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“What’s in the cellar?”

“Papers. Proof of the blackmail he endured from the Jacobites.”

Ian grimaced at the pinch in his wrists. “Do you have to fasten them so tightly? You are cutting off my blood supply.”

She raised a brow playfully. “I am very good at my job.”

He shrugged as much as he could with his arms outstretched. “I have no doubt of that.”

“I have more things to tell you,” she said as she stepped away from him and walked toward the opposite wall. She took her time selecting a long leather whip before approaching him again, the playful fire glowing in her eyes. “So, don’t forget to scream.”

There wasn’t much that gave away emotion on her face. But this exchange obviously delighted her. She stood with her back to the ugly wall, shielding Ian from view, and raised the whip. But before she could lower it, a loud crash somewhere beyond the door caught both of their attention.

She turned toward the door, her brows knitted. The sounds of a struggle continued with some grunts, light screams, and then hurried footsteps thrown in the mix. Their gazes met, their expressions full of concern.

“I need to check on what’s going on,” she said and was already clipping on her faux petticoat.

“Maybe you should untie me first?” Ian offered irritably.

The cold smile touched her lips. “I am certain the patrons are just being jealous of their wenches. Nothing to worry about. I’ll be back in a spell.”

She gave him a slight nod and sauntered away.

Ian pulled on his restraints and sighed in defeat. He tried to listen to the sounds, but he couldn’t make sense of anything. What is going on?

His erection quickly deflated, the chill climbing up his limbs, his mind coming up with all the different ways this entire situation could go wrong.

Ian slowly opened his pillbox rings with his thumb and withdrew a tiny metal hook on a string, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

It wouldn’t be easy, but perhaps he could undo the restraints… If only Grace wasn’t so thorough in tying him up.

He heard heavy footsteps approaching his room and froze. The noise grew louder, a chaotic mix of screams, stomping feet, and breaking furniture reaching his ears. But a loud male voice rose above it all, booming as if reprimanding. No, preaching.

Something was truly wrong.

Ian attached his hook to the metal buckle of the leather strap and pulled hard, freeing his right hand.

Ah-ha!

His triumph was short-lived, however. Before he could free his other hand, the door to his room was thrown open and a large, rotund man in a dark, long robe sauntered in, holding a lantern by his bearded face.

“Look at this picture of sin and immorality!” He cried loudly. “This man desires to be punished and punished he shall be. Such is the will of God!”

Chapter 2

Greyson.

He was always the first thing that entered Helen’s groggy mind. His name was the first word upon her lips. His laughing gray eyes were the first thing she saw in her mind’s eye.

She turned to the side with a smile on her lips. She stretched out her arm to feel his warm body, only to encounter the cold sheets.

Helen opened her eyes and blinked, watching her fingers curl into the mattress.

Empty.

Greyson’s arm was not around her waist, his body was not resting next to hers, and neither was his pillow rumpled from the restless night. It was untouched.

The world tilted on its axis just as it did every morning when she finally remembered.