Page 45 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)

WINIFRED

Ten minutes prior…

R ocking the chair back and forth to loosen the back post from the rut between the wall and the trunk, Winifred swore as the chair sank lower into the opening.

Too many hours had passed since Mr. Curtis vanished to send the second missive, and his imminent return set Winifred’s mind spinning with horrific images.

She jerked again, grunting a low curse word as she yanked the chair upward.

The chair lifted, balanced on one leg, then tilted sideways and slid back toward the brass fastener.

Desperation coursing through her veins, Winifred resumed her sawing, uncertain how much time she’d lost attempting to free the chair.

In the recesses of the house, a door opened and closed.

Her wrists mid-grind, Winifred froze and flicked her eyes toward the empty doorway and the heavy footsteps reverberating on the main staircase. When Mr. Curtis discovered her by the chest again, the punishment would be severe… and painful.

There wasn’t enough time to return to the center of the room, nor could she move the chair without the legs scraping across the floor.

Heart hammering, her gaze scoured the shadows stretching toward her. A moment later, the top of Mr. Curtis’ dark, unkempt hair appeared. She swallowed her scream, bracing herself for his ire.

A thunderous banging echoed up the staircase.

Mr. Curtis, his forehead now visible, stopped and glanced backward.

“I have the money!” Mr. Hollingsworth’s frantic voice accompanied another round of furious pounding.

Whipping around, Mr. Curtis issued a vile curse and hurried down the staircase. He yanked open the door, then slammed it less than two seconds later.

“Are you mad?” Mr. Curtis snarled.

The smack of flesh against flesh followed his question.

“I robbed a duke,” Mr. Hollingsworth said, an audible wince in his reply. “In front of witnesses, I struck the Duke of Roxburghe with a pistol and stole his money. People are searching for me.”

“Were you followed?” The door opened again, and Winifred assumed Mr. Curtis peeked outside to confirm Mr. Hollingsworth was alone.

“No.” With one word, Mr. Hollingsworth destroyed the remaining shred of hope to which Winifred had clung.

They’d purloined the money from the Duke of Roxburghe and left him injured at the meeting location. No one was coming to liberate her.

Mr. Hollingsworth swore he’d ensure Mr. Curtis freed Winifred once they had the funds. But she knew Mr. Hollingsworth lacked the backbone to stand against Mr. Curtis. If she was going to leave this house with her life, she needed to rescue herself.

Exhaling a calming breath, she slid her wrists across the metal fastener twice, then paused, listening to confirm that neither man heard, nor realized the cause of, the soft scraping sound.

Bolstered by the ongoing argument between Mr. Hollingsworth and Mr. Curtis, Winifred forced her wrists apart as much as possible, adding more tension to the rope, then scrubbed her hands back and forth.

When the third strand broke, she released a soft whoop, then clamped her mouth shut as she realized the loud discussion between both men had subsided.

Her ears straining to catch any hint regarding their location, Winifred prayed greed had distracted her captors from confirming her current activity.

Mr. Curtis’ muffled, deep voice crawled through the floor. She couldn’t determine his words, but she knew if she didn’t complete her task within the next few minutes, she’d lose her opportunity to escape.

Setting the rope against the sharp metal, she resumed sawing. Instead of celebrating when the next strand broke, she continued rubbing the binding without interrupting the rhythm.

The soft snap of the rope sent her heart leaping into her throat, and, as the binding dropped to the floor, she brought her arms in front of her body, issuing a sigh of relief as she rubbed her raw wrists.

“Get moving, Winifred,” she said, shaking her hands to combat the feeling of needles pricking her skin. “Outside is much safer, even without shoes.”

She crawled off the chair and stood. However, before she could take one step, her legs gave out, the same sharp needles stabbing her lower extremities, and she collapsed on the floor.

Grabbing onto the chair’s seat, Winifred hauled herself upward, issuing a handful of curse words as she rose, but the moment she released the chair, her legs threatened to give way again.

Not knowing how long Mr. Curtis intended to remain downstairs, she couldn’t wait for her legs to regain their strength. Using the chair as a crutch, she pushed the furniture across the floor, cringing as a loud scraping reverberated through the room.

Surely, that noise would draw an investigation. She needed to get out of this chamber before Mr. Curtis appeared.

Aiming for the staircase, Winifred abandoned the chair and flung herself toward the doorway, catching hold of the doorframe as she fell forward.

She braced her shoulder against the wall and descended the steps at a measured pace, keeping her arm stretched in front of her in case she lost her balance.

