Page 107 of Never Beguile a Duke
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WINIFRED
Ten minutes prior…
Rocking the chair back and forth to loosen the back post from the rut between the wall and the trunk, Winifred swore as the chair sank lower into the opening. Too many hours had passed since Mr. Curtis vanished to send the second missive, and his imminent return set Winifred’s mind spinning with horrific images.
She jerked again, grunting a low curse word as she yanked the chair upward. The chair lifted, balanced on one leg, then tilted sideways and slid back toward the brass fastener. Desperation coursing through her veins, Winifred resumed her sawing, uncertain how much time she’d lost attempting to free the chair.
In the recesses of the house, a door opened and closed.
Her wrists mid-grind, Winifred froze and flicked her eyes toward the empty doorway and the heavy footsteps reverberating on the main staircase. When Mr. Curtis discovered her by the chest again, the punishment would be severe… and painful.
There wasn’t enough time to return to the center of the room, nor could she move the chair without the legs scraping across the floor.
Heart hammering, her gaze scoured the shadows stretching toward her. A moment later, the top of Mr. Curtis’ dark, unkempt hair appeared. She swallowed her scream, bracing herself for his ire.
A thunderous banging echoed up the staircase.
Mr. Curtis, his forehead now visible, stopped and glanced backward.
“I have the money!” Mr. Hollingsworth’s frantic voice accompanied another round of furious pounding.
Whipping around, Mr. Curtis issued a vile curse and hurried down the staircase. He yanked open the door, then slammed it less than two seconds later.
“Are you mad?” Mr. Curtis snarled.
The smack of flesh against flesh followed his question.
“I robbed a duke,” Mr. Hollingsworth said, an audible wince in his reply. “In front of witnesses, I struck the Duke of Roxburghe with a pistol and stole his money. People are searching for me.”
“Were you followed?” The door opened again, and Winifred assumed Mr. Curtis peeked outside to confirm Mr. Hollingsworth was alone.
“No.” With one word, Mr. Hollingsworth destroyed the remaining shred of hope to which Winifred had clung.
They’d purloined the money from the Duke of Roxburghe and left him injured at the meeting location. No one was coming to liberate her.
Mr. Hollingsworth swore he’d ensure Mr. Curtis freed Winifred once they had the funds. But she knew Mr. Hollingsworth lacked the backbone to stand against Mr. Curtis. If she was going to leave this house with her life, she needed to rescue herself.
Exhaling a calming breath, she slid her wrists across the metal fastener twice, then paused, listening to confirm that neither man heard, nor realized the cause of, the soft scraping sound.
Bolstered by the ongoing argument between Mr. Hollingsworth and Mr. Curtis, Winifred forced her wrists apart as much as possible, adding more tension to the rope, then scrubbed her hands back and forth.
When the third strand broke, she released a soft whoop, then clamped her mouth shut as she realized the loud discussion between both men had subsided. Her ears straining to catch any hint regarding their location, Winifred prayed greed had distracted her captors from confirming her current activity.
Mr. Curtis’ muffled, deep voice crawled through the floor. She couldn’t determine his words, but she knew if she didn’t complete her task within the next few minutes, she’d lose her opportunity to escape.
Setting the rope against the sharp metal, she resumed sawing. Instead of celebrating when the next strand broke, she continued rubbing the binding without interrupting the rhythm.
The soft snap of the rope sent her heart leaping into her throat, and, as the binding dropped to the floor, she brought her arms in front of her body, issuing a sigh of relief as she rubbed her raw wrists.
“Get moving, Winifred,” she said, shaking her hands to combat the feeling of needles pricking her skin. “Outside is much safer, even without shoes.”
She crawled off the chair and stood. However, before she could take one step, her legs gave out, the same sharp needles stabbing her lower extremities, and she collapsed on the floor.
Grabbing onto the chair’s seat, Winifred hauled herself upward, issuing a handful of curse words as she rose, but the moment she released the chair, her legs threatened to give way again.
Not knowing how long Mr. Curtis intended to remain downstairs, she couldn’t wait for her legs to regain their strength. Using the chair as a crutch, she pushed the furniture across the floor, cringing as a loud scraping reverberated through the room.
