Page 86 of The Vagabond Viscount
“What’s wrong with that outcome?” pressed Augusta.
He shook his head. “It means I will be free, but I will also be tainted forever as the man who killed his father and got away with it. I worry what this will do to our children in the future. And how much of a stain this will leave on the Cadnam name over the years.”
Augusta’s hands balled into fists.And they say that I am stubborn. “I don’t care what people say, just as long as you walk free. No one gave a damn when your father treated you like dirt. No one stopped the earl from beating you. I will have firm, public words with anyone who wants to take issue with you winning this case.”
“Thank you,” whispered her husband.
Flynn’s lawyer pulled out a folio of papers and opened it. “We have the official death report from the attending physician.” He spread the papers out on the table. Included in them were several pages of drawings. Sketches of both the late earl and his injuries, as well as the one the investigators had made of Flynn and his wounds.
Unlike when Flynn had gone missing, these investigators had done a thorough job. Her finger tapped the drawing of her husband and the markings of his recent and old wounds. “How do we know which ones were inflicted by the earl’s father?”
Flynn picked up the paper, nodded, then set it on the table in front of everyone. “There is a legend on the side of the page. The light lines marked on my body are from the original January 1817 attack and previous times. The dark lines are from this latest one. And the dotted lines… hmmm… they are from my time in Italy.”
The room fell silent as they all took in the sketches of Flynn’s body, and the scars and wounds which he bore. Augusta knew them all intimately, but it still had her gulping down tears.
“The late earl’s wounds are, of course, fewer but clearer,” observed the lawyer. He had been engaged by the Duke of Mowbray, and Augusta didn’t want to guess how much money and favors her father had offered up in order to retain him. He was considered the best legal mind in the country. If anyone could get Flynn justice, it was Sir James Pence.
Sir James rose from the table and bowed to Augusta. “Countess Bramshaw, may I have a word with you in private?”
A mystified Augusta got to her feet and followed the defense lawyer to a corner out of earshot of her husband and father. She turned to face the table, just in time to see the duke ushering Flynn outside. “Perhaps now is a good time for us to take a stroll in the tower grounds,” said her father.
Once they were alone, Sir James cleared his throat. “In my opinion, the evidence is evenly balanced. My concern is what the prosecution might present on the day. And whom they intend to call as witnesses. I have found witnesses to be unreliable. In this case, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if some of the late earl’s servants lie under oath.”
This wasn’t promising news. Not that Augusta hadn’t been expecting to hear something bad. Nothing seemed to be going right. “What can we do?”
Sir James’s gaze dropped to the stone flagging of the prison room. “Two things. One, make sure Lord Bramshaw goes over his written testimony, so that it can hold up under examination. I am hoping he won’t have to give evidence, but we shall see. And two….”
He glanced at the door then leaned in. “Start making discreet inquiries as to ships sailing out of England on the day of the trial. You will also need to find people who can be bribed to snatch a prisoner in between leaving the House of Lords and coming back here. If the jury finds your husband guilty of murder, you must get him out of the country as fast as possible.”
Blinking hard with shock, Augusta nodded her agreement. She was not going to lose Flynn a second time. If they had to flee England and go live in exile, it would be worth it.
“Of course, I cannot directly give you the details of anyone who may be willing to commit the crime of springing a prisoner, but who knows? I might just happen to accidentally drop a piece of paper on my way to the door. And as fate may have it, that piece of paper might contain the name of a gentleman who is skilled in dealing with situations that require a degree of brute force. I suggest you avail yourself of a large sum of money, preferably in guineas, just in case you need to engage his services. He will expect a substantial nonrefundable retainer.” He cleared his throat. “Or so I would assume.”
Sir James bowed and took his leave. When he reached the door, he stopped and rummaged violently in his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face before continuing on his way. His footsteps were still echoing up the stone steps as Augusta scurried across the room and snatched up the piece of paper which had fallen from his coat onto the floor. She tucked it into the bodice of her gown.
“No one is hanging my husband.”
ChapterFifty-Three
She came to him in the quiet of the night, naked and hungry. Flynn closed his eyes as Augusta blessed his face with soft kisses. Her lips trailed down his neck, then to his chest. “Flynn,” she whispered as she touched along the healing scars of his latest knife wounds. A hot tear seared his skin.
Flynn lay silent in the bed, sensing she needed the tactile sensation of skin on skin rather than speech. The night before his trial, he was prepared to give his wife anything. His all.
Her fingers drifted over his lower belly. He gasped as she took a firm grip of his erection and gave it a tug. This woman. His woman. She knew exactly how to touch him. How to give him what he desired. “Augusta.” The word escaped his lips as she took him into her mouth and drew back.
His eyes opened, and he stared up at the heavy oak beams which crossed the roof overhead. Augusta set to her task with skill, lavishing her hot, soft lips and tongue over his sensitive flesh. There was nothing he could do but lay his hands on the sheets and accept her worship.
The tension within his body built. It would be so easy to just lie here and let his wife bring him to climax. But she deserved more. Augusta had always deserved more from him.
Flynn brushed his hand over her hair. “G, come to me,” he commanded.
She continued to work him with her mouth, finally releasing him from the pleasure when he gripped her shoulder and spoke. “I need to see your face when you come. Please, my love.”
Augusta crawled up the bed, straddling Flynn. He held her hips as she positioned herself over him, then sunk slowly down onto his cock. Their gasps echoed off the stone walls of the cell.
He touched his palm to the soft swell of her belly. To where their child, his child, lay deep within Augusta’s womb. “You are so beautiful.”
She rocked her hips back and forth, riding him. Flynn’s hands settled on her breasts, cupping them. Augusta had always been a well-endowed woman, but with her pregnancy, she had grown even more bountiful. He pinched her nipples, and she let out a groan of need.
