Page 66 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
There was no chapter on how to free oneself from being tied up. Nor on what to do when faced with a venomous snake. Nothing on how to escape being offered up to the dark arts of Mayan magic.
If she got out of this alive, she’d write the publishers a strongly worded letter, insisting they add relevant material for the next edition.
A strange urge to laugh bubbled up inside her, emerging as a sob.
They could do with a chapter on lying as well. She might propose writing that one, being such an expert. Not that she’d recommend it in the general way of things. Being duplicitous had only landed her in trouble.
But there were times it was expedient: telling someone you liked their new hat, even if it were hideous, for example. It was always a good idea to spare other people’s feelings, even if it did mean being spare with the truth.
Andin extremis, such as now. If a good bit of fibbery could save her, she’d have no qualms.
Sorry, Lord Studborne, much as I’d love to become a human sacrifice, I’ve an appointment to take tea with the vicar. Can we reschedule to next Thursday?
She gave another gasping, laughing sob.
Oh, it’s an undefiled vestal you’re wanting? Sorry to have wasted your time. I’ve been working my way through the footmen since I arrived. Dreadful of me, but I can’t resist a man in uniform.
Rosamund half choked on that one.
Then, it struck her.
“I’m not a virgin!” she practically shouted it, causing Lord Studborne to recoil. “In fact, I’m with child.” Rosamund strained to think of more. “It was a sailor, during the crossing. Against my will of course. He was filthy! Probably had the pox! My mother knew. It’s what made her so anxious for me to marry. She told me the baby would soon start to show.”
“I don’t believe it!” Staggering back, Lord Studborne was aghast. “You must be unsullied. Only then can the awakening be achieved.”
He gave a roar. “Deceitful bitch! You rob me of this!”
Picking up the multi-bladed dagger he bent over her, his upper lip twisting in fury, revealing clenched teeth. “I’ll slit your throat and—”
Rosamund screamed as the dagger was knocked from his hand, almost piercing her leg as it fell.
Someone had jumped onto the duke’s back and was wrestling him to the floor.
Benedict!
Rosamund could hardly believe her eyes.
The two men were a jumble of legs and arms, rolling and tumbling. A flailing foot caught her ankle and she drew herself back, wincing at the sudden, jabbing pain.
As she did so, her hip brushed against the fallen weapon.
Those blades! Sharp enough not just to slice skin but the sash which bound her hands, and the twine between them.
Could she reach it?
The duke was on his back now, thrashing and swearing, with Benedict sitting atop.
Leaning sideways, Rosamund used her foot to push the knife further back, then stretched as far as she could, extending her fingers until she made contact with the dagger’s hilt.
With pounding pulse, she dragged the weapon closer, at last fitting it into her palm.
Unable to see what she was doing, she only hoped she could direct the blades at her bonds rather than her flesh.
“You little runt!” Lord Studborne gave Benedict an almighty shove, sending him sprawling.
The duke had thirty years on his nephew, but he was still strong. In one leap, he’d pinned him down. Drawing back his fist, he delivered a hard punch to the younger man’s stomach.
Rosamund fought to manipulate the weapon. From her past struggles, the soft sash had come partially loose, giving her some space between her wrists to direct the blades. She could feel the material shredding, giving her greater freedom to saw back and forth.
