She was going to have to save herself, or at the very least, do her best to make it easy for someone else to save her.
She swung her legs off the bed and sat up, placing her moment of pity firmly behind her. She couldn’t sit here and do nothing.
Perhaps there was something she could do about her bindings. They were firmly tied, but not so tight as to dig into her skin. Maybe she could reach her ankles with her hands. It would be awkward, since she’d have to bend backwards, but it was worth a try.
She lay on her side and curled her legs up behind her, reaching back…back…
There. She had it. It wasn’t rope but rather a strip of fabric, tied in an extremely tight knot. She groaned. It was the sort of thing she’d more likely cut through than attempt to work open.
She’d never had patience for this sort of thing. It went with the embroidery she hated, and the lessons she’d skipped…
If she could get this knot undone, she’d learn French. No, she’d learn Russian! That would be even more difficult.
If she could get it undone, she’d finish Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron. She’d even find the one about the mysterious colonel and read that one, too.
She’d write more letters, and not just to Miranda. She’d deliver charity boxes, not just pack them. She would bloody well complete everything she started.
Everything.
And there was no way she was going to fall in love with Sir Harry Valentine and not marry him.
No way at all.
Chapter Twenty-three
Harry sat in silence while Alexei downed his second shot of vodka. He said nothing when he took his third, or even his fourth, which was actually the one he’d originally poured for Harry. But when the prince reached for the bottle for his fifth shot-
“Don’t,” Harry snapped.
Alexei looked at him with surprise. “I beg your pardon.”
“Do not take another drink.”
Now the prince appeared merely confused. “You are telling me not to drink?”
One of Harry’s hands clenched into a fist, hard and tense. “I am telling you that if we need your assistance in finding Olivia, I don’t want you stumbling and puking down the hallway.”
“I can assure you, I never stumble. Or-what is this puke?”
“Put the bottle down.”
Alexei did not comply.
“Put. It. Down.”
“I think you forget who I am.”
“I never forget anything. You would do well to take note of that.”
Alexei merely stared at him. “You make no sense.”
Harry stood. “You do not want to provoke me right now.”
Alexei regarded him for a moment, then turned back to the glass and bottle in his hands. He started to pour.
Harry saw red.
It was the first bloody time in his life he’d seen the color, but he would have sworn that the entire world seemed to turn a different, hotter hue. His ears roared and tensed on the inside, as if he’d climbed to the top of a mountain. And he no longer had control. Of anything. His body leaped forward of its own volition, and his mind certainly wasn’t doing anything to stop it. He landed on the prince like a human cannonball, and they crashed against a table and then onto the floor, the vodka spilling on them both.
Harry nearly gagged at the heavy scent of the alcohol. It soaked his clothes, and it was cold, so cold against his skin.
But it didn’t stop him. Nothing could have stopped him. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t think of anything to say. For once in his life he had no words. He had nothing but rage. It poured through him, pulsed with fury, and when he raised his fist, ready to slam it into the prince’s face, all that came forth was a cry of fury. And-
“Stop it!”
It was Vladimir, stepping nimbly into the fray, yanking Harry off Alexei and shoving him toward the opposite wall. “What the hell are you doing?”
“He is insane,” Alexei hissed, rubbing his throat.
Harry did nothing but breathe, but it was a rough, furious sound.
“Shut up,” Vladimir said. He glared at Harry, as if anticipating an interruption. “Both of you. Now listen to me.” He stepped forward, and his foot met with the bottle on the floor. It skittered across the room, spraying what was left of the vodka. Vladimir grunted in disgust but made no comment. After eyeing both men assessingly, he continued speaking. “I have inspected the building, and I believe that Lady Olivia is still inside.”
“Why do you think that?” Harry asked.
“There are guards at every door.”
“For a party?”
Vladimir shrugged. “There are many reasons to protect the contents of the house.”
Harry waited for more, but Vladimir did not elaborate. God above, it was just like talking with Winthrop. Harry hadn’t realized until this very moment how much he hated it-all those vague sentences and We have our ways.
“None of the guards saw her depart,” Vladimir continued. “The only door she might have exited without detection is the main one, where the party is.”
“She did not return to the party,” Harry said, then clarified: “She went to the washroom, but she did not return to the party.”
“Are you certain?”
He gave one sharp nod. “I am.”
“Then we must assume she did not leave the building. We don’t know if she reached the washroom-”
“She did,” Harry interrupted. He felt like an idiot for not mentioning this sooner. “She was there for some time. Her friend told me she saw her there.”
“Who is this friend?” Vladimir asked.