E lsbeth’s head throbbed, and the rhythmic sway of the coach made her stomach churn.

Where was she? Slowly, she opened her eyes, her vision blurring before settling on the figure sitting across from her.

Mr. Strother. The solicitor was holding a pistol aimed directly at her, his expression unnervingly calm.

Panic surged as she brought a hand to her head, trying to steady her thoughts. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, though her voice sounded weak and shaky.

Mr. Strother’s lips curled into an unsettling smile. “Good. You’re awake. I was beginning to worry I’d struck you too hard.”

The memory of being hit came rushing back to her. She straightened as much as she could in the cramped space. “You hit me? Why?”

He leaned back, the pistol never wavering. “It’s much easier to abduct someone when they’re unconscious. I would have thought that was rather obvious.”

Her stomach twisted as his words settled. “I don’t understand. What do you want?”

“Of course you don’t,” he said, his tone condescending. “But I’ll save you the guessing game. I’ve been trying to kill you for days now. You’re remarkably resilient.”

“You were the one behind the planter falling?”

He grinned. “Among other things. The barrel, the lozenges, and even the gunshot. All me. The arsenic in the lozenges should’ve worked, but I underestimated the dosage.”

Her mind raced, connecting the pieces. “How did you even know Charles would offer me a lozenge?”

He shrugged dismissively. “It didn’t matter who took it—him or you. I swapped one in, knowing that eventually, one of you would eat it.”

Her voice rose in disbelief. “Why? Why would you do this?”

His expression hardened. “It’s simple. You need to die for your dowry to revert back to the estate. That money is the only thing that can sustain the lifestyle I’ve grown accustomed to.”

Her heart sank. “So Charles is behind this?”

Mr. Strother laughed, the sound cold and humorless. “Lord Bedford? He’s just a clueless fool. I’ve been embezzling from the estate long before your cousin assumed his title. But now, the coffers are empty. Your dowry is the only way out.”

Realization struck her like a blow. “You were stealing from my father, too, weren’t you?”

He gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Indeed. But your father was much more clever than Charles. He began to notice discrepancies. That’s why he had to die.”

The air seemed to leave her lungs. “You killed my father?”

“I did,” he replied, as if it were a mere inconvenience. “It wasn’t difficult. Your father was a creature of habit and was predictable to the end.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “You’re a monster.”

He looked bored by her accusation. “Your father was no saint, my lady. He squandered fortunes on mistresses and debts. I simply took what I felt I deserved. And when he became a problem, I eliminated him. Just as I plan to eliminate you.”

“It is only a matter of time before Charles figures out what you are doing,” Elsbeth stated.

“I am counting on it,” he replied. “Which is why Lord Bedford will have to die soon enough. Then, I will disappear with his money.”

Elsbeth’s mind scrambled for a way to stall. “I do believe you have underestimated Lord Westcott. He will come for me.”

Mr. Strother’s smile wavered for the first time. “Lord Westcott? He may have some affection for you, but he’ll return to his estate soon enough. Important men like him don’t waste their lives chasing lost causes.”

Elsbeth held his gaze, attempting to sound more confident than she felt. “You don’t know him as I do.”

He leaned forward, his pistol gleaming ominously in the dim light. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be dead before anyone can save you.”

Desperation clawed at her, but she pressed on. “The gunshot—how did you manage that?”

Mr. Strother chuckled. “That was my favorite bit of ingenuity. I waited behind a tree for the right moment and timed it perfectly with Lord Bedford’s shot. Everyone assumed it was an accident.”

“And the barrel?” she pressed.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I hired a shopkeeper to do the deed, but the fool failed. I had to silence him permanently after that.”

“You killed him, too?”

“Of course,” Mr. Strother replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Loose ends are a liability.”

Elsbeth’s mind raced, but her body remained frozen in place. She couldn’t let this man win, couldn’t let him snuff out her life so easily. Somewhere, somehow, she had to find a way to escape.

Her eyes darted to the coach door, calculating the distance to the ground. She could throw herself out, but she could be trampled by the iron wheels. The risk was too great. One misstep, and she’d trade one death for another.

Mr. Strother’s sharp gaze followed her line of sight. “Thinking of making a dramatic exit, are we?” His smirk was smug. “Go ahead. I won’t stop you. But let me assure you, if you somehow survive the fall, I’ll put a bullet in you before you can take a single step.”

