ignored him, gazed by him thoughtfully. “What was it now?” he mused. “An unusual name.”
Owen was not fooled into believing the man did not know the name.
“Laurie Anne? No, no. Jo Anne, perhaps.”
The man was playing with him, and Owen struggled to look patently bored, even though he dreaded the fact this man might know his deepest secret, or part of it.
“No. Now I recall.” The gaze was fixed intently on his face, gauging reaction. “Jordan. That was the name you called in your sleep.”
The black eyes seemed to bore into his own, and Owen knew he had not succeeded in preventing the shock of recognition from flashing in his own eyes even though he had been bracing himself since the moment the man began toying with him.
The man smiled slightly. “Obviously you are a man who can and will accept the price of personal pain for raising my ire. But will you be responsible for what I would do to others if you push me too far?”
“You would never find her,” Owen snapped.
“Her,” his captor said with satisfaction. “I didn’t know that before. Jordan could have been a man’s name.”
Owen silently cursed his own stupidity.
“Amazing that someone whose life has been so much under public scrutiny could have a love interest that no one knows about. I wonder how you managed that? A love interest, is that correct?”
Owen glared silently at his tormentor.
“Do you know there is a drug that will make a man tell everything? His every secret? It’s called Sodium Amytal. Have you ever heard of it, Your Royal Highness?”
It was a head game, now, a sparring of minds. Owen was aware if he answered he was conceding to his captor’s rules that he was expected to answer him, and that if he didn’t answer, the stakes could be upped. Jordan. He swallowed his pride.
“No, I haven’t heard of that drug,” Owen said tersely.
“No?” He nodded slightly acknowledging the younger man’s concession. “Well, princes don’t dabble in the dirty stuff, do they? No, they cut ribbons and dance at galas and ride the fall hunt. Though I will admit your strength took me and my men by surprise. But be warned, the drug can make even the strongest man, even a man who can withstand great physical punishment, babble like a baby. I could know everything about your Jordan in very short order.”
“Okay,” Owen said harshly, “I hear you.”
“I’m glad that you do.” The man rose to his feet. “I think this session is ended for today. Tomorrow I will have some questions. About the diamonds.”
“Diamonds?” Owen echoed, completely baffled.
“If you give me any more trouble, be warned, I will not punish you. I will find the girl. Do you understand that?”
Owen thought the threat was empty. For one thing, if he made another escape attempt, he fully intended to succeed. But if he did not, how could he tell his captor where Jordan was when he had no idea himself? On the other hand, somewhere in his mind, there were probably clues to her whereabouts. He remembered, uneasily, she was from Wintergreen, Connecticut.
“Do you understand?” he was asked again with soft, but unmistakable menace.
“Yes.”
“Good. It’s important that we understand each other. Satisfactory answers to the questions I have will also be beneficial to Jordan.”
Owen detested himself that he had revealed an Achilles’ heel so easily.
“I’ll leave your dinner here on the floor where you threw it. If you get hungry enough, it may begin to look appetizing to you, though it’s been slightly trampled now. Of course, I am unable to attest to the cleanliness of my men’s boots.”
Owen struggled with his fresh fury, the abject humiliation of finding himself being totally in this despicable despot’s power. He managed to turn over on his side, turn his back to his tormentor.
“Bon appetit, Your Royal Highness.”
It was not until he heard the door lock behind him that Owen allowed himself the luxury of a groan.
His whole body was throbbing. Owen would have liked to inspect his knuckles, as it felt like one of them was split open. And touch his face to check the swelling in his cheek, the bleeding from his lip. But his arms were trussed tightly behind his back. He contented himself with laying his hurt cheek against the cold floor.
His bid for freedom had not only failed, it had made the next attempt harder. Perhaps impossible. What if another attempt meant danger to Jordan Ashbury, wherever she was?
The floor seemed harder and colder by the second. Owen steeled his mind to the discomfort, refused to acknowledge the niggle of hunger that had begun in the bottom of his belly.
He had cried her name in the night.
Jordan.
He closed his eyes, and she danced across his memory and came to him. He remembered her running across the sand beside the ocean in the moonlight, her blond hair streaming behind her, the sparkle in her eyes putting the stars to shame. He remembered when he kissed her, that first time, her lips and skin had tasted of the salt in the moist sea air that shrouded them.
The memory made him groan again, a pain deeper than the physical pain he was in.
Because from the start he had known one truth: a relationship with her was impossible.
Impossible.
Impossible to resist. Impossible to control.
And in the end, just plain impossible, his life and hers too far apart, a chasm between worlds too huge to be leaped.
There was rough laughter outside his door. Changing of the guard. He tried to figure out what time it was, but then gave up. Instead, he closed his eyes and gave into the simple pleasure of remembering her speaking his name.
Or what she thought was his name.
He wondered, wearily, if they were going to kill him, these captors. It was the first time he had allowed himself to consider that possible outcome to his kidnapping.
He knew it did not bode well that his captor had allowed him to look at his face, had carelessly revealed the tattoo on his arm.
Looking his mortality in the face, Owen had a moment of illumination, a clarity of thought he had never experienced before.
He was aware, suddenly, that he had let go of the one thing in life that he should have treated as most precious.
He did what he had not allowed himself to do for five years. He allowed himself to remember her. He allowed himself to wish things could have been different.
He had been eighteen the summer of his rebellion.
Eighteen and aware that he was more likely than his twin brother,
