After the Abduction by Sabrina Jeffries Page A

defection from dinner surprised her. He was avoiding her because he knew she didn’t believe one jot of that nonsense about his twin being her abductor. She’d thought about it all afternoon, picking away at the loose threads of his tale, exposing the gaps in the seams. She still hadn’t figured out the how and why of it, but one matter she was sure of—Lord Templemore was the one who’d kidnapped her.
    Steps sounded in the corridor, startling her. Quickly, she ducked behind the door and held her breath as candlelight poked a finger of light into the dark room.
    “Sebastian, are you in here?” came a voice so near she jerked. But it was only Mr. Pryce, who was also apparently looking for his lordship. Fortunately, he couldn’t see her.
    “Off to your guns again, are you?” the older man muttered as he continued down the hall instead of returning the way he’d come.
    She hesitated. She really shouldn’t follow men around strange houses, but she could hardly resist this opportunity to confront his lordship alone. Depending on how he responded to her suspicions, she might garner enough evidence to convince Griff to act.
    Griff was being incredibly stubborn, insisting upon leaving in the morning. He’d heard her protests and her reasons for not believing Lord Templemore, then dismissed every one! She supposed she couldn’t blame him. If she hadn’t met Morgan herself, she’d have been skeptical, too.
    But she had. And that changed everything.
    The sound of Mr. Pryce’s steps climbing a stairway prodded her into hastening after him. Perhaps he could lead her to her nemesis.
    Following him was easy enough. Years of walking softly to and from her father’s chamber during his illness had made her light of foot, and the years of penury they’dsuffered before Rosalind’s marriage had taught her how to navigate poorly lit corridors.
    Stealthy as moonlight, she edged up the staircase at a discreet distance, relying on Mr. Pryce’s stiff tread above as her guide. She froze when he reached the top. Then she slipped onto the landing below to wait breathlessly. Light shot into the hall from a door being opened.
    “Still hiding yourself away up here, are you?” Mr. Pryce said as he walked inside.
    Only then did she dare climb to the top. Heart pounding, she skirted the square of light and pressed into the shadows beyond to wait until Mr. Pryce came back out. She’d dearly love to eavesdrop on their conversation, but dared not venture nearer. Being caught would defeat her purpose.
    Seconds later, Mr. Pryce came out and closed the door behind him. He descended the staircase quickly, but only when his footsteps died away did she approach the room he’d left. Fear punched holes in her confidence. What if she was wrong, after all? What if she made a fool of herself?
    She wasn’t wrong; she couldn’t be. And if she didn’t confront Lord Templemore now, she’d lose her chance. Dragging in a steadying breath, she swung the door open and stepped inside.
    Into the maw of hell. Lantern light reeled eerily over bits of firearms stuck to walls and disgorged onto a long table. Vials of suspicious powder marched down the middle, and a faint stench of sulphur pervaded the smoky air. At the center, with a lantern before him on the table, reigned Lord Templemore, his fingers working metal just as Hephaestus crafted ironwork in the flames of an immortal forge.
    Judging from the sooty ceiling and the faltering fire, his servants were afraid to enter here. How very sensible of them. She began to regret not being equally sensible. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

    Then he spoke without looking up. “Close the blasted door, Uncle. It’s cold enough as it is without you letting in the draft.”
    Swallowing her fear, she shut the door behind her. “Do forgive me, my lord—I shouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
    His back snapped straight as a sprung bowstring, but he didn’t look at her. “Ah, Lady Juliet.