Ducal Encounters 02 - With the Duke's Approval by Wendy Soliman Page A

is nothing you can do here. Leave things to us.”
    “Zach’s right, Mama,” Portia said. “Let’s go upstairs. We can be of use when Anna is back. Have Mrs. Jessop send up hot libations for us both, please, Zach. They might help us to sleep.”
    “I can summon Dr. Fisher, if you would like. He could give you something stronger.”
    “No need,” the duchess replied with a tired smile. “But he ought to be on hand for when Anna comes home. I am sure she will need him.”
    “I have already sent word,” Winchester said, opening the door for his mother and sister, kissing each of them as they walked through it.
    “Damnation, what a thing to have happen,” Nate said, grinding his jaw. He was the brother closest in age to Lady Annalise and probably felt her loss more keenly even than Winchester did. “I feel so useless, standing around waiting. Portia got that part right.”
    Clarence felt that way too, but he refrained from saying as much.
    “Right, Romsey,” Winchester said when the door closed behind the ladies. “It’s time for you to tell us whom you think might have taken our sister.”

Chapter Five
    Annalise trembled, cold and truly afraid. The darkness and the ruthlessness of her captors had badly overset her. If only she could see. She felt her way cautiously around the room, dragging the blanket about her shoulders, no longer fastidiously turning her nose up at its odour. All she cared about was remaining as warm as she could. Her legs still felt wobbly. Her feet were frozen, the frost on the terrace having, as Lord Romsey predicted, soaked through her slippers. Ignoring her physical discomfort, she continued to explore, using her hands to guide her since she could barely see a thing. She deduced she was in a storeroom of some sort. She could feel wooden crates all over the place, and kept bumping into them, ripping her skirts and cutting her forearm on something sharp.
    Something sharp? A weapon she could use. Her fingers eagerly explored. Damnation, it was just the corner of a heavy crate she couldn’t even move, much less break apart and use as a club. She continued to feel her way beyond the chair she had been sitting in. There was a small window, the glass frigid to the touch. She didn’t try to open it, knowing she was not on the ground floor. It would be suicide to try and clamber out of it, even if it did open. The snow storm was raging harder than ever, a howling wind rattling against the walls of the building.
    This had to be a warehouse on the wharf, she decided, feeling her way back to the tatty old armchair in the corner of the room. She pulled her feet up beneath her bottom in a futile attempt to warm them, and tucked the blanket around herself. It was thin, inadequate, but there was nothing else she could use. Whoever had taken her had chosen their hiding place well. No one would think to look for her here, she decided glumly, her teeth chattering, and there wasn’t a hope of escape. Her situation was made ten times worse by the cold, even more so by her ungovernable terror of the dark. Fear tingled down Anna’s spine. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life. Desperate, she thought briefly of pounding on the locked door and requesting a candle, but decided against it. If her captors had wanted her to see, they would have left her a light. Besides, she had no wish to disadvantage herself even further by admitting to her paranoia. She would just have to embrace that panic and somehow overcome it. Think about happier times, she told herself.
    Her family must be frantic, wondering what had happened to her. They would blame Lord Romsey, of course, which was most unfair. He had behaved with decorum. This was not his fault, was it? Anna was ashamed when it occurred to her that his being detained by his secretary when the two of them just happened to be alone on the terrace was rather convenient. She pushed the thought aside as being unworthy. What possible reason could Lord Romsey