“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said softly, feeling as though she was attempting to soothe a wild beast. “I’m going to take the hood off, if that’s all right. But you’re much taller than me, so I need you to bend your head.”
He froze, turning his head toward the sound of her voice, his big body riddled with tension.
“I’m not one of them,” she lied, hating herself for doing so but feeling that she didn’t have any other option. “I’m a prisoner here as well.”
Slowly, he lowered his head.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the edges of the hood, slowly working it up, her fingers inadvertently tangling in his silky black hair. He smelled incredible, like leather and sandalwood. Everything about him screamed wealth and good breeding, all the things the men upstairs hated so passionately.
When the hood came off, she saw that he was gagged as well, and she hastened to untie the piece of cloth that kept the rag in place, her fingertips fumbling with the knot, which had tightened during his ordeal and proved difficult to unfasten. At last, it sprung free, and he broke into a coughing fit, his big body doubling over as he fought to get air.
She rushed to the pitcher of water on the table, poured him a glass with shaking hands, then hurried back, pressing it to his lips. “Here,” she murmured. “Drink this.”
He hesitated for a moment, then drank deeply, his strong throat moving as he drained the glass. She found her gaze riveted, swallowing herself as she realized how intimate this was. The thought of what Jacob wanted her to do with this man made her shiver convulsively.
He finally looked at her, his dark eyes narrowing. “I know you. You’re Quinn O’Brien’s servant. What are you doing here? And where’shere?”
She forced down a surge of annoyance, even though his words were technically true. How terrible to be thought of as someone’s possession. She’d remembered his name, but he obviously hadn’t remembered hers. His attitude made her remember why she’d joined the Citizens Committee to begin with. She’d been so tired of being treated like she was nothing, like the circumstances of her birth must define her for the rest of her life.
“I’m Allison O’Brien’s lady’s maid,” she replied carefully, knowing she had to tread very carefully. During the time she’d spent down here by herself, she’d thought long and hard about the story she should tell. She had to do this right, or he’d immediately figure out that she wasn’t telling the truth. “I don’t know where we are or why we’re here. They took me off the street in front of the O’Briens’ house this morning.”
He cursed under his breath, turning to survey their surroundings. “Were you able to discern anything about where they took us? Did you see anything? Hear anything?”
She shook her head. “They put a hood over my head as well.”
His dark eyes raked her from head to toe. “Why would they take a mere lady’s maid along with someone like me?”
Did he even realize how condescending he was being? She honestly didn’t think he did, but he had a point, and the answer came to her in a rush she wasn’t at all proud of. “Perhaps they thought I was Lady Allison.”
“You look nothing like her,” he said dismissively.
“I’m a woman who came out the front door of the O’Briens’ house,” she snapped. “The men they sent for me didn’t seem the brightest.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” He turned his back to her. “Do you think you could undo my hands as well?”
She nodded even though he was facing away from her, hoping he didn’t see through her lies. It didn’t seem as though it would bother him one bit to hurt her if he sensed her deception. She was a mere lady’s maid, after all. No one who mattered.
After she released him, he rubbed each wrist in turn, and she could see that the rope had left deep grooves in his skin and probably cut off his circulation painfully. His cheek was bruised, and one of his lips was bloody. They’d hurt him when they’d taken him. He must have put up a fight. She hated that she’d had anything to do with this fiasco, and she couldn’t see a single way that this wasn’t going to end badly for her.
And for him, for that matter.
Jacob would never let them out of this cellar alive. She’d known that the minute he’d thrown her down here. The mere thought of what their futures held made her shiver convulsively once again, and she wrapped her arms tightly around her.
“Are you cold?” The sudden concern in his voice surprised her.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered, perhaps the first honest thing she’d said. “I don’t know what they’re going to do to us.”
He frowned and walked over to the nearest cot, grabbing a scratchy wool blanket and returning to wrap it around her shoulders. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”
The gesture was so unexpectedly kind that she found herself blinking back tears, ashamed to the depths of her soul that such a small act of service could affect her so deeply. “Heather. Heather Fields.”
“Hello, Miss Fields. I’m Drake.”
His lack of formality startled her. A gentleman would never introduce himself to a lady that way, but she supposed that he didn’t see her as a lady. Besides, these were hardly normal circumstances.
“Hello, Drake,” she replied, liking the nickname far more than his proper name.
He laughed roughly. “Well, now that the introductions are over, let’s figure out how to get out of this place, shall we?”