towards the door. Sarah sat stunned and horrified. When Laird tried to look at her, Carl delivered a glancing blow to the side of his head. ‘That’s Mr. Develin’s property, you treacherous little bastard!’
Develin retrieved Laird’s gun and quickly and efficiently emptied it, the bullets dropping into his open hand. He shook his head in disbelief as he walked back towards Sarah.
‘Thank you, Brett, I can manage. Take these and put them back where they belong, then go and help Mr. Emery.’
‘Sir,’ Brett snapped. He let go of Sarah, took the gun and the ammunition from Develin then raced from the room.
Develin watched, vaguely amused, as Sarah tore at the tape. She finally secured a corner and ripped it off. ‘You monster!’ she screamed.
Develin shrugged as he reached for his jacket. ‘That is a matter of opinion, my dear. At least Doctor Laird is still alive, which is more than might be said of me if his plan had succeeded. Think about it, Miss Churchill - Sarah - while I organize our supper.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Nevertheless, you should have something. It could be a late night.’ He smiled suggestively and received, in return, a look of absolute disgust. As he slipped a plate in front of her, he continued. ‘Perhaps it would help with your perception of the situation if I told you that Doctor Laird is wanted for questioning by Scotland Yard regarding the murder of a colleague. A Miss Tizard, I believe. It would seem that our good doctor was involved in some illegal activities in connection with a banned substance. Miss Tizard inadvertently learned of this, and so he disposed of her. She was strangled, if I am not mistaken.’
‘Liar!’
Develin regarded her with mild amusement before turning to a side table and opening a drawer. ‘I anticipated such a response so I have stored here clippings from the newspapers, dated just last September. Ah, and here is an article with a colour photograph of Doctor Laird.’ He handed them across to Sarah. ‘You will find, Sarah, as you grow older, that no one and nothing is what it seems on the surface.’
He watched her carefully as she read through each piece of information. ‘Do you love him?’ He asked simply, directly.
‘I don’t even know him.’
‘Please, spare me. I have warned you before. I am kept remarkably well informed. You represent a major investment on my part, and now I find that Laird has expressed his love for you both verbally and in writing. He offered to murder me, did he not? Now, what does that suggest to you?’
‘It suggests, Mr. Develin, that you have an overactive imagination.’
He glared at her. ‘And you, Miss Churchill, seem to have a problem appreciating the enormity of the situation.’
‘He didn’t touch me,’ Sarah whispered, her voice suddenly tight with fear and apprehension.
‘Then might I suggest that you prove it. Once I am satisfied,’ he paused long enough to offer her a vicious smile, ‘then I shall see that Laird is let off the hook - literally and figuratively.’
Sarah looked up sharply, her eyes flashing in rage.
‘Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me, miss. If you want to play tough, then I will play tougher. That, my dear, is both a promise and a threat.’ He sighed. ‘Now, unless there is something else, perhaps we can enjoy a quiet bite of supper together.’
His smile was warm this time, self-congratulatory, and not least of all, sexually explicit.
11
They ate in silence throughout the meal. Not once did Sarah raise her head as she carefully tended her plate, for the most part moving bits of food from place to place.
Finally, in exasperation, he dropped his cutlery and glared at her. ‘Eat!’
‘You eat it!’ she snapped back, pushing her plate away, knocking over his glass of wine in the process.
He was out of his chair so fast Sarah had no opportunity to react as he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her forcibly from her seat. ‘Bitch!’ he growled as he dragged her across the room and through the doorway at the far end. The door closed behind them with an audible click, then locked automatically.
He threw her across the room. Sarah almost lost her balance, but was caught in time by the bulk of a large leather sofa. She turned just as Develin reached her, pinning her back against the heavy piece of furniture. Her scream died as he kissed her savagely, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth, probing deeper and deeper until she felt breathless and faint. Desperately she tried to push him away, but he held her fast.
She felt her knees give way as he slowly terminated the kiss, moving his mouth along the line of her cheek to her ear. He whispered to her, the tone low and malicious. ‘You will do exactly as I ask, or Laird will suffer. You will not struggle, nor will you impede me in any way, or I will hurt you. Do you understand me?’
He was breathing hard, his desire for her more than obvious. He traced the index finger of his left hand across the hollow of her throat then down and along her right shoulder, pushing the fabric of her dress aside. ‘Say yes to me, Sarah.’ Frightened and confused, she could barely manage a nod. ‘Say it!’ he demanded.
‘Yes,’ she whispered convulsively, her whole body racked with emotions she had never felt before. When he kissed her again she offered no resistance, although he carefully noted the arch of her spine as she subconsciously thrust herself towards him.
Slowly he backed away from her and, taking her hand gently, led her through into an antechamber. The walls were covered with oil paintings, most of nudes, many with scenes of debauchery and sexual excess. Sarah’s senses reeled as she drew back horrified, only to encounter a bronze statue of two satyrs holding down a young girl while a third prepared to …
She twisted free of him and raced to the door, but it too was locked. Desperately she clawed at the frame, her breathing reduced to a series of ragged gasps. When he touched her shoulder, she froze.
‘Please, I need more time to … to …’
‘There are many things I can offer you, Sarah, but regrettably, time is not one of them.’ Gently he turned her around to face him. She looked straight into eyes grown soft, tender almost, as he smiled down at her. ‘Has it occurred to you as yet, Sarah, that maybe, just maybe, you might enjoy yourself this evening?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Her voice quivered.
‘Well,’ he whispered as he caressed the side of her cheek with the back of his hand, ‘let’s wait and see, shall we?’ He took hold of her hand firmly. ‘Come with me.’
*****
The master bedroom went beyond the bounds of opulence, expressing, in a relatively small space, hundreds of years of wealth and privilege contained within one family. Masculine to the extreme, the decor was reminiscent of a private suite in a men’s club. The predominate shades were green and gold, the colours repeated
