Page 44 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
“Only sold to Eddington to be used and abused,” he snapped. “You have a strange definition of what constitutes harm.”
Shame washed over Nigel’s face, unmistakable and bitter. “I know that was horrendous. But I honestly thought that was the only way to save myself. We must find her before he goes back to retrieve her. He means to deposit her body somewhere on the grounds of your estate and then have a note delivered to the magistrate informing him that you have murdered your bride.”
“Do you think I have a care for such matters? I only want to bring Violet home… even if it is the last thing I may ever do for her,” he said, feeling as though he were dying inside himself.
“Then I will help you find her. I owe her that much… and you, as well,” Nigel replied.
“Then let us find her before he does. I cannot abide the thought that she, even in death, would have to endure his touch,” Max said.
Eddington made his way downstairs after getting cleaned up. At the foot of the stairs, Ethella was wringing her hands. Never had he seen her in such a state. Always cold, calculating, and without conscience or cowardice. “What is it?”
“It is my worthless son, Lord Eddington,” she said softly. “He’s not here. I suspect that he may have had an unfortunate attack of conscience and has gone off to find Alstead. He’s always been weak.”
Eddington was instantly livid. “That worthless, toadying bastard!”
“Careful, Eddington… calling him a bastard is more insult to me than to Nigel,” she snapped. “Go and find him. Do whatever is necessary to rectify this or we will both hang for it… though I’d rather hang than be transported.”
On that note, they were in accord. Leaving the house, he shouted for a groom to bring his horse. Moments later, it was saddled and brought before him. Mounting quickly, he made his way back to the woods, back to where he’d left Violet’s corpse. The plan had not changed for him, except that there would be a slightly higher number of casualties. Now, Nigel and Alstead would have to die, as well.
Or it would have been but for one thing. He had reached the place where he’d deposited Violet’s body and she was gone. Had Alstead found her? Had Nigel?
Eddington dismounted, slapped his horse on the rump, and sent it back in the direction of Wellston Hall. What came next would require discretion. He paced the forest edge, his mind a whirlwind of panic and dark calculation. The discovery that Violet Honeywell was not where he had left her—a small, secluded clearing he had deemed secure—had sent a surge of fear through him. It was a meticulous plan unraveling at the seams, each loose thread a potential undoing.
A love triangle, he thought, in a stroke of brilliance. Violet was involved in a secret relationship with Nigel. Alstead discovered them having relations and murdered them both in a fit of rage before killing himself. It was the perfect solution. But first, he had to chase down a dead woman—one who was apparently being hunted by others, as well. Though for very different reasons.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll burn the whole bloody forest if I have to.”
The sound of approaching riders had him seeking cover. He tucked himself in behind a thick stand of trees and waited. He was barely a match for Nigel. Alstead was out of the question. If he had to face them together, the outcome was a given. So he’d lie in wait and take them out one by one. What did brute strength matter when he had stealth and strategy on his side?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As the dusk deepened into an opaque veil of darkness, Max and Nigel pressed on through the thick undergrowth of the forest, their lanterns casting eerie shadows among the gnarled trees. The urgency of their mission lent speed to their steps, yet the vastness of the woods seemed to mock their efforts with its silence and secrets.
Nigel, wracked with guilt over his past complicity and now driven by a newfound resolve to set things right, moved slightly ahead of Max, his eyes scouring the ground for any sign of Violet. The tension in the air was palpable, each snapped twig or the rustle of leaves sending jolts of alarm through their tense frames.
Suddenly, Nigel's foot caught on something softer than the hard-packed earth—a shallow indentation in the forest bed. He paused, his heart hammering in his chest as he pulled back enough to take it all in. The depression in the leaves and soil was unmistakably human-shaped, as if someone had been laid there or had fallen heavily. He knelt for a closer examination and his fingers brushed against leaves that were sticky with drying blood. A cold dread settled over him as he realized the gravity of his find.
Before he could call out to Max, a rustling sound from behind made him turn sharply. Lord Eddington emerged from the shadows, his face a mask of cold fury, his eyes gleaming with malevolence in the lantern light.
"Nigel," Eddington hissed, his voice low and threatening. "You should not have changed allegiances.”
“She lives,” Nigel said. “Or you would not still be here.”
“For now but not for long. I’ll finish her off soon enough.”
Nigel stood slowly, facing Eddington with a defiant stare despite the fear gnawing at his gut. "It's over, Eddington. Let them be."
Eddington's response was a cruel smirk. Without another word, he lunged forward, his hand gripping the hilt of a dagger concealed in his coat. The blade flashed in the dim light, and before Nigel could react, Eddington drove it deep into his side, between the ribs, aiming with lethal precision.
The pain was sharp and immediate. Nigel gasped, his breath catching in his throat as he looked down to see the blade buried in his flesh. Even as he did so, Eddington twisted it brutally. Nigel reached out, trying to grasp Eddington, but his strength was fading fast. Eddington stepped back, pulling the knife free.
Blood poured from the wound at such a rate that Nigel knew it was well over for him. With a grimace of pain and betrayal, he sank to his knees, clutching at the wound that was rapidly staining his shirt with blood.
Eddington watched for a moment, his expression unreadable, then turned and disappeared back into the darkness of the woods, leaving Nigel alone. The forest seemed to close in around him, the sounds of the night now a distant echo as his vision began to blur. He fell forward onto the cold ground, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.
Alstead, having apparently heard the scuffle, called out, "Nigel!" But by the time he reached him, Nigel was lyingmotionless, the life ebbing from his body with each shallow, labored breath. Max knelt beside him, horror etched across his face as he realized what had happened.
“I will get help,” Alstead offered.
