But while he had her here, why shouldn't he enjoy her anyway – make the scandal a true one? His tongue darted, moistening his lips. Stoneridge wouldn't be able to retaliate, not when Gerard held his written confession of cowardice over his head. But the Countess of Stoneridge wouldn't tell her husband what had occurred anyway. No woman, even one as foolhardy as this one, would voluntarily admit to her husband that she'd had carnal knowledge of another man, even if it was coerced. It would give any man a disgust of his wife.
He stood at the foot of the cot, looking up her body.
Come closer. For pity's sake come closer. The chant went round and around in Theo's head. If she weren't hampered by the chain, she could use her legs, but she daren't risk missing the only chance she would have.
She shifted slightly on the rough ticking, moving one leg restlessly so that her thighs were slightly parted.
She heard Gerard's breathing grow heavier. Then she sensed the warmth of his flesh. It was as if every pore and cell of her skin was acutely sensitized. She could feel rather than see the shadow of his body behind her closed eyelids. Wait. Wait.
Then she knew he was close enough. Her fingers went for his eyes as she lunged forward in one smooth movement. Gerard screamed, falling back on the bed, fingers blindly worrying at his eyes, and Theo swung her body up and over him bringing the slack of the chain across his throat as she maneuvered herself onto her feet at the foot of the bed.
The sounds of violent banging filled the narrow house. Feet thudded. Gerard lay half-strangled by the weight of the chain across his Adam's apple, one hand still covering his eyes that miraculously remained in their sockets.
Theo was breathing heavily, her face damp with perspiration, but exhilaration surged through her veins. She listened to the commotion and guessed it was Edward. Not alone, of course. Which meant Stoneridge, who would discover that she'd rescued herself. Or at least partially. Whether that would count in her favor remained to be seen. Her grand scheme lay in ruins, bungled by her own incompetence and impulsiveness. Stoneridge was entitled to take what reprisals he chose.
"Give me the key," she demanded, jerking her leg so the chain tightened.
Gerard gasped, choked, scrabbled wildly at his coat, trying to find the inside pocket. A pistol shot cracked from downstairs and someone cried out, a shrill, high-pitched screech.
"Hurry," she said coldly, contempt mingling with the icy rage in her eyes. "Or I'll begin to take a little walk around this pretty chamber. I certainly owe you some grief… although I doubt you're worth the effort."
His fingers closed over the key and he dragged it forth, waving it at her.
"Thank you." Theo took the key, then reflected that when her husband found her, she was going to need all the help she could get, and she presented a very arresting picture with her captor held by the chain in this way, immobilized for whatever Sylvester might decide to do with him. "Perhaps I won't use it just yet." She folded her arms and faced the door as it burst open.
Sylvester took in the scene in one swift glance. Sweet relief seeped through his pores. Whatever they'd done to Theo, she was none the worse for wear. A glint of laughter appeared in his gray eyes as Theo put her head on one side in her habitual unspoken challenge, although he could detect a slightly apprehensive question mark in her gaze.
"Well, well, my dear," he drawled. "It seems you had no need of knights errant after all."
"I haven't exactly managed to get out of the house," Theo pointed out, anxious he shouldn't feel his efforts were unappreciated. Matters were tricky enough as it was.
"No, but perhaps you haven't had sufficient time," he said smoothly. "I can't imagine another reason."
Edward's chortle turned into a violent coughing fit.
"How did he hurt you?" Sylvester asked, and there was no amused drawl in his voice now.
Theo gingerly touched the back of her head. "Somebody hit me… but it wasn't that slimy piece of flotsam."
Sylvester nodded. "I'll still add it to the account. Secure the door, would you, Edward? I have some business to conclude, and I would hate to be interrupted."
He snapped his fingers for the key to the chain, and Theo handed it over. She wasn't at all sure how to read her husband in this mood. There was something infinitely dangerous about him, but she didn't feel threatened herself. Wisdom, however, dictated a course of passive compliance for the next minutes.
Edward bolted the door and stood with his back to it, the sword stick held lightly in his hand. There was blood on its tip, Theo noticed absently as the key turned in the shackle and her ankle was released.
Sylvester took the freed end of the chain and jerked it.
"Time for a little chat, Gerard," he observed pleasantly. "Edward, would you take note of everything that is said in this room?"
"That was my plan," Theo said, forgetting her resolution of a minute ago in this opportunity to salvage something of her grand design. "It's a good one, I believe."
"I'll deal with you later, gypsy. If you wish to minimize what's coming your way, you'll hold your tongue."
That was rather more along expected lines, but Sylvester never called her gypsy when he was truly displeased. Thoughtfully, Theo went to stand beside Edward, who grinned at her, his eyes glowing with jubilation. "I haven't lost my touch," he whispered against her ear, indicating the bloody sword stick.
"You were always a superb fencer," she said, smiling, kissing his cheek by way of congratulation. "Did you kill him?"
Edward shook his head. "No, merely pinked him, but it certainly stopped him in his tracks. He was wielding an ugly-looking cudgel."
"Let us return to Vimiera, Gerard," Sylvester was saying. He wrapped the chain round his wrist and moved behind the bed. "There's something I believe you want to tell me."
There was silence from the bed. "Come, now," Sylvester said softly. "You're not going to make this any harder on yourself than you must. I know you too well, Gerard. What was it?" The chain jerked again.
Gerard's voice rasped from the cot. "You were outnumbered."
"As we'd been all day." All expression left Sylvester's voice now, and he seemed no longer aware of either of his listeners. He was standing in a dank, ill-lit chamber off Ludgate Hill, but in memory he was back on a scorched plain, looking into the Portuguese sunset and the ever-advancing line of the enemy.
The line of French was coming up at them. His men were firing into the sunset. Sergeant Henley's face hung in his internal vision. He was saying something urgently. Telling him something he'd been expecting. They had two rounds of ammunition left. They could maybe beat off this attack, but after that they would be helpless.
Where the hell was Gerard? He was looking across the flat plain ringed by hills. A slice of blue sea peeped between two of the lower hills. Behind him was the bridge that he had to hold. Gerard would bring his reinforcements over that bridge.
Sylvester stared at the gibbering, craven wretch on the bed, but he barely saw him. His mind was racing across the red-tinged barren landscape of a Portuguese plain. Memories crowded in now – faces, snatches of conversation, the frustration and helplessness as he faced the prospect of losing now, after a long day of battling the odds, buoyed by the certainty of support hurrying to their aid. Now they were going to be defeated, and the lives of the boys lying on the scratchy earth round him had been expended in vain.
The void of amnesia was filling rapidly, like an empty bucket in a rainstorm. The face of the young ensign who'd been acting lookout in the topmost branches of a spindly tree appeared before him. The lad's eyes were wild, and he was out of breath after his mad dash from his post. He could barely speak as he brought forth his unbelievable message: Redcoats had appeared on the high ground beyond the bridge. He'd seen the sunlight flash off a glass as someone had surveyed the battleground before them. Then they'd disappeared.