Samantha was starting to get dizzy from looking back and forth between them and trying to get her mouth to form words. Before she could, unfortunately, Maurice had beckoned and an assistant of some kind was instantly there.
“Show them to their suite without delay, Shawn.”
“Ever so good of you,” Derrick said. “I’ll be sure and let Her Ladyship know the sort of service we received.”
More compliments were exchanged. Samantha found that she could do nothing besides continue to splutter helplessly, all the way across the lobby and into the elevator. Derrick, whoever he really was, still had hold of her elbow, but she managed to rip her arm away from him and glare at him. He only smiled indulgently, then nodded meaningfully at their escort.
Samantha considered furiously. Things were rapidly going downhill inside the hotel, but she wasn’t too dumb to realize they wouldn’t be any better outside. Her options were limited to either calling her brother again or calling the police. She wasn’t sure the police would be a good option given that she was currently in possession of a very expensive piece of lace, but Gavin hadn’t seemed all that interested in helping her, either. Given that he likely hadn’t found any enthusiasm for the idea of helping her since the last time she’d talked to him, maybe she was just on her own.
She exited the elevator with Derrick the Gripper resuming his hold on her arm and kept her eyes peeled for a way out of her current predicament. It wasn’t as if she could bang on a door and hope—
Or maybe she could. She contemplated that as she walked down the hallway. There might not be anyone willing to open up to her, but just that gave her what she was fairly convinced was an idea even Carson Drew would have approved of.
She waited until she was standing in front of what was apparently the end of the line for her, then smiled at their escort. “Thanks so much. I’m being kidnapped, you know.”
“Isn’t she droll?” Derrick said in accents so posh, she thought they all might cut themselves on them. “Still in character, even here in the hallway.” He looked at her lovingly. “I believe we should hurry inside and finish the scene, darling, don’t you agree? We wouldn’t want Scotland Yard offering an opinion on—”
Samantha pushed past the man sent to accompany them, jumped inside the room, then turned and shoved the door shut. She bolted it for good measure, then leaned her forehead against the wood.
There was silence on the other side for a moment or two, then a very stern voice that came very clearly through the door.
“Open the door, Miss Drummond. It’s time to come out of character.”
“Go to—” She chewed on the word for a moment or two, then cast caution to the wind. “Go to hell,” she said firmly.
She could hear voices outside, discussing the dilemma. She turned, then leaned back against the door.
Then she jumped half a foot.
A woman rose from the couch, someone who could only have been a Bond girl. Samantha was starting to feel as if instead of falling into a bad crime drama, she had become part of some slick British television show. She wished she could have patted her sidearm meaningfully or given her companion a cool look of disdain, but all she could do was gape at her.
The Bond girl crossed the room to her, then held out her hand. “I’m Emily,” she said, her accent betraying her as French. “Who are you?”
No wonder she looked so effortlessly chic. Samantha wasn’t sure that her Renaissance garb was very stylish, but she was very sure that her normal middle-aged-scholar style would have left Emily wincing involuntarily.
“I’m Samantha,” Samantha managed. “And I’m—”
“A thief,” Derrick growled from the other side of the door.
Samantha pointed back over her shoulder. “He thinks I’m a thief.”
“You are a thief!” came the accusation, muffled, through the door.
“Please, sir, the other guests—”
“The other guests be damned!”
Emily pursed her lips, then laughed a little. “I think, chérie, that perhaps we had best let him in before he lands himself in trouble.”
“He kidnapped me,” Samantha said quickly. “I need help.”
Emily looked utterly surprised. “Kidnapped?”
“Well, what else would you call it? He’s been following me for days, he chased me through a street fair, then he threw me into a car and brought me here.”
“That does sound suspicious,” Emily agreed, “but maybe he was trying to