Page 40 of Never Beguile a Duke
Mr. Younge twisted back and arched his eyebrows. “The full amount? Mr. Hollingsworth stole items totaling a grand.”
Roxburghe shoved his hand into his pocket and removed an embroidered sack of coins. He counted out the money, piling the pieces into a mound on the edge of the platform. When Roxburghe reached eight hundred, he stopped and glanced at Silas, a slight pink color creeping into his face.
“May I borrow two hundred pounds?” asked Roxburghe, keeping his voice low as he leaned into Silas. “I’ll send my man for the funds as soon as we return to your residence with Mr. Hollingsworth.”
Silas slid his fingers into his coat pocket and froze, a tiny voice in his mind whispering that Miss Fernsby-Webb wouldn’t blame them for Mr. Hollingsworth’s demise; she’d lay the guilt at her mother’s feet. But could he condemn an innocent man to death to prevent that man from courting a woman he wasn’t considering?
Except I am. And I think of her at the most inopportune moments, such as now, while a man’s life rests in my hands.
Roxburghe frowned, obviously perplexed by Silas’ immobility.
“Are you suffering from a monetary plight I’m unaware of?” he asked, his voice filling with concern.
“Solely a moral one,” Silas replied and yanked a similar coin sack from his pocket.
As Mr. Younge marched toward them, Silas counted out two hundred pounds and added the money to the stack.
Bending, Mr. Younge snatched up the funds and counted the coins, his tongue trapped between his yellowed teeth. Then, he nodded once, straightened, and returned to his position at the center of the platform, shoving the money into his pocket.
“This prison believes criminals should be punished!”
A cheer met Mr. Younge’s announcement.
“However, when a guilty party’s debt has been paid, their sentence is suspended.” Mr. Younge paused, waiting until the prison square was dead silent. “Therefore, today there will only be a triple hanging!”
The deafening roar that answered his declaration shook the prison.
“Release Mr. Neville Hollingsworth!” Mr. Younge spun and pointed at one of the hooded men.
The executioner stepped forward, lifted the noose from the second man's neck, cut the ropes binding his wrists, and removed the covering, revealing Mr. Hollingsworth’s pale, sweaty face.
“Get moving,” the executioner growled, shoving Mr. Hollingsworth toward the stairs. “You’re a free man.”
“Who do I thank for my life?” Mr. Hollingsworth asked, limping down three steps.
“The Duke of Roxburghe,” the executioner replied, indicating the far end of the platform.
Mr. Hollingsworth’s gaze locked on Silas and Roxburghe, and a flash of recognition zipped through his brown eyes. Then he swore.
Before they could reach him, Mr. Hollingsworth bolted through the crowd, ramming people aside in his manic attempt to escape the square, and disappeared, vanishing as he hurried beneath the prison gates.
CHAPTER NINE
WINIFRED
Winifred lay flat on her stomach, pressing her mouth to the small space between the base of Juliette’s door and the floor. “If I must spend the entire day on this rug, I will do so.”
“What are you doing?” The familiar alto timber of Miss Wilmington brushed over Winifred, who froze.
Praying Miss Wilmington wasn’t accompanied by her mother, Winifred twisted her head sideways and offered a sheepish smile. “I’m attempting to retrieve something locked in that chamber.”
“Oh!” Lifting her skirt, Miss Wilmington knelt and laid her head on the floor beside Winifred’s. “Perhaps I can reach it. What is the item you seek?”
“Miss Juliette.”
Frowning, Miss Wilmington sat up. “The Duke of Beaufort’s daughter?”
“Correct.” Winifred straightened and tucked a loose strand of hair into her bun. “His Grace requested that I amuse her while he and the Duke of Roxburghe retrieved the doctor.”
