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Chapter Thirty-Eight

I t was one of the longest nights of Dominic’s life. Still feeling battered from the brawl, all his senses became alert at the mere thought of Marianne in danger.

Simon instructed the coachman to drive for the Grisham townhouse. The man quickly agreed, their journey guided by the moon’s silvery glow.

At this time of night, London was eerily silent. There was a distant hoot from an owl, but somehow it felt displaced. All Dominic could truly hear was the pounding in his chest. He could not help the sinking feeling that something was amiss.

As soon as they reached Grisham townhouse, he pounded hard on the door. The sound echoed through the night, but somehow, there was no answer.

How could they not hear it? If nothing was wrong, someone would have already run down and shouted at him. Yet, he tried again.

This time, he banged on the heavy oak door harder. Louder. But like the first time, he was met with silence.

“Something is definitely wrong,” he muttered, glancing back at Simon.

He stepped back and looked up at the townhouse as if he’d see anything wrong by scanning all the windows. He tried, anyway.

Simon nodded in agreement. His body was stiff, as if he’d do anything for his friend at that moment. Seeing his support, Dominic took a few steps back. Then, he charged at the door, letting his full weight collide with the heavy wood.

The door creaked, but it was so strong that it held. He tried again, using more force, and the door burst open. They stared at the dim interior with disbelief.

It was not just the darkness that startled them. The whole place looked like a quieter version of a tavern, the air thick with tobacco. The smell inside was worse than the one he had left at the gentlemen’s club.

Here, the smell of tobacco stung his nose, and the spilled ale had drenched the rug. Then, he heard a noise.

No, it couldn’t be, but it was. There was laughter coming from the parlor. Male laughter.

A dose of fear and anger sent a rush through him. He nodded at Simon, and the two moved stealthily toward the source of the noise.

They quickly headed for the parlor. As they peered in, they saw three men lounging, drinking, and even playing cards as if they owned the place. Dominic deduced that these were Linpool’s men. They seemed to have taken over Grisham townhouse.

His fury surged anew. Without a word, he stormed into the room. He quickly punched one man’s jaw, catching everyone else off guard. The man fell to the floor, throwing down his palms to balance himself.

Simon joined in, giving the next thug a swift punch of his own.

For the second time that night, Dominic found himself engaged in a chaotic brawl. He should be tired. He should be in so much pain. And he was . But his anger gave him enough strength to fight.

With fists and kicks, overturned chairs and shattered bottles, Dominic and Simon somehow gained the upper hand over the three men.

They managed to subdue Linpool’s goons, tying them up on the floor.

They groaned from the pain, but Dominic was not satisfied.

These men had dared invade his wife’s childhood home in London.

Panting, he rested his hands on his thighs. It was at that moment that Grisham’s housekeeper appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Even in the dim light, he could see that she had turned deathly pale.

“Your Grace!” she exclaimed.

“Get the master key,” Dominic ordered, not quite certain why he was asking for it. He just had a strange feeling that he would need it.

Even Simon looked at him curiously.

The housekeeper didn’t ask questions, however. She simply nodded and scurried off. Not long after, she returned with a key in her hands.

Dominic and Simon ascended the grand staircase. The wood creaked beneath their weight, signifying its age. They discovered that all doors were locked. Using the key, they manage to open all of them.

As each door opened, Dominic hoped to see his wife. But with each door, he was disappointed. His alarm grew further.

“How did you know?” Simon asked, looking bewildered by the scene in front of him.

Dominic shrugged. “I just had a feeling.”

Elizabeth and Wilhelmina emerged from their rooms, trembling from confusion and fright.

“What happened? What is happening?” Elizabeth demanded as she tightened her robe and hugged herself.

“We are not certain. We simply found some men in your parlor. They must have locked you in your rooms,” Simon replied gently. “Also, we need to find Marianne. She does not seem to be in any of the rooms.”

“I heard voices,” a soft voice spoke up from the end of the hallway. It was Daphne, standing barefoot. Her eyes were wide, and her lower lip quivered. “They were talking about oak and money. Something like that.”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed at the words. But then something clicked in his mind, and hope bloomed in his chest even as fury continued to prevail.

“Oakmere,” he murmured. He turned to his friend and said softly but firmly, “Stay here and protect them. We don’t know how many more men Linpool had managed to employ.”

As he turned to leave, Victoria ran toward him and grabbed his arm. He turned to her and saw the plea in her eyes.

“Bring her home, please,” she begged.

“I will,” Dominic promised solemnly. And he knew then that he would do anything to make that happen.

