But then he asked, "A new pretty for yer collection, m'lord?" "Indeed, John, and very troublesome to obtain, this one was."

They came to some stairs that led down into abject dark- ness. John went ahead of them to light the way. Kelsey had to be yanked down those stairs, because she would not go down them willingly.

Collection? Dear God, she hoped that didn't mean what it had sounded like, but she was afraid it did. They went through a long cellar, then came to yet another set of stairs that led still deeper under the house ... and she could hear the moans.

It was like a prison. It was a prison, she realized when they passed one door after another with barred openings in them and heavy padlocks-and there was a stench that emanated from each room they passed that was foul enough to gag. The only light was a torch on the wall at the end of the corridor by the stairs. No light showed through the bars.

There were signs of construction at the end of that long corridor, where even more cells were being built. She had counted four locked doors. Four occupied rooms? She was pushed through the fifth door.

John was there. He had set his lamp aside on the floor. There was a bed in the center of the small room with just a sheet on it. The room was new and clean. It smelled of fresh wood. Four buckets of water were set against one wall-to wash away the blood on her afterward? "Very nice, John," Ashford remarked, looking about the room. "And you've finished it just in time." "Thank ya, m'lord. I would've had it done a bits sooner if I'd had some help with it, but I understand why no one buts me can be allowed down here." "You do very well on your own here, John. Help would mean you would have to share." "No, I don't wants to share. I'll get the next room done by the end of the month." "Excellent."

Kelsey wasn't listening to them. She was staring in mesmerized horror at that narrow bed out in the middle of the room; the bed had leather straps with thick buckles attached to its four corners. Her fear got the better of her, seeing those straps. She'd have no hope left if they were put on her, and she didn't doubt by then that that was exactly what Ashford intended.

She had tried kicking that coach door open. She'd only hurt her feet and amused Ashford in the process. He'd had a good chuckle over her effort. And his grip on her arm now was no looser than it had been when he'd first grabbed her, which was too tight to jerk free of. Yet she had to do something. And while they were talking and not paying attention to her was the perfect time ...

She fell into Ashford as if she'd stumbled against him by accident. It was the only thing she could think of that might make him loosen his hold. Pretending to faint might have done the same thing, except she wouldn't have been able to get back up easily with her hands still tied behind her back.

And he did let go of her arm, so that he could push her back away from him. He did it so quickly that it was rather A obvious that he didn't like the contact with her, which she would have found quite strange if she'd had the time to think about it.

She didn't. She took those few precious moments when she wasn't restrained at all, and dashed out of the room. Behind her, she heard Ashford make a sound like a chuckle and say something that she didn't catch.

She couldn't credit the amusement, must have been mistaken, because it made no sense. But he didn't give immediate chase, nor did his caretaker. And she found out why soon as she reached the stairs and tripped on the first step, falling hard on those above it.

Her stupid skirt! She couldn't lift it out of the way to climb the stairs, not with her hands still tied behind her back. That's why the bastard was amused. He knew her long hems would hamper her.

Damned if she would let it. She would climb the stairs, just not as quickly as she would have liked. And lifting her legs as high as she could to make each step, she reached the cellar above, and then the top of the other stairs to the first floor.

She made it so far that she actually thought she'd make it all the way out of the house. But she found the front door bolted closed. She was able to twist around to reach the handle and turn it, even though her fingers could barely move, they were so numb, but she couldn't quite reach the bolt. It was too high up on the door.

Her disappointment was so overwhelming that she almost collapsed in defeat. But there had to be other doors leading outside. They couldn't all be locked. Only she was running Out of time to find one. And the pain in her hands, now that the blood was circulating in them again, almost immobilized her.

She should have looked for the kitchen instead, where she could find a knife to work on the cords binding her while she hid ... she had to hide. And it was too late to find the kitchen, which was undoubtedly at the back of the house, where the entrance to that cellar had been-and where Ashford would be appearing soon.

