Chapter Twenty-Nine

Beckett House London…

2 am…

The earl paused in the hall on his way to his study; he needed to catch his breath. He hadn't walked this fast in twenty years and he was hyperventilating, but he needed to make haste. He needed to arm himself. He needed to do something. That damn duke had stood him up, and now Beatryce was missing—the ridiculous cow.

He was going to vomit.

He pushed on. By the time he reached his study, his hands were shaking and he fumbled about as he tried to find the key to his locked study. He tried six different keys before he found the right one and his clammy, shaking hands made it difficult to fit the key to the lock.

At last, the door opened, and he stepped inside. It was dark, and what little light that was available came from the moon shining in the study windows. The fire was out, as were all the lamps. Good. He felt safer in the dark.

He moved into the room to the floor-standing globe on the far side of the rug. He struggled to slide it off—it was heavy—and he dropped the keys he was still holding as he did. The sound of keys landing on the hardwood echoed loudly in the dark room. He ignored them.

Once the globe was out of the way, he got on his knees and pulled up the now freed corner of the Aubusson rug. Argh. The weight on his knees was excruciating, but he had to ignore the pain. He found the trick release in the floor and pulled up several loosened boards that were normally hidden under the rug. He threw them haphazardly to the side as he worked, sweat dripping everywhere. The wood floor became slick.

When the hole he was making was wide enough, he reached in it for the box he had hidden there. He felt around in the dark and became panicked with worry, but alas, after a few minutes, he found it.

He pulled out the box, set it on the floor, and pushed it across the room as he crawled toward his desk. When he reached the chairs in front of his desk, he set the box on one and used the chair to pull himself up. It wasn't easy, and he hoped to God he never had to get on the floor again. He could barely stand.

But once he was, he placed the box on his desk and went to the book shelves on the far wall, looking for the secret book that was really a hidden compartment holding the key to his box. It was impossible to see in the dark, but he was too frightened to light a lamp. If someone were watching the house, he didn't want them to know he was in his study. Best for them to think he was in bed. Mary was there; maybe they'd mistake her for him.

He returned with the key and held the box up in the moonlight so he could find the keyhole—there.

He opened the box with haste, looked inside, and screamed for all he was worth, "Nooooooooo!"

It was empty. Immediately, the sound of steel striking flint sounded on both sides of the room, and before long, two lamps burned brightly, revealing the Marquess of Dansbury and the Duke of Stonebridge.

"Hello, Swindon. Looking for something?" asked the duke.

His eyes bugged out of his head with shock. He looked between the two men several times, as if he wasn't sure they were really there, before he moved. He spun around and glanced out the window before racing—or waddling—around his desk. He grabbed Stonebridge.

"Stonebridge, you must help me. Take me. I beg you. He'll kill me if you don't. Please. Please. Please. I'll tell you everything; I swear I will…just don't let him kill…" Those were the last words he ever uttered. The gun shot echoed loudly in the night. Swindon was dead before he hit the floor. Stonebridge and Dansbury looked up in time to see a cloaked figure race away from the window.