Chapter Twenty-Five
Cassian watched from a shadowed alcove across the narrow street.
The brim of his hat was pulled low, and his greatcoat blended into the morning fog.
Nicholas stood a short distance away, and two of Cassian’s most trusted men were stationed at opposite corners of the lane, all in plain clothing.
No one looking on would recognize a duke, his brother-in-law, or a guard.
They were merely figures among market-goers and errand boys.
Charlotte, cloaked and veiled, approached the old apothecary with measured steps.
Cassian tracked her every moment. She looked composed as she slipped down the side lane toward the rear post alcove.
That hidden nook had once been her secret place where, in her innocence, she had left letters for Edmund’s unseen associate.
Never again, Cassian vowed silently. Not on my watch.
Charlotte crouched, slid the folded letter into the crevice beneath the loose stone, and rose with a calm, practiced motion. Only Cassian, who had come to know every shift in her expression, would have noticed the flicker of emotion beneath her veil. She turned to leave.
Charlotte and her maid disappeared into the carriage, and only when the wheels began to roll did Cassian finally allow himself to exhale. The letter lay hidden in the crevice behind the apothecary, just as it had in the past. The trap was set.
Nicholas stepped up beside him, adjusting his coat against the morning chill. “You watched her like a hawk,” he murmured.
Cassian did not bother to deny it. “If Edmund still has eyes in this town, I will not risk him setting his gaze on her again.”
Nicholas nodded once. “I’ve men stationed at both ends of the lane. If anyone checks the hiding place, we’ll know. And when they make a move toward the port, we follow.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened. “Edmund must take the bait. There will not be another chance.”
Without another word, they left the alleyway and mounted their horses. They rode in silence until Nicholas broke it.
“You disapprove of the plan,” he said quietly. “Still.”
Cassian kept his eyes on the road ahead. “She should not have been involved.”
“She insisted,” Nicholas reminded him. “And she is not wrong. This will flush him out faster than waiting on rumours.”
Cassian gripped the reins a fraction tighter.
Nicholas observed him a moment longer, then sighed. “You are not merely angry. You are afraid.”
Cassian shot him a hard look. “I do not fear Edmund Larke.”
“No,” Nicholas said calmly. “You fear losing my sister.”
Cassian looked away at anything but the truth laid bare between them.
“When Edmund is caught,” Cassian said at last, “this ends, for her and for all of us.”
Nicholas offered no argument. There was nothing more to say.
They rode on. Soon enough, they reached Duskbourne Hall and together made their way down the corridor toward Cassian’s study.
A footman bowed as they passed, and the butler stepped forward to ask whether tea should be brought, but Cassian dismissed him with a curt shake of the head.
When they reached his study, Cassian pushed open the door and strode inside. Nicholas followed, closing it firmly behind them.
Cassian froze after only two steps. Something was wrong.
His desk looked unchanged at first glance: neat stacks of correspondence, ink stand aligned, quills trimmed and clean. But one of the small drawers on the right side hung open by a hair’s breadth.
Cassian’s pulse sharpened. I locked that.
He crossed the room in three long strides and tugged the drawer fully open. Inside, ledgers and sealed documents lay slightly askew, as though someone had thumbed through them and attempted to set them back in order… almost successfully.
Nicholas came to his side. “Duskbourne?”
He didn’t answer. He had already noticed something else, a ledger on the desk that he distinctly remembered putting away before leaving that morning. Its pages were ruffled, as though someone had rifled through it in haste.
Cassian flipped the ledger open. A small slip of paper fluttered out and fell onto the polished wood.
Nicholas lifted it before Cassian could.
The message was only five words, scrawled in an arrogant, jagged hand:
Not as blind as you.
Nicholas swore under his breath. “He was here.”
Cassian took the note, gripping it so tightly it nearly tore. Edmund Larke had walked into his home, into Charlotte’s home.
“He is taunting you,” Nicholas said quietly. “Taunting us both.”
Cassian moved to the fireplace, knuckles white around the paper. “No. He is testing me. Testing how close he can come and how far he can push before I strike. He knows now that he can never have Charlotte, and he is determined to ruin her. But I won’t let that happen.”
He tossed the note into the flames and watched it curl, blacken, and vanish. The fire hissed, and anger roared in him, hotter than the blaze.
“He has been in these rooms,” Cassian growled. “Touching our books, our ledgers, our life.” His fists clenched. “Testing defences is the act of a man planning more.”
Nicholas’s voice dropped. “And Charlotte?”
Cassian exhaled slowly, the question cutting deeper than any insult Edmund could craft.
Charlotte was the target. The bait. The obsession.
And now Edmund had breached the walls of Duskbourne itself.
“I will find him,” Cassian said. “And I will end this. We tighten the watch and double the guards. And Larke will learn that he has made the gravest mistake of his life.”
Cassian would hunt him without mercy, not because of duty, not even for justice. But because the man had dared to threaten what Cassian could no longer lie to himself about:
Charlotte mattered… more than anything.
***
The afternoon sun filtered warmly through the tall windows of Duskbourne, but Charlotte found no warmth in it.
The manor felt stifling. It was thick with silence, secrets, and the memory of Cassian’s unreadable eyes.
She needed air, something that belonged to her and not to the fear curling in every corridor.
She slipped into her riding habit, tied her bonnet, and made her way to the stables. The grooms looked surprised to see her alone.
