"Ask him about Rachel, Jacob."
"Only Poppy matters at this time, Marcus. She is scared, cold, and alone down in that cell. I want her out, and I want it now." The snap of the last word had Kinsale flinching. "I will leave the questioning to you three," he said to his friends.
When Kinsale said nothing, instead slumping deep into his chair, Jacob took a step closer.
"Key, now," he said softly. "Or I shoot you."
"St-study, it is th-there." Kinsale whimpered as Jacob dragged him from the chair.
"Lead the way." Marcus pushed him forward.
They reached the study, and the footman still stood guard.
"You!" Kinsale tried to grab the man, but Jacob hauled him back.
"Do not touch my new footman."
Jacob went straight to the bookshelves.
"Key, now," Leo said, nudging Kinsale. Seconds later it was in his hand, the cold metal biting into his flesh as he clenched his fingers around it. Jacob took the stairs two at a time.
"Poppy, I have the key!"
He heard her sob as he unlocked the door and threw it wide. Seconds later she was in his arms. Jacob closed them around her and held her close. He never wanted to let her go.
"Ssh, now, Poppy. You are safe."
She was crying, deep, wracking sobs.
"I have you and no one will hurt you again."
"I-I thought I would die in there."
She looked up at him, tears drenching her cheeks, and he wanted to kiss them away. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to his house and lock the door.
"Come, Poppy, let me take you home."
"Yes," she whispered into his chest. "Yes pl-please."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Poppy had woken to darkness. She knew she was in Jacob's house and remembered how kind and gentle he had been with her. He had held her close on the carriage trip, and allowed her to weep on his chest without comment. He had then handed her to Lady Needly when they arrived at his house.
She loved him desperately, and that would not do. She had no rights to that man, and he would not appreciate her showing how she felt. He was kind, and no doubt regretted what they had done in his carriage and how he had handled it after. But he had found her when she feared no one would, and she would forever be grateful for that. Yes, he had called her love and sweetheart, but those had been in the heat of the moment, words to soothe and ease her fears, and nothing more could be construed from them.
Pushing aside the covers, she walked to the window and opened the curtains to let in a shaft of weak moonlight. Using this, she located her clothes, now neatly folded, on a chair.
She tried not to think of what she and Jacob had shared. Tried not to think of the fantasies she had woven around him in that cold cell she had been trapped in. Silly, childish dreams of a future filled with him.
"You are a realist, Poppy, and you know it is time to go home."
She did not want to think about how Jacob would react when he woke to find her gone, but this was for the best. He was a good man, and would urge her to stay here until she had regained her strength. But Poppy did not need to lean on anyone; she was strong, and had looked after herself since arriving in London. Besides, if she stayed here, she would very likely end up begging him to take her as a mistress, and that would not do either.
She hated that her fingers shook as she buttoned up the front of her dress. Hated the weakness that horrid man, Lord Kinsale, had put inside her. He'd stripped her strength, made her cold and fearful.
Poppy heard the handle rattle on the door, and then it was opening. The candle appeared first, followed by Jacob. He wore a shirt and breeches. His hair was tousled and his feet bare. His eyes swung from the bed to where she stood.
"'Tis very cold to be walking about thus," she said, and then felt extremely foolish. The man was a viscount. If he wanted to walk about naked, then that of course was his choice. Poppy did not want to think about that large, muscled body naked, as it made her limbs feel weak.
"Why are you getting dressed?" He used the same tone as he would to order tea, but she could see a glimmer of something in his eyes. After lowering the candle to the bedside table, he moved closer, and Poppy realized it was anger.
"I-ah, I had thought to go home."
"At three in the morning?"
Poppy nodded, because now he'd told her the time, she felt silly.
"And how were you to get there?" he said in that polite tone that had her toes curling into the rug beneath her feet. As yet she had not found her boots.
"I like to walk."
"You're exhausted and have been through a traumatic ordeal, and you decided you would like to leave me and walk to your lodgings, which are some distance away, in conditions that at best could be termed freezing?"