Page 92 of His Enemy Duchess

Suddenly, she heard a gunshot.

Her head snapped up, trying to trace it. The violent, loud sound was accompanied by two sets of screams, one significantly longer than the other. Then, a roar, different from the other two.

Who is fighting? What is the meaning of this?

Shuddering at the thought that, perhaps, there was another enemy inside the walls of her prison that she didn’t yet know about, she picked up her pace and sucked in her stomach, making her body as small as possible.

Finally, with a satisfying squelching sound and a slide, she managed to pull her hands right underneath her feet and in front of her.

She immediately pulled the sack off her head, followed by the gag that had been blocking her mouth for so long she had forgotten what it was like to breathe that way, and pushed herself right side up again. She took several quick breaths, promising herself she would never take breathing for granted again.

Only one small victory.

The screams from upstairs had stopped, but she had no idea what the outcome was or what had happened. Surely, it must have been a fight, but the question remained—between whom and who had won? She could only guess that she had heard her uncle scream at one point, but that was the extent of it.

Whatever was the case, now, she had a fighting chance. Her hands were in front of her, still bound, but at least she could use them now, somehow. She could swing them like a hammer and hit something. Or someone.

She mentally prepared herself. The thought of hitting someone violently was foreign to her, but she was stirring it around in her mind. She had to be ready. No matter who came through that door?—

“—ia! Where are you?!”

The voice was distorted, but it set her senses alight, hauling her out of her fatigue and into sharp clarity. It definitely wasn’t Frederick.

She stood up and shambled over to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. The handle, when she tried it, wouldn’t budge. Of course, Frederick had locked her in.

“Sophia! Sophia! If you can hear me, shout, scream, say something! Please!”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Was she asleep? Had she fallen asleep and fantasized about Thomas coming to save her? That was the only explanation.

How pathetic of you, Sophia, that you’d leave your rescue to someone like that, instead of earning it?—

“Sophia!”

“I’m here!” she screamed. Her voice felt weak and dry, doubtless due to her mouth being stuffed with the gag for so long. “I’m here! In here! Thomas!”

She cleared her throat, coughed multiple times, and tried to scream again, but she heard the footsteps come close.

She heard steel clang against wood and loose metal being jingled around. She tried in vain to push the door open and help him, but it was, of course, pointless.

She heard his footsteps retreating for a second and panicked. “Where are you going?”

“I need to get something heavy!”

The answer calmed her as she heard the sounds of wood and metal breaking and crunching, and the footsteps returned.

“Stand back!” Thomas urged.

She backed away and watched as the door shuddered, bombarded with violent, loud thuds and crunches that cracked the wooden panels. Clasping her hands together, she prayed it would be enough to break the door.

With one last rumble, the cellar door flew off its hinges, and she instinctively pulled up her hands to protect her face.

“Sophia?”

The sound of her name onhislips made her lower her hands again, her eyes squinting at the opening.

The tall figure of Thomas could barely fit through, but it was unmistakably him. He was towering, imposing, and in the faintest silver hue of the moonlight, she could see his usually perfect hair absolutely drenched in water.

“Thomas…” She smiled and dragged herself towards him.

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