“Shall I fetch a guard, my lady?” one asked.
“That won’t be necessary,” Charlotte replied, offering a polite smile. “I won’t be long. Just a short ride on the grounds.”
The man hesitated, but she was a duchess, and one never questioned a duchess. He saddled her horse without any further comments.
Moments later, Charlotte was astride her mare, guiding the animal through the familiar paths of Duskbourne territory. The wind against her face eased her breath, and the rhythmic motion of the ride soothed her frayed pride and wounded heart.
She told herself she needed only half an hour, perhaps even less. She would not stray far. She followed a less-travelled trail lined with old trees, their branches arching overhead to form a living tunnel of green. Sunlight dappled the path. Leaves whispered softly with each breeze.
For a time, she began to feel calm again… until she heard it.
Charlotte slowed her horse, glancing back over her shoulder, but saw no one. She exhaled.
A deer, perhaps.
Or a stable boy returning from patrol. Or the wind. Always, it could be the wind.
As she was resting, taking in the sight, she heard another sound, only closer this time. It was a branch snapping.
She turned sharply in her saddle, her eyes surveying the line of trees. The shadows were thick there, resembling long fingers stretching across the ground. Nothing moved. There was no servant in sight and no animal that she could see.
And yet, she could feel it, that prickling on the back of her neck and the sensation of being watched.
“Do not be foolish,” she whispered to herself. “It is only nerves. Perhaps a fox or dog in the underbrush.”
She clicked her tongue and set her mare into a brisk trot. But the sensation did not vanish. In fact, it intensified. At a bend in the trail, she risked another look, and her breath stopped.
Between two trees, half-hidden by shadow, stood a figure. When he moved slightly to the left, she recognized him.
“Edmund!” she gasped his name.
His coat was travel-worn, and his face was thinner and sharper than she remembered. But his eyes, which she once mistook for soulful, now burned with obsession and rage.
“Charlotte,” he said, stepping into her path. “Finally. I knew you’d come.”
She felt her pulse lurch. “You have no right to be here. Leave at once.”
He ignored the command, stepping forward. “We must speak about the letters, about everything,” he rushed out. “I know you don’t mean what you’ve done. You’re frightened and confused, and your husband has twisted you against me. But you love me. You wrote it with your own hand.”
“No.” Her voice was ice. “Those letters are nothing now. You tricked me. You lied. And you will not use my words against me again.”
His jaw twitched. “Then come with me. Just for an hour. There is a coach waiting beyond the south field. We can leave before anyone notices—”
Charlotte recoiled, pulling her horse back. “I will not go anywhere with you. Remove yourself from my path and leave before you make this worse.”
His desperation sharpened. “You don’t understand. If you deny me now, you ruin me. Everything I planned and everything I endured will have been for nothing. You owe me that conversation. You owe me an explanation.”
“I owe you nothing,” she snapped. “Now step aside.”
Edmund’s eyes darkened. In two bold strides, he reached for her reins.
Charlotte jerked them away. “Unhand me!”
“Charlotte, please, just hear me—”
“I said release me!” she shouted, with her voice ringing through the trees.
Edmund glanced over his shoulder, and there was paranoia flashing in his gaze. “Lower your voice,” he hissed. “If anyone hears—”
Charlotte saw it then, clearly, without the blinding haze of the past: Edmund had never been charming, nor poetic, nor misunderstood. He was dangerous.
“I will ride back to the house,” she said, gathering her reins. “If you follow me, I will scream until the entire estate comes running.”
His face twisted. “You will not leave me again!”
He moved suddenly, grabbing for her horse’s bridle. The mare, startled, reared violently. Charlotte gasped, clutching at the saddle, but the jolt was too sharp and the angle too steep.
“Stop! Edmund, stop!”
The horse bucked. And Charlotte was thrown. She hit the ground hard and felt the air knocked from her lungs. Pain flared across her hip and shoulder. The world spun for a moment, but when she blinked, Edmund was leaning over her.
“Charlotte—”
“Stay away from me,” she spat.
Before she could dodge, Edmund seized her wrist and yanked her toward him. Charlotte twisted, fighting him, nails raking across his hand. He hissed in pain but only tightened his grip.
“Let go!” she cried, striking his arm, his shoulder, anything she could reach.
But Edmund had come prepared. From his coat, he drew a length of coarse rope. Charlotte’s blood went cold.
“No, no, you will not—” she gasped, thrashing with every ounce of strength she had.
Her struggle was fierce, but she had been winded by the fall. Edmund overpowered her, dragging her arms behind her back. The rope bit into her wrists as he tied the knot. Charlotte bucked and kicked, but he shoved her forward until she stumbled off-balance.
“Stop fighting me!” he panted. “You are making this harder.”
“And you are insane!” she spat. “Cassian will find me. And when he does, you will pay for this.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, but stubborn madness smothered it.
“Walk,” he ordered, jerking her forward by the arm.
Charlotte stumbled over a root but steadied herself.
Her mind raced. While Edmund dragged her onward, she memorized everything around her, from rocks clustered in uneven patches of ground and branches half-buried in moss, to birdsong and the fact that she was too far away from the house for anyone to hear her scream.
She cast a glance at Edmund’s coat pocket, at the trees, at the brush, searching for anything.
There was no escape.