Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(64)

"What kind of information might that be, sir?" Mrs. Buttons asked, coming forward to stand at Vivien's side.

"I'm not allowed to say," Keyes replied, smiling slightly at the two distressed women. "But I assure you, Mr. Morgan would want you to comply. And certainly there is no safer place in London than number four Bow Street."

"How long must I stay there?" Vivien asked. "Until Mr. Morgan returns?"

"Possibly." Suddenly a twitch of impatience pulled at his mouth. "Come, Miss Duvall, we're wasting time. Sir Ross requested me to escort you to him immediately."

"All right." Vivien was perturbed by the unexpected change of plans. An unpleasant feeling crept over her. Mr. Keyes appeared to be a nice man, but there was something about him that she did not like, something difficult to identify. It seemed that his genial facade concealed something reptilian and cold. She instinctively wanted to avoid him. Her heart had picked up its pace, beating in an anxious, uneven staccato. It was rather amazing, the reaction of her body, when her mind could discern no reasonable cause for it.

The desire to escape him rose strongly in her, making it difficult to keep from bolting into an outright run. "Mr. Keyes," she managed to say, "may I take one of the maids with me? I would like some female companionship."

"Mary will go with you," Mrs. Buttons said, clearly approving of the idea.

Keyes shook his head at once. "There's no need of that. This is hardly a social call, Miss Duvall, but official business. I would prefer to leave right away, if you don't mind. Before the storm worsens."

Vivien exchanged a long, questioning glance with the housekeeper.Is he trustworthy? her own gaze asked, while Mrs. Buttons silently responded,I believe so.

Mrs. Buttons was clearly worried, but her graying head tilted in a posture of helpless acquiescence. "Miss Duvall," she murmured, "if Mr. Keyes says you must go, I don't think there's much to be said about it." A troubled frown pulled at her forehead. "And he's right--there is no safer place for you than Bow Street."

Vivien glanced at the darkening sky visible through the window. "Very well," she said calmly. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Keyes, I should like to change my shoes and put on a hooded premise."

"Of course, Miss Duvall."

Vivien backed away a step, staring at him intently. A memory seethed and writhed in her brain, pushing urgently at the wall of forgetfulness. "Sir...we've met before, haven't we?"

"I don't believe so, miss." His gaze held a coiled enmity that caused a sudden fearful pang in her stomach. He did not like her, she realized. He must have heard the terrible rumors about her--or the real Vivien, as it were--and believed every one of them.

A rumble of thunder scored through the silence, and Keyes turned his head to glance at the gathering darkness. Something about his profile, the small hump at the bridge of his nose, the outline of his hair, the way the little jut of his chin met the soft folds of his throat, made her nerves screech in alarm.

Keyes looked back at her, catching the flare of tension in her face. "We don't have long, Miss Duvall."

She turned and left the room, forcing herself to walk normally even though panic had begun to leak and spread inside her. Breathing in deepening pants, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Keyes stood at the foot of the staircase, watching her intently. He looked like a malevolent demon planning to drag her into the bowels of hell.

All she wanted was the safety of her room, to close and lock the door and hide. The stairs loomed like a mountainside before her, and she stumbled a little as she lunged and climbed upward. After an eternity passed, she found herself before the door of her room. Clumsily she closed herself inside and stood there shuddering. She was lost in the sensation of drowning, straining to breathe, her limbs stiffening against the stabbing coldness that surrounded her."Grant." She tried to say his name in a desperate plea for help, but she had lost the ability to even whisper."Grant--"

And she sank to her knees as memory came rushing over her. The night of her attack...the silver-haired man with the merciless face...wiry hands locked around her throat, thumbs digging into her throat until her windpipe was crushed shut...She lost the struggle to breathe as the darkness consumed her...and then the punishing coldness of the river, the black water pulling her beneath the surface.

Mr. Keyes had done this to her. She knew it down to the bottom of her soul. He had tried to kill her, and failing once, he would try again.

A momentary sense of betrayal cut through her terror.

Grant...how could you send him here? How could you leave me here with him?

But it was not his fault, her heart insisted stubbornly. He would never have done this to her intentionally.

She was in danger, in the place that had been such a haven until this moment. Quaking, gasping, she crawled to the chamber pot concealed in the bedside cabinet and fumbled with the concealing door in front. But in a moment the rolling wave of nausea subsided, and she filled her lungs with huge gulps of air.

Closing her eyes, she leaned against the smooth side of the mahogany cabinet, savoring the coolness of the wood against her hot, damp face. For the first time in weeks, she knew her own name. "Victoria Devane," she said aloud. "I'm Victoria." Her lips moved in countless repetitions of the sounds...her name, herreal name. It was like a key that unlocked all the sealed places in her mind. Images of her past paraded before her...the country cottage where she spent her days occupied with books and visiting schoolchildren. Her friends from the village...a long-ago trip to the seashore...her father's funeral.