Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

T hree days sequestered in Adam’s house; Bridget was starting to feel cloistered. Adam was constantly showering her with gifts that made her uneasy and she had the sneaking suspicion that he might be taking her separation from William as a sign to court her.

As much as her heart felt heavy and numb at knowing his betrayal, for the past two nights, she had woken up breathless with the memory of how sweetly he’d kissed and worshiped every nook and curve of her body.

Yet it was more than that; William had opened up to her in ways he had never shown anyone. She saw more than the Beast of Brookhaven Castle. He showed more of his playful side, his caring side, his self-sacrificing side. She saw his doubts at times, his insecurities at times, but most of all, his determination.

“My lady,” a young lad, about fifteen said, “May I get you anything?”

“Samuel, is it?” she smiled. “No thank you, but I appreciate it.”

In the days she’d been here, the lad had been appointed as her help—or more so, appointed himself, and while he’d indeed been helpful, there were times she’d felt him looking at her in… sorrow? Why?

“Very good, my lady,” he smiled weakly, then bowed out.

Thoughts trained back on William, she could not understand how he’d been so tender, so loving… and all the while lied to her face.

But had he though?

Curled up with a steaming cup of tea at a window, she looked out as the rain pelted the panes. Now, days after the revelation and being left to her solitude, she could finally organize her thoughts in an impartial manner. William had not known he’d fought her brother that night, true , and it had shown as he had faithfully gone out to search for him night after night.

But when he knew… why didn’t he tell me?

Was he afraid? Was he still shaken by it? Did he fear that I would hate him?

The rain began to ease, and as she pondered the situation, faint sunlight began to break through the gray clouds, and the light glistened over the droplets on the tree leaves and the grass.

“Bridget?” Adam entered and strode over to her, glass of brandy in hand. He did not look steady on his feet. “Oh, here you are. How was your day?”

“Middling,” she murmured. “And yours?”

“Not so much,” he replied. “Have you heard anything from that scallywag of a husband of yours?”

“No,” she sighed.

“It is for the best,” he declared, joining her on the window seat. “I hope he never contacts you again.”

His statement sounded… too forward for her comfort. At the end of the day, William was still her husband, and while he had been caught in this unfortunate circumstance, being separated from him… pained her heart.

“Adam, please, no.” She shook her head vehemently. “William is not evil.”

“Be that as it may, he is not worthy of you, and Frederick was foolish too,” Adam mumbled, taking another swig. “Do you know how many times I asked him for your hand, yet he constantly refused?”

Bridget’s head snapped back, “ What ?”

“I asked him if I could marry you, but he said no,” Adam clarified as if she hadn’t heard it the first time. “So, I settled for what I could get and that was friendship. Now, I have my chance to prove him wrong and be the one for you in your time of need.”

Bridget immediately recoiled. What was this?

“I will be going out tonight.” He rested the glass on the windowsill and leaned in to kiss her. Instinctively, Bridget leaned away.

“Adam, you’ve been drinking,” she uttered. “You are not in your right mind.”

“You don’t want to kiss me?” he asked with a frown.

“I… am still married.” She pulled out the first rationalization, one that she knew Adam would understand, while trying not to tell him she did not see him that way or want him the way he wanted. Lest it make him more hostile in his approach and put her in danger.

“You shan’t be a married woman for long. I will wait for that day, and it is coming soon,” he smiled lecherously, then took the glass up and made for the door. “I am sure Frederick would have preferred this union than with that damnable duke anyway.”

I cannot marry him. He is—I cannot marry him. Why—why could he think I would do so?

“Your Grace,” a voice tore her from her shaken thoughts. Sam lingered unsteadily in the doorway, and when she looked at him—he looked tortured.

Her brows dipped. “Samuel? What is it?”

He swallowed. “I—I need to tell you something, Your Grace, and I—I am scared.”

Instantly, she was up on her feet and by his side, resting her hands on his shoulders. “What is it, Samuel? You don’t need to be afraid around me.”

“His Lordship… he did some h-horrible things and I… I fear I am a very bad person for not telling you sooner...”

“ Horrible things ?” Bridget’s frown deepened. “To you?”

“No, not to me, but I have to—I have to show you,” Sam shivered. “Please come with me… quickly.”

