Page 112 of Unmasking the Diamond
He turned sharply on his heel and Alcott followed, silent and grim, until they stepped out into the frigid night air. The door shut behind them with a solid, echoing thud.
For a long moment, neither man spoke. Finally, Alcott broke the silence. “Do you believe him? That he has no involvement in the Ravenhurst Trading Company?”
Luca let out a bitter laugh. “Not for one moment. Men like the duke do not relinquish control—they manipulate it from the shadows.”
“I agree,” Alcott said. “But how in the blazes do we make him talk?”
Luca stopped beside the coach and turned to stare at the townhouse. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But if Charlotte is still alive, we’re running out of time to find her.”
Alcott bowed his head, his shoulders trembling with barely contained anguish. “I can’t lose her,” he whispered, the words breaking something deep inside Luca.
He stepped closer and laid a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder. Beneath his palm, he could feel Alcott’s tension—a rigid mix of fear and helplessness that mirrored his own.
“You won’t,” Luca said, forcing conviction into his voice even though uncertainty gnawed at him. “I promise.”
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”
Luca’s hand tightened. “Then I’ll make certain I keep it.”
19
Charlotte awoke on the cold, unyielding stones of her cell, every muscle in her body aching from the hardness of the ground. The chill in the air clung to her skin like damp linen, and she shivered as she wished for a blanket. A faint, grimy light filtered through the small window high above her, its glass so clouded with soot and neglect that it barely allowed the morning sun to pierce through. Morning. Somehow, she had survived the night. But how many more would she endure before this place claimed her life as well?
Her eyes drifted to the narrow gap in the wall that separated her from Lydia’s adjoining cell. The other woman lay curled on the floor, trembling beneath a thin blanket, her hair tangled and matted, her once-elegant nightgown now grayed and torn.
Lydia stirred, sitting up slowly and stretching stiff limbs. “Morning,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and thin.
“Morning,” Charlotte replied, trying to inject some measure of warmth into her tone.
“I survived yet another night in this horrid place,” Lydia said, with a weary sort of humor. “I suppose that is something to be thankful for.”
“You’ll not only survive,” Charlotte insisted, leaning closer to the wall. “We will find a way to get you out of here.”
Lydia let out a low, mirthless laugh. “How, pray tell? If my husband sent me here, only he can see me released.”
“Then we’ll convince him,” Charlotte said firmly. “We’ll make him see reason.”
Lydia’s lips curved in a sad smile. “You sound so sure, but you and I both know no one is coming to save us. We are alone.”
“You don’t know my brother,” Charlotte said with conviction, “or Luca.”
That earned her a curious look. “Who is Luca?”
Charlotte hesitated. How strange to speak of him in a place so dark, as though her memories of him didn’t belong here. “He… is a friend. And my fiancé.”
Lydia blinked, surprise cutting through her fatigue. “You’re engaged?”
“I am.”
“Do you love him?”
Charlotte faltered. “I… um…”
Lydia tilted her head. “It is a simple enough question.”
Charlotte drew in a slow breath, squaring her shoulders as though facing a battle. “I do,” she said at last, her voice soft but certain.
Lydia’s expression softened. “Then you are most fortunate. My husband and I married for convenience, and yet I never believed he would stoop so low as to have me sent to an asylum.”
