Chapter 30

Virtue had spent hours shrouded in darkness. Hours in a state of terror and utmost dread. Each moment, stretching into an eternity of fear and despair. Oh, she tried to console herself, that everything would be alright, that Sebastian was sure to rescue her. That come tomorrow morning, this entire harrowing ordeal would be naught but a bad dream, and nothing more... but she could only lie to herself for so long.

Her world was reduced to the stifling blackness, all caused by the sack over her head. As she lay on her side in the jolting confines of what felt like a carriage, her hands bound behind her—her mind was left to race as she tried to reason a way out of this that did not rely on Sebastian's intervention. Not that she doubted her husband's ability to do so. If any inkling or trace of her plight reached him, she was certain he would not rest until she was found and freed. But try as she might, in the loneliness of her solitary state, she failed to see how he could ever find her.

It was Lord Wellington all along.

He had chosen his moment with cunning, striking during Sebastian's absence—a scheme, she suspected, that was concocted with the assistance of their mutual friend, Ralph Merchant. The plan was simple and cruel: draw Sebastian away, leaving her unprotected and vulnerable. She had attempted to resist, to fight back, but it was futile against Wellington's overpowering strength. She had tried to scream out for Albion, Lucy, Lord Prescott—anyone that might hear her, but his hand clamped over her mouth and stifled her cries before they could even begin. Within moments, she was subdued, her wrists bound, a sack thrown over her head, as she was unceremoniously tossed into a carriage.

Screaming was useless. Fighting was useless. Her best bet was to wait and see where he took her, assess the situation, and then conjure up a plan of her own.

When the carriage finally halted, she did what she could to steady her breathing. It would not do to let him know she was afraid. She was still ill, however, and having not eaten for hours, adrenaline and nerves wracking through her body, when she felt the doors to the carriage fly open and the cool breeze whip at her skin, she very nearly purged her stomach's contents.

"Pl—please..." she stammered against the sack, unable to see. "You do not have to do this."

"Don't I?" She did not recognize the voice, but she knew it to belong to Lord Wellington. He had her by the arm, lifting her effortlessly and tossing her from the carriage.

Her body hit mud, pain lanced through her shoulder, and she cried out.

"Get up."

Trembling, Virtue attempted to do as he asked, but her illness bore down on her mercilessly, sapping her strength and making it nearly impossible to breathe, much less stand.

"I said get up!" He grabbed her roughly about the waist and hoisted her. She cried out and he dropped her on her feet. Again, her strength left her as a dizzy spell struck and she slumped back into the cold mud. "Oh, for Christ's sake!" Lord Wellington groaned.

She felt his arms about her waist again, only this time, he lifted her and threw her over his shoulder. From there, he carried her a short distance, a place where the breeze could not reach, eventually dropping her onto a wooden chair. Her hands were undone for just long enough to re-tie them behind her and then, finally, the sack was lifted from her head.

It was night. The darkness was deep, so Virtue's eyes did not need to adjust to any harsh light. Though still, she found herself squinting against the moon when she opened them, leaning back as she took in her new surroundings and where she was. A barn of some sorts, by the looks of things. Piles of hay stacked in corners, a stall or two for horses, a loft running overhead. And a couple of lanterns hanging from beams, providing minimal light.

And then there were her captors, neither a surprise to her.

Lord Wellington towered before her—his smile as triumphant as it was malevolent. His wolfish features twisted into something demented in the darkness, those large round eyes of his wide and filled with a sense of perverse pride at what he had accomplished. Not a large man by any stretch, but standing over her the way he was, she had scarcely felt so helpless.

Behind Lord Wellington was Ralph Merchant. His blonde hair was muted in the dark of night, but his traditionally handsome features still shone even without the light. He did not look nearly as proud of his actions as Lord Wellington did. Resigned, was how Virtue read him. A reluctant commitment to whatever dark plan had been set in motion. Perhaps this was the escape she needed.

"Wh—what do you want?" Virtue's voice trembled slightly as she sought to summon courage, but found herself faltering.

Lord Wellington let out a harsh cackle at that. "Oh, come now, Your Grace. Surely, you have figured that out yourself by now? An intelligent woman like you."

"Sebastian will find me!" she tried next. "You will never get away with this!"

Lord Wellington cackled deeper. "Again, I feel nothing short of disappointment toward how banal your responses are. Of all the things to say..." He tutted, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"And he will kill you!" Virtue then spat, knowing it to be true, feeling a need to say something.

This received the loudest cackle of all. "It would be quite the feat for a dead man to exact vengeance, I would imagine." Virtue's breath hitched at his insinuation, and he grinned wickedly. "It is funny, really. For years now, I have harbored dreams of being the one to take your husband's life. Many a night I've lain awake, imagining just how I would accomplish such an act."

