She poked his arm.
“All right. About which of our villains? Manners? Richard Langworth? Don’t leave out your aunt Leah, who could be lurking out in the corridor at this very moment.” Julian said to Manners’s guard, Tom, “Do not tell anyone that Mr. Manners doesn’t know who he is, all right?”
Tom said, “You wish to confound the guilty one.”
“That’s right.”
Tom made a sewing motion across his mouth.
Sophie was studying Manners’s face. “When he awakens again, I think I should question him, you know, ease him back into himself; maybe I’ll jostle loose some memories.”
“It can’t hurt. I suppose all of us could take turns with him. But first I think Roxanne should see him. What he did to her, what she did to him, mayhap si
mply seeing her will trigger his memory. We’ll give him another hour of sleep.”
When Roxanne stood over Orvald Manners, she didn’t think he looked particularly brutish. Indeed, he looked quite benign, lying there, light little snorts ruffling the air. The top of his head was bald, and the hair he did have was a mix of gray and brown. His skin was leathery from time spent in the sun. Well, he had been aboard Julian’s ship. He was perhaps forty years old.
“He looks harmless, doesn’t he?”
She touched her fingers to her clean hair, her scalp still tingly from Tansy’s famous head rub. “You know, Leah will find out about this; something this fascinating always gets out.” She lightly slapped Manners’s face. “Well, wake up, you sot, it’s time to face me.”
He moaned, finally opening his eyes to stare up at her.
“Would ye looks at all that beauteous ’air, purtier than any bloomin’ peacock’s feathers. Where’d ye get ’air like that, little girl?”
“From my mother, who was a powerful witch. She taught me, her witch daughter, how to blight evil men, such as yourself. My name is Roxanne Radcliffe.”
“That’s a powerful fancy name ye gots there; sounds kinda uppity.”
“It is fine alliteration. It isn’t uppity at all; what it has is style.”
“Be ye really a witch wot curses off men’s parts?”
“Yes. You, in particular, should be worried.”
“Why? I ain’t done nuthin’ to ye.” He frowned. “Well, ’as I?”
Roxanne told him exactly what he’d done to her. “You smashed this sweet-smelling cloth over my mouth, then once I was unconscious, you took me to this ancient old barn; you were told to take me there by the man who hired you to kidnap me. You were going to rape me.” Manners listened with an air of great concentration. Toward the end of it, despite the fact that Manners kept his face perfectly blank, as if she were reciting a wild tale to him, Roxanne realized there was a good deal of cunning behind his eyes. She paused for a moment, sighed, leaned close to his face, whispered, “Do you know, sir, you didn’t have to rape me. You scared me, and that is why I kicked you. But then I realized I acted too swiftly. I realized I quite fancied you, your wit, your charm, and wondered—” She paused, gave a delicate shudder.
“Ye really wanted me? Then why’d ye kick me in me privates? An’ then ye coshed me on the ’ead. Why?”
“I told you, you frightened me. I am a lady, sir. You didn’t have any finesse.”
“I ’as this finesse—wot’s finesse?”
She smiled at him.
“I didn’t think ye wanted me. Ye were acting wild and yellin’ at me. I’ll tells ye, purty ’un, it fair to locked my chops I wanted ye so much. Why, I remember—”
“Yes, Mr. Manners?”
His brain overcame his remembered lust. “Well, beat me on me noggin for bein’ an idjut.”
Roxanne pulled a pistol from her pocket and laid the muzzle against his unshaven cheek. “Yes, you are indeed an idiot. Now, you will tell me who hired you to kidnap me or I will shoot your head off.”
“But ye said ye wanted me—”
“I lied.”