Elizabeth Elliott by Betrothed

second thought for a murder not yet committed, or hang her just as easily if he discovered this night’s plot. She would rather take her chances with Guy of Montague. The humiliation she would feel at seeing him again would be nothing compared to her guilt if he perished at Lonsdale’s hands. Yet even if she managed to drug Guy’s guards and free him from this prison, she could not be sure he would agree to her plan for their escape. He might balk at the idea of taking a woman along on such a dangerous journey, or doubt that she told him the truth of her uncle’s cold-blooded plan. Her hand went to the collar of her cloak, to the hard lumps hidden beneath the cloak’s draped hood.
    After the servant delivered her meal that evening, she had spent a precious hour sewing her mother’s emerald necklace into the cloak, the last piece of wealth that she and her brothers had smuggled away from their home in Italy. The rest had gone to purchase the armor and warhorses Dante andRoberto needed to ply their trade as mercenaries. Roberto had wanted the necklace as well, but Dante insisted that Claudia hold it for safekeeping, that she should have something for her dowry in the event that her brothers could not regain their rightful wealth and estates. Rather than a dowry, tonight it might buy her freedom.
    She pushed aside those musings when she reached the landing and walked around the corner. Sputtering flames from the rush torches on either side of the guard’s well kept the shadows in constant, eerie movement. The guard’s station was empty, and the door to the ransom chamber stood half open. Her brows drew together in a frown. The guard must be inside the chamber. Why, she didn’t know, but this unexpected turn might be to her advantage. Perhaps she could sneak up on the guard from behind.
    Careful not to make any sound, she set the goblets and flagon to one side of the hallway then drew the small dagger at her waist. She would never have the courage to actually harm the guard, but hopefully she could bluff him into thinking otherwise. She forced herself to take one step closer to the chamber, then another. She drew one last steadying breath and stepped into Guy’s prison.
    Only the torches outside the door lit the large chamber, but what she could see of the room appeared empty. Her heart did not slow its mad beat at that realization. She pushed the door wider and took another step forward. Her voice sounded no more than a shaky whisper. “Baron?”
    A movement from the corner of her eye made her turn to the right and she took a startled step backward. Guy stood in the shadows along the wall, dressed in the same clothing he wore to the gardens, but now he wore a cloak as well. Seeing him again brought back a flood of memories, none of which she anticipated. Her gaze moved along the line of his jaw and she recalled the feel of his cheek, rough with a day’s growth of beard. She looked at his lips and remembered how they felt beneath her fingertips, how he had drawn one of her fingers into his mouth for a kiss that sent shivers down her spine.
    He took a step toward her. “Give me the knife, Claudia.”
    She looked down at the forgotten dagger in her hand. It did not seem important at the moment and she ignored the order. “Where is your guard?”
    “The guard is dead,” he said in a low voice, “as you will be, if you do not give me that knife this instant.”
    He meant it. She tried to suppress a shudder, and refused to look around the chamber for evidence of the dead guard. Tonight Guy looked nothing like the man who kissed her in the gardens, the gentle, teasing suitor who told her to save her kisses for him. Nor did he appear the tender lover of her hazy dreams. At the moment he looked capable of great violence, his big body tensed and ready to strike out. There was not a doubt in her mind that he would carry out his threat if she did not obey him.
    “You think I would try to harm you with this puny dagger?”