Page 87 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
Heath had barely gotten off his horse when a man ushered him into the same office at Newgate where Wethington was. His leg was smarting and stinging but seeing the anxious look on the aide’s face, he went in quickly.
“Murray,” Wethington said in his calm, hell-in-breaking-loose, voice, “Did you find anything at Hillbrook’s home?”
Placing the letter before the man, Heath didn’t question the man’s nervous energy, and said, “Hillbrook is in collusion with Stratham.” He then ran his finger down the line, knowing the man would read quickly. “Use Allerton to our advantage, get the contact for the Prussian Duke. He is our only way to riches. Marry the woman if you need to.”
“That is very well, but there can be—”
A knock was barely heard and the same aide rushed in. “My Lord, the message just came through from France, it's him.”
Heath’s head swiveled between two when Wethington took the sheaf of papers. “Him, who ishim?”
Wethington’s eyes were down and after skimming the page, his jaw went tight.
“I must congratulate you, Murray, Hillbrook is…”
Heath was out the door before the words, “a traitor,” came out of the man’s mouth. Nearly colliding with the aide, Heath regained his footing and over his shoulder ordered, “Send the constables to Allerton, now! With arms!”
When Heath saw the horse he rode was gone, he approached a man dismounting a brown stallion. “I need your horse, Sir. Please, see Lord Wethington after I’m gone.”
Without a by-your-leave, Heath swung onto the saddle, and blinded with anger and worry, he rode to Allerton’s home. This horse was bred for walking, Heath could feel it from his gait, but he pushed on. He had to get to Allerton even if he had to run the eighty-odd miles.
* * *
“You will regret saying that.”
Never had she heard such a cold tone from the man whose voice was always cheery or teasingly sly. She stepped back, wondering what had come over Hillbrook.
“I…” her voice squeaked, “beg your pardon?”
He came near and his voice was low and threatening. His soft sky-blue orbs had gone icy and his tone mirrored it. “You will marry me, and this is why. I have the power to keep your brother in prison until they send him to swing at Newgate. I will make sure this estate is broken down, brick by brick until there is nothing but rubble. You will become a spinster and all that money your dear father left you will go to the Crown, a sorry excuse for our government.”
She lifted her chin. “I will not do any such thing. My brother is innocent, and they will find that out.”
He laughed in her face, “Poor, innocent, blind Penelope. Do you truly think this joke of a government has any idea of what justice is? If justice was to be done, they should have assassinated the Regent, an odious, incompetent buffoon of a man by now.”
“Every government is flawed,” she said sensibly. “There is no perfect way of running a country.”
“Napoleon did it,” Hillbrook’s eyes flashed a cold stubborn blue.
“And it led him to prison,” the words were out before she had realized the danger of insulting him. She still lifted her head and faced him squarely. The horse was already out of the gate. “How can you admire a madman?”
“The man is a revolutionary,” Hillbrook’s voice had gone tight. “If you want to see a madman, take a look at the man who cannot rule if God gave him the wisdom of Solomon.”
Of all the five years she knew the Baron, not once had she ever heard Hillbrook using such a cold, menacing tone. She began to wonder if she, or her brother, had ever truly known the man.
“I will not marry you,” she reiterated.
Hillbrook did grab her hand, “How about a little incentive, my dear.”
“And what could that be?” She was afraid to ask.
“Follow me,” he said softly.
Glancing up she saw a cold hatred in once-mellow orbs. Her throat locked up, and she could not speak. He tugged her into his side and walked her like a marionette from the room to outside. To anyone looking on, it seemed like a lovers’ stroll, but instead of love, it was fear like she’d never known that held her was tight.
They arrived at the stables and Penelope was amiss at what they were doing there until Hillbrook let her go and went to Bessie. He opened her stall, took out a pistol from his coat and leveled it to Bessie’s head.
Triggered by fright, she screamed, “Stephen!”
