Page 84 of The Wayward Duke
Julian broke the plain wax seal and unfolded the letter crammed with rows of slanted script. No greeting, no signature, but he hardly needed either to identify the author.
When forced to decide between the woman you love and the country you serve, where would your loyalties lie? Two clocks now count down the hours. One life at the mercy of the rising tide, and the others at the clock attached to an infernal device. Choose, duke.
The country you serve – dear God, Parliament was in session.
And Caroline, at the mercy of the rising tide.
Julian’s jaw clenched against the panic threatening his composure. He grasped a pen and dipped it in ink, hand shaking. Threatening to snap the instrument in half as he jotted a note.
“Percy!” The shout seemed to ricochet through the halls. Julian grabbed his coat off the stand and strode from the study, crumpling the letter in his fist. He thrust it at the wide-eyed butler. “Have this sent to Mattias Wentworth immediately. Bring my carriage round.”
Outside, a chill rain misted the air. Julian descended the front steps swiftly and slipped into the waiting carriage.
“Where to, Your Grace?” the driver asked.
A warehouse at Wapping, Caroline had said.
“The docks at Wapping,” he bit out. “And hurry, damn you.”
The horses surged into motion as if sensing his urgency. Buildings blurred past the rain-streaked windows, ghostly shapes half glimpsed. Julian’s hand curled around the door handle, prepared to leap out when they arrived. He’d search every building himself if need be.
When the carriage finally juddered to a halt, Julian tore himself from the cab without waiting for the footman. The groan of ships and slap of water greeted him, tar and brine mingling with the metallic tang of blood from nearby slaughterhouses.
Think.
At the mercy of the rising tide.
Somewhere with access to the Thames.
Julian raced towards the warehouses near the Execution Dock, where the Admiralty courts sentenced pirates and mutineers to death – leaving them hanging until they had been submerged three times by the tide.
There – a building a stone’s throw from the dock, equipped with a private slip that flooded at high tide.
And the tide was nearly at its peak.
36
The hatch remained open just long enough for the small cascade to drench Caroline’s head and shoulders before it slammed shut again.
A cat batting at a mouse, cruel and patient.
Caroline shoved down the stark panic clawing at her throat. She forced herself to think, shutting out the creak of rusted hinges and the hollow groan of currents. Five wheels coded with symbols from Kellerman’s letters, each with thousands of potential combinations. Impossible to test each permutation before her air ran out.
The frigid water surged higher, sliding icy fingers down her neck and chest. Loud as cannon fire, new droplets bombarded the hatch above at regular intervals. The once-distant thunder of churning currents pressed against the metal tomb encasing her. Lapping at the rusting walls, eager for its prize.
Five wheels. What sequence? She ground her wrists raw against the rope until her skin bled.
Mathematics in a logical order, chosen by a mind viewing humanity as disposable odds and variables. Subtract the heart, and all that remained was…
The realisation stole Caroline’s breath. Of course. She used the permutation she’d utilised to solve the coded notes about the warehouse in Wapping.
Cold salt water surged over her feet now, leaching away all warmth. The hatch would soon dip below the surface, sealing her fate. This was her only chance.
Caroline strained against her ropes. Her frozen fingers shook as she seized the first dial and wrenched it right to the seven. The second she twisted left to the three, the movements needle-sharp with desperation.
When she had set the last number on its seven, she collapsed back. Her heartbeat drowned out the roar of the incoming tide, chest heaving with prayers. Outside her tomb, the river rose. Icy seawater gushed through the opening overhead, soaking her to the skin. She gulped a breath just before the downpour sealed the hatch fully.
The world fell silent. There was no light, no sound save her thin breaths and the creak of chains. Somewhere below her feet, the inexorable tide swirled. Rising by the second. If she had gambled and lost, the choice was no longer hers.
