The Wrong Girl(8)

She giggled. "I do believe I like you already, Lady Violet." She hooked her arm through mine and I found it comforting, despite my apprehension.

Comfort or no, I released myself and took a step away from her and the gardener. They were my captors. No matter how polite or kind, I must always remember that they'd kidnapped me using unconscionable methods.

Miss Langley chewed her lower lip and looked as if she'd burst into tears. "Say something to her, Jack."

The gardener stared at me, and for a brief moment, I saw a sadness in his eyes that equaled Vi's on days when I couldn't drag her away from the window. But it was so fleeting that I wondered if I'd imagined it. "I suspect anything I say will sound hollow." Although he answered Miss Langley, I felt as if he spoke directly to me.

"You could introduce yourself," I said. "That would be a good place to start."

It must not have been the response he expected because he took a moment to answer and his mood seemed to lighten a little. "Jack Langley at your service." He bowed.

"Langley? You are brother and sister?"

"Cousins," Miss Langley said.

"I see. And will you tell me why I've been brought here against my will, Mr. Langley?"

"All will be revealed soon enough," he said.

I glanced from him to his cousin. She smiled unconvincingly. "As I already told Miss Langley, Lord Wade will not pay a ransom for my return. He simply doesn't care enough. Why would he when he has a perfect daughter in Eudora?" I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself blabbering. The Langleys didn't know about the fire starting. How could they? No one outside the family and Miss Levine knew. All they could possibly know was that Lady Violet was kept in the attic because it was what she wished.

"Come inside, and we'll settle you in," Miss Langley said. "Then all will be made clear. Won't it, Jack?"

She was a terrible liar. Not only was her apprehension written into every line on her forehead, but her voice pitched higher and higher with each word.

"You'll be treated with respect here," he said. "And you'll have every comfort."

"I had every comfort at Windamere," I said. "Respect too." Of sorts.

His mouth kicked up in a brief smile that was quickly dampened. "I see you like to argue."

"It appears to be the only course open to me. I tend to fight when I'm cornered."

"I know." He held up his hand. Three bloodied scratches raked down the back from knuckles to wrist.

"I'm—" Sorry, I'd been about to say. But I wouldn't apologize to my kidnapper for trying to save myself. "You ought to be more careful where you put your hands, Mr. Langley."

Again he gave that small smile, but once more it disappeared before taking proper hold. "Call me Jack. I'm not one for formalities."

"And you can call me Sylvia," Miss Langley said. "May we call you Violet?"

"If you prefer." I peered past her to the house, a rather solid, dominating presence that looked as if it had been hewn from a mountain of rock. Yet it appealed to me in a way that Windamere never had. There was no symmetry to it, no evenness of form and certainly no beauty, but it was interesting, in a grim way.

"Welcome to Frakingham House," Sylvia said, following my gaze.

"You called it Freak House in the carriage."

"Did she now?" Jack glared at her from beneath a fringe of dark hair. He looked bedraggled, and I supposed I must have been equally unkempt. I touched my curls. Ugh. It was an untamed mess. I must have lost hat and hairpins somewhere along the way.

"That's what the villagers call it," Jack said. "Behind our backs."

"Behind your back perhaps," Sylvia said.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"A few hours from Windamere," Jack said. "Show her to her room, Syl, then come see us. I'll meet you there shortly."

"Where is 'there' exactly?" I asked. "And who else will I be meeting?"

Neither answered me. Sylvia steered me up the flagstone steps to an enormous arched doorway recessed deep into the stone moldings. Carved rosettes and a coat of arms decorated the lintel above.

Jack pushed open the door and allowed Sylvia and me to walk through first. As I passed him, a strange warmth spread along my veins to the tips of my fingers and toes. His breath hitched, but I didn't dare look at him. Didn't dare desire this man who'd kidnapped me.

I walked side by side with Sylvia to the grand staircase. It rose up to the first level then split in two with both sections continuing higher, disappearing through arched doors. Stone arches were everywhere. They formed the baluster, were carved into the walls to create niches, and enormous ones held up the vaulted roof. To my surprise, neither butler nor footman greeted us. If it had been Windamere, Pearson would have known we were about to walk through the front door before we did.