Page 73 of The Duchess and the Beast
“Going to shoot me with an empty pistol?” Justine chuckled, unshaken.
“Or I could just beat you to death with it.”
His amusement suddenly faded. “Ah, point taken.”
“Explain!” he demanded.
“Alright, alright...” Justine took a cautious step back. “Calm yourself,hermano. I am merely trying to say that I saw Lord Wellington myself just a few hours ago. He appeared at your homestead not two minutes after Lord Prescott departed. I saw him as clearly as I see you now. Unless he happens to have a twin…?”
“No...” Sebastian shook his head. “That’s—that’s impossible. He’s dead. What game are you playing?”
“No game.Digo la verdad. He was the last one to see your lady wife. Perhaps he has more up-to-date information?”
It took Sebastian a moment. First, thinking that Justine was either lying to him or had misunderstood what he had seen. Then, noting the lack of guile on the little man’s face... an acceptance that he had seen what he claimed to see.
If Simon was indeed alive... he had somehow purposefully deceived Sebastian and Ralph into believing him dead... he had misled them...
“Oh, God...” Sebastian lowered his saber and pistol at the same time. “Simon... what are you doing…”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Virtue had spent hours shrouded in darkness. Hours in a state of terror and utmost dread. Each moment, stretching into an eternity of fear and despair. Oh, she tried to console herself, that everything would be alright, that Sebastian was sure to rescue her. That come tomorrow morning, this entire harrowing ordeal would be naught but a bad dream, and nothing more... but she could only lie to herself for so long.
Her world was reduced to the stifling blackness, all caused by the sack over her head. As she lay on her side in the jolting confines of what felt like a carriage, her hands bound behind her—her mind was left to race as she tried to reason a way out of this that did not rely on Sebastian’s intervention. Not that she doubted her husband’s ability to do so. If any inkling or trace of her plight reached him, she was certain he would not rest until she was found and freed. But try as she might, in the loneliness of her solitary state, she failed to see how he could ever find her.
It wasLord Wellingtonall along.
He had chosen his moment with cunning, striking during Sebastian's absence—a scheme, she suspected, that was concocted with the assistance of their mutual friend, Ralph Merchant. The plan was simple and cruel: draw Sebastian away, leaving her unprotected and vulnerable. She had attempted to resist, to fight back, but it was futile against Wellington's overpowering strength. She had tried to scream out for Albion, Lucy, Lord Prescott—anyonethat might hear her, but his hand clamped over her mouth and stifled her cries before they could even begin. Within moments, she was subdued, her wrists bound, a sack thrown over her head, as she was unceremoniously tossed into a carriage.
Screaming was useless. Fighting was useless. Her best bet was to wait and see where he took her, assess the situation, and then conjure up a plan of her own.
When the carriage finally halted, she did what she could to steady her breathing. It would not do to let him know she was afraid. She was still ill, however, and having not eaten for hours, adrenaline and nerves wracking through her body, when she felt the doors to the carriage fly open and the cool breeze whip at her skin, she very nearly purged her stomach’s contents.
“Pl—please...” she stammered against the sack, unable to see. “You do not have to do this.”
“Don’t I?” She did not recognize the voice, but she knew it to belong to Lord Wellington. He had her by the arm, lifting her effortlessly and tossing her from the carriage.
Her body hit mud, pain lanced through her shoulder, and she cried out.
“Get up.”
Trembling, Virtue attempted to do as he asked, but her illness bore down on her mercilessly, sapping her strength and making it nearly impossible to breathe, much less stand.
“I said get up!” He grabbed her roughly about the waist and hoisted her. She cried out and he dropped her on her feet. Again, her strength left her as a dizzy spell struck and she slumped back into the cold mud. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Lord Wellington groaned.
She felt his arms about her waist again, only this time, he lifted her and threw her over his shoulder. From there, he carried her a short distance, a place where the breeze could not reach, eventually dropping her onto a wooden chair. Her hands were undone for just long enough to re-tie them behind her and then, finally, the sack was lifted from her head.
It was night. The darkness was deep, so Virtue's eyes did not need to adjust to any harsh light. Though still, she found herself squinting against the moon when she opened them, leaning back as she took in her new surroundings and where she was. A barn of some sorts, by the looks of things. Piles of hay stacked in corners, a stall or two for horses, a loft running overhead. And a couple of lanterns hanging from beams, providing minimal light.
And then there were her captors, neither a surprise to her.
Lord Wellington towered before her—his smile as triumphant as it was malevolent. His wolfish features twisted into something demented in the darkness, those large round eyes of his wide and filled with a sense of perverse pride at what he had accomplished. Not a large man by any stretch, but standing over her the way he was, she had scarcely felt so helpless.
Behind Lord Wellington was Ralph Merchant. His blonde hair was muted in the dark of night, but his traditionally handsome features still shone even without the light. He did not look nearly as proud of his actions as Lord Wellington did.Resigned, was how Virtue read him. A reluctant commitment to whatever dark plan had been set in motion. Perhaps this was the escape she needed.
“Wh—what do you want?” Virtue's voice trembled slightly as she sought to summon courage, but found herself faltering.
Lord Wellington let out a harsh cackle at that. “Oh, come now,Your Grace. Surely, you have figured that out yourself by now? An intelligent woman like you.”