what about the future?” she asked.
“What about it?” he asked, pulling her into his arms.
“Phillip, are you going to make me say it?” She was irritated with him now. “Then fine. I’ll say it. Are we going to get married?”
“I don’t know that we need to marry. I like things as they are between us. But then again, I wouldn’t rule anything out, Kitty.”
He kissed her to keep her from talking about it anymore. He truly did not wish to marry her, or anyone else for that matter. But he liked knowing that he could have her if he wanted to, after she had played so many games with him.
It was good to have some of his power back.
6
On the Same Page
It was too late to escape. She was trapped.
But that didn’t prevent her from struggling against the strong arms that held her like bands of steel. She kicked. She squirmed. She would have screamed, but his gloved hand completely covered her mouth, making it difficult to even breathe. Complete and utter terror flooded every fiber of her being. She was going to die here in the darkened woods.
No one would be able to rescue her in time. No one would know where to find her. She never should have come out here in the first place. She should have at least told Peter where she was going. What on earth had she been thinking? She was such a great fool.
And now she would die at the hands of a madman for her foolish mistake.
“Shh . . . shh,” he whispered over and over in her ear. “I won’t hurt you, Olivia.”
Stunned, she paused her frantic attempts to free herself for a moment. Had she heard him correctly? Oh dear God, was he going to torture her first? Was that to be her fate?
“There, there . . . that’s it. Calm yourself. There’s no need to struggle against me. I’ll let you go if you promise not to scream. And don’t run away. I can explain everything.” His voice was calm, even soothing.
What was this? How was she not already strangled? How was she still alive? Was it some sort of trick? Or just a momentary reprieve before he killed her? Relief filled her anyway. Maybe there would be a chance for her to make an escape. Hesitantly, she let her body grow limp, and she nodded in agreement not to scream.
He removed his hand from her mouth, and she breathed in great gulps of the cold, fog-drenched air. It had never felt so good to breathe!
He still held her firmly in his grasp as he stood behind her. She could not move her arms. Oddly enough, there was a sense of security being in his arms, resting her weary body against his broad, masculine chest. She could not see his face, yet his voice was oddly familiar.
“Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely.
“I’m not who you think I am, but you’re in great danger. Let me help you.”
Her mind reeled at his words. Who was it that held her this way? If it had been Huntley who’d found her, she would be dead by now. Olivia was certain of it. So, who was this man? And more importantly, what did he want with her?
Let me help you, he had said.
* * *
“May I help you?”
Startled by the interruption, Meredith glanced up from her manuscript.
An elegant-looking woman stood in front of her. Her coffee-colored hair, barely dusted with some gray at the forehead, was arranged stylishly around her pretty face. She was petite and dressed beautifully, with kind blue eyes that looked at Meredith with interest. For the briefest instant, Meredith thought her mother was standing before her.
Meredith refocused and asked, “Excuse me, did you say something?”
The woman smiled warmly. “Yes, I’m very sorry to interrupt you, especially when you looked so intent on your writing. But I just wondered if I could get you anything. A cup of hot tea? Or a fresh lemon scone perhaps? They’re really quite delicious.”
“Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.”
Meredith felt a little flustered by the sudden attention. She didn’t mean to cause a fuss to anyone in the shop. She had just needed to get out of the house.
She’d been unable to find a quiet place to write at Lavinia’s townhouse without everyone interrupting her, so she’d escaped that afternoon and taken refuge at the one place in London where she felt at home, Hamilton’s Book Shoppe.
The charm of the place beckoned to her, and she enjoyed the calm and bookish atmosphere. She found a lovely corner table and chair near the back of the shop where no one would disturb her and had gotten quite a bit of writing done in the hour or so that she’d been there. She had been so involved in her story that she had lost track of her surroundings.
“I am the owner of this bookshop, and I just happened to notice you. . . . I’m so thrilled that there is a writer here. Do you mind if I ask what you’re writing?”
The woman expressed such genuine interest that Meredith could hardly refuse.
“It’s a mystery novel. More of a suspenseful mystery, I suppose. I don’t want to tell you too much, or I’d spoil the fun of reading it. I’m not quite finished yet, but I’m getting closer,” Meredith said, a little burst of pride welling in her chest. She rarely had an opportunity to talk to anyone about her writing. Delilah had always dismissed it as a frivolous pursuit, and now Aunt Lavinia was no better.
“You’re writing a book!?” The woman’s face lit up. “How exciting! I should love to read it one day when it is published. You are planning to publish it, are you not?”
Meredith nodded with a shy smile. “That is my goal. To become a published author. One day. Hopefully soon.”
“We’ve never had an author actually writing in our shop before, and I shall take great pride in saying that Hamilton’s discovered you first! I’m Colette Hamilton Sinclair, and my sisters and I own this bookshop as well as a few others. I’m so pleased that you are here, and you are welcome to stay and write as long as you like.”
“Why, thank you! My name is Meredith Remington. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m thankful that you don’t mind that I am writing here. It’s difficult for me to write at home, and I didn’t know where else to go, but I simply adore your bookshop. I’ve never seen a bookstore as inviting and charming as yours. It’s been my favorite place since I came to London.”
Colette Hamilton sat down at the table across from her, an eager expression on her face.
“You’re not from England, are you? America? New York perhaps?”
“Yes, I’m from New York.” Meredith was impressed. “How did you know?”
“I recognized the accent. My sister Juliette lives in New York and you remind me of her daughter, Sara. You’re about her age, too, if I had to guess. What brings you to London?”
“My
