Tears streamed down Sara's face and she sucked great drafts of air into her lungs. Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably, and she tried to master her fear. No one was coming to help her; no one knew where she was. She was at the mercy of a woman who truly believed she'd murdered her son, and a man who had the morals of a tomcat. She did not know which one she feared more.

Stay calm! Stay calm!

She looked at her abductors. The footman was in black livery; Lady Neville was in her nightclothes. Her negligee was a girlish pink confection that made her look clownish, not younger.

"Lady Neville!" The tremor in Sara's voice wasn't all playacting. She looked down at her bonds, gasped, and began to struggle. "Why am I here? What is the meaning of this?"

She didn't see it coming, but she should have been prepared Lady Neville suddenly lashed out with her hand and struck Sara full across the face. She would have struck Sara again if the footman hadn't intervened. He grasped Lady Neville's wrist and dragged her away.

Sara was rigid with shock and pain. But the slap had done more than make her sick with pain. It doused her panic. If she was ever to get out of her alive, she would have to keep her wits about her.

"Get hold of yourself," gritted Beckett. He stood between Lady Neville and Sara. "If she faints on us again, how will that help us?"

"She killed my son!" Lady Neville dashed a hand across her eyes. "She killed my son!"

"I was acquitted of his murder," Sara cried out.

Lady Neville let out a hissing sound. "Only because William's body was never found." She dragged herself from her footman's grasp, walked to the altar and returned with one of the miniature portraits. "Look at him!" she commanded, her voice cracking.

Sara looked into the face of William Neville, a younger William than she had known. His thin face was framed with dark curls. His lips were full and turned up in a smile. No one would have known, looking at that charming expression, of the cruelty that lurked beneath the surface.

She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," she said, "but-"

Lady Neville stamped her foot. "Don't lie! It had to be you! I waited up for him that night, but he did not come home." Her face was sharp with malice. "You didn't know that, did you, that William still came to see his mother? He was everything to me, and I to him. He told me all about you and how mean you were with money. But I was never mean to him. I always gave him whatever I could spare. And it was so unjust. The money belonged to him. He would never have married beneath him if you hadn't turned his father against him."

This portrait of domestic bliss explained a great deal about William's character, but Sara did not dwell on that. "I turned Sir Ivor against William? How could I do that?"

Lady Neville's voice lashed out like a whip. "By telling lies about him. You spread rumors about him. You said he raped his own sister. And when Sir Ivor heard about it, he disowned William. But it was all your doing."

"Caroline?" Sara felt as though she'd stepped off the earth and was being sucked into a void. Her eyes darted to the altar, to the portrait of Caroline. Was Caroline the local girl William had deserted? As from a great distance, she heard her own voice say, "Did Caroline say that William had raped her?"

"She was dead, wasn't she? Oh, you were clever. You waited until she was in her grave before you started spreading those vile rumors."

Sara looked into those pale, venomous eyes and knew that no explanation of hers would be accepted. Lady Neville's hatred was so intense it was palpable.

The footman was becoming restive. "This is getting us nowhere. I haven't planned and schemed just to listen to family history. I want that reward, and the sooner we learn where William's body is, the sooner I can claim it."

Lady Neville did not answer. She replaced William's portrait on the altar, kissed it, and the other one, then came to stand directly in front of Sara. "I have prayed for this day for so long," she said. "When you went away I was distraught. I thought I would never see you again. But I found a way to bring you home, didn't I, Sara?"

The words came automatically. "You sent me those notes in William's hand."

A brilliant smile. "But of course. Then Beckett and I waited patiently for your return so that you could lead us to William. Beckett said that you would want to make sure that William was dead. But you didn't lead us to my son's grave, so we decided something more drastic was required. And here we are."

Panic began to soar in Sara again With her hands and legs bound, she was helpless to defend herself. She wondered wildly if she should scream. She'd learned from their conversation that Sir Ivor was home and there were bound to be servants. But this manor was as big as a small castle. She doubted if anyone was still awake, and even if she screamed and someone heard her, how would they find her?

She looked at Lady Neville. Even if she knew where William's body was, she did not think that would save her. She was looking into a child's face, a cruel child who cared nothing for justice except as it applied to herself.

"Oh, Max," she sobbed, so softly, it was almost inaudible.

But Lady Neville heard and pounced. "Oh yes, let's not forget your dear husband. You thought you were so clever, snaring Lord Maxwell. Did you really think that the Worthes of Lyndhurst would accept you as their daughter-in-law? Lord Maxwell was using you. He is the owner and publisher of the Courier. All he wants is a story for his newspaper. That's what he told Sir Ivor. Lord Maxwell wouldn't marry you, a brewer's daughter! Time will prove me right."

Sara discarded most of this little speech as the ravings of a deranged woman. The pain of losing a son had festered inside Lady Neville and affected her mind. She was unpredictable and out of control.

She looked at the footman. He was staring at her with an enigmatic smile on his face. Her fingers curled around the arms of the chair. "Think before you do anything stupid," she said to him. There was a plea in her voice. "Lord Maxwell isn't a fool. He'll figure out that you had something to do with my abduction. And if it's money you want, I have money in plenty. I'll give you the reward if you let me go."

