25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter twenty-five
T he dank room was without windows or a light source. So, with his sense of direction impeded, a gag in his mouth, his wrists bound behind him, and a rope around his ankles, Hugh inched along on his belly, searching for a way out. The rough earth rubbed against his bare skin until his previous injuries burned.
At last, his nose touched wood. Since the rest of the walls were cold stone, he had assuredly found a way out. He climbed onto his knees, turned his back to the door, and searched for a handle.
At length, he encountered the latch. “Thank fuck,” he murmured only to seconds later be grumbling every blasphemy he knew—and he had quite an expansive ungentlemanly vocabulary .
No matter what he tried, the door did not budge. Of course, she had locked it. The dashed woman was insane, and cruelty percolated in her veins. It seemed he was doomed because, despite his experience tracking criminals, he had no idea how to outwit this particular female who did not possess a conscience.
Feeling utterly helpless, Hugh collapsed onto his stomach. His mind whirled with questions and concerns.
How long had he been locked away? What did the marchioness mean to do to him? How could Lord Chesterhill not know what was happening under his own roof?
And then, he groaned into the dirt floor as his imagination visited dark places…
But he needed to fight his pessimism. Charlotte had to be alive because he still felt connected to her. If Leon had ended her life, surely Hugh would know. However, that could change if he did not get to her in time.
Roaring like a caged animal, he rolled onto his side and used both feet to kick on the heavy partition.
’Twas no use. It would take a battering ram to break free from his prison. Think, you bloody fool! his inner voice screamed.
After he got out of this room and held Charlotte in his arms, he would strangle the marchioness. To the devil with the contract. He would tell his current employer to go to hell. He may not be Charlotte’s equal, but he would not leave her in this pseudo-Bedlam. There was only one scenario in which he could keep her safe.
When Hugh got out of this blasted hell—and he would—he would ask Charlotte to run away with him and be his wife.
It had to be close to dawn when it occurred to Hugh that using the door latch as a lever would loosen the knot binding his wrists. Once they were free, he untied the rope around his ankles, then ripped off the blasted gag.
Typically, he thought more clearly when he moved; therefore, he paced the room.
The one thing he had yet to try was his voice. The doors and walls might be too thick, and he might be too far underground for anyone to hear, but he had to try. He halted in front of the door, calling, “Hello, anyone out there?” Holding his breath, he waited.
“Hello,” he called again.
Since no one answered, he pounded on the door. “Is anyone out there?”
The silence ominous, it was as is if he were beneath a guillotine poised to plummet. Hugh’s sanity cracked.
“When I get out of here, I am going to kill every last one of you bloody fools,” he bellowed.
He could holler until his throat was raw, it seemed no one was about to hear him.
Closing his eyes, he attempted to channel Charlotte’s heartbeat. For a second, it felt as if she was near him, her breath tickling his ear, her essence combining with his. This had to mean she was still alive. Unless he was allowing silly notions to cloud his common sense? But he had to hold out hope. For, if he did not, he was unsure if he could take his next breath.
To his surprise, something scratched at the door .
“Is someone there?” he called.
Metal against metal clinked, and the door cracked open. Hugh stepped back and crouched low, preparing to pounce if the situation called for it.
One of Lady Chesterhill’s men peeked into the room. He cautiously entered, his pistol steadied, ready to shoot. Dressed in the finest red silk and carrying a bright lantern, the lady drifted in behind him. Two men goose-stepped at her heels.
She smiled at Hugh. “Good morn, my dangerous wolf. I see you have freed yourself from your bindings.”
“I see you made it across the River Styx unharmed,” he said.
She chuckled as if she found Hugh’s insult charming, but anger simmered in her pupils.
“Enough with the pleasantries,” Hugh said. “Tell me what you want from me, and then let me go, or I will strangle every last breath from your lungs.”
She stepped close and thumped his bare chest. The wanton woman was always touching his chest. “Mayhap you should cease with the idle threats because you can see how well they have served you,” she said.
“But these are not idle, my lady. My hands are large, your neck is thin, and my fingers itch to squeeze.”
Lady Chesterhill waved a dismissive hand. “I have told you what I want. I asked you to report your findings to me before you took them to my husband. ’Twas a simple enough request, yet I have heard nothing from you.”
And for this, she had threatened and maybe taken—nay, Charlotte was still alive— threatened Charlotte’s life?
Lady Chesterhill sighed and ran her cold-as-ice hands down his torso to rest over his belly button. “’Tis such a pity. We could have been good together. ”
“But you are married as well as Satan’s spawn,” he hissed.
“And you have left me with no other choice.” She exhaled dramatically. “I suppose ’tis for the best since it will make the rumor so much easier to believe if you disappear along with that ridiculous stepdaughter of mine.”
As evil as she was, there was still something very unpalatable about killing a woman.
“Shoot him. But take him far away from here. Be sure to dispose of his body,” the lady commanded.
How fortunate that her private army was fair game. Hugh snarled, then pounced on the man closest to him. In one swift move, he disarmed him, aiming the pistol at the blighter’s heart.
Lady Chesterhill scoffed. “Dispensable. Do what you will, Hugh Fletcher. But know that the second you shoot him, these two will end your life.” She pointed at the men behind her.
Realizing he was to be immolated, her loyal foot soldier gasped, his eyes wide with horror. “My lady?”
As much as Hugh did not want to touch her, he stalked to the marchioness. After days of lying dormant, his fighter instincts returned with a vengeance. Keeping the pistol aimed at her human sacrifice, he swung behind her, locked his forearm around her neck, and pulled her off balance. She tipped backward until her shoulder blades pressed against his torso.
“I knew you wanted me, my dangerous wolf,” she said, her voice chilling his soul.
“Yes,” he whispered, feigning his best seductive baritone. “I do want you, my lady. Good. And. Dead.”
Her body tensed.
“Or, at the least, ruined when the truth of your deeds is announced to the ton ,” he added nonchalantly. “I am sure you are well aware of who my cousins are. ”
As her three Capes looked on, brows furrowed, Hugh dragged her toward the door. “This ends now,” he declared. “I do not wish to harm a woman, but know that if any of you follow me, I will shoot her without a second thought.”
“Do something, you fools,” Lady Chesterhill screeched as Hugh dragged her from the room.