Page 108 of Unmasking the Diamond
“She could have had another child.”
“The doctor confirmed she couldn’t have any more children. She was useless to the duke.” She held Charlotte’s gaze. “Tell me everything you know. If you do, your end will be—somewhat—painless.”
A voice ripped out from the hole in the wall—shrill, frantic. “No! Don’t hurt her, please!”
The woman’s smile sharpened into something almost pleased. She glanced towards the gap where the stone had been pried away. “How quaint. You two have made friends.”
“We should separate them,” Roger growled.
“There is no need since they both will be dead soon enough,” the woman said, folding her hands as if they were in a drawing room rather than a cell. “I grow tired of this dance. We know most of what we need already because we planted a spy in your household.”
The word fell like a stone. Charlotte’s skin went cold. “Who?” Her voice betrayed her before she could silence it.
“Me,” a voice said.
Charlotte whirled towards the doorway and felt her heart drop to the floor. Martha stood there, shoulders back, a smug, untroubled smile curving her mouth.
“Martha?” Charlotte asked. “No. Why would you?—?”
The white-haired woman made a small, theatrical gesture towards Martha. “Allow me to present my granddaughter.” Her tone offered the introduction like a flourish. “When whispers began that someone was asking questions about The Chelmsford Asylum, we placed her in Lord Matthew’s household. She was hired as a maid—a simple, useful instrument. She listened. She reported. It worked splendidly. Too easily, if you ask me.”
Martha’s smile widened into triumph. “You never suspected. You spoke freely. You let Lord Luca in and I heard everything.”
Charlotte’s chest constricted. How had she been so blind?
Martha turned her head towards the older woman. “Do we need her much longer?”
The old woman’s eyes gleamed. “Until we kill Lord Luca, yes.”
The words landed like a blow. “No!” The shout tore from her before Charlotte could steady it. “You can’t kill him.”
The woman’s expression slid into bored amusement. “And why not?” she asked as if the answer were inconceivable on its face.
Martha chattered on, her voice mocking, “Because Miss Winslow fancies Lord Luca most dearly.”
Charlotte felt tears sting the back of her eyes. “Please,” she begged, the plea brittle with resolve. “I will do as you ask. I’ll tell you what you want. Don’t—don’t kill him.”
The old woman sniffed. “There is nothing of yours I want,” she said, voice flat and final. “You should be grateful merely to still be alive.”
The woman turned on her heel and walked towards the door, “Come along, Roger. Martha,” she called over her shoulder. “We will give Miss Winslow time to wallow in the fact that no one is coming to save her.”
Martha smirked before following her grandmother. Roger leaned down close enough that Charlotte could feel the heat of his breath. “This isn’t over,” he stated. “I will get you to spill your secrets.” His tone had no patience for games. It held only the inevitable cruelty of a man accustomed to taking what he wanted.
Charlotte forced herself to stand taller than she felt. She wouldn’t show fear. She watched them go and the iron door slammed behind them.
The instant privacy reclaimed her, Charlotte’s knees failed her. She sank to the cold floor and the stone bit through her gown. She felt tears form in her eyes and she allowed herself to cry, knowing that she had been bested.
And then she thought of Luca. He had to be safe. He must be.
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, her resolve strengthened. If they wanted secrets, they would bedisappointed. She would not betray Luca. If she could not reach him by wit and word, she would hold her silence like a shield. For now, she would gather what strength remained—breath by measured breath—and wait for the moment she could act.
Luca sat in the coach, his knee bouncing despite his best effort to still it. Every clatter of the wheels against the cobblestones grated against his already fraying nerves. They were no closer to finding Charlotte, and each passing moment felt like a nail being driven into his chest. He tried to draw a steady breath, but worry pressed down like a weight he could not shake.Where was she? Was she frightened? Hurt?He clenched his fists in his lap, forcing himself not to imagine the worst.
Across from him sat Alcott, his features taut with fury and fear. His friend’s jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscle ticked near his temple, and his hands rested in fists upon his knees. Luca didn’t need to ask what he was thinking—they were united in purpose. Whatever it took, they would find Charlotte. They couldn’t fail. They wouldn’t.
When the coach rolled to a stop before the Duke of Brackenford’s townhouse, Luca looked up at the tall, imposing structure. The white stone façade gleamed beneath the streetlamps, cold and pristine—much like its owner’s reputation. Before either man could move, the door opened and Rupert stepped up into the coach, the sharp scent of horse and cold night air following him.
“I got your message,” Rupert said without preamble, taking the seat beside Alcott. “What would you have me do?”
