"Yes."
It was all Sam could say. It was impossible to say more. If Charles had lived, things would have been different, of course, but Charles hadn't lived and now the Rookery was closed, and she and Gabby had no money and nowhere to go.
Which meant they'd stay here. She'd find a way in, or better yet, try to break into the gamekeeper's cottage to the far left of the old hall.
"So where can I take you?" The driver asked. "Into Chester? There are some decent hotels and inns in town."
Sam shook her head, opened the car door. "No, thank you. We'll be staying here."
The driver shook his head, obviously not pleased with her de*cision, but unwilling to intervene. He accepted his payment and drove away and as the taxi disappeared down the driveway, and Gabby shivered next to her, Sam realized just how late, and cold, and dark it was.
She'd made a mistake coming here. She should have gone with the taxi while they could.
But it was too late for regrets or remorse. They needed to get inside the gamekeeper's cottage and once inside, Sam would build a fire and they'd be warm.
The old stone cottage was tucked to the left of the Rookery, and although small, contained two bedrooms, a simple kitchen and a great room with a large stone hearth- Sam knew it would be chilly inside the cottage—dark, too, because obviously there wasn't even electricity anymore—but surely there'd be candles or lanterns, something to provide light-Standing on tiptoe, Sam reached above the door, felt for a key not expecting to find one, and yet to her surprise, her fingers brushed cold metal. Thank God. The cottage key's hiding place had at least remained the same. Sliding the key off the door frame, Sam tried the dead bolt and it turned.
"We're in," Sam said, forcing cheer into her voice. "Let's see if I can't make us a proper fire now."
Nearly two hours later Sam was still trying to make a fire— she couldn't find matches in the dark, couldn't find anything to give her light—but thankfully Gabriela had fallen asleep on the old feather-stuffed couch, wrapped in thick blankets. At least Gabby was warm, Sam thought with a sigh as she sat back on her heels.
She was still contemplating the cold black hearth when she heard the purr of a motor outside, and then saw the wide arc of headlights flash through the dark cottage's unshuttered windows.
Someone was here.
But Sam felt anything other than relief as she heard the car come to a stop, the headlights shining directly on the small ne*glected cottage. This wasn't the taxi driver returning to check on them. And no one knew they were coming here.
Nervous, Sam went to the window overlooking the driveway. The car out front was a large sedan, a dark colored Mercedes. None of the locals who'd worked at the orphanage would drive a Mercedes, and to reach the Rookery, one had to drive a good quarter of a mile off the main road. Besides, it was late now, close to midnight.
Sam's fingers curled into her palms. This was no accidental call. Heart in her mouth she watched the door on the driver's side swing open. Cristiano Baitolo stepped out.
Sam stared at his tall shadowy figure in disbelief. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. Despite the distance, the flights, the taxis and the borders, he'd found them already. If d taken him just hours.
CHAPTER FOUR
Locked inside the cottage, Sam listened as he knocked once on the cottage door, then twice.
Three times.
And each time he knocked, it was harder, louder-She glanced back to the living room where Gabriela still slept, but if Cristiano continued pounding on the door, he'd wake her soon,
"Open the door. Baroness." Cristiano's deep voice, although muffled by the dense wood door, still reached her.
He sounded angry. Angrier than she'd ever heard him. In Monte Carlo he'd been cynical, mocking, terse—but never angry.
He must have leaned closer to the door because when he spoke next, his voice was perfectly clear. "I'll give you to the count of three before I break the door down."
06-12-07, 02:47 PM
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