His confidence, his arrogance, made her even more determined. She kept her expression guarded, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Instead, she adjusted her position, feigning discomfort as she moved closer to the edge of the seat.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice trembling just enough to sound genuine. If she could keep him talking, perhaps she could find an opening and a moment of distraction.

Mr. Strother leaned back against the cushioned seat, his grip on the pistol still firm. “I thought I made myself clear,” he replied. “Your death is the key to my freedom. Once you’re gone, your dowry reverts to the estate, and I can finally leave this miserable country behind.”

“You’re willing to kill for money?” she pressed, her tone incredulous. “Is that all you care about?”

“It’s not just money,” Mr. Strother snapped. “It’s what the money represents. Power. Independence. The ability to live a life free of restrictions.”

“And the lives you destroy along the way mean nothing to you?”

“Don’t preach to me, Lady Elsbeth,” he sneered. “Your father was no saint. He ruined lives with his reckless gambling and selfish pursuits. I’m merely playing the game he started.”

Her heart ached at the cold reality of his words, but she refused to let his twisted reasoning deter her. “Just so you know, you are wrong about Niles,” she said. “He won’t stop looking for me.”

“Lord Westcott is a practical man. He’ll move on. Men like him always do.”

Elsbeth allowed a flicker of defiance to creep into her voice. “You are wrong about him, and that will be your downfall.”

Mr. Strother’s lips curled into a snarl, but before he could reply, the coach hit a deep rut in the road, causing it to jolt violently. He grabbed for balance, his focus slipping momentarily.

It was all she needed.

Without thinking of the repercussions of her actions, Elsbeth lunged forward, her hands striking the wrist of the arm holding the pistol.

Mr. Strother cursed, the weapon flying from his grasp and clattering to the floor of the coach.

She lunged towards it, but he was quicker, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her back.

“You fool!” he spat out.

Elsbeth twisted and clawed at his hand. “I won’t make it easy for you!”

Mr. Strother reached his hand back and slapped her, sending her flying back against the bench. “You little chit! You are not going to win this,” he said as he retrieved the pistol.

She brought a hand up to her pounding cheek. “I am going to fight you. I won’t stop until I am dead.”

He pointed his pistol at her and cocked it. “That can be arranged, my lady.”

As Elsbeth braced for the inevitable, her heart thundering in her chest, a shout cut through the tense air. “Highwaymen!” the voice bellowed from outside .

The coach jolted slightly as the driver reined in the horses, but Mr. Strother’s reaction was immediate and furious. He struck the roof of the coach with the butt of his pistol, his movements frantic. “Don’t stop! Keep going, you idiot!” he barked, his voice cracking under the weight of panic.

But the coach came to an abrupt, jerking halt despite his orders. The horses neighed loudly, their hooves stamping in protest against the rough stop. Then came the unmistakable sound of a commanding voice booming from outside: “Stand and deliver!”

Niles.

She would recognize that voice anywhere. Relief surged through her. He had come for her. A part of her knew that he always would.

Mr. Strother cursed under his breath as he yanked the curtain aside to peer out the window. “Well, it would indeed appear that I underestimated Lord Westcott. But that hardly matters.” He opened the coach window, the pistol steady in his hand. “Stay back! I’ll kill her if you come any closer.”

From her limited view, Elsbeth saw Niles, Alfred, and Charles on horseback, each man armed and poised for action. Their faces were set with determination, and Niles’s eyes burned with a fury she had never seen before.

“Strother,” Niles’s voice rang out, “you’ve lost. Step out of the coach, and no one needs to get hurt.”

Mr. Strother’s laugh was devoid of any humor. “Spare me the noble speeches, Lord Westcott. I hold all the cards here.”

“Do you?” Alfred interjected. “You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded. There’s no way out of this for you.”

Mr. Strother’s hand tightened around the pistol, and he jabbed it towards Elsbeth. “That’s where you’re wrong. I have her, and I’m willing to use her to ensure my escape.”

Inside the coach, Elsbeth’s mind raced. She needed to buy Niles and the others time, but every movement she made risked provoking Mr. Strother further. “You think you’re clever, Mr. Strother,” she said, “But you didn’t quite think this through, did you?”

“Quiet!” Mr. Strother barked, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Elsbeth’s words had struck a nerve.