"Simon..." Ralph interjected, a note of caution in his voice. "We should not be—"

"Oh, do chipper up, old boy," Lord Wellington smirked. "She is hardly in any position to tell." He stepped into her and took her by the face, squeezing her cheeks together. "Are you? You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Virtue glared daggers at him, but this only seemed to spurn him on as he pushed her face away.

"I had planned to kill Sebastian myself," he continued, tone turning from jovial to disgusted. "When he ventured to London two weeks ago, it was to be his end, by my hand! And oh, how I looked forward to revealing to him that his dear wife had also perished by my actions." Her eyes widened with horror at his words, and he let out a cold laugh. "Ah, there it is! Right in one—the tea leaves! But even that, you managed to survive. What's more, you ensnared him back to your side!" He clapped wickedly.

"He will not let you get away with this..." She was feeling frail, sick, as if she might pass out at any moment. But she steeled herself against the weakness, knowing all too well that succumbing to it might seal her fate.

"But then I came upon a rather marvelous realization, and for this, my dear, I must extend my gratitude to you. He truly is quite fond of you, isn't he?" He frowned at that as if unable to believe it. "Damn it all, he might even love you. So then, why should I end his life when he can very well do so himself? And seal the fate that should have been his all those years ago…"

Her brow creased and she looked at him, not sure what he meant. "What do you—" she began in a whisper.

"You were correct in saying that your husband will find you. Indeed, he will," Lord Wellington continued, his voice dripping with malice. "He will discover your lifeless body on his doorstep come morning, a testament to his own shortcomings. And when he grasps the depth of his failure, I am quite convinced he will turn his own pistol upon himself—it would only be fitting, wouldn't you agree?"

Virtue's eyes widened in startling horror. "You... you're a monster!"

"Such words from the lady that chose to associate with that man?" he sneered back. "He is the true monster. Had he any honor, he would have ended his own wretched existence a decade ago—he owed that much to Jasper, and to me!" His face demented itself into a visage of rage such that even Ralph took a step back. "Yet, he couldn't even manage that! And he believes..." He laughed coldly. "He believes that I am his friend! That we—" He gestured wildly towards Ralph. "That we are his comrades! Pah! Who could befriend such a craven as that?"

"He loves you..." Virtue murmured, her voice soft but laden with anguish. "You are... you are his closest friends. How could you..."

"No," Lord Wellington shook his head dismissively. "I never was. My only regret..." He advanced on her and took her by the face again. "My only regret is that I won't be present to witness his demise. But I will find some commissary when I am standing over his corpse, I suppose. A life for a life."

He held her by the face, leaning down, so close that she could feel his warm breath on her skin. Still afraid. Still very much fearful for what he was going to do, Virtue was angry, also. Furious! And so, she did the one thing that came to mind. She swung her head into his nose.

"Argh!" he cried out and stumbled back. "You wretch!" He pinched his nose before furiously delivering a harsh slap across her face.

The pain caused Virtue to cry out—the right side of her face seared as if aflame. Her head snapped back, and for a fleeting moment, she feared she might lose consciousness, but she forced her eyes to remain open. Instead of showing defeat, she burst into laughter, mocking and scornful.

"I would not be laughing if I were you."

"He is going to slay you," she cackled as her vision blurred. "And you think you have triumphed?! My husband—he is no weak man. He will never allow you to escape his wrath! He will pursue you to the ends of the earth and beyond! And he won't rest until there is not a breath in your lungs. If I were you, I would flee now, use it as a head start, give yourself a chance to live for a few extra days."

Lord Wellington sneered at her, his anger thinly veiled. "Yes, well, should it come to that, I suppose a bullet to the head will suffice, won't it?" He tapped the pistol strapped to his belt. "Either way, victory will be mine."

"Simon..." Ralph touched Lord Wellington on the shoulder. "We should prepare. If we mean to have this done by morning."

"What?" Lord Wellington spun around as if only just remembering Ralph was still present. "Yes. Yes, you're right." He inhaled deeply, then bestowed upon Virtue one final, menacing smile. "Sit tight, Your Grace. We shall return."

The two men left the barn, leaving Virtue alone, bound to the chair, still cackling to herself, although it was more weeping by that point. Nothing she said mattered. Nothing she did would make a difference. Lord Wellington was set on ending her life tonight, it looked as if he would do so soon, and short of a miracle, there was nothing that could stop him.

A miracle... Her thoughts drifted to those storybooks of hers. In them, now would be the time that the prince valiantly charged in on his steed and rescued her, not a moment too soon. But this, she was crushed to admit, was not one of her stories. Sebastian had no way of knowing what had happened to her. He did not even know that her captor was still alive and breathing! He wasn't coming to save her. She was trapped, utterly alone, left to the whims of a madman hellbent on revenge.

And the most tragic irony of all? Knowing she was going to die, knowing she was never going to see Sebastian again, she couldn't help but wish that she had told him just once that she loved him, and that she heard him say the same to her. As if that somehow would have made all the difference in the world.