Page 107 of Unmasking the Diamond
Her heart stuttered at the sound of Luca’s name, but she didn’t let it show. “No.” If she admitted anything, Luca would be in danger and she would never allow that.
The man sneered. “You lying piece of rubbish. I know you told him. I just need to know who else I have to kill.”
“You are no match for