Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Everything hurt.

Weston woke slowly, the throbbing ache in his skull making it very difficult to take inventory of the rest of his faculties. His shoulder joints ached, and he could tell that his hands were tied behind his back. The room he found himself in had little to no lighting and smelled strongly of dust and musk. Weston’s ears strained in the darkness, listening for anything that might give him a clue as to where he was or how he got there.

What was the last thing that he could remember? He was setting off in the carriage, and the footman had cried out about an obstacle on the road. The boy had tried to slow the horses, but the carriage had too much momentum and turned straight on its side. He could remember being thrown sideways in the carriage and then… nothing.

He must have hit his head. There was even the chance that he might have thought that he was brought somewhere by a good Samaritan except for the fact that his hands were bound behind him. Whomever had found him did not have his best interests at heart.

The drapes in the room were drawn, and he could not tell the hour. Not knowing how much time had passed was a horribly disorienting feeling. Groaning softly, he attempted to move from where he was on the floor, pain radiating from his right leg up through his hip in the process. Weston grimaced, swallowing down the pain in favor of finding out where he was.

Though, when he moved—a heavy metal sound preceded the tug of the chain at his wrists. He moved toward what he hoped was a wall, feeling more unsettled with every step. The room was absolutely freezing. Perhaps those weren’t drapes at all? Was he somewhere underground?

Slowly, as he attempted to gauge the size of the room and where the door was, memories slowly started to return to him. Flashes of images as he was pulled from the carriage by bandits who wore cloth coverings over the lower halves of their faces. He remembered fighting them, knowing that his large size gave him a distinct advantage over them, but he was sorely outnumbered.

Weston groaned in pain; thinking was only making the ache stronger. He leaned into the closest wall to him—with his chains he was only able to reach three of them before he ran out of slack.

Forehead to the cold wall he kept his eyes scrunched shut, attempting to relieve some of the ache that he had been feeling. What had happened next? Water, one carriage to the other he had been shuffled around—and then nothing. Weston felt like there was a thick fog settling in over his mind and that was also unsettling.

Inhaling sharply, he struggled against the fog for clarity—only to be interrupted by a sinister laugh.

He was not alone in this room.

“Who is there?” Weston demanded, his deep voice sounding more confident than he actually felt.

“I must say, it is so gratifying to see you stumbling about in chains, dear cousin.”

He knew that voice. How fitting that he was skulking around in the dark like the rat that he truly was.

“Cassian.” Weston said his name like an accusation and a curse.

“You know, I have to say that I admire your new lover, even though she is quite vexing. I do not think that I would have ever had any cause to experiment with laudanum if it were not for her.” Cassian continued, speaking with a haughty air. “Despite how annoying the bulk of your dead weight has been to manipulate, you have been quite the docile little hostage with the proper dosage.”

“Where have you taken me?” Weston demanded once more. There was no part of him that actually feared his cousin. Even if this venture had been Cassian’s brainchild, there was certainly no way that he had done this by himself.

Which meant that there were others. Weston knew that he was going to need to coax more information from the rat before he could properly figure out an escape plan. He hated the very notion of playing into Cassian’s ego, but he might not have a choice.

“We have made it all of the way to London, cousin.” Cassian continued to gloat.

Days? He has been drugged for days? There was no telling what sort of long-term damage something like that could do. Annoyance bled into rage, and he tested the strength of his bonds behind his back. He had never been inclined to snap somebody’s neck before, not quite so much as he was tempted to do now.

“I suppose that you are quite upset with me, but it was necessary. You have humiliated me long enough, cousin. Now, your inheritance is all mine. Along with whatever else I choose to have you gift me. You have to understand, this is because I deserve it more than you do. Surely, you have to admit to that much.”

Weston’s lip curled. “You do not deserve anything other than a swift kick in the teeth.”

“Ah, ah!” Cassian chastised. “You think you still have the upper hand here? You think that you are the one in control? That is amusing. I suppose that the drugs must have affected you more strongly than I had originally presumed if you think you have any power here.”

“Your delusions of grandeur are overwhelming you, Cassian. Stop this now before you make a mistake that you cannot take back.”

Cassian laughed, clearing feeling very untouchable. “All of my life, I have languished on the sidelines of the life that has been owed to me. Forced to live outside of the peerage and it is finally my turn! I will live the life that is owed to me! I will not struggle in the gentry another moment!”

“That is your plan? You covet a life that you have not worked for?”

“You were born into your title, what would you know of hard work?”

“I know that it does not consist of swindling grieving widows of their money. I also know that it certainly does not involve stealing from others!” Weston tried his best not to shout, but he was failing. “You truly have no honor at all.”