When she reached the landing and her gaze slid across the austere decorations, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

She was in her mother’s house!

Mr. Hollingsworth’s faint voice came from the drawing room, one floor beneath her. She caught a few words of the conversation, but none of them were encouraging. With Mr. Hollingsworth and Mr. Curtis guarding the exit, Winifred pivoted and limped into a bedchamber—her previous bedchamber.

Frowning, she skidded to a stop in the empty room. Where was all the furniture? Surely, her mother didn’t need to sell the bed, armoire, and clothing to cover her debts.

Did Nora’s bedchamber mirror hers?

Winifred turned, exited her chamber, and hastened down the hallway to Nora’s room. Pushing open the door, Winifred swallowed the curse on her lips. Neither chamber held one stick of furniture.

Nora couldn’t know this. Despite the difficult relationship she had with her stepmother, Nora wouldn’t have allowed all of their possessions to be sold to creditors.

Attention drawn to the window, Winifred glided over to the glass and peered through the crack in the drapes at the snow-covered street visible just beyond the garden.

People!

She pushed the drapes open, unlatched the lock, and opened the window. Winter’s icy breath rushed into the chamber, brushing over Winifred’s face and toying with the loose strands of hair surrounding her face.

Sucking in a deep breath, she leaned out the window and cupped her hands around her mouth. Before she could yell, a heavy force slammed her waist into the window ledge. She folded in half, the oxygen knocked from her lungs, a pitiful whimper falling from her lips.

Two hands wrapped around her hips, pinching the skin, yanked her backward, and flung her away from the window. She crashed into the far wall and dropped to the floor in a heap.

The window slammed shut.

Mr. Curtis, his face twisted into a sneer, advanced on her. “How did you get out of the attic?”

“Sorcery,” she replied, jutting out her chin.

He leaned down and swung his arm, backhanding her across the face.

Pain exploded in her jaw.

“I asked you a question,” he said, winding his fingers through her hair and raising her into a sitting position.

“You didn’t like my answer.”

Mr. Curtis snorted, released her head, and crouched, his dark eyes probing hers. “You’re more courageous than Mr. Hollingsworth. He should take lessons from you.”

“I’d be happy to offer them,” she said, then added, “once I’m freed.”

Her heart sank when Mr. Curtis replied with a braying cackle. “Why would I release you?”

“You’ve received the funds.” Winifred tilted her head in the direction of the front door. “I heard Mr. Hollingsworth.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Mr. Curtis said, the corner of his mouth lifting, “the Duke of Roxburghe was attacked by a thief, and your ransom was never paid.”

“That’s a lie,” she exploded and, clenching her fist, swung her arm.

Mr. Curtis easily caught her wrist. “The Duke of Roxburghe’s penchant for violence appears to have affected your gentle nature. Perhaps you should thank me for rescuing you from him.”

“And who do I thank for rescuing me from you?”

“No one, Miss Webb.” A venomous grin spread across his face. “As I have no intention of allowing you to leave… alive.”

“I don’t understand,” she replied, her mind refusing to accept his threat. “You said you intended to leave the country with the funds; no one will ever find you. Why kill me before you depart?”

He shrugged. “I don’t like you.”

A tremor rippled down Winifred’s spine. She needed time—and a distraction—to get out of the house. Once she garnered the attention of a passerby, Mr. Curtis wouldn’t be able to harm her.

Her gaze flicked to the loose board in Nora’s floor. “Would you allow me to live if I revealed the location of additional funds?”

Eyebrows raising, Mr. Curtis turned his head, following the direction of Winifred’s eyes. “How much more?”

“Five thousand.” Winifred nodded toward the floorboard. “My secret cache.”

“Impressive,” said Mr. Curtis, rising. “And your mother never discovered the money?”

Winifred shook her head. “Unless someone knew which floorboard was loose, they’d never find the compartment.”

“I’ll consider your proposal,” Mr. Curtis replied as he crossed the room.

As he knelt and dug his fingernails under the board, Winifred scrambled to her feet and raced from the bedchamber. Behind her, Mr. Curtis roared his frustration. However, Winifred didn’t slow. She sped down the staircase, aiming for the front door.

When she reached the door, she grasped the handle and yanked, but the locked door refused to budge. Before she could unlatch the lock, Mr. Curtis smashed into her, crushing her body against the harsh wood. Then he grabbed her wrists and dragged her away from the exit.

Winifred kicked him, her foot connecting with his shin.