Her Mad Baron by Kate Rothwell Page A

with you naked,” she said as she felt around the floor. “But not in this place. Not here. That means not anywhere.”
    Never again. She yanked on the clothes, grumbling under her breath about the ridiculous outfit and how impossible it was to dress in the dark when the room whirled and tilted.
    She climbed up next to him again and tucked her arm around him.
    With another sigh, this one not as filled with sorrow, she pushed close and ignored the strange rocking of the bed and the room.
    Out. Out. She chanted the word silently with each imaginary tilt of the room. She would get out of this room. Out. And run away as fast and far as she could.
    Nathaniel. That was her last thought, and though her determination didn’t lessen, it became tangled with the sorrow and a frisson of embarrassment. Loss, too. No more Nathaniel. One night escaping her life into his prison. More than enough.
    The orange glow came through her eyelids, but when Florrie opened her eyes, nothing was on fire. The sun was coming up. Someone was banging on the door. She knew where she was almost as soon as she saw the man who held her.
    She felt him start awake and stare into her face. His brow furrowed for a moment then his eyes widened.
    “Into the box,” he breathed.
    “No.” She stood and hefted the length of wood that lay by the bed. “I’m not eating or drinking any more poison.”
    “Yer lordship?” a voice shouted. “Wake up now. I guess you’re sleeping in today?”
    It wasn’t Grub. Another man, with a higher pitched voice.
    Holding the wood like a club, she leaned over for her shoes then walked silently to stand behind the door. She rested the wood on her shoulder.
    The man from the hall spoke again. “I’m gonna open up, but I’m telling you I have a gun, so don’t try any of your nonsen—”
    “Wait,” Nathaniel shouted. “Just wait. I was asleep. I’ll put on the blasted chain.”
    He pointed to the box and glared at Florrie in such a lordly manner she felt the ridiculous urge to laugh. He looked so indignant.
    She shook her head and raised the awkward plank.
    He mouthed words that might have been “I’ll kill you myself if you get hurt.”
    For a long second, he closed his eyes.
    “Listen, your lordship—”
    “I’m nearly done.” Nathaniel locked the band around his wrist then tossed the key toward the door, away from where she stood. “Key’s by the door,” he shouted.
    The door opened inward slowly.
    “Good morning, Dobson,” Nathaniel said. “Slept well, I trust?”
    “You act like that, I suspect you didn’t drink up like Mr. G said you ought to.” A figure slouched through the door.
    For a long, horrible moment, Florrie wondered why he stopped and why he held the gun at the ready—had he heard her? Then she realized he was looking at the locks on Nathaniel’s wrist and on the bed. Nathaniel must have tried to trick them before.
    At last the man bent for the key. He straightened, put the key in his pocket and walked toward the table, his back to Florrie. He pointed at the tray. “Not a drop, just as I thought. That’s gonna annoy Mr. G—”
    Florrie, who’d played cricket with her father and brother, had a good swing. Not quite the form she’d learned, but she brought the overly heavy bat up and swung with good follow through. The man Dobson landed without a groan.
    She rummaged in his pocket, tossed Nathaniel the key and grabbed the gun from the unconscious man’s hand.
    Nathaniel was standing next to her. “My God, you are good.” He seized her for a quick kiss.
    She rubbed her fingers over her tingling mouth. “Do you think anyone else is out there?”
    “Not yet, but they will be soon.” He went to the open door and returned with the tray of food and tea, which he put on the table. “One of the females will come by to collect this.”
    He dumped all the dinner’s leftovers into the bowls, put the dinner’s empty plates and cups on the tray and thrust it out the door. “This should