What Happens in London

“You will be quiet?”

She nodded. She needed him to remove the gag. Maybe if she could speak with him, she could convince him that this was all a mistake.

“Do not try anything heroic,” he warned her, although his eyes were somewhat amused, as if he could not imagine her startling him in any way.

She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes earnest. They were her only means of communication until he removed the gag.

He leaned forward, reaching out his arms, then he stopped, drawing back. “I think the tea is done,” he said. “We wouldn’t want it to over…how do you say it?”

He was Russian. With that one phrase-How do you say it?-Olivia was finally able to recognize his accent and determine his nationality. He sounded exactly like Prince Alexei.

“Silly me,” the man said, pouring out two cups of tea. “You cannot say anything.” Finally, he moved to her side and removed the gag.

Olivia coughed, and it took her several moments before her mouth was moistened enough to speak, but when she did, she looked directly at her captor and said, “Oversteep.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The tea. You didn’t want it to oversteep.”

“Oversteep.” He repeated the word, appearing to test it out on his tongue and in his mind. He made an expression of approval, then handed her a cup.

She grimaced and gave a little shrug. How did he think she would hold it? Her hands were still tied behind her back.

He smiled, but it wasn’t a cruel smile. It wasn’t even condescending. It was almost…rueful.

Which gave Olivia hope. Not much, but some.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust you enough to untie your hands,” he said.

“I promise I won’t-”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lady Olivia.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Oh, I do not think you realize you make false promises, but you will see something you think is an opportunity, and you will be unable to pass it by, and then you will do something foolish, and I will have to hurt you.”

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