He rushed to the stables and saddled a horse. Once he was secure, he galloped quickly into the night, ready for a long ride.

Meanwhile, in Oakmere, Marianne’s wrists ached within the tight ropes Linpool had tied around them.

Her captor had pushed her through the narrow, hidden passages of Oakmere Hall. She had loved exploring, but even she had not gone through these damp and musty hallways. Even the servants must have stayed away because cobwebs lined the walls.

The west wing. She was in the forbidden wing.

Linpool, however, seemed familiar with the twists and turns. Soon, they reached a forgotten study.

If she had thought the Viscount was there to ransack Dominic’s main study, she was wrong. It looked like the man knew what he was doing and where he was going.

Marianne could see that Linpool had not ventured into this area recently, even though it looked like he had been there before. The study was full of dust and cobwebs like the rest of the forbidden wing. The man shoved her into a chair, then pulled out a pistol and aimed it at her.

“Write,” he commanded.

He pushed a piece of parchment toward her and placed an inked quill in her hand.

Horror filled her. Somehow, she knew where this was going, and she did not like it one bit. Nobody knew they were here. The servants rarely pass by this wing, and it would be safe to assume that nobody would hear her scream from here.

“What do you want me to write?” she asked, mustering a defiant tone.

“You will write your final goodbye,” he began. “Where you will confess to things you’ve done wrong.”

A suicide note. Marianne’s heart sank. Linpool had truly intended to kill her or have her kill herself.

“What have I done wrong?” she asked, trying to remain spirited even as everything seemed to crumble around her.

“A confession. Tell the Duke of Oakmere that you have taken a lover and have been seeing him behind his back. Tell him that you can no longer live with the guilt.”

Marianne’s eyes flashed with indignation. She had never even kissed anyone aside from Dominic—not before, not after. It didn’t matter that their marriage was arranged. She had her scruples. She could not even think of any other man the way she thought of him.

Her hand was poised over the parchment, and she hesitated.

“I-I can tell him that I did something terrible, but do I need to write the specifics?” she asked, negotiating. “I can tell him that I regret all the trouble I’ve caused him.”

“No, Duchess. You will write as I say,” Linpool insisted calmly and dangerously.

Her hand trembled, but she began to write. She did so slowly and painstakingly, as if she was merely learning how to write.

“You can do better than that, and you know it. Write faster,” he barked.

That she did. She wrote faster. This time, though, she did so while ensuring her handwriting was messy and inconsistent.

“No. This won’t do,” Linpool growled, snatching the paper. “Make it neater. Make it look like your penmanship.”

So, he knew what she was trying to do.

“It won’t matter, Linpool,” she muttered. “If I’m dead, nobody, including myself, would care about my penmanship. They’d think I was distraught when I wrote it. And I am, am I not?”

Linpool grabbed her by the neck, making his message clearer. Though she was certain she’d die anyway, the movement still startled her. Her eyes bulged as he squeezed more. Then, the pressure eased, but he forced her to look at him.

“Do you think I am going to immediately kill you? I have plans for you. So many plans.”

“What will you do with the note?” she asked, still trying her best to mask her fear.

“Oh, I can taste possibilities. I can send it to the papers—anonymously, of course. Or I can have someone rush here to find you with the note. I can make it easy on you by leaving it in the Duke’s study.”

“They won’t believe it,” she scoffed.

“Oh, won’t they? The thing with people is that they are willing to believe the worst about others. By doing so, they can feel better about themselves. When the papers get your note, your husband will be disgraced, and I? I will be wealthy!”

“This does not sound like a way to get hold of money. It will only bring upon scandal,” she argued.

“Ah. But Scandal is leverage,” he replied with a smirk.

He let go of her neck and sat in an armchair opposite her, watching her intently.

“Elizabeth may be the pretty one, but you… you’re so protective of your kin. Quite animalistic, one might say. I bet you’re gorgeous when you get down on all fours,” he said with a slight shake of the head, as if in wonder. “It’s a shame you’re loyal to that bastard.”

Marianne’s stomach churned with disgust from the coarse words. She did resume writing, though, this time making the letters more legible.

Once she was finished with the letter, Linpool snatched it from her. Then, he folded it and shoved it into his coat pocket. She wondered if there would ever be a possibility he’d lose it at some point. She was so tired and distressed to think about what to do next.

The Viscount then grabbed her arm and pulled her up. Her legs were shaky and could barely cooperate, but he dragged her back through the narrow passage. Soon, they were out near the carriage again.

It was a silent night. Too silent. Marianne wished that there was more noise and more people to see her being manhandled by a man who was not only about to kill her but also destroy who she was all about.