The lad snickered. “Quietly,” he sneered, half twisting from Ashford’s grasp. “That’s exactly why you won’t shoot me. Everyone will hear. Do you think you can fight all of them?”
Ashford knew at least some of the people in that ballroom would have to be more adept than this groundsman and the one who’d led him here. They wouldn’t have to use magic at all, they outnumbered him so. Remembering Miss Lawson’s parting gift, he chuckled and snapped it open, wrenching him into a stranglehold with the knife blade held taut against the skin of his throat before the lad’s smug smile faded from his face.
“This quiet enough for you?” Ashford asked. He was done with playing around. “I assure you that ending your life will only waste my time until I can find someone else to answer my questions.”
“I would die for my queen,” he hissed.
“Very well, then.” Ashford pressed harder, knowing he had to be drawing blood.
“Stop,” he choked, trembling. “No one’s even sure this is the real Ariana. What do you want with her?”
Ashford slumped with relief that he didn’t have to actually kill him and sighed, jerking on his arm. “I’ve already told you she isn’t that person. She’s not a queen of anything.” Except my heart, he added silently, but not wanting to lose his fearsome menace by admitting it aloud. “Whoever told you she was your queen is lying to you. I don’t know or care why, but you’re being misled.”
“Some of us did suspect Sir Amos of … of killing her,” he admitted slowly. “Can you please perhaps loosen your grip on the blade a bit?”
“I will, if you accept we might be on the same side after all,” Ashford said. “As I know for a fact that the woman in there is not who you’ve been told she is.” He let up on the pressure a miniscule amount and pushed him closer to the windows. “Show me who Sir Amos is,” he said. “My fight is with him, not you, lad.”
He pointed shakily toward the raised throne Matilda sat on. His heart lurched when he saw how bereft she looked. Her face was streaked with tears and she had a look on her face he’d never once seen before, as if she’d given up all hope. He didn’t like it at all. He managed to tear his eyes away from her and squinted to the man sitting on a chair next to her, but lower down and a bit behind. He could only see the man’s knees, and his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. The hands gestured toward Matilda, and when she didn’t act quickly enough, he stood and pulled her to her feet, a stiff, false smile on his face.
Ashford was so surprised he nearly dropped the knife. He did completely let go of the boy but grabbed him again as he tried to dart away. “Which man is Sir Amos?” he asked again, not willing to believe his eyes. Perhaps the boy was mistaken.
“That’s him, holding the queen’s hand. Her consort.”
“Bloody hell.” Ashford gave him a vicious shake, only because he had nowhere else to vent his frustration. Nick Kerr? With a sickening drop of his already sick stomach, he recalled the letter he’d tossed aside, no time to worry about a missing reprobate. Well, it seemed he’d found said reprobate, and his best friend Jeremy wouldn’t thank him for killing his younger brother. “Bloody hell,” he repeated.
Matilda now stood and seemed to be giving an impassioned speech, and even from this distance, Ashford could see her hands shaking. She kept her eyes trained in one direction of the crowd and searching the people there, Ashford saw Thomas, wedged in between two huge men. Seeing his assistant alive caused him an untold amount of relief and served to bring him back to his original focus. He still had not a single clue why any of this was happening or how it was possible, but he’d come to rescue them, and that was what he intended to do.
“The truth now,” he said, so tired he could barely raise a snarl. “Where are they keeping her?”
“I swear I don’t know, and that’s the truth. Why would they tell me? I only take care of the horses.”
He shook so much, Ashford believed him. “The young man who was taken the other day, he’s a bit older than you, tall and …” he trailed off. “Thomas Adkins.”
His hostage brightened considerably. “I do know where he’s being kept, but do you swear you won’t kill me if I tell you?”
“I won’t kill you if you show me,” Ashford said, hiding a smile when he slumped dejectedly at losing his chance for freedom. “As soon as this — this—”
“Welcoming ceremony,” he supplied.
