A Valentine from Harlequin

Her sharp gray gaze flickered around the room until it landed on him.
    “Alistair.”
    She breathed only the one word, but the look on her face said so much more. Her relief was almost palpable and he worked up a smile for her. It wasn’t difficult. Bloody hell, she was alive, and that was all that mattered. He’d clung to the belief that Rotham hadn’t harmed her, but it hadn’t made the hours pass any quicker. He’d needed to see her in the flesh, and now that he had, everything was right with the world. Aside from the pesky manacles and the gun pointed at them….
    “If the two of you are finished making eyes at one another, you might want to pay mind to the man with the gun,” Rotham groused. He sounded like a petulant three-year-old, but Alistair reminded himself that such a person would be even more dangerous than a proper man wielding a weapon. He tore his gaze from Charlotte and reluctantly focused on their captor.
    “Very good. Now, Charlotte, you will have free reign of the laboratory tonight and every night. At dawn, I will chain you and release Sinclair to do his part. That should keep you both in line, because if one of you attempts to escape while you are unrestrained, the other will be left behind to face my wrath alone. At the end of two days, I expect the purviewers to function as they’re meant to. Then, you will be free to go. It’s quite simple, really,” he said with a casual shrug and a flash of perfectly straight, white teeth.
    Alistair vowed to knock them out the moment he had the chance.
    “It would assist in our task if we knew how they were damaged,” Charlotte said.
    “They worked perfectly for a few weeks. I’d made my way through all the gaming hells in France. Cards, games of chance, horse races, I wagered on them all, and won. Small stakes, you understand, to keep from being noticed. I was on my way to creating a whole new life there. Almost had enough to send for Emily to join me. Then one evening I was peeking through the purviewers right before a bout of boxing, and someone walked by. In my rush to take off the goggles before they were seen, I dropped them on the cobbles.”
    He curled his lip in disgust as he tossed the brass on the worktable. “They haven’t worked since. I’ve lost every sou I won and then some. Tried to read your stupid notebook to fix them. A load of gibberish, that.”
    “The goggles aren’t meant for rigorous use. Besides, if we fix them, what’s to stop you from resorting to this should they break again? I refuse to live my life in fear, John. What guarantee do we have that this will be at an end in forty-eight hours?” Charlotte crossed her arms over her breasts—plumping them up against the scooped neckline of her dress—and eyed their nemesis pointedly.
    “You’re not in a position to demand guarantees. But, I will only require the purviewers for one more use. I’ve worked out a plan that will make me rich as Croesus. You have my word, fix them this once and I shan’t trouble you again.” He started toward the door. “I will be back early to release Sinclair and secure you for the day. Use your time wisely. Two days,” he sang as he exited.
    Charlotte called after him, “Just so you are aware, milord, the wedding is off!”
    Alistair shook his head in amazement as the door slammed behind Rotham. Even in the face of a crisis, Charlotte Phillips’s dry wit did not fail her. He loved that, and everything else, about her. Alistair gave her a proper grin, then looked closer at her pale face. She was not quite as unaffected as she seemed.
    “Are you all right?”
    She nodded and attempted a weak smile. “Yes. A little shaken, is all. It’s not every day one’s intended comes back from the dead, kidnaps your colleague and threatens to murder you, but I’m managing. You?”
    Colleague. That stung, but he probably deserved it. He’d had the chance to be so much more to Charlotte but he’d turned her away. Now it was too late.
    “Alistair?” She pinned him with her too-perceptive gaze as she picked her way across the cluttered room, muttering a curse as she stumbled. “I asked how you were fairing.”
    “Same as you, taken aback, I suppose,” he said with a shrug.
    “To tell the truth, I feel rather a ninny for trusting him in the first place.” Her cheeks flushed and she looked away.
    John Rotham had been a bit of an unknown from the start, and while Charlotte had trusted him, Alistair had not. The second son to