Cassian scoffs, clicking his tongue loudly. “If only you had been delayed, then I would have been able to handle this seamlessly. I would have stepped into your role and the earl’s title without issue. Then, I could have been rid of you and none would be the wiser!”

Weston could not stop himself from rolling his eyes. As if his friends and staff would not have realized that he was not home, and that a pretender was attempting to play act as the duke. It never would have worked.

“Then that barking mad widow showed up… she has ruined everything.” Cassian sneered. “I shall have to handle her too, sooner or later.”

“You cannot possibly think that your plan would have actually worked?”

“Posing as you? Why yes, I do think that it would work. You have been absent from society for quite some time cousin. With the quick moving gossip mill of the ton you have been long forgotten. If she had not drugged me, I would have simply slipped into your role.”

“And when I showed up, then what would have you done?” Weston scoffed.

Cassian certainly did not like that. He had always had such little tolerance for people talking down to him. “I would have killed you of course. Then I would be free to do as I liked. Obviously. The plan has been derailed, but it still happened. I shall just have to… silence the widow.”

Weston could tolerate a lot, having him threaten Lydia was not one of those things that he could tolerate. Not even for a moment. “I will kill you if you touch her.”

Cassian snorts a laugh. “Kill me? Do you…? Oh, cousin, how stupid you are. Though, perhaps I should not harm her. You are right. Perhaps some lines should not be crossed. She is still beautiful, after all, and young. She shall be at my mercy if she wishes a decent future for her existing daughters… and she will still have plenty of time to bear me many heirs.”

Weston snarled, a sound that he had never heard himself make before as his eyes snapped open in fury. He pulled so hard on his chains that for a moment, he heard them squeal in protest.

“Dare me to, cousin? I think you are still underestimating me. You ought to be begging for my mercy.” Cassian taunted, standing close to where the duke strained against his bonds.

“Beg? You? Never.”

“Her husband begged.” Cassian grinned cheekily. “He pleaded for not his life, but the happiness of his family, before I killed him. Do you think that she will cry, when I force her to wed the man who murdered her husband and lover? I bet she is pretty when she cries. Fear not, I shall be there to soothe her tears.”

“The earl died of a heart attack.” Weston said, echoing the story that had been told to him.

“Well, that is what the papers think, yes. I could not very well have them come looking for a murderer when I intended to step in, now could I?”

“You are not capable.”

“Am I not?” Cassian snapped, getting in the duke’s face with fury twisting his features. “It was a simple enough task to hire a man to poison him. Stood over him in his last moments as the earl blubbered for help. He was the first obstacle to my getting the power and fortune that I deserve, and you are the final one. I tried to do this nicely, I tried to give you an option as blackmail is certainly more savory than murder, but now…”

Weston could not believe what he was hearing. Poison? The coward’s method through and through, and even then, he could not bother to poison the earl himself? A sad, pathetic little man on a power trip. He needed to find a way to free himself, and quickly before things got any further out of control than they already were.

“Of course you would never see reason,” Cassian continued. “You would never give me what I am owed. So, when I learned that you were headed to London - I figured it would only be kind of me to, ah, escort you.”

The man laughed, a high-pitched, nasally sound as he thought himself clever.

“All I have to do is make your death look like a similar accident, and then I will be the only remaining, legal, heir to both of the fortunes! I will only need to wait for the solicitors to bring me the news! See? It is a flawless plan! Perfect execution!”

Cassian poured the two of them a drink from a bottle that Weston could not see in the dim lighting. But he could see well enough to notice that something was very obviously added to the second glass. The liquid started to fizzle as Cassian finished the contents of his own glass in one gulp. He smacked his lips wetly as he carried Weston’s glass over to him.

“Well, I suppose that is all that there is left to say! Goodbye, cousin.” Cassian grabbed Weston’s face firmly by the chin and wrenched his head forward, placing the glass against his lips with force.

Weston had no desire to go easily. He tried to thrash, to get away from the liquid that was being forced against his lips, but there was nowhere to go. Cassian’s grip on his face turned bruising as he dug his fingers into Weston’s jaw, forcing his mouth open little by little.

He could feel it, the poison was going to be the death of him. Cloyingly sweet, the tainted liquid touched his lips, his tongue. He tried not to swallow, Cassian’s cruel mocking laughter as the liquid trickled down the back of his throat.

Somewhere in the distance, perhaps a death angel, he could swear that he could hear Lydia’s sweet voice calling out his name.

Clinging to it - Weston reared back in a swift motion and slammed his throbbing head into Cassian’s right in front of him.

The glass fell to the floor and shattered.

The room spun, and he was only vaguely aware of Cassian stumbling backward as Lydia’s voice called his name again. A fog consumed his mind as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Everything tilted sideways. It was too late. Just… a moment longer. He tried to hold on… he tried.