attention. Hope trapped her and held her silent, somewhere between apprehension and desire.
‘Listen to me, Deb,’ Richard said abruptly. ‘We do not have much time before they come to unveil the private view. I know I have gone about this all the wrong way. I know I have misled you and that it appears I gave no significance to your wishes, and I can plead no excuse other than that I love you desperately and have wanted to marry you for a very long time-’
‘From the first?’ Deb said, in a small voice.
She heard the smile in his words then. ‘No. From the first I wanted to make love to you. I was a rake then, as you know.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I realise that my past indiscretions are likely to lose me the one woman that I want to marry. I understand that you would find it difficult to trust me, both because of your own experiences and because of my past behaviour. It is the ultimate irony of a rake’s life, I suppose. All I can tell you is that if you choose to marry me of your own free will I should be the happiest man alive and I would never betray you.’
His words fell into the silence. Deb swallowed hard. He had been open and honest with her and had offered her all that she wanted, but there was something she had to tell him…
She took a deep breath. ‘Richard…’ Her voice trembled, then strengthened. ‘Thank you for what you have said. There is something that you should know, however. I have not been entirely honest with you.’
There was a different quality to the silence now. It felt alive, waiting, trembling on the edge. Deb’s nerve almost deserted her. She knew she had to finish this quickly.
‘I was never married to Neil Stratton,’ she said, in a rush. ‘I did not know that he was already married when I eloped with him. He never told me. It was only after he died that I discovered he already had a wife and child.’ Her voice faltered. ‘By then, of course, Neil had seduced me and I was already ruined.’ She shook. She could not help herself. ‘We contrived a pretence, Ross and Olivia and I. I was to live here quietly in Midwinter and pretend to be the respectable widow that I was not.’ Her voice rose a little. ‘No one knew. Ross has paid to support Neil’s real wife and child ever since-poor girl, she never meant to cause trouble, but her very existence spelt my ruin. I am sorry. I was so very stupid. I should not have trusted Neil-God help me, I thought it was exciting to be courted in secret and to run away to Gretna! I was so foolish and so impetuous and rash-’ She broke off as Richard’s lips brushed her cheek very softly.
‘Deb,’ he said.
‘I am sorry,’ Deb said again, wretchedly. ‘I have been so afraid all the time and I tried so hard not to do foolish things, but sometimes I cannot seem to suppress them.’
‘Did you think that spending the night with me was a foolish thing and to be regretted?’ Richard asked.
Deb shook her head and unconsciously strained a little closer to the comfort of his body. ‘No. It was a wonderful thing! But I never meant to fall in love with you, Richard, and I certainly never intended to marry, for I was so afraid of trusting again and being hurt and losing my self-respect. And I was afraid that when you knew you would have no good opinion of me-’
‘Deb,’ Richard said again. His voice was hard with suppressed anger and Deb shuddered to hear it, though she could not be sure whether it was turned against her or against Neil Stratton. And when Richard spoke again he had moderated his tone, though she could still hear the violence underneath.
‘Do you think,’ he said, ‘that I give a damn about whether or not you were truly married to Neil Stratton? If you
