The wooden door began to splinter.

Olivia prayed she would not lose control.

And then it all came crashing in.

She screamed, the sound ripping from the back of her throat. It felt as if the gag was clawing at her tongue, as if a puff of dry, scorching air was whipping through her windpipe.

And then someone said her name.

The air was obscured by dust and darkness, and all she could see was the massive figure of a man moving toward her.

“Lady Olivia.” The man’s voice was gruff and deep. And accented. “Are you hurt?”

It was Vladimir, Prince Alexei’s hulking and usually silent manservant. Suddenly all she could think of was the way he’d yanked and twisted on Sebastian Grey’s arm, and oh dear God, if he could do that, he could break her right in two, and-

“Let me help you,” he said.

He spoke English? Since when had he spoken English?

“Lady Olivia?” he repeated, his deep voice barely a grunt. He pulled out a knife, and she cringed, but he just brought it to the back of her gag and sliced through it.

She coughed and choked, barely hearing him as he shouted something in Russian again.

Someone replied, also in Russian, and she heard footsteps…running…coming closer…and then-

Harry?

“Olivia!” he cried, running toward her.

Vladimir said something to him-in Russian-and Harry gave a curt reply.

Also in Russian.

She stared at both of them in shock. What was happening? Why was Vladimir speaking in English?

Why was Harry speaking in Russian?

“Olivia, thank God!” Harry said, his hands cupping her face. “Tell me you haven’t been hurt. Please, tell me what happened?”

But she couldn’t move, could barely even think. When he’d spoken in Russian-it was as if he had been an entirely different person. His voice had been different, and his face had been different, the mouth and the muscles moving in a completely different way.

She shrank from his touch. Did she know him? Did she even know him? He’d told her that his father had been a drunk, that his grandmother had brought him up-had any of that been true?

What had she done? Oh dear Lord, she had given herself to someone she did not know, could not trust.

Vladimir handed something to Harry, who nodded and said something else in Russian.

Olivia tried to back away, but she was already at the wall. She was breathing fast, and she was cornered, and she didn’t want to be here, not with this man who wasn’t Harry, and-

“Hold still,” he said, and then he raised a knife.

Olivia looked up, saw the glint of metal as it came toward her, and screamed.

It was a sound Harry never wanted to hear again.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said to her, trying to sound as calm and reassuring as possible. His hands were steady as he cut through her bindings, but on the inside, he was still shaking.

He’d known he loved her. He’d known he needed her, couldn’t possibly be happy without her. But until that moment, he hadn’t understood the breadth of it, the depth of it, the absolute knowledge that without her, he was nothing.

And then her scream, her fear…of him.

He’d nearly choked on the anguish of it.

He freed her ankles first, then her wrists, but as he reached out to comfort her, she made an almost inhuman sound, and leaped off the bed. She moved so quickly he wasn’t able to stop her, and then, when she hit the floor-her feet must have been burning with pins and needles-her knees buckled, and she tumbled to the floor.

Dear God, she was terrified of him. Of him. What had they said to her? What had they done to her?

“Olivia,” he said cautiously, and he reached out to her, keeping his movements slow and even.

“Don’t touch me,” she whimpered. She tried to crawl away, dragging her useless feet behind her.

“Olivia, let me help you.”

But it was as if she did not hear him.

“We need to go,” Vladimir said, saying the words in gruff Russian.

Harry didn’t even bother to look at him as he insisted on another minute, the Russian words rolling off his tongue without a thought.

Olivia’s eyes widened, and she looked frantically toward the door, clearly intending to make a break for it.

“I should have told you,” Harry said, suddenly realizing the cause of her panic. “My grandmother was Russian. It was all she spoke to me when I was a child. It was why-”

“We do not have time for explanations,” Vladimir said harshly. “Lady Olivia, we must go now.”

She must have responded to the authority in his voice, because she nodded and, still looking unsteady and scared, allowed Harry to help her to her feet.

“I will explain everything soon,” he told her. “I promise you.”

“How did you find me?” she whispered.

He looked down at her as they hurried from the room. Her eyes had changed; she still looked shaken, but he could see her again in their depths. Before, there had been nothing but terror.

“We heard your noise,” Vladimir said, holding his gun at the ready as he checked around a corner. “That was very fortunate of you. Possibly very foolish, too. But it is good that you did it.”

Olivia nodded, and then, to Harry, she said, “Why is he speaking English?”

“He is a bit more than a bodyguard,” Harry said, hoping that would be enough for now. It wasn’t the time to unravel the entire story.

“Come,” Vladimir said, motioning for them to follow.

“Who is he?” Olivia whispered.

“I really couldn’t say,” Harry replied.