Page 19 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT
M r. Younge’s braying cackle smacked into Silas. “If you’d like to try your fortune with one of these other unfortunate souls, Your Grace, I’m certain one of them would show you the gratitude you deserve.”
Three covered heads twisted toward Mr. Younge.
Silas couldn’t see the criminals’ faces beneath the cloth sacks, but he could imagine the pitiful expressions gracing each visage.
“Would you consider any of those men worthy of redemption?” he asked, glancing at Roxburghe, who appeared torn between chasing down Mr. Hollingsworth and hearing Mr. Younge’s answer.
Mr. Younge’s dark eyes flicked to the prisoners. “Given the choice, I would have hung Mr. Hollingsworth; four heads are better than three.”
Eyes narrowing, Roxburghe took a step toward the platform. “Even the innocent ones?”
“Mr. Hollingsworth may not have committed this crime, but he’s a guilty man.” Mr. Younge nodded toward the empty noose. “I’ve held this position for quite some time, Your Grace. Only the guilty sleep on their first night.”
Placing a restraining hand on Roxburghe’s shoulder, Silas said, “Neither of us is carrying enough funds to free three additional men, and neither of us wants to face an angry mob after robbing them of their afternoon’s enjoyment.
I suggest we follow Mr. Hollingsworth and allow Mr. Younge to carry on with his duties. ”
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.
Flinging slurred vulgarities at Mr. Hollingsworth’s unconscious body, the man kicked Mr. Hollingsworth twice in the ribs, then glowered at Silas and Roxburghe as if daring them to speak out against his vicious act.
Neither of them moved.
Nodding once, the man turned, trudged across the alley, and vanished down another side street.
“If he didn’t need medical attention before, he’ll certainly need it now.” Roxburghe hastened to Mr. Hollingsworth’s side. Kneeling in the snow, Roxburghe rolled Mr. Hollingsworth onto his back, leaned down, and placed his ear to Mr. Hollingsworth’s chest. “He’s still breathing.”
“Where’s the nearest doctor?” Silas glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings.
“The prison,” Roxburghe hooked his hands under Mr. Hollingsworth’s arms. “Help me carry him.”
Silas positioned himself between Mr. Hollingsworth’s legs, grabbed the man’s knees, and lifted at the same time as Roxburghe, each of them expelling a low grunt.
“He appeared lighter than he feels,” Silas grumbled, adjusting his hold on Mr. Hollingsworth and trudging backward toward the main street.
“You carried Mrs. Webb into your residence yesterday without issue.”
“I had motivation.” The retort slipped out before Silas could stop it.
A giant grin broke Roxburghe’s face. “Did that motivation have dark brown hair?”
“No,” Silas scowled, his response earning a wider grin. “Will the prison treat Mr. Hollingsworth now that he’s no longer a guest of theirs?”
“Mr. Younge will make an exception for us,” Roxburghe replied and, releasing a low groan, stopped. “We need to set Mr. Hollingsworth down for a moment.”
“Something is too heavy for the great Duke of Roxburghe?” Silas teased, choosing a mostly clean section of the walkway to deposit Mr. Hollingsworth’s legs.
“I’m carrying most of the weight,” Roxburghe shot back as he laid Mr. Hollingsworth flat on the ground.
“Are you certain he’s still alive?” Silas asked, leaning over and poking Mr. Hollingsworth. “I dislike the notion of spending our afternoon carting around a deceased man.”
Crouching beside Silas, Roxburghe removed his glove and placed the back of his hand against Mr. Hollingsworth’s mouth. “He’s breathing.”
A moan slipped from Mr. Hollingsworth’s lips, and his eyelids fluttered open. His brown eyes focusing on Roxburghe’s face, Mr. Hollingsworth gave a tiny squeak and attempted to scramble backward, but his limbs failed him, and he collapsed.
“Please don’t kill me,” he begged, holding his arms in front of his face. “I did as you asked.”
“Which is why I’ve returned to release you,” Roxburghe replied, helping Mr. Hollingsworth into a sitting position and brushing icy bits of slush from the man’s thin shirt.
Mr. Hollingsworth blinked rapidly, his gaze swinging from Roxburghe to Silas. “I’m free?”
“‘Til you’re captured for another offense,” Silas said and held out his hand to drag Mr. Hollingsworth to his feet.
“If you think me guilty, why pay for my release?” Mr. Hollingsworth asked as he struggled to stand.
Roxburghe steadied him. “We know you’re innocent of the crime for which you were to be hanged, and the person who accused you has retracted her statement, claiming both you and her daughter were guiltless regarding the reported theft.
I don’t forgive anything else you’ve done in your life, but I won’t hold you accountable for Mrs. Webb’s falsehoods. ”
Tears dripped down Mr. Hollingsworth’s face. “How can I repay you, Your Grace?”
“You can return with us to my residence.” Silas appeared on the other side of Mr. Hollingsworth. “I’m hosting an event to celebrate His Grace’s engagement to Miss Webb.”
Body swaying, Mr. Hollingsworth paled. “Is her sister staying at your house as well?”
“She is,” Roxburghe replied, shooting a glower at Silas. “And you should know, her mother delivered the missive you wrote.”
“Did Miss Fernsby-Webb give an answer?” Mr. Hollingsworth asked, leaning against Roxburghe.
“Not to us.” Lifting Mr. Hollingsworth’s arm, Roxburghe draped the appendage across his shoulders. “However, before you demand a response from the lady, we should have a physician examine you.”