“Tell me something first.” Cecelia was stalling for time, wondering if she could get a message out somehow, her brain churning for anything to cling to that might help her escape this helpless, hopeless place. “Is Lord Ramsay alive? Jean-Yves? What about Phoebe? Is she harmed? Please tell me what happened to them!”
“You’ll get information when I get what I want from you,” Genny scoffed.
“No.” Cecelia shook her head, drawing herself up. “That’s not how this works. I will tell you what is in the codex when you assure me those I love are safe.”
“Love?” Genny sidled closer, her laugh long and low and unsettling. “What is it about fucking Lord Ramsay that shags a woman’s brain right out of her head? You and Matilda both. Spend a few nights with him and suddenly he’s wrapped those unwieldy paws around your heart and squeezed all sense out of it.”
Cecelia suddenly felt for poor Matilda. She’d been torn between two loyalties. That to her employer, and then to herself. How devastated she must have been when Ramsay had thrown her out of his house and his life.
“Don’t tell me you loved that horse-cocked lummox of a Scot,” the American spat, tugging at the lace sleeves of her nearly white gown.
Loved. Past tense. Did that mean Ramsay was no more?
Cecelia swallowed around a lump of despair. What if he’d died without knowing how she felt about him? What if she never had the chance to change his mind? She had fully intended to once she was through being peevish. It’d taken everything for her not to prostrate her pride and her principles at his gigantic feet and ask to be carried about like a damsel again.
What if she only ever received the gift of one of his smiles in her entire life?
If he was truly gone … she would even miss his frowns. The darling way he struggled to remain grumpy in her presence. The way tenderness and lust turned his wintry eyes a darker, warmer blue.
To lose him would be the greatest tragedy in her life. And for his daughter to lose him as a devoted father was the greatest heartbreak she could think of.
Ramsay. She loved him. Every solid, starched, stubborn inch of him.
A ragged sob tore its way out of her throat, closely followed by another. “I’ll die before I help you hurt those girls out there,” she said with a flinty resolve.
Genny’s eyes narrowed, a frightening glint hardening in their depths as she glanced to Winston. “You and Phoebe were given everything, because Henrietta wanted to keep you both innocent. Unspoiled. You’re a bit old to be worth much, but if you don’t comply, I’m going to let Winston and the boys have their fun with you. Keeps them loyal.”
“I don’t care,” Cecelia claimed, though the threat horrified her down to her very core. “I won’t be party to the evil you’re perpetrating down here.”
“There’s nothing to be done for the girls out there, their fates are sealed.… But what about Phoebe…” Genny adopted a speculative look. “I know how much a man will pay for a girl her age. Hell, I’ve been selling virgins to disgusting men for some time now.”
“No.” The truth drove the breath out of Cecelia’s lungs and took the starch from her bones. She crumpled, landing hard on her knees and bowing in front of Genny in an age-old posture of supplication. “Please. Do what you want to me. Take everything. The house, the business, the fortune. Just don’t hurt Phoebe. Let those girls out there go.”
Genny squatted down in a most unladylike manner, pushing the codex against the floor. “I fucking told you already, those girls are bought and paid for, I’m just waiting for their owners to come collect,” she said. “The Lord Chancellor will pay me more money than Midas if I decode this before they take the girls to the country house, so you’d better start writing, or I’ll make Winston bend you over that desk first before the other two have a go.”
Cecelia had to check her courage against the threat, wondering how much she could take before she spilled every secret she knew. For Phoebe? She’d do anything. Endure anything.
“Are you a part of the Crimson Council?” she whispered. “Did they put you up to this?”
“Honey, no one put me up to this.” Genny stood, looming over her like the whore of Babylon. “In this world it’s eat or be eaten, and I’d rather eat at the table of the Crimson Council than just about anywhere on this earth. Henrietta refused to provide them what they wanted, but I have no such scruples. And I killed her when she began to piece it together.”
“The bomb? That was you?” She’d been such a blind, trusting fool. So worried about the wolf at the gate that she hadn’t noticed the snake hissing into her ear.
The woman gave a faint smile, as if mildly amused by the memory. “I thought the blast would be smaller, all told, and I was certain it would take care of Phoebe. I pushed that burning log toward you, as well, but how could I have guessed Ramsay has the reflexes of a mongoose?”
“You’re evil,” Cecelia accused. “To subject girls to such things. To conduct this violence against women? Vulnerable women?”
“You think I wasn’t sold to my first man by a woman? You think Henrietta didn’t do the devil a few favors before I employed foxglove to send her to hell?” Genny turned back to the door, resting her hand on the latch. “I ain’t evil, doll, just angry. Angry and ruthless as any man would be in my position. You understand.”
“No. I don’t,” Cecelia said, fuming now. Genny had taken everything from her. Including the aunt she could have known and loved. The only family she truly had left. “Nothing could cause me to commit such deplorable acts!”
“That’s because you’re weak. You think your goodness will save you but it’s your greatest folly, and that’s why you’ll never set foot outside this room again.” Genny nodded to Winston. “Hand her the papers, and if she stops writing before she’s finished with that entire book, then tear her apart from the inside.”
“Gladly.” The man watched her alertly, his droopy, doglike eyes glimmering with anticipation.
Cecelia gaped at Winston, unable to believe her ears. She’d helped him out of the blast. Made certain his wounds were tended to and offered him a salary even though the house was currently not in business.
How could he repay her kindness with the threat of the ultimate cruelty?
Cecelia reached for the book, wondering if wrongly decoding could buy Phoebe some time, when a masculine scream pierced the air outside the room. It was full of a pain so pure, it sent shivers reverberating up and down Cecelia’s spine.
The door burst open, sending Genny crashing to the floor.
Ramsay strode in, bringing with him with his particular brand of frigid, unnatural calm. A sinister expression turned his features from grave to positively reptilian. He moved like a predator. Unconcerned. Unrepentant.
Utterly lethal.
He didn’t touch her with his gaze so much as skipped over her to skewer the other inhabitants of the room with shards of ice.
He’d not reverted to the London Lord Ramsay. His hair was still as wild as it’d been in Scotland. His trousers and coat were not fresh, as though he’d slept in them, and the untamed, unkempt kit added to his imposing figure.