"No!" The cry came from Lady Neville.

Beckett's smile showed a flash of white teeth. "Don't worry! I'm not such a fool. I know all about ladies and how they keep their promises."

Sara cried, "Is money so important to you?"

The smile instantly turned into a sneer. "Spoken like at true lady," he said. "What do you and your kind know about a life in service? You've never done a day's work in your life."

His head descended, and Sara could see the fury burning in his eyes. She tried to strain away, and her spine flattened against the back of the chair.

"I make thirty pounds a year," he said. "Thirty! And most footmen make only half that amount. We're as good as the people we serve, but they treat their dogs better than they treat us. Well, I'm ambitious. I have plans for my life, and the reward will set me up very nicely."

Sara gasped when he framed her face with his hands.

"That's right," he said, "you would do well to fear me. I shall be very upset, you see, if I don't claim that reward. In fact, I've set my heart on it. And I've got a terrible temper. There's no saying what I'll do if you don't tell me what I want to know."

"What Beckett means," said Lady Neville, "is that he'll kill you if you don't tell us where William is, but if you do tell us, we'll let you go. Oh, I know you can't be tried for murder again, but the world will know that you killed my son. So you see, Miss Carstairs, you're going to pay for your crime, one way or another."

"I can't tell you where William's body is," Sara cried out, "because-" She looked first at one hard face, then the other, and knew the truth would not save her. "Because ... " she faltered, then went on, "you'll never find it. I'll have to take you there."

"She's lying," hissed Lady Neville. "She's playing for time."

"Let her finish. Go on. Tell me where it is, and I'll decide whether you're lying or not. And if you are, G.o.d help you."

The words came more easily now, because Peter Fallon had been speculating on where William's body might be hidden when they were attacked by Beckett. "It's on the downs, in one of those old Saxon fortifications that looks down on Longfield. But you'll never find it. It's covered over with brambles and briers. The constables didn't find it, because no one knows about it but me. I found it when I was a child and made it my secret hiding place."

Lady Neville's face twisted with grief and fury. "And that's where you met William that night! You lured him there, then you killed him."

She took a quick step toward Sara, but once again, Beckett intervened. "If you hurt her," he bit out, "we'll never find your son's body." He looked at Sara. "I don't believe you. You've been twice to the dower house in the middle of the night. The first time, I followed you. After that, I knew you'd go back there. I've been waiting night after night for you to try again. If William's body isn't in the dower house, it's somewhere close by. And the dower house is nowhere near the downs. It's in the opposite direction."

Sara's brain had never worked faster. "It was a ploy. To make sure that I wasn't followed. Do you think I'm such a fool that I wouldn't test the waters first? But both times, I was foiled. And wasn't William's horse found on the downs? That's where he is, I tell you."

A look pa.s.sed between mistress and servant, and after a moment, Lady Neville nodded. She let out a pent-up breath. "I'll wait here for you. But just remember who is paying you the reward. If you don't find William's remains, you'll get nothing out of Sir Ivor."

"I'm not likely to forget."

Sara flinched when he suddenly turned on her with a knife in his hand, then she let out a choked sob. He only wanted to cut her bonds, first those on her wrists, then those at her ankles. He'd seen the terror on her face and he was smiling.

"Stand up," he said.

Sara obeyed, but she was swaying like a woman who'd had too much to drink. Her head was buzzing with thoughts, her blood was pounding in her ears. Lady Neville had said she would stay behind, and though having only one to contend with improved her chances of escape, she didn't want to be left alone with the footman.

You'll have your time alone with her after she tells us what we want to know.

The words spun around in her head. She didn't think this particular footman would follow anyone's inclinations but his own.

"Now let's see you walk," he said.

Sara took one step and staggered, but she made herself go on. If she was ever to get out of this alive, she'd have to do a lot more than walk. She'd have to run like a deer.

"Let's go," said Beckett. He put his knife to her throat. "But remember, if you try anything, I'll slice off your fingers one by one. And they're such pretty fingers."

He grasped Sara's elbow and propelled her toward the door. Lady Neville held it open for them. "I shall be here, Beckett, waiting for your return. Then we'll go to Sir Ivor together and tell him the good news."

She shut the door on them and turned back to the shrine she'd made to her children. She felt curiously serene. She'd made a promise to her son that no matter how long it took, she would bring his murderer to justice. At long last, that day had arrived.

The house was a maze of long, narrow corridors and staircases that came out on landings that led to other long, narrow corridors. Sara thought she understood why Beckett had chosen this roundabout way of leaving the house. He must know where all the servants were quartered, and wanted to avoid meeting anyone she could appeal to for help. Even if she screamed, she didn't think anyone would hear her.

She didn't have a plan except to get away from him and hide herself until morning, when the house would begin to stir. She knew she would never outrun him on the downs. She didn't have the stamina. She felt groggy and weak. She had to make her move while they were still in the house.

But to get away from him, she needed darkness, and her hopes faded when she saw that there were candles burning in wail sconces in every corridor. There should have been a footman on duty to douse those candles hours ago, and she wondered if it was Beckett's job. From what she'd learned of him, he wouldn't give a straw for what was expected of him. He deeply resented his position as a footman and would do as little as he could get away with.

