Page 45 of Never Beguile a Duke

Sighing, Roxburghe’s tensed muscles relaxed, and he stepped back, glancing at Silas. “Mr. Hollingsworth can’t have traveled too far from the prison. With no money, he should be on foot.”

They pushed through the crowd, moving away from the platform as Mr. Younge raised his arms, silencing the restless hoard.

“Shall we begin?” A deafening cheer met his words.

Hastening through the prison gate, Silas cringed as the executioner kicked out the wooden crate supporting the first man. The celebration that rocketed through the prison turned Silas’ stomach.

“I’ll never understand the desire for blood,” he said, placing a hand on the rough bark of a nearby tree and drawing in several deep breaths to steady himself.

“You’ve never had something irreplaceable stolen from you,” Roxburghe replied, shielding his eyes from the cold afternoon sun as he searched the street for Mr. Hollingsworth.

“Have you?”

A terrifying fierceness blazed in Roxburghe’s blue eyes. “I would burn this town to ashes if anyone dared harm Miss Webb.”

When the second roar of delight shook the air surrounding the prison, Silas gagged, then swallowed the bitter bile rising in his throat.

“We need to leave this place before I embarrass myself,” he managed, lifting his gaze to Roxburghe. “Which direction should we head?”

Roxburghe pointed at several small, glistening, scarlet circles near the walkway in front of the prison. “Mr. Hollingsworth didn’t know where to go either. He must have stood still for several seconds before deciding.”

“That blood could be from any number of people,” Silas said, trailing after Roxburghe as he marched down the walkway, seeking the next droplet of crimson.

“Possibly,” Roxburghe replied without slowing, “but most of the residents in this area are still at the prison waiting to witness the third execution. Only you, me, and Mr. Hollingsworth are traveling away from the spectacle.”

The further they trekked from the prison, the more dilapidated the buildings became. As Silas sidestepped a smashed crate, a sudden noise drew his attention. Tiny hairs rose on the back of his neck, and he lifted his eyes, his gaze sliding across shuttered windows.

“Are we in danger?” he asked, hastening through the grimy slush and catching up to Roxburghe. “I’ve not had the pleasure of experiencing this part of Wiltshire.”

Roxburghe glanced over, his features lacking any mirth. “I wouldn’t venture through this section after dark. However, I don’t intend to spend more time here than necessary.”

“Shouldn’t we have discovered Mr. Hollingsworth by now?” Silas asked as they turned a corner.

“I may have underestimated his desire to evade me,” Roxburghe replied, his right hand clenching. “The magistrate wouldn’t release Miss Fernsby-Webb with just her mother’s retraction; therefore, Mr. Kendall and I convinced Mr. Hollingsworth to admit his culpability.”

Silas stopped walking. “You convinced an innocent man to claim guilt for a crime punishable by death?”

Roxburghe spun around, eyes blazing. “Firstly, I did it to save the life of my fiancée’s sister. And secondly, I didn’t know he was innocent. That information became available yesterday, and I attempted to correct the error as soon as I could.”

“However, you did trounce him.”

“Severely.” A grimace pulled Roxburghe's mouth. “He may assume I freed him with the intention of beating him again.”

“Why would he think that?” Silas asked, despite knowing the answer Roxburghe would give.

“I threatened to do it.”

Of course, you did.

Shaking his head, Silas trudged down the walkway. “That explains why he ran when he recognized your face.”

“And why he’s currently hiding.” Roxburghe tilted his head toward a dim, narrow alley.

Silas’ gaze slid across the dark opening. Roughly ten feet to their right, crouched behind a deteriorating cart with two broken wheels, Mr. Hollingsworth peered out at them from the shadows.

Before they approached, Mr. Hollingsworth popped up with a yelp and limped down the street, his head continually twisting around to gauge their distance. He crashed into a man, rebounded with a groan, and stumbled, struggling to maintain his balance. With a violent curse, the man swung his arm, and his fist connected with Mr. Hollingsworth’s face.

A sickening crunch echoed down the alley as Mr. Hollingsworth crumpled.