Page 105 of Unmasking the Diamond
“In theory, yes,” Luca said, glancing out the window. London’s gray streets blurred past, his mind whirring faster than the wheels beneath them. “But we’ve seen before how the duke distances himself from the filth he breeds. If he’s involved, he’ll have layers of protection between himself and the crime.”
“That’s enough for me,” Alcott said.
The coach slowed and then came to a halt before Alcott’s townhouse. They stepped down from the carriage, the air biting with a sharp chill. Luca followed Alcott up the steps, his boots echoing faintly against the stone. The front door swung open before they reached it, the butler waiting stiffly in the entry hall.
“Martha is in the drawing room,” the man announced.
Alcott frowned. “Who the blazes is Martha?”
Luca interjected before tempers could flare further. “The maid from Lord Matthew’s household,” he explained. “She’s the one who retrieved the letter that proved Lady Matthew is being kept at The Chelmsford Asylum.”
“Ah,” Alcott muttered, his expression darkening as understanding dawned. Without another word, he strode towards the drawing room.
Luca followed. His pulse pounded harder with every step. Inside, the maid—Martha—sat perched on the edge of a chair, her blonde hair disheveled and her hands twisting nervously in her lap. The moment she saw them, her face drained of color.
Alcott stopped before her, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Where is Charlotte?” he demanded.
“I… I don’t know, my lord,” Martha stammered, her voice shaking.
“Then what do you know?” Alcott snapped.
Tears welled in her eyes. “A man approached me a few days ago and demanded that I deliver a letter to Miss Winslow. He said if I didn’t, he would kill me—and my whole family.”
“So you willingly put my sister in danger?” Alcott roared.
Martha flinched as if struck. “I didn’t know she would be abducted?—”
“What did you think would happen?” Alcott demanded, cutting her off. “Surely you couldn’t have been that naïve?”
“My lord, I’m sorry,” Martha sobbed, her voice breaking.
Alcott slashed his hand through the air. “Get out of my sight. You are dismissed. If I ever see you again, I’ll call the constable and have you arrested.”
Her face fell. “But, my lord… I have nowhere to go.”
“You should have thought of that before you betrayed me,” Alcott said, his voice hard, unyielding.
Luca stepped forward, unwilling to let her flee just yet. “What did the man look like?” he asked, keeping his tone steady.
Martha rose slowly, swiping at the tears streaking down her cheeks. “He was tall,” she revealed. “But I didn’t get a good look at him. He wore a cloak and a hat pulled low over his brow.”
Luca’s hand tightened around the pistol at his side. He could picture it too easily—a faceless man, standing in the shadows, manipulating everything from behind the scenes.
As she stood trembling before them, Luca’s resolve hardened. Whoever had done this—whoever had dared to touch Charlotte—would pay dearly for it.
18
Drip.
One—two—three.
Drip.
Charlotte leaned her head back against the cold, uneven wall and counted the seconds between each drop. It was the only rhythm she could hold on to in this place where time had lost all meaning. The air was damp and heavy, her gown clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Boredom, fear, anger—they tangled together until she could not tell one from another. She only knew that she was trapped, and that she desperately hoped Luca—or her brother—would find her before it was too late.
Her eyes drifted over the scratched stone walls. Faded tally marks lined the surface like a grim calendar. Others had etched names—some in trembling letters, others bold and desperate. One name caught her attention.
Cressida.
