Chapter Thirty-Three
The stillness of the watch house crawled under Matthew’s skin. Aside from the crunch of his footsteps and the drip-drip-drip of a leak, the halls were silent.
Padding from one side of his cell to the other, he kicked up a layer of dirt with each step and counted.
Six paces one way. Six paces back. Faint light from sconces in the hallway bled through the bottom of the door.
The stone walls carried the faint smell of mildew, but the rudimentary wooden table and two chairs in the middle of the room appeared new.
How thoughtful to consider my comfort.
He stared at his gloves, with three tiny droplets of red.
When Seth was shot, he had nearly bled to death on Matthew’s kitchen table.
When he killed Sir Reginald, there was blood everywhere.
If Rothwell had been shot fatally, Matthew wouldn’t have walked away with three droplets of blood on his gloves—they would be soaked.
A sound tugged at his awareness—a tapping of footsteps on stone, getting louder. A clinking of keys, and the door creaked open.
Blackmoor stepped inside. He had bags under his eyes and stubble on his jaw. His normally sleek black hair fell loosely around his face, and he ran his fingers through it, taming it back.
Tension eased from Matthew’s shoulders. “Thank you for coming. How is Jasmine?”
“She’s safe with your sisters and Mr. Reeves,” Blackmoor said. “She did not take kindly to me telling her to stay with them.”
“No, I imagine not.” Matthew sighed. “How soon until I’m out of here?”
Blackmoor remained silent, poised with the professional coolness of a priest about to administer his last rites. Matthew waited for him to speak, so long he feared the man had forgotten how.
“Blackmoor?”
“I can’t get you out.”
Matthew’s heart dropped. “You’ve always been able to get me out.”
“Not this time. I don’t own this constable or the magistrate.”
Matthew cursed. The chances of this being handled cleanly dwindled by the minute. If any hands could be greased, Blackmoor would have tried that first.
Not enjoying the thought of spending the night in this cell, he almost pitied the poor soul who would greet him in the morning.
A gentleman of his position being treated like a common miscreant with no proof would not be tolerated, and he would have much to say about the caliber of night watchmen employed by this parish.
“If there’s nothing you can do, there’s nothing you can do.” He leaned against the table. “The magistrate will release me in the morning once he hears my side of the story.”
“What is your side of the story? Tell me exactly what happened. Start to finish, every detail.”
Matthew frowned and paced the room.
“Rothwell confronted me. He was in his cups. Belligerent. I saw someone on the other side of the street, but I didn’t get a good look at them. We were fired upon and Rothwell was shot. The watchman thought we were dueling, and he made Rothwell’s injury seem a bigger emergency than it was.”
“Lincolnshire.” Blackmoor spoke slowly. “Lord Rothwell is being treated for a gunshot wound, and you were the only one in the vicinity. There are witnesses.”
“I swear to you, I didn’t shoot him.” He clutched his chest, trying to control his breathing. “How badly is he injured?”
Blackmoor stood with his hands clasped in front of him. “I don’t know what condition he’s in, only where he is.”
“And that is…?”
The lock creaked once more, and the door opened. A man in a white cloak and black boots entered, his flowing white hair shimmering like a halo. The door remained open behind him, and Duke Kendall stepped into the cell.
“My, isn’t this a sight?” He opened his arms, as if greeting them in a ballroom. “Look at the three of us together again.” Duke Kendall sighed. “And like last time, Lord Blackmoor has proven useless.”
Blackmoor’s eyes narrowed and his jaw firmed.
Matthew crossed his arms. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here to free you, of course.” Duke Kendall placed a hand on his heart. “All for the price of an uninterrupted conversation. You left with such haste the last time we spoke, with so much left unsaid between us.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“No, but I have much to say, and you’ll hear me out. Sit, Lord Lincolnshire.”
“No.”
Duke Kendall laughed.
“What do you want?” Matthew growled.
“The same thing everyone wants,” he mused.
“Friendship. Family. Even Lord Blackmoor craves it, or he wouldn’t constantly be around.
” He sneered at Blackmoor. “Unless there’s something else keeping you near?
No. I believe we desire the exact same thing.
” He narrowed his eyes at Matthew. “Now tell your dog to wait outside.”
Blackmoor’s eyes met his, and Matthew nodded.
“It’s all right, you may leave us. He won’t be here for long.”