The darkness in the house was a blessing. At least Kelsey prayed it would be. But the rooms on the first floor, they had so little furniture in them, would they offer her any hiding spot at all? She didn't have time to look.

She could just barely make out the stairs leading to the upper reaches of the house, and she ran toward them. Stairs again, but what choice did she have? The avenues to the back of the house and another door leading outside were going to be cut off at any second.

She made the right choice. She could hear Ashford before she even reached the top of the stairs. But even if he looked up, he probably wouldn't see her. The lamp he carried didn't cast a far-reaching light, held close to him as it was, and it created as many new shadows as those it dispersed. "The time has come for your punishment, my pretty. You can't escape. You must pay for her sins, just as the others do."

Her sins? Was there actually a reason for his madness? Who the devil was "her"?

The doors upstairs were all closed. She tried to open the first one and found that her hands had fallen asleep again, and she cringed as that horrible tingling started all over. And the damned room, when she got the door opened, didn't have a speck of furniture in it that she could see.

The second room she came to and opened was so cluttered, it was obviously used. By that odious caretaker? But too much light filtered through the worn drapes there, making it too easy to find her if she only hid behind something. And under the bed was out of the question, a sure trap, and the first place Ashford would likely look.

The third room was so dark that she wondered if it lacked windows. She quickly worked her way along the wall until she found some drapes and shouldered them aside. Nothing. This room was as empty as the first.

Time was wasting. He would search downstairs first, thinking she wouldn't hazard more stairs. But he would be up there as soon as he'd looked everywhere below. She had gained a little time, but not much. "You will be punished even more for this foolishness, I promise you. It will be better for you if you reveal yourself now."

His voice grew indistinct there at the end, indicating he'd entered one of the rooms downstairs. She still had a bit more time.

Kelsey hurried to the next door. An empty closet. The next ... more stairs! To an attic this time? An attic would be good, An attic usually had a wealth of clutter and discarded things.

But she had hoped, prayed, that she would find another staircase up there that would lead down to the back of the house. She couldn't see the end of the hall, didn't know how many more doors she had yet to fight open. A good hiding place, or stairs that might lead to an outside door that wasn't locked? God, she couldn't decide!

Outside was the only real choice, to get away from this house completely. And the house was surrounded by woods. He'd never find her in the woods.

She continued on. Another door-and no drapery in that room at all. The bright daylight, even coming in through filthy windows, nearly blinded her. It took her a moment to see the broken bed, the large trunk with the lid open, the standing wardrobe missing one of its doors. The trunk? No, too easy, almost like a trap.

But the light from that room did show her that there was only one more door at the end of the hall. @Vhen she reached it, she found that it was locked. But she ',,vasted too much time thinking it might only be stuck and trying to turn the handle just a bit more. She could hear footsteps on the stairs ...

She raced back to the lighted room next to her and nudged the door closed just enough so the light wouldn't be noticed in the hall, but so she could still get it opened quickly. Leaving it open could possibly lead Ashford right to her-if he knew that that door was usually closed. And she held her breath, straining to hear where he was, hoping he'd speak again so she could tell more easily, but he didn't. She heard only the footsteps, pausing, walking again, pausing ...

Was he trying to listen for signs of her progress as well? Possibly. And then there was a marked difference when he reached the top of the stairs, his footsteps becoming much louder. He walked heavily. Deliberate? So she would hear him, would know when he was getting closer?

She could tell when he stopped to glance in that first empty room, letting his light fill it. And she realized she'd left all the doors open except these last two. All he would need to do was glance inside. His steps again, coming still closer, confirmed that.

He still had to enter the used room, though. There was the bed to look under, the wardrobe to open. She had a few seconds only, while he searched there, to get past that room and back downstairs. She might run into the caretaker down there, but up here, she was at a dead end.

