Darcy Darlington and the Diamond of Desire by Maya Rodale

Darcy darlington and the diamond of desire

Chapter eight ~ In which our heroine is held captive.

One generally became quite agreeable with a knife at one’s throat. So when Darcy heard the command, “You’ll come with me,” she went easily.

The voice sounded an awful lot like that of the housekeeper, Mrs. Betts. What had Jenny been saying about her earlier today? Darcy wished she had paid more attention.

She, or he, grabbed Darcy’s upper arm so tightly that tears stung her eyes. Her captor propelled her along, out of the Evil Lord’s private study and into the hall. The position of their bodies, and the knife, was such that should Darcy trip or pitch forward, the blade of his knife would cut her throat. They went up a flight of stairs, and then another. And another.

It was pitch black in the attic, or wherever she was. The knife was removed from her throat, and she would have sobbed with relief had she not been pushed forward. She stumbled and fell.

The door closed behind her.

Her sole concession to panic was to mutter a very unladylike oath.

And then she took a deep breath and took stock of her situation.

The air was hot and musty. It was so dark that she could not see her hand in front of her face. She could hear the rustle and scurry of rodents. Darcy suspected it was best that she could not see anything.

Darcy considered her options. She could, of course, stand here until someone returned, and then she would….do something! Certainly there would be plenty of time to figure out what that something might be.

In the meantime, she wondered if anyone ever endured so much for a kiss, for love. If Tristan was going to marry that awful Felicia Weatherby, did she even want to survive this? Darcy sank to her knees.

He had been about to say something earlier this evening when he had escorted her from Miss Weatherby’s. He had lowered his voice and murmured, “Darcy,” as if it were a prelude to something else and…

And Mrs. Betts had interrupted them! Darcy recollected some fragments of Jenny’s conversation, enough to lead her to an odd conclusion: the housekeeper sought the diamond necklace, too, and presumably the affections of Hartshorne. It struck her as odd, but then again, to each her own. That meant that Darcy would be considered competition, for the necklace at least. That also explained why she had been locked in an attic.

Time passed—minutes or hours, Darcy knew not.

And good lord above, was that smoke?

Darcy sniffed again. Curses!

Was the Evil Lord Hartshorne really going to repeat himself? First burning his wife, her lover, and his child, and now her? Or was this the work of Mrs. Betts? Maybe. Maybe not.

Darcy would not wait around to find out.

First things first: find the door. In her tumble, she had lost her sense of direction. With a prayer that she wouldn’t touch anything revolting, Darcy stretched her hands out ahead of her and took baby steps. Eventually her palms smacked into a wall.

With her hand on the wall, Darcy began to walk. After a few steps, her fingers brushed over a crack and the outline of the door. And then her palm clasped around the doorknob.

Was it too much to ask that it be unlocked?

She turned the knob and pulled. The door swung open.

And there, with candle in hand, stood The Evil Lord Hartshorne.

To Be Continued…

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