Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet 2)

He took a risk and clasped my hands in his, the chains between my shackles clicking like the tongue of a scolding Italian mother. I let him, not because I felt any less betrayed, but because after so long in the dark and lonely cold, I craved tender physical affection.

“It was Lord Thornton who asked me to stay on at Pearl Hall,” he whispered frantically as voices sounded in the hall. “You see, marra, I’m a proper spy now. Alexander’s eyes and ears in his enemy’s home.”

Relief sluiced over me like the cleansing rain of a spring shower. My knees trembled under the weight of his truth, and I was crying before I could stop myself, flinging my arms around Douglas in an inescapable hug.

He held me, and together, we cried for a good long moment.

“Have…have you heard from him since I’ve been here?” I choked out through my tears.

I knew before he stiffened in my arms what his answer would be. “No, love, I’m sorry. I heard about the explosion, and well, his grace seems to think both his eldest sons are dead.”

Anguish roar up my throat and spilled forth like water breaking through a dam. I clutched Douglas to me so tightly, I could feel the shape of his bones beneath his skin.

When I finally had control of myself, I stepped back, but only enough to look into his dear face, and say, “Thank you.”

His face juddered as he swallowed a sob, then smoothed into a tender smile as he collected one of my tears with his thumb. “You look cream-crackered. Sit down and help me with this pie while we plot your escape.”

Over the sweet scent of apples, Douglas explained how he had been using Alexander’s hawk Astor to send handwritten missives about Noel’s goings-on to a man Alexander paid and trusted in Manchester. Sometimes, Douglas would receive notes in reply, but mostly it was an endless stream of information about the Duke of Greythorn’s whereabouts, who visited at Pearl Hall, and anything to do with the Order.

“I have to say I was chuffed as a mother when I heard you’d done it,” he said with a cheeky grin when we spoke about the dissolution of the Order of Dionysus. “Thought the man was mad for taking them on, but then, what better reason than you to do it?”

The other kitchen staff returned after that, so Douglas and I were forced to keep our chatter superfluous, but as we put the finishing touches on dinner, he pulled me close under the guise of needing my help with the after-dinner tea service preparations.

“You know, of course, that your favourite flower is used to create the infamous opium,” he said softly, conversationally.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, but I gave no outward sign of discomposure as I hummed my response.

“Well, it’s a little-known fact that the seeds of the poppy…” He pulled a basket of the blooms off one of the windowsills and showed me the small bowl full of seeds he had harvested. “Can be used to make a tea that mimics the effects of morphine. They call it a ‘twilight slumber.’”

I chewed my lip as I watched him crush some of the seeds and then mix them with some herbs before putting the mixture in a sieve on the mouth of a teapot.

“So, your master plan is to put Noel to sleep at the table?” I asked.

He shot me a look. “No, ducky, my plan is to make him a wee bit more pliable. They’ve used morphine in studies for truth serums, and it’s been found to loosen the tongue. Not to mention, it’ll make him a little loopy and out of his senses. Hopefully, it’ll make whatever he has planned post-supper a tad more tolerable.”

I laid my hand over his on the pot and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Douglas.”

“Anything for you. Now, I won’t tell you to break a leg because I’m afraid Noel will actually do that, but I shall wish you the best of luck, love.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek.

His affection and loyalty shone through my dreary future like a crack of light in the dark. As I followed the butlers up the stairs with the platters of food, I tried to keep my sight focused on that sliver of hope and not on the sucking black abyss of dread that threatened to overtake me.

Alexander and I had rediscovered each other, committed to our relationship for the first time, and taken down an entire corrupt secret society.

I refused to believe this was the end of our story.

The hero dead before the happily ever after, and the heroine murdered by the villain.

I had to believe everything I’d learned over the course of my ordeals had led me to this moment, a moment when I would outwit the smartest, cruelest man I’d ever known and—I looked down at the tea tray I held filled with poppy seed tea—give him a taste of his own poison.