Chapter 25
Arabella closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the cold stone wall behind her, wondering how she might be able to get out of this seemingly inescapable room.
One far corner of the room was shrouded in dark shadows; was there perhaps an exit that way?
Even if there were, Arabella’s hands were bound, and she would be unable to open any doors.
Even so, she looked over at the dark corner, squinting to allow her eyes to adjust, and as she did so, she noticed a shift of movement! The shadowy area morphed into a figure that moved insidiously into the dim light of the space.
Arabella shrunk back in fear as it looked like some sort of shadowy demon, the way it limped forward with a crouching posture and emerged with slow intimidation. Then it began to laugh—a low snigger to begin with, which built into a full-blown raucous cackle.
Arabella knew that laugh.
‘Lord Wellwood!’ Arabella muttered under her breath in shock.
As her distressed mind caught on to understanding it was Marcus, he straightened up and stepped further towards the chink of light that illuminated him.
He had intended to frighten her, Arabella realized.
Why, otherwise, would he hide out and only make his presence known with such a dramatic entrance?
The idea that Marcus was purposely scaring her made her shudder.
Arabella knew now how extremely dangerous he was, and she knew he had not secured her here merely for a cosy conversation.
‘Lady Spencer! Sweet Arabella!’ Marcus cooed mockingly and then danced around impishly as he sang ‘the love of my brother’s life!’ He stopped. ‘How is Alexander nowadays?’
Now that he was fully in the lighter part of the space, Arabella could assess his appearance.
His usually immaculate facade had collapsed, his handsome features distorted in a grimace, his fair hair dishevelled, his expensive clothes wrinkled and stained, and his eyes betrayed a wild gleam that transformed his usually amiable face into something terrifying.
Peering more intently at the stains on his clothes, Arabella realized the bloodstains he previously claimed were caused by shaving were likely blood spilt from his victims.
She did not answer his question; could not articulate a response.
‘I know about your secret little meetings with my brother!’ Marcus revealed. ‘The abandoned chapel, the old mill, the garden folly …’
‘What?’
‘Oh yes, I have people on lookout for me. You underestimate my reach and power, Lady Spencer. As soon as I became aware my brother had illegitimately returned to London, I hired watchers to follow him.
But imagine how very disappointed I was to discover your disloyalty! A lady who sits daily at my breakfast table, talking sweetly with my mother. That very same lady has betrayed my trust by conspiring with the enemy!’ Marcus spat.
‘Enemy?’ Arabella was so provoked by this accusation that the words came readily. ‘How can Alexander be your enemy? He is your brother, who has always loved and nurtured you!’
‘Who now plans my capture, does he not? A turncoat!’
Arabella dropped her eyes to the floor. Marcus seemed genuinely to believe it was Alexander who was in the wrong! It was a preposterous suggestion, but Marcus was too dangerous a man to argue with.
‘You should know what happens to people who dare to stand against me!’ Marcus warned in a vicious whisper.
Arabella’s eyes, filled with fear and unshed tears, flicked back up to his face.
‘Edmund turned on me,’ Marcus clarified. ‘He investigated my father’s death with such spiteful conviction. How dare he assume such superiority? To think that my cousin could judge me! I am the earl and not he! I could not have him reporting me, so he had to be poisoned.’
Arabella gasped, and a tear involuntarily dropped; she already knew the truth, but to hear it from the perpetrator’s mouth was shocking.
‘Genius, really,’ Marcus continued. ‘Poison manifests in a dead body as ‘death by natural causes’ unless they have some reason to further interrogate the circumstances—which of course, they did not.’
Arabella squeezed her eyes tight. ‘I cannot believe you could do that to dear Edmund.’
‘Believe it. I have no qualms in doling out severe punishments to traitors.’ Marcus grinned at Arabella maniacally.
Arabella gulped and took a deep breath, assuring herself that as Marcus was clearly not of a sane mind, there must be a loophole he had missed, somewhere; a weak point in his plan that would allow her to escape.
