Page 97 of The Duke
Unholy dread chased him through his own gardens to the fissure in the wall beneath the tree. The stone and bark abraded his flesh as he forced his way through a space he’d used care to maneuver in the past. He didn’t even feel it. Desperation drove him forward.
An arrow of fear pierced his heart, the force of it almost knocking him off his feet as he watched his nightmare become a reality.
The countess suites of the Anstruther manse were not as grand as that of the master’s, and did not boast a balcony because of the high, rounded parapetlike structure with a grand window seat. The lady of the house might enjoy the panoramic view from indoors, away from the elements, situated higher than any other room save the attic.
It was from this window that Jeremy Carson was trying to lower Imogen’s limp body, secured by nothing but a makeshift hammock of bedclothes tied in what Cole prayed to God were secure knots.
Doused with a fear colder than the Baltic Sea, Cole summoned a burst of speed like he’d never done before, tormented by the knowledge that if Jeremy dropped her now, not evenhewould make it in time.
“She’s not dead. But take one more step and she will be.”
The threat planted Cole’s feet to the ground, his every muscle strung tighter than a crossbow. His temper and desperation pushed the pressure needle to red, heat gathering in his blood with no release. He needed to think. He needed to stay calm.
Imogen’s life depended on it.
“I love her. Loved her longer than you, I expect,” Jeremy called down casually, and Cole had heard enough lies in his life by now to ascertain the truth. “But I’ll send her to heaven before I let you soil her again. See if I don’t.”
Another truth.
Cole put up both hands, the metal of his prosthetic glinting a little in the moonlight. He hoped it made him seem less threatening somehow. He noticed that, though Jeremy was holding the sheets in both hands, his boot braced against the ledge, he didn’t seem to be straining beneath her weight.
“How are you holding her secure?” he asked, fighting to control his voice as terror threatened to steal it from him.
The man’s disarmingly young face split into a sneer. “You work the docks long enough, you learn a bit ’bout leverage, don’t ya? Though I doubt a toff like you done an honest day’s work in his bloody life.”
Cole let the taunt go. “Have you harmed her?”
To his astonishment, Jeremy let out a harsh bark of laughter. “That’s bloody rich, coming from you.” He sneered down at him, his lip curled in disgust. “She was pure as an angel before she met you, before you turned her into a whore.”
Cole was well aware of that, and shame needled in beneath his rage and panic. They both loved her. It was something he could use. “Why isn’t she moving, Carson? Are you certain she’s alive?”
The villain made a derisive noise. “Just dosed her with a bit of chloroform I bribed off of that bitch nurse, Molly, at St. Margaret’s before I did her in.”
It was difficult to process all the information that sentence contained while simultaneously swallowing the bile churned into his throat by the brick of fear that landed in his belly.
Chloroform was a powerful anesthetic, when used properly. He’d employed it himself, in his tenure as a spy. But in large doses, it would be lethal, especially when mixed with alcohol.
“You murdered Lady Broadmore, and the others.” Another bit of knowledge permeated his fear.
Roman Rathbone slid from the garden door, remaining concealed beneath the balcony. He’d removed his shirt and shoes, and was clad in only a pair of dark trousers, shadows, and skin the color of carob.
If Cole could keep Jeremy talking, Rathbone might have a chance to position himself beneath Imogen’s body without the madman noticing.
“I did it to save Ginny’s life,” Jeremy said. “They wanted her, wanted to take her, to watch her suffer, but I wouldn’t let them. I gave them substitutes and kept them fed. Flora first, the cheeky whore. That washerwoman in her building. The nanny and the nurse. I didn’t want to, you see. But they made me. They were hungry for it.”
“Who are they?” Cole asked evenly.
“They.Them.” Jeremy hit his temple with his palm repeatedly. “They. They. They.” He chanted in time to the strikes.
Cole took an involuntary step forward as the vulnerable bundle that was Imogen swayed precariously now that she wasn’t stabilized by both hands.
“I said stay back!” Jeremy looked wild now, his sanity slipping.
Rathbone made progress against the wall, but Cole began to despair that he wouldn’t reach her in time. Even if he did, they couldn’t be sure the two-story drop wasn’t enough to cause them both irreparable damage.
“Jeremy.” He stopped. “Mr. Carson, we both love that woman, and want to protect her—”
“You don’t love her!” Jeremy produced a gesture of scorn with his free hand, and his grip slipped, dropping Imogen several inches before he grabbed on with both hands again.
