He stood and crossed to her, offering his hand to help her rise.
Helen closed her eyes, trying to beat down panic. He sounded so reasonable, so sure that he’d get exactly what he wanted. And why shouldn’t he? Lister was a duke. He had gotten everything he’d ever wanted in his life. But not her.
Not her.
She opened her eyes and stared at him, this man she’d loved so long ago, this man who was the father of her children. She placed her hand in his and rose to stand before him. “I’m not coming back.”
His eyes became hard and opaque, and his fingers tightened into a vise around her hand. “Now, don’t be foolish, Helen. You’ve already put me out. I don’t think you’d like to enrage me.”
She caught her breath at the implied threat, twisting her hand, trying to free herself. He let her struggle for a moment more and then abruptly let her go. He stood smiling. She stared at him, wondering if she truly knew him at all. Helen turned and walked from his sitting room and his house. She almost ran down the front steps and into the waiting sedan chair. Once enclosed in the small space, she allowed herself to shake. Dear God, could she do it? If returning to Lister was the only way to get Abigail and Jamie back, could she stand firm against him? No. She already knew in her heart. No.
If she had to choose between her pride and her children, she would concede her pride.
“MAMA,” ABIGAIL WHISPERED.
She stood in the duke’s house, in the old nursery, and watched as far below a lady who looked very much like her mama ran down the steps and entered a sedan chair. The men lifted the chair and trotted down the street and around a corner.
Abigail still stared out the window, though.
Maybe the lady hadn’t been Mama. It was very hard to tell from way up here, and there were bars that prevented her from getting very close to the window, but she hoped it was Mama. Oh, how she hoped!
She turned reluctantly from the window. The duke had brought them to his house, because his real family was away in the country. He’d stuck them up here in the hot old nursery and made Mr. Wiggins and a maid watch over them. The maid was better than Mr. Wiggins, because she mostly sat in the corner looking bored. Mr. Wiggins often looked bored when he watched them, too, but he also teased them. He’d already worked Jamie up into a screaming fit today.
Now Mr. Wiggins had left and the maid nodded off in the corner. Jamie had fallen asleep after his fit. Again. He was sleeping an awful lot, and when he was awake, he was sad. Not even the huge set of tin soldiers interested him. At night Abigail had heard him call Mama’s name, and she didn’t know what to do. Should she try to run away with Jamie? But then where would they go? And if—
The door to the nursery opened, and the duke came in. The maid lurched to her feet in the corner and bobbed a curtsy. The duke ignored her.
He looked at Abigail. “I’ve come to check on your welfare, my dear.”
Abigail nodded. She didn’t know what else to do. She’d hardly spoken to the duke since he’d brought them from Scotland. He’d never hit her or Jamie, but something about him made her very nervous.
He frowned a little, not an angry frown, but one that seemed to mean he was irritated. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
“The Duke of Lister.” Abigail remembered the curtsy she should’ve dropped when he entered.
“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand impatiently. “I meant who I am to you. You know how I am related to you, don’t you?”
“You’re my father,” Abigail whispered.
“Very good.” The duke flicked a smile at her. “You’re a bright little poppet, aren’t you?”
Abigail didn’t know what to say to that, so she was silent.
The duke strolled to a shelf where dolls sat in a row. “Yes, I am your father. I’ve provided for you all your life. Fed you. Clothed you. Gave your mother a house in which you could sleep at night.” He picked up a doll and turned it over, stared at it, then replaced it on the shelf. “You liked the house where you lived with your mother, didn’t you?”
He turned and looked at her with the same expression on his face he’d had when he examined the doll. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
That smile flicked across his face again. “Then you will be happy when you, your brother, and your mother return to that house.”
He turned to the door. Maybe he was done talking to her now. But then he seemed to see Jamie asleep in a chair.
He stopped and frowned at the maid. “Why is the boy sleeping at this hour?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” the maid said. She hurried over and shook Jamie awake.
Jamie sat up, his hair rumpled, his face flushed and lined from the chair.
“Good,” the duke said. “Boys shouldn’t sleep during the day. See to it that he’s kept awake until his bedtime.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the maid muttered.
The duke nodded and walked to the door. “Behave, children. If you’re very good, I shall come see you again.”
And he left.
Abigail went to Jamie.
He had begun to whimper at being awakened. “I want Mama, Abby.”
“I know, dearest,” Abigail whispered, using the tone she’d heard their mother use so many times. “I know. But we have to be brave until Mama comes for us.”
She held Jamie against her chest and rocked him a little, mostly to comfort him, but also to comfort her, she admitted. Because the duke was wrong. She didn’t want to go back to living in the grand London house. She wanted to return to Scotland. To help Mama clean Sir Alistair’s dirty castle. To go for walks with him to look for badgers and to catch fish in his clear, blue stream. She wanted them all to return to Castle Greaves and to live together there.
And she was very much afraid that she’d never see Castle Greaves or Sir Alistair again.