Terrified about what he could mean, Bridget acquiesced and followed him up to a room that had all the hallmarks of a man’s study—broad desks, leather furniture, and bookshelves crammed with leather tomes. Sam crouched under the desk and pressed a latch that made a secret drawer drop from the underside.

Laying there, scarcely hidden, was a thick leather book, and Samuel nodded to it. “I don’t know your brother, Your Grace, but I have heard his lordship speak about him and—” Sam sucked in a breath. “—See, my father was a preacher, and he told me never to look the other way when you see something wrong. I—I couldn’t live with myself if I kept this secret.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look—look inside,” Sam murmured with another nod at the book.

Gingerly, Bridget took up the book, turned the pages, and began to read—a recipe for death. No, a literal recipe for death . Why was Adam calculating Foxglove infusions, from inflicting minor irritations to enough to cause heart failure?

What is this?

Turning the page, she saw a drawing of a body, 169 pounds, drawn over the figure. The approximations of blood mass inside divided by the measurements for Foxglove was calculated and beside it was—Stage One.

Two and three had the poison increasing, and then, stage four, hemlock was introduced. The outline showed again with a red line slashed across the chest.

Beneath the outline, in small letters, it read… “ Four years; Frederick Wycliffe should be dead .”

Bridget instantly dropped the book and stepped back.

For the second time in so many days, her blood turned to ice. Foxglove was an herb that damaged the heart, and nightshade was an indiscriminate killer, even worse for an already weakened body.

Could it be… could it be that Frederick’s heart condition had not stemmed from the wars? That it had been purposefully contrived inside him with malicious intent?

“Samuel,” she muttered hastily with very little breath in her lungs while scooping up the book from the floor. “Go—go and resume your duties. And thank you for your bravery in showing me the truth. Not a word of this will pass my lips. Now go on. Quickly. Go!”

The lad immediately hurried away, as Bridget tucked the book into the crook of her arm and dashed to her borrowed room. Throwing a cloak over her dress and tucking a purse into her inner pockets, she hastened through the corridors and down to the front door below.

It was late, but she could call for a carriage—

The door abruptly opened and Adam stepped in, his face sporting the irritated expression of a man who had forgotten something. He cocked his head. “Going somewhere?”

Bridget went red. “To my… f-friend Josephine,” she said as collectedly as possible in her present state of mind. “She lives nearby.”

“Oh dear,” Adam sighed. “Please do not lie to me, Bridget. Your bosom friend Josephine lives in Westminster. It would take you a night’s drive to get there. Were you about to leave for London, by any chance?”

“I—” She swallowed upon being caught in her lie. “—My aunt. I meant to say, I wanted to go see my aunt.”

“You’re lying again,” he said calmly, advancing on her akin to a predator stalking its prey.

Scuttling back, her flimsy hold on the thick book slipped and it clattered to the floor with a loud thwack .

Before she could reach down and retrieve it, Adam pounced forward the last few steps, snatched the book from just beneath her fingers, and flicked it open. Upon realizing its contents, he let his head fall back, then sighed theatrically. “Oh, how I wish you had not found this.”

His tone was gentle but menacing, and Bridget edged back, unsure of what to do or how to get away from the man. “I seem to have made a measured flaw in overlooking your curious nature, but this. ” He waved the book high in the air. “—no one needed to see this.”

Straightening her shoulders, she stammered, “D-did you poison my brother after he returned from the war?”

“And why would I admit to that?” He scoffed unnaturally.

“B-because it is all there.” She gestured to the book, heart pumping in fear. “And to think I trusted you... Did you do all this to get to me?”

His face washed with a blank expression. Then, a creepy, unnerving smile began to split his head. “I also may have hinted to Frederick to take up prizefighting…” Adam replied venomously while advancing. “Excitement makes your heart work harder, and in doing so, makes it weaker. But who’s to say?”

“Oh god…” she choked out. “He was right. I should never have trusted you. You are a monster.”

A thunderous bang on the door had them pivoting to it. “Bridget—” Wiliam shouted. “Bridget, please, I need to speak with you.”

“Don’t you dare make a sound,” Adam hissed.

Shooting a look to the door, Bridget sucked in the biggest breath she could manage, filling her lungs deeply—and screamed.