"This is Lady Neville's wing of the house," he said, the first words he'd spoken to her since they'd left Lady Neville's apartments. "She and I have it to ourselves, except for her maid, and she's not on this floor. If you were to scream no one would hear you."

She felt the slow throb of blood at her throat.

He stopped beside one of the wall sconces and plucked a candle from it. "There are no candles where we are going," he said.

He made no move to walk on, and she edged away from him, trying to make her movement as natural as possible. But try as she might, she couldn't think of a thing to say.

He crowded her into a doorway. "You fancy me, don't you?" he said.

Her skin began to crawl. She badly wanted to smack the leering smile from his face, but she knew better than to antagonize him. In fact, she should be doing the opposite. Would he believe her? "Yes," she said tremulously.

He smiled into her eyes.

After pocketing his knife, he reached for the doork.n.o.b right by her hip, and pushed the door inward. Sara quickly stepped back, away from him. He followed her in, shut the door and locked it. As he deposited the candle on the mantelpiece, Sara took a quick look round. She didn't waste time examining the big four-poster bed with its elaborate drapes. She was looking for a weapon and she found it on the hearth, beside the bra.s.s fender.

He slipped off his coat and folded it neatly over a chair. Sara tried to be as casual as he, but her fingers were trembling so hard, she couldn't undo the b.u.t.tons on her coat.

She jumped when she looked up and saw that he was standing right over her. His hand cupped her shoulders and she fought the urge to strain away.

Dark eyes glittered down at her. "You stupid b.i.t.c.h. Did you really think you could fool me? You're playing for time, hoping someone will rescue you. Well, there's no rescue from this."

He grabbed her hand and thrust it against his body. When she felt his arousal, terror ripped through her and she acted instinctively. She struck him across the face. He moved like lightning and sent her spinning to the edge of the bed. When he sprang at her, she twisted away and stumbled toward the fireplace. Swiftly stooping, she picked up the poker and whirled to face him.

He put his hands on his hips and chuckled. "I'm going to make you pay for that slap," he said. "But you want me to, don't you? Some women like it rough."

Before he had stopped speaking, he leaped for her. But she was ready. She swung the poker in an arc and caught him across one shoulder. It wasn't enough to fell him. With a roar of rage, he wrestled her to the floor. She fought him like a madwoman. They rolled together and sent a chair toppling. Kicking, bucking, she freed one hand and poked a finger in his eye. On a howl of pain, he pulled off her. She raised to her knees and began to crawl toward the poker. On the way, she encountered his coat and felt the sharp edge of his knife.

It was in her hand before he realized his danger. He lunged for her and she drove the knife into his thigh. There was a moment of astonished silence, then he doubled over in pain.

"b.i.t.c.h!" he panted. "f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h! I think you severed an artery."

"I hope I have."

"b.i.t.c.h! Help me. I need a doctor."

Sara did not bother to answer. She picked up his coat, found the key to the door, and quickly opened it. She threw away the knife, then she began to scream. She ran the length of the corridor and screamed and screamed and screamed.

As if in answer to those screams, she heard a thundering from below, and a moment later, Max's voice roaring her name. All her aches and pains were forgotten as she went hurtling down that last flight of stairs.

"My G.o.d! Sara!"

Max leaped for the bottom of the stairs as she went catapulting into his arms.

*Chapter Twenty-five*

Sara did not allow herself more than a few seconds' comfort in those strong arms before she pushed out of them. First, she wanted to hear about Peter Fallon, and after Max had a.s.sured her that Peter was on the mend, she told him in a few sentences how she came to be there.

She rushed her last words. "And I stabbed him, Lady Neville's footman. I think he may be bleeding to death. In one of the bedchambers." She looked back at the stairs. "I don't know which one."

"I don't give a d.a.m.n if he is bleeding to death. It will save me the bother of killing him!"

Sara tugged on Max's sleeve. "If you won't think of him, think of me. I don't want to be tried for murder again."

"Where," said Max, "is Sir Ivor?"

He was looking over her head, and when Sara turned, she saw a footman in black livery standing in the shadows. For a moment, her heart stopped, then she saw that it wasn't Beckett, but an older man. The night porter, she thought, and sniffed back tears of relief.

"There's no one up but me," said the footman. He pointed to an ornate clock on the vestibule table. "Everyone's asleep."

"We'll soon change that," snapped Max.

He thrust Sara from him, produced his pistol, and fired a shot into the plaster ceiling. The report of the shot echoed like a cannon going off.

It was too much for Sara. She put her hands over her ears. Reaction set in, and she began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Brandy," said Max. "What you need is a large gla.s.s of brandy." Then to the footman, "Take us to Sir Ivor's library."

"No one is allowed-"

"Now!" roared Max.

Doors were opening and slamming, and people were calling out in alarm. Nothing, it seemed, put this footman off his stride. He picked up a candle and said stiffly, "Come this way."

Once they were in the library, Max pushed Sara into a chair. "Please, Max," she said, her lips trembling, "you must find Beckett and stop the bleeding."