“As soon as this farcical deception is finished, take me to him, then we can further negotiate your release.”
Chapter 28
Nick led her back to her rooms. By the look of him, Tilly first thought she might be bidding farewell to some teeth, but it turned out he’d thought her tears were a nice touch. Made everything she said seem more heartfelt. She only nodded dully, still sick at hearing herself “apologize” for leaving the order without word, then urge them to believe that she was excited for the changes to come, that they would all soon be basking in great riches, if only they followed Sir Amos’ brilliant plan.
After the feast was finally over, she begged to see Thomas let go, but now she was back in her suite and when she’d thought her misfortune couldn’t get any worse, Nick followed her in.
“Let Thomas go,” she tried again wearily, getting as far from him as she could. He laughed and tossed his blond locks. She couldn’t believe she’d ever found him handsome. “You don’t have any use for him anymore. I did what you wanted. I’ll keep quiet, stay hidden, keep repeating your messages, whatever you want.”
“Of course you will,” he said. “But none of that hinges on Thomas. You’ll do it because you want to live, and now that your followers know how flighty you are, they won’t pause for a moment if you disappear again.”
She bit her tongue but it didn’t work, the angry words flew out of her. “I’m not Ariana,” she cried. “Have you actually gone insane? And she wasn’t flighty and you know it. She had to- had to die for her beliefs, you jerk. You murderer.”
He examined his fingernails, refusing to look at her, but nothing in his posture showed that the words cut him at all. He had no remorse, he’d kill again if he had to, in order to make his mad plan a reality. This thought sobered her up, because she didn’t want to end up dead as well, without ever getting a chance to change any of this. And she still wanted to save Thomas, give him a chance to see what came of his crush on Farrah, maybe get back to work for Ashford somehow. She not only wanted to save him, he was her last hope.
“Please let him go,” she said.
He took a few steps closer to her and she forced herself not to recoil in fear and disgust. His eyes glittered with malicious glee. “You always viewed me as a bit of joke, didn’t you? Ashford as well. Hell, my own family did. All that will change when I’ve succeeded here. They think I ran from my debts, no doubt, fled to France, or perhaps your filthy America. But I’ll return a different man, a powerful man, who can buy and sell them all twice over.”
“And then they’ll all see,” she finished for him, knowing there was no fighting the kind of twisted conviction Nick showed.
It broke her heart that he’d become this way, that so many had and would suffer because of it. She didn’t want him to see her cry again, but he hadn’t yet agreed to releasing Thomas and as much as she wanted him gone so she could sob until she passed out, she pitifully repeated her plea.
“Don’t you understand what I’ve been saying?” he spat. “Why should I do anything for you? Because you look at me with your sad, beautiful eyes? Yes, I thought you were beautiful, I thought Ariana was as well. I actually cared for her, but you and Ashford would have never thought I was good enough for your little princess.” He laughed. “Her title was a joke at first, you know. Given because she was so good and kind and generous. It made her laugh, but I knew she also liked the pomp and jewels and gowns. That was why I was honestly shocked when she rejected my proposal to change things.”
He was so worked up, Tilly was certain he’d strike her, no longer aware of who
she really was. He had so much anger built up, there was no way she could reach him.
“What has any of that to do with Thomas? I’ll tell him not to try and come back for me. You have my word. He’ll agree, I’ll make him agree.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath and blew it out like a bull about to stampede. “Your young servant is a liability to me. I can’t trust his or your word that he won’t leave well enough alone, and I certainly can’t have him finding his way to Ashford. And if you think I believed his trumped up story about being on our side for even one second, then you have sorely underestimated me. So, no, he won’t be set free. In fact, he may very well already be dead.”
With those words all her hope died, and was replaced with a fearsome vengeful spirit. She screamed and threw herself at him, punching him in the face, scratching at his throat, and yanking on his hair. She almost got in a solid knee to the crotch despite her heavy gown but he recovered his wits and shoved her off him. She hit a chair and crumpled to the ground, helplessly tangled in her skirts and complicated undergarments. She scrabbled to push the chair between them, a useless bit of defence, but all she had.