She lost what little time she had when the door clicked shut when she tried to get it back open. And having to twist around to open it again ... she wasn't even halfway to the room where Ashford was searching when she heard him walking toward the door.

She turned toward the attic instead, and prayed the panic that was gaining on her wouldn't trip her up on those damn stairs. There was still the hope that the attic would be big enough, and so filled with junk, that it would take him a very long time to search it completely.

And she still might have a chance to slip past him and head back downstairs.

Tears filled her eyes when she got the door at the top of the stairs open and closed it behind her. The attic was a very large, very long room that ran the length of the top of the house. And it was utterly empty.

She should have known it would be empty just from the sparsity of furniture downstairs. Whoever had owned the house before had taken everything. Whoever owned it now, she assumed it was Ashford, had brought barely anything into it-because he had no intention of living in it. He used it, as isolated as it was, as a place to practice his cruelties where the screams of those he tortured wouldn't be heard. it was a prison....

And she had finally run out of options. He was heading up the stairs behind her. The door would open any second. And there was no place to hide in that attic. She was cornered, trapped, and still bound. If only she wasn't bound, she could fight ...

The door opened. She stared at him, wide-eyed, only a few feet away. He smiled and set his lamp down, probably in anticipation. There was enough light in the attic from several small windows that he didn't need the lamp there.

The smile had chilled her. He ought to be angry that she'd made him search the house for her. He ought to be raving. But he didn't seem angry at all, he seemed very well pleased, actually amused.

She realized suddenly that this had all been part of his entertainment, to allow her some brief hope of escaping him, then dash it to bits. That's why he hadn't chased after her immediately. The bastard had wanted her to run, had wanted her to think she had a chance, when she didn't. All she had done was delay the inevitable. "Come along, my pretty." He motioned her forward, as if he actually expected her to come to him. "You've had your little chance."

Those words just confirmed what she was thinking, and Kelsey saw red. She couldn't fight? The hell she couldn't.

Without thinking it through, she charged straight at him, throwing her full weight against his chest, uncaring if she fell down those stairs with him as long as he fell down them, too. And he did. But she didn't. She'd managed to catch him completely by surprise, and she caught her own balance before she tumbled after him.

In amazement, she stared at him sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, not dead, but definitely dazed. She practically flew down the stairs herself and leaped over his feet, running for the other stairs.

She finally had some real hope. The caretaker could still be on the ground floor, but then again, he might still be far below the house waiting for his lord to fetch her back. After all, Ashford hadn't really wanted her to be found quickly. That would have spoiled half his fun.

But she was wrong, and she found out in the worst way, running right into the caretaker as she rounded the corner to reach the other stairs. And the impact didn't send him flying down those stairs as Ashford had gone down the attic stairs. It knocked the breath completely out of her. But he was built like an ox and didn't even budge. VERY QUIET, ENGLISH. I DO NOT WISH TO HAVE TO cut your throat."

The blade at the man's throat was the only warning that had been necessary. It had stopped his forward crawl through the brush instantly. "What-what do you want?" "I wish to know what you are doing sneaking about in these woods." "I wasn't sneaking-that is-well, I was just trying to figure out what to do," the man tried to explain, though the words wouldn't come easily around that knife. "Do about what?" "I was following a coach, you see, but I lost it. Stupid wagon got in my way, delaying me. But it was heading this way, and with that house over there being the only one in the area, I was looking to see if I could spot the coach there. Wasn't sure if I should pound on the door and just ask, since something about this whole thing just ain't right."

The blade, which had relaxed against the man's neck, moved a little closer. "You have about five seconds to make sense out of what you just said, English." "Wait! It's my employer, you see, Miss Langton. I'm her coachman. I dropped her off at her dressmaker, but when she come out, this gentleman joined her and took her to his coach and took off with her. But she knew I was there waiting for her. She seen me. So she would have told me what was what, you see, before going off with that man-unless she didn't want to go off with him. And that's why I followed them. I think she's in trouble."