Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

“ I ’m a little surprised that you were foolish enough to come,” Taffington said mockingly, once Hamish’s weapons had all been removed from his person and he was surrounded by enough guards to stop him from trying anything.

Amelia, too, had been surrounded by men who seemed a little uneasy about touching her. She considered, briefly, the possibility of fighting back — but when she looked up at Hamish, he shook his head briefly but fiercely.

“We came in good faith, Lord Taffington,” Hamish said, as calm as a man who didn’t have several swords pointed at him. “We’re here to discuss the diplomatic situation, at your invitation.”

“The diplomatic situation,” Taffington echoed in a high, sneering voice that made her clench her teeth. “You utter fool. I’m not discussing a blasted thing with you, or with your whore here. Take them away!” he called, clapping his hands together briskly. “Tie them up and imprison them — separate rooms, of course.”

“Where’s Lord Weatherby?” Hamish demanded, raising his voice as the guards shifted uneasily forward.

“Oh, he has more important things to worry about than you,” Taffington snarled. “Like handing his estate over to me. Separate rooms, and make sure you tie that bitch’s hands nice and tight,” he added, nodding toward Amelia.

She’d heard worse insults, but it seemed enough to send Hamish over the edge. He surged forward, surprising the guards who’d clearly expected a diplomat to go quietly, and Taffington yelped and cowered as Hamish raised a hand as if to strike him.

“This is your last chance, Lord Taffington,” Hamish said, his voice shaking with the anger he was holding back. “We can forget all this and discuss the situation as we planned.”

Gaunt was at Taffington’s side in a heartbeat, stepping between the cowering Lord and Hamish as he pulled a blade from his belt. Hamish stepped back with his hands raised, his blue eyes narrowing. “This is your final chance, Taffington.”

Gaunt glanced over his shoulder to his lord for his response.

“I have no intention of negotiating with these Scottish dogs,” the Lord said, then spat on the ground.

Amelia’s heart sank as Gaunt jerked his head in the direction of the guards who were holding her — still looking apologetic, they began to lead her away toward the manor, away from Hamish. But she still heard his voice ring out, effortlessly carrying through the entire yard.

“Very well. As a knight, I challenge you to a duel, Lord Taffington.”

She didn’t hear the Lord’s response — the guards shuffled her hastily through the front doors to the manor and they slammed shut behind her. Furious, but well aware it wouldn’t do any good to hurt these men who were after all only doing as they’d been instructed, she went with them, hoping like hell that Hamish was handling the situation out there. They dragged her down the winding corridors of the house, and she realized with an uneasy start that they were in the servants’ quarters, a part of the place she was considerably less familiar with. Finally, they opened a door to a room that must have been a disused pantry, judging by the bags of flour that were moldering in one corner. Looking vaguely apologetic still, one of the guards bound her hands behind her with thick, rough rope. And with that, she was alone.

But she wasn’t alone for long. It was ten, maybe fifteen minutes before she heard the sound of footsteps down the hall — long enough for her to have worked her hands free of the rope that bound her before carefully replacing it to make it look like she was still bound. It was also long enough that the anger in her had cooled a little… but had by no means reduced in intensity. It felt like her whole body was full of molten metal, but her mind was calm and crystal clear when Taffington came oozing into the room.

From the smug grin on his face, he was clearly expecting fear. She didn’t give him the satisfaction. No sooner had he closed the door behind him, she was demanding to know what he’d done with Hamish.

“That would-be knight is going to be the least of your concerns in a moment,” Taffington said, his ugly smile sliding from his face at her defiance. “It’s time I showed you once and for all what happens to whores who refuse their betters?—”

“Taffington, I’ve broken one of your hands before,” she reminded him, narrowing her eyes. “I’m more than happy to make it two, but I’ll be breaking more than that if you touch me again.” The flash of real terror on his face as she lifted her unbound hands was almost sweet enough to make the whole horrible situation worthwhile. He shrank from her, then bolted for the door, bellowing something about incompetent guards as he slammed it shut behind him. She heard the key turning in the lock and grinned to herself.

The door opened again a few minutes later — but it was Gaunt this time who stepped into the room. Unlike Taffington, he kept his distance, a wary look in his eyes that communicated his respect for what he’d seen her capable of. It was almost enough to endear him to her a little, before she remembered that he’d dedicated himself to making it easier for his repellent boss to prey on young women.

“I’ve been sent to make you more cooperative,” Gaunt said quietly, pulling a dagger from his belt and using its point to pry dirt out from beneath his nails. “Lord Taffington is very unhappy with the way you’ve been treating him.”

“And I’m very unhappy with the way he’s been treating everyone else,” she said calmly. “Where’s Hamish?”

“Sir Hamish,” Gaunt said, stressing the title with an ironic little smirk, “has been released while the details of the duel are worked out. He’s been offered the manor’s finest quarters on the other side of the house, something for which he’s expressed very little gratitude. I am so looking forward to cutting his throat. You’ll be kept, of course, as a guarantee of his good behavior.”

“And how will you guarantee mine?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. The seemingly casual way he was cleaning his nails was a ruse, she could tell — his stance, the angle of his feet, the energy in his lower body told her he was poised to strike. No doubt he intended to surprise her, to get inside her guard then rough her up a little before his boss returned for what he wanted. The look he gave her was chilling — dead-eyed, cold, dispassionate, like a man sizing up a piece of meat he was about to butcher.

“Let me offer you a word of advice, Miss, as someone who’s seen plenty of women in your precise position. You’re the pluckiest of them by far, I’d say, but that’s not going to save you. Men like Taffington always win. The sooner you accept that, the less harm will come to you.”

“So your advice boils down to — give up?” She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds awfully convenient for you, Gaunt. What’s the matter? Worried you won’t survive a fight with me?”

He met her eyes — and it was only her gut instinct that got her out of the way in time. His strike came blisteringly fast, the blade in his hand swishing past her as she dove clear just in time — but now he was within range of her elbow, and that was a mistake that had put an end to more than a few bouts in her time. The crunch of cartilage and breaking bone was as satisfying as it was disgusting, and she danced clear of the guard’s considerable reach with adrenaline singing in her ears. Gaunt grunted, lifting a hand to touch the blood that was already gushing from his broken nose, then turned to look at her.

“Thanks for the advice,” she said cheerfully, narrowing her eyes. “Let me return the favor with some advice of my own — get a better boss.”

“You’ll regret that,” he said softly, almost conversationally. He reached around behind him and lifted something from his back that she’d thought was some kind of backpack — but she caught her breath when she saw that he was leveling a crossbow directly at her chest. She’d seen these before at the Keep, watched the guards training with them. They had their drawbacks, as weapons went — Hamish had told her he’d never been fond of them, as they only delivered a single shot and took valuable time to reload. But the shot they did deliver could do a great deal of damage at close range… like, for example, within the confines of a small pantry. Gaunt wouldn’t need to reload the crossbow once that bolt had found home in her torso.

She might have been called reckless in her time, but Amelia knew when a fight was over. Gritting her teeth, she raised both hands in surrender, hating the flicker of approval that passed over Gaunt’s cold, emotionless face.

“Good girl,” he said softly, and she wished she was close enough to spit in his face. “Now, come with me.”

But he didn’t motion toward the door he’d come through. Instead, he moved over to the corner of the room, sliding one of the sacks of flour away with the side of his foot. And then, to her shock, he pulled at what had seemed like part of the wall — which slid aside to reveal a passageway that led away at a downward angle.

“You first,” Gaunt said, gesturing to the hidden corridor with the crossbow. “Quickly, now. Lord Taffington is waiting.”