Chapter Fifteen
Truth Teller looked up and saw that clouds were moving over the moon. He remembered what Princess Sympathy had said: that the sorcerer would only be transformed while the light of the moon was upon him. Even as Truth Teller turned to run down the mountain, the little brown bat appeared. The clouds covered the moon, and the bat turned back into the sorcerer. He fell to the ground nude and then stood, powerful and angry.
“What have you done?” he shouted.
Truth Teller looked at him and told him what he must: the truth. “I have drugged you, released the princess, and loosed the swallows. She has fled here on a fast horse, and you will never catch her. Because of me, you have lost her forever.…”
—from TRUTH TELLER
By the time Alistair returned to the hotel, it was early evening. His follower had managed to keep up with the carriage all the way from the docks, but once they’d made the hotel, another man had taken his place. A shorter fellow in what had once been a yellow coat leaned against the wall opposite Alistair’s hotel. Not that Alistair cared at the moment. He wanted only to get to the room he shared with Helen, retire from all the eyes that stared at him constantly, and perhaps see if he could have a meal brought up so they could dine in private.
He simply wanted to rest.
But the moment he entered the hotel room, he could feel the tension surrounding Helen. He paused a moment in the doorway, eyeing her. She paced by the windows, a short track between the bed and the wall, her brows furrowed and one hand rubbing the other at her waist.
He sighed and shut the door behind him. She’d been anxious when he’d left her here earlier, but not this anxious. What was working her up now?
“I thought I’d order a simple supper to eat in the room if that’s agreeable to you,” he said as he crossed to a dresser. On the top were a basin and a jug of fresh water. He poured some water into the basin.
Behind him there was silence save for her pacing footsteps.
“Is it?” he asked.
“What?” Her voice was distracted.
“Is it agreeable to you to eat here?” He splashed water on his face.
“I… I suppose.”
He took a towel and dried his face, turning to watch her. She’d halted by the window, staring down at her feet.
He threw aside the towel. “What did you do this afternoon?”
“Oh, nothing much.” Her fair skin blushed, the pretty pink moving up her throat and to her cheeks. She looked quite lovely, but she was lying.
He strolled toward her, examining her. “You didn’t go out?”
Her eyes dropped.
And he knew, suddenly and without any doubt. “You saw Lister.”
She jerked her head up, her gaze meeting his defiantly. “Yes. I had to at least try to make him see reason.”
Scalding hot rage bubbled in his veins, but he held it in check—barely.
“And did he?” he asked gently.
“No,” she said. “He’s determined to keep the children.”
He cocked his head, angling his good eye at her. “And he just let you go, tripping down his front steps and away without so much as an attempt to stay you? Perhaps he even waved his handkerchief in farewell as you left?”
Her blush deepened. “He didn’t try to keep me—”
“No, of course not. Why would he when he’s gone to all the trouble of kidnapping your children to get you back?”
Her head jerked as if he’d slapped her. “How did you know he wants me back?”
He laughed, the sound harsh and quick. “Don’t take me for a fool. A man doesn’t kidnap his bastard children when he already has three sons and heirs. I know him. I know his game. He’s using them as hostages to get you to return, isn’t he?”
“He said I’d never see them again unless I returned as his mistress.”
Something inside of him erupted. He felt the release, overflowing the edge of reason into insanity.
“Did you agree?” Somehow he’d crossed the room and seized her arms. “Tell me, Helen. Did you agree to return to him? To let him into your bed? To be his whore? Did you?”
She stared up at him with those damned drowning harebell eyes. “He says I’ll never see Abigail and Jamie again unless I return to him. They’re all I have, Alistair. My children. My babies.”
He shook her once. “Did you agree?”
“I can’t never see them again.”
“Goddamn you, Helen.” His chest was tight with horror. “Did you agree?”
“No.” She closed her eyes. “No. I told him no.”
“Thank God.” He pulled her into his arms and brought his mouth down on hers, crushing her soft lips. The thought of her with Lister was driving him beyond control. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she gasped. “He… he gripped my hand, but—”
He grabbed both her hands and saw red welts on the right. Abruptly, he stilled, cradling her delicate fingers in his larger hand. “He hurt you.”
“It’s nothing.” She pulled her hand gently away.
“Did he hurt you—touch you—anywhere else?”
“No, Alistair, no.”
“He wanted to touch you, I know,” he said as he rubbed his hands over her shoulders and to her arms. “He wanted to touch and taste and feel you.”
“But he didn’t.” She placed her palms, cool and soft, on either side of his face. “He didn’t touch me.”
“Thank God.” He took her mouth savagely, thrusting his tongue into her, wanting to blot the image of Lister from both their minds.
Her acceptance calmed him until he could once again pull away.
“I’m sorry.” He closed his eye in disgust at himself. “You must think me a ravening beast.”
“No,” she said quietly. He felt her soft lips brush over the scarred side of his face. “I think you a man. Only that. A man.”