There was no need, because while she’d clearly upset him, he kept his composure, merely patting at the scratches she’d inflicted and forcing a stilted laugh. “Do not try anything like that again,” he said quietly, and stalked out of the room.
She tore the tiara off her head and flung it at the door. It made an unsatisfying thud and a few of the stones popped free, scattering like shimmering dragonflies. When it rolled back to her she tried twisting the delicate looking metal, only hurting her hands in the process. She threw it again, this time at the fireplace, and kicked the chair she’d pulled in front of her away. Still on the floor where she’d landed, she flung herself forward like a toddler and sobbed into her skirts, twisting the thick fabric with her fingers, but not strong enough to tear it.
Her two maids came in but she screeched at them to get out, hurling a candlestick for good measure. They fled from her tantrum and it only took her a moment to regret sending them away. Now she was trapped in this heavy dress, and her chest ached enough without the wretched stays pinching her.
For several long minutes she lay stretched out on the floor, a small part of her still looking for ways to make things turn out differently. Every time she thought ‘what if…’ she heard Nick’s sneering voice say that Thomas was already dead. Had it only been this morning that she’d been so convinced she could outwit these people, send Thomas on his merry way and slip out the back door? Instead she’d walked into a trap there was no getting out of.
Was there any reason to get out of it? a cruel voice in her head asked her.
She was so bereft at failing Thomas she wondered if she should have been the one to die instead. She knew it was inevitable eventually, but up until a short time ago she’d still wanted to escape, try to survive. Now everything seemed futile. Ashford didn’t know how to find her, she had no way to get back, and how could she if she did? Ashford had sent Thomas to look for her, and she’d led him to his death.
She gasped and sat up, her morose line of thinking making her think of the ace up her sleeve. Her terrible, devastating ace. Nick had no way of knowing what time she’d come from. He’d never asked. He obviously assumed Ariana was already born and that was why he could so brazenly threaten her. And this whole monstrous mess kept continuing because as long as she remained alive, there was the possibility that Ariana could be born, so time continued on as if she had been. But what if she hadn’t been? What if Tilly really did die before that could take place?
“Would all this never happen?” she whispered, crawling over to the vanity and reaching around until her hand closed over the gilded shell.
She held it to her chest and fought sorrowful tears. She didn’t want to die, not by Nick’s hand and certainly not by her own, but if she could save Thomas from having been a part of this nightmare, keep her daughter from being murdered by someone she trusted and possibly loved, would it be worth it? Would never being born be better than such a fate? The tears ran freely now, but silently, she was no longer an angry thrashing child who hadn’t got her way. She was making decisions now, decisions she never thought she’d make.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, thinking of her father.
Had he somehow reasoned that she and her mother would be better off without him when he made his own fateful decision? She pushed it aside. It was two different circumstances, completely different.
She wanted to see Ashford one last time, and considered waiting to see if he managed to find her. She knew he’d try, and he’d use every last resource available. He could this very minute be on his way. She let that thought warm her until she remembered that was what Nick wanted. He’d torture Ashford into getting the spellbook working again, then kill them both anyway. She already had Thomas’ blood on her conscience, she couldn’t bear to think about losing Ashford.
Suffocating in her gown, she went to the window and opened it, trying to let the cool night air calm her, but when she looked down at the ground below, she couldn’t help wonder if the fall would do the job. It looked to be close to forty feet down, so she’d definitely break some bones, possibly her neck. She might crack her skull open if she landed just right, but would she lie there suffering in a pool of blood until someone found her and patched her up, only to be more helpless and more at their mercy than she was now? The clouds parted to reveal a nearly full moon and even in her despair she couldn’t help take note of its beauty. Surely that meant she still wanted to live?
“But should you?” she asked herself. It made her sick that she’d never get to know, but she felt certain no mother would let their child be murdered if they could stop it.