Blackmoor hesitated briefly before leaving the cell. The door closed behind him. He remained close enough that his shadow slipped beneath the crack at the bottom. A key grated in the lock, echoing in the small space.
“Here we are again, Lord Lincolnshire—with me as your only salvation.” The Duke sat on one chair and pointed to the other. “Sit.”
Matthew didn’t. “I don’t need your saving, I’ll be out of here in the morning.”
“Not with attempted murder.” Duke Kendall tsked. “You assaulted an unarmed peer with a deadly weapon, and this time there is evidence.” He held an empty brass cartridge between his finger and thumb. “And it has your signature written all over it.”
The blood drained from Matthew’s face.
“You were right about the pistol. It isn’t perfectly accurate, but so close.
” From an inner pocket of his cloak, Duke Kendall brought forth the pistol and placed it on the table.
Its emeralds and rubies flickered as if on fire.
“The round only grazed Lord Rothwell’s shoulder.
A pity. Do you know how ardently he wished for your death?
He begged me for it. All over a petty feud, could you imagine? ”
Matthew lunged for him. Duke Kendall held up one finger. “Ah-ah. Remember yourself, or my good friends out there will be forced to fetch the shackles for you and your pet.”
Duke Kendall’s eyes shifted to the door, where two other shadows had joined Blackmoor’s. Matthew gritted his teeth and backed away.
“You fall for the same tricks every time.” Duke Kendall sighed. “It’s almost boring at this point how predictable you are. Fooling you twice is shame on you, isn’t it?”
“I’ll kill you,” Matthew hissed. “I swear to you, one day, I am going to kill you.”
“I’d rather you not make this difficult. I can make all of this go away, and in fact, I would like to do so. For my efforts, I have a few small requests.” His glare became as sharp as glass. “Sit.”
Matthew sat down in the chair opposite Duke Kendall.
“Good boy. See how simple this is?” Duke Kendall smiled and pushed the pistol across the table. “As you’ll recall, my birthday is this Friday. You promised me a perfect pistol. With some tinkering, I’m sure you’ll iron out the accuracy problem in no time.”
“I can’t make it better,” Matthew argued. “You’re asking for the impossible.”
“Genius as you are, you’ll think of something.
It’s in your best interest, I assure you.
I have quite the evening planned, and you’re the opening act!
” He waved his hand in the air. “Picture it—a ballroom covered in rubies, a blindfolded display of power in the backyard, and afterward, I will propose to my future duchess.” Duke Kendall grinned, the edge of his mouth lifting with lethal sharpness. “Your lovely sister, Miss Caroline.”
Blood boiling, Matthew’s first instinct was to reach for the gun. “I will never allow you to marry Caroline.”
“You’ll have no say in it with a noose around your neck. Your wife will have even less. One way or another, you will dance, Lord Lincolnshire. Will it be at the end of a rope, or at your sister’s wedding?”
“You can’t hang me. Rothwell is alive.”
“And in my care,” Duke Kendall said darkly. “You of all people know how quickly an injury like his could turn grave.”
The breath left Matthew’s lungs. His heartbeat slowed. Without a doubt, Duke Kendall would kill Lord Rothwell—he nearly had tonight. A snap of his fingertips, and the deed would be done. With a dead body, anyone could control the narrative.
“Don’t concern yourself with any details,” Duke Kendall said. “I’ll draft the marriage contract myself, and you’ll sign it publicly at my birthday ball.”
Matthew shook his head, unable to speak. He would rather die than give this monster his sister. Squeezing the chair’s armrests, he pictured his hands around the Duke’s throat. He could end it all now. Could overpower him in an instant. Strangle him, save his sister…
And make Jasmine a widow.
He kept his hands where they were.
Duke Kendall stood and brushed off his cloak.
“I’ve said what I needed to, and you’re free to go. I’ll leave this with you.” Duke Kendall nudged the pistol on the table. He lifted the used round and deliberately slid it into his pocket. “And I’ll keep this for insurance.”
Duke Kendall stood and knocked on the door. It opened immediately. Before he stepped outside, he threw over his shoulder, “I’ll see our entire family on Friday. Have your ill-bred wife wear red. I won’t tolerate surprises.”
Without another glance, he turned down the hall, taking his servants with him. He left the door wide open, leaving Matthew trembling in the cell.