Free Ransomed Jewels by Laura Landon Page B

attending every ball of the Season in celebration?”
    “No. But it wouldn’t be unseemly for close friends to call to share your loss. Or for you to attend a small, informal dinner with family after four months have passed. There isn’t even mention of that. And the silver tray on the hall table is overflowing with cards and condolences that haven’t been answered, my lady. Why is that?”
    “I’ve been busy.”
    “Busy doing what?”
    “That is hardly your concern, Major.”
    He turned to face her. “In your delirium you told Alex you were sorry.”
    Her heart fluttered. “Did I?”
    “Yes.” He stepped toward the bed until he towered over her. “What are you sorry for, Lady Huntingdon?”
    Perspiration beaded on her forehead, and she willed herself to keep from wiping it away. She hated the way he interrogated her. Hated the scowl that deepened on his face when he talked to her, made even more obvious by the intensity in his voice and manners.
    “For what do you have reason to be sorry, my lady?”
    She swallowed hard and gasped for air. “I don’t know. It must have been for some prank I played on Alex when we were children. Otherwise, I can’t imagine what it might be.”
    “If you and your brother are as close as you indicate, don’t you find it strange he hasn’t been to see you yet? It’s been more than a week already.”
    “He must be gone.”
    “Do you think so? He did not take his valet with him. Don’t you find that strange?”
    Claire clenched her trembling hands and she shook her head. “Perhaps he—”
    “Nor did he take as much as a change of clothes. How would you explain that, Lady Huntingdon?”
    Claire grabbed handfuls of soft covers in her fists and squeezed. “How should I know? Please. Leave me be.”
    She fought to keep the fear and terror at bay, but failed with every breath. Alex was suffering by the hour while she lay pampered and cosseted in her bed. And she was running out of time before Roseneau threatened to kill him.
    She gasped for air as the room closed in around her. She needed to escape. Was frantic to get away from here. From him.
    She threw off the covers and tried to sit upright. She slapped his hands away when he tried to hold her down.
    When he refused to release her, she did the only thing possible . . .
    She screamed.

Chapter 8
    “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, releasing her, then stepping away.
    Claire sat on the edge of the bed. Then stood. She lost her balance. He grasped her arms when she staggered, then lowered her to the bed.
    For a moment, the room spun in dizzying circles. She fisted her hands to the mattress on either side of her and held on tight.
    “I need to get up.”
    “You’re not strong enough yet. You need to stay in—”
    She shrugged off his hands and struggled to her feet, leaving him no choice but to help her—or watch her fall. He wrapped his right arm around her waist to steady her and reached his left in front of her to take her hand.
    “Where do you intend to go?”
    “I don’t know,” she gasped, making her way to the door. “Out of this room. Downstairs.”
    “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
    She ignored his argument and walked out into the hallway and toward the stairs. Tilly, the third-floor maid, came out of one of the rooms as the major picked Claire up to carry her to the first floor. The servant’s eyes opened wide and she drew her hand over her open mouth to stifle a gasp.
    “Your mistress needs a robe and some slippers,” he ordered. “Bring them down at once.”
    “Yes, Major.”
    “Where do you want to go?” he asked when they reached the first floor. “The sitting room? The morning room? The blue salon?”
    “The sitting room.”
    “Very well.”
    It struck her that he didn’t ask directions; that he was familiar enough with her town house to know which room was the sitting room.
    He walked down the long hallway, past the morning room facing east and the drawing room facing