As Marcus paced the floor in front of her, she worked the tie behind her back, at least loosening it a little. If she kept him talking, the rhythmic kneading of the fabric against her thumb should continue to slacken it.
‘Why have you brought me here, Marcus?’ She purposely no longer used his title; he did not deserve her respect.
‘Here? Why, do you know where here is?’ Marcus delighted at her question.
‘No,’ she admitted.
‘Nor does anyone! Here is a little abandoned house I found that nobody knows about, and so nobody will find you unless they are invited to find you …!’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
‘What do you mean?’ Arabella asked, puzzled.
‘Your gallant Alexander may be invited to come and rescue you ...!’ Marcus grinned and laughed gleefully.
It dawned on Arabella at that moment that she had not been brought here explicitly for punishment, but she was here as bait.
‘No!’ she protested. ‘Do not bring Alexander here! Please!’
‘Ooh!’ Marcus feigned sympathy. ‘She loves him just as much as she always did—isn’t that adorable?’
‘You have already hurt him enough!’ Arabella felt a rage swell up inside her at the audacity of this man, who had been given every privilege in life that a boy could wish for, yet only ever returned the sentiment with destruction and pain.
‘I have not hurt Alexander!’ Marcus seemed strangely affronted by the accusation.
‘You killed his father!’ Arabella could add more crimes to the list, but this singular statement had such impact that it was strong enough to exist in isolation.
A devious smile crept over Marcus’s face. ‘That is not what the world believes! The world believes it was Alexander, the heir to the Wellwood estate, who murdered his father for the inheritance and grandiosity, who, when caught, ran!’
‘You instigated his exile, too!’ Arabella threw her words as the only weapons she had, as she desperately fiddled with the tie at her fingers behind her back.
‘I must say, he made himself look even guiltier by running away,’ Marcus observed.
‘You told him to run away! You said that he looked so guilty that a magistrate would not hear him out. You told him he would hang for it. He trusted you!’
‘I played the devoted brother so well, don’t you think?
’ Marcus looked very impressed with himself and began cackling again.
‘Yes! I orchestrated it all perfectly! By using Alexander’s dagger, it framed him undeniably.
And my timing was impeccable, that Alexander found father’s body at exactly the opportune time, with me coming across him at the very moment I had hoped to! ’
Arabella watched Marcus’s joyful retelling of that horrific night with absolute disgust and despair. ‘All this trouble could have been avoided, had it not been for the one problem my brother, Alexander, has always battled with.’ Marcus was suddenly eclipsed by a seriousness.
‘What problem has he, that you believe has caused all this?’
‘Sentimentality.’ Marcus spat the word with repulsion.
Arabella frowned, not able to understand how sentimentality could have caused such atrocities.
‘I am not a sentimental man, Lady Spencer. And as a result, I have been able to systematically kill off any threats to my freedom. Alexander, though; he loved father so much that he lost his head when he found the old man’s body and his sentimentality led him to trust my advice that he should disappear forever. ’
Arabella stared at him in dismay, hardly able to believe that he could suggest affection and tenderness could cause this in place of his own abominable acts of violence.
‘Then there is you, Lady Spencer. Alexander has always loved you—and it will be his downfall. I have sent a note to Lord Carrington appealing to him that Alexander should attend to save you. If he does not come, you will die; I have been quite explicit in my note. Alexander will attend presently.’
‘No!’ Arabella yelled in vain.
‘He will come for you regardless of personal danger—heroes are predictably stupid about saving women they love.’
‘Please do not do this!’ Arabella begged.
‘It is too late. They probably have the letter by now, and he will be foolishly making his way to rescue you.’
Arabella released a sob that she had been holding back.
‘Then I will eliminate both threats permanently.’
Arabella fell silent and looked up at him fearfully. Marcus smirked and nodded just once, confirming her fate.