Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
P hoebe woke up with a slight pounding in her temples, her vision a little hazy. She tried to move her fingers and toes and let out a soft moan when she found them—and the rest of her appendages—in good working order, before she rolled out of the enormous bed she found herself on.
What happened? Where am I?
As she recalled what happened earlier in the alleyway—her surprise encounter with the Baron and his insistence that she follow him to his carriage—she staggered to her feet and rushed over to the door, only to find that it was locked from the outside.
She spun towards the windows and looked out, sucking in a deep breath when she realized that she was in a room much further off the ground.
Suddenly, there was a light knock on her door and she turned around to find Lord Scunthorpe unlocking it and walking in with a gentle smile. On his hand was a tray laden with several dishes covered in silver domes of various sizes. There was even a glass of water and a tea service for one.
“Oh, you are awake,” he began casually, as if he had not just forced her to come with him earlier and was quite possibly the one who also locked her up. He set the food on a small table. “Come, Phoebe, and eat a little. It has been a rather long day for you.”
Phoebe instinctively backed away from him and lifted her chin defiantly. “I would rather not . And I am the Duchess of Cheshire, My Lord. I would appreciate it if you could refer to me by my proper title.”
"No!” he all but screamed at her, before lowering his tone. “I will not have you using another man’s title when you are under my roof,” he gritted out darkly.
Phoebe was stunned to find the normally mild-mannered man react in such an explosive manner before her.
“Please, Lord Scunthorpe,” she pleaded with him carefully. “Let me leave.”
He shook his head furiously and backed away from her. A dazed smile appeared on his face and Phoebe worried that the man was not particularly in his right mind.
That would make him all the more dangerous , she thought to herself.
It also meant that she needed to seriously get out of this building or manor or whatever she was being presently housed in before the Baron could do worse.
“You are going to stay here with me, Phoebe,” he told her with that same glazed look in his eyes. “Just as you should have right from the very start.”
He turned and marched out the door, shutting it behind him. Moments later, she heard a slight click and she knew that he must have locked her in once more.
Phoebe wilted against the wall, her heart pounding and drowning out all rational thought. What was she to do now? The Baron was truly out of his mind—no, utterly mad, if he thought he could detain her here. What breed of a man would do such a thing!
But then, she recalled the brief conversation she had with Charles, about the men he had cautioned her of—how they could seemingly snap and commit such atrocities out of nowhere. She had thought him excessively paranoid, then. She would not be so brash as to think that now.
Oh, Charles , she mourned inwardly as she looked desperately out the windows. I wish I had believed in you a little more …
Now, she was caught in a most difficult situation with quite possibly a madman—but not for long. She stood up with grim determination as she surveyed the drop from her windows to the ground. If even her own husband could not stop her from leaving, how could someone like the Baron of Scunthorpe think he would be successful in keeping her locked up?
Phoebe's pulse quickened as she scanned the grounds for a means of escape from the imposing manor. Her gaze wandered, and then, tucked discreetly behind a clump of overgrown bushes just beyond the ornate wrought iron fence, she spotted a carriage. A flicker of hope ignited within her.
If she could just slip unnoticed to that hidden carriage, perhaps she could implore the coachman to understand her dire situation and whisk her away to the safety of Cheshire Hall. The very thought made her heart flutter with a mix of desperation and determination.
Yet, as she edged closer to the window, a detail caught her eye that sent a chill down her spine. There, boldly emblazoned on the side of the carriage, was the unmistakable livery of the Duke of Cheshire. A striking realization dawned on Phoebe then: Charles had sent someone to shadow her all along.
While she might have ordinarily been incensed at his overbearing protectiveness, she could not help but feel quite relieved and delighted by it presently. It simplified her plans tenfold.
Now, if she could just get to the carriage, she would be able to escape from the clutches of the madman who had trapped her.
But how? There were no trees near the window that she could at least climb and the drop was a far greater distance than anything she had ever attempted.
But if she did not at least try to escape, who knew what else the Baron had in store for her? Phoebe did not intend to stay and find out.
With a grim face, she stalked over to the tray that he had brought her. It would seem that the Baron at least had the presence of mind to not provide her with a knife, but there was a small fork there. It would have to do.
Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the fork and heaved the linen covers off the bed. She tore them to strips and fashioned a sort of rope out of them, knotting the pieces together. It would stretch out a longer distance this way. However, it was still not enough to cover the distance between the windows and the ground, so she tore through the bottom of her skirts as well.
The result was still hardly adequate, but it would have to do. She could not stay here a moment longer and risk the baron’s return.
She tied one end of the makeshift rope to one of the bedposts and tugged at it. When the bed did not so much as budge, she opened the window and threw out the rest of the length. As expected, it hardly reached the ground.
Here goes nothing , she thought to herself as she hiked her skirts up a little, hurdled the sill, and made to climb out the window.
It was already starting to get dark and a slight breeze blew through her hair as she cautiously made her way down her makeshift rope, emphasizing the precarious drop below her.
Think of something else, Phoebe, she encouraged herself.
She thought of Charles, and his reluctant smiles, and how he would hold her as if he had no desire of ever letting go. She thought of how he was so gentle with Whiteson, despite claiming he did not care much for animals. The more she thought of him, the more it took her mind off of the dangerous undertaking she had before her, until she finally reached the end of the rope.
Phoebe glanced back down, heart thudding, and noted that she was still a significant distance from the ground. But it could no longer be helped—she must jump the rest of the way.
Shutting her eyes tightly, she drew in a deep breath and braced herself before letting go of the rope. She hurtled towards the ground, the wind whistling through her ears, before falling onto the lawn with a soft thud. A searing pain from her ankle caused her to let out a slight yelp as she clutched at it.
Unfortunately, that slight scuffle had been more than enough to alert the Baron and his henchmen to her escape, as she saw men rushing out the door a short distance away from her. At the very lead was Lord Scunthorpe, his shadowed face wiped clean of any gentleness, his eyes glazed with lunacy.
She began to limp towards the fence, pushing the pain of her sprained ankle to the back of her mind. She had to get to the carriage. She simply must ! It was her only hope of escaping this madness!
“Help!” she called out, trundling forward as hastily as she could manage. “Oh, please, someone! Help me!”
But then, the carriage began to set off. Her heart sank when she realized whoever was in there hadn’t heard her pleas. She had to move faster. She had to reach it…
Suddenly, tendril-like arms wrapped around her from behind and she let out a shriek before they covered her mouth too.
“Let me go!” she yelled, her legs kicking at the air as she was forcefully yanked off the ground.
She could not stay here. She absolutely refused to!
But as her glistening eyes scanned the faraway horizon, she realized the carriage had already unknowingly ambled away from her and her heart sank into despair.
No, she thought to herself. This cannot be the end.
“Oh, Phoebe,” she heard the Baron croon from behind her, as if he was merely talking to a child with a tantrum. “What am I ever going to do with you? Why do you insist on hurting yourself, my dear?”
“Shut up!” she muffled beneath his firm hand.
The gentleness in his eyes faded, replaced by a coldness that seeped into her very bones.
“Take her away!” he ordered his men. “And this time, for God’s sake, make sure she does not get away!”
This is not over yet , she told herself, twisting in his grasp. As long as I have strength left in me, I will try to escape. I will try to make my way back to Charles!
He might have won now, but the Baron was soon going to find out just how stubborn she could be.
She glared at him beneath livid brows as one of the men brought out a rough-looking, brown sack and threw it over her head. She struggled once more as darkness fell over her vision.
She could only hope that whoever Charles had sent to follow her would lead him to the Baron’s hideout.