Page 103 of Never Beguile a Duke
“If that is your desire,” Silas replied, taking the parchment.
His fingers closed around a wet portion of the paper. He glanced down, assuming he’d inadvertently touched an ink spot, and sucked in a sharp breath. A crimson stain, resembling that of a partial handprint, covered the lower section of the missive.
“Is it Miss Fernsby-Webb’s blood?” Silas whispered, raising his eyes to Roxburghe.
Roxburghe’s mouth folded into a thin line. “That would be a fair assumption.”
“You don’t think that he…” Silas couldn’t finish the question, believing, somehow, if he didn’t utter the phrase, Miss Fernsby-Webb would survive until they rescued her.
“Quite unlikely.” Roxburghe gestured toward the deep red handprint. “Mr. Curtis needs Miss Fernsby-Webb alive to make the exchange.”
Silas scanned the words scrawled above the blood. “Do you think she’s being kept at this meeting location?”
“There are too many witnesses at that gaming hall.” Roxburghe's gaze shifted to the parlor door as it cracked open.
Miss Webb peeked into the corridor. “Have you any news about Winifred?”
Roxburghe shot Silas a silencing glare, stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around Miss Webb. “I know where we are to meet Mr. Curtis tomorrow.”
“You’ve remembered?” The worry creasing Miss Webb’s brow vanished. “Let’s go retrieve her.”
Roxburghe shook his head. “We don’t think she’s currently at the meeting place. Mr. Curtis is too intelligent to hold her at the same location.”
The parlor door opened a second time, revealing Mansfield’s dark features. “Grisham has an idea for how to deal with the money shortage. However, the scheme is risky.”
“What did he suggest?” Silas stepped forward.
“I’ll allow him to explain the particulars.” Bowing, Mansfield moved aside.
Roxburghe escorted Miss Webb into the parlor, sat her beside her mother on the sofa, then slipped behind the furniture, resuming his protective position.
Silas followed, pausing long enough beside Mansfield to pass him the alarming missive and gesture that he hold his tongue after reading the note. Then Silas crossed the room and stopped next to his daughter, who had claimed Mansfield’s chair in his absence.
Shifting his attention to Grisham, Silas said, “Mansfield stated you had a plan.”
Grisham fixed his light brown eyes on Silas. “I’m gambling on the notion that Mr. Curtis won’t verify the coins in the sack. He’ll want to depart from the location as quickly as possible so as not to be captured. Therefore, we should line the base of the bag with pebbles—roughly the size of a pound—to give the impression Roxburghe possesses the full amount.”
“If you’re wrong,” Silas replied, his voice barely audible over the popping fire, “Miss Fernsby-Webb will lose her life.”
“I’m aware of the risk,” Grisham said, his gaze flicking to Roxburghe. “As this choice doesn’t place my fiancée’s sister in greater danger, I’ll defer the decision.”
Roxburghe tugged at his cravat. “That’s not a ruling I feel confident making.”
“Do it,” Miss Webb said, her voice eerily calm.
“Are you certain?” Roxburghe rounded the sofa and knelt, grasping Miss Webb’s hands.
“Not in the slightest.” She gestured toward the partially filled sack. “But there is no other solution, and if you don’t meet with Mr. Curtis, Winifred will surely die.”
Her mother leaned over and murmured, “The Duke of Roxburghe could lose his life tomorrow as well.”
Eyes flashing, Miss Webb twisted. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Because he’s traveling to the meeting place alone.” Mrs. Webb shifted her gaze to Mansfield. “And you determined that Mr. Curtis acted with assistance.”
Silas strode around Juliette’s chair. “I’m riding with you tomorrow, Roxburghe.”
“And how,” Roxburghe asked, rising from his crouched position, “do you intend to prevent Mr. Curtis from discovering you?”