The moonlight better illuminated the long drop. The cobbled courtyard and jagged shrubbery below looked more frightening because of it. Her vision blurred and she tried to let her mind go blank, fill it with memories of Ashford.
“Oh, Julian, I miss you,” she murmured.
With a heartbroken laugh she remembered when she’d been so seasick on their journey to France, and how sweet he’d been to her. If she hadn’t already been head over heels in love with him by then, that would have sealed the deal. She was too sad to work up any recrimination at herself for foolishly running away. It hadn’t been a normal situation. If she could have called her mother on the phone, she would have been fine a few hours after the argument, but she’d felt alone in a strange world and wanted someone familiar, who was on her side. She’d done what she’d done and now she was paying the price for it, but she didn’t want her last moments to be spent being angry and regretful, she only wanted thoughts of Ashford.
He was a serious man, sometimes far too serious, and didn’t smile much, but when he did, it warmed her like sunshine. He was the only one who could get away with calling her by her full name, and she loved the way it rolled off his tongue, made to sound pretty by his ever so slight Scottish accent. She’d give anything to see his smile again, hear him call her name. Feeling like it was now or never, she closed her eyes and leaned further out the window.
“Matilda,” Ashford’s voice called to her, but it wasn’t a dreamy invitation, it was an irritated hiss.
Her eyes flew open and she saw him, scowling up at her. Well, perhaps her imagination wasn’t as good as she would have liked and this was the best fantasy she could create given her state of mind. Blinking a few times, she saw Thomas standing a little behind him, both of them bathed in moonlight. He waved at her eagerly, perhaps beckoning her to join him on the other side. She started crying in earnest and leaned out more, still not quite able to commit to her decision.
Ashford rushed closer to the house, out of the circle of moonlight. She looked straight down at him, one hand on the sill, the other reaching to him. He looked terrified.
“Damn it, Matilda, what are you doing?” he called in the same hoarse whisper. “Get back in, that’s dangerous. Wait for me to throw you a rope
.”
She jerked upward, slamming her head on the window sash. “Ashford? Are you real? Is Thomas with you? Is he alive?” Her voice sounded too loud, but she was so shocked, so relieved. Thomas took a few steps forward and waved at her again.
“I’m all right,” he said, smiling widely.
She fell backwards, sitting hard on her wire framed bustle and toppling to the side like an egg. She lay in this undignified position and shook. Holy crap, she’d been seconds away from throwing herself out of the window! It had made sense at the time, but now she couldn’t stop berating herself. Ashford’s voice wafted like a vexed angel through the open window.
“We don’t have much time, love.”
She snapped back together at that one little word. He still loved her. He’d found her, he’d saved Thomas, and now he was getting her out of here. Which meant there was still hope for Ariana as well. Something thudded against the sill and she saw the frayed edge of rope bounce inside, then slither back out. Hurrying back to the window, she motioned for them to toss it again, and this time she was ready, catching it with both hands and holding on tight.
She managed to unlatch the train of her gown, there was no way she’d be able to shimmy down the wall with it on. Her chances without it didn’t seem too good, and she stripped off as much of her underpinnings as she could, ridding herself of at least ten pounds.
Ashford beamed up at her when she waved the end of the rope in her hands, and she trembled harder, aching to be close to him again.
“Tie it around something that weighs more than you,” he said. “Not the door handle, it could come open. Perhaps the leg of the bed, if there’s one in there with you. Tie it well, Matilda.”
She was already tying it around the leg of the huge mahogany bed while he barked those suggestions, thrilled to be hearing his bossy tone again. How had it ever been anything but music to her ears? She looped it around several times and tied the best knots she could, having only the one end to work with. It felt sturdy when she stood and leaned her weight on it, and the bed didn’t budge. However, she didn’t relish the thought of climbing over the window sill and hanging nearly forty feet off the ground, not when she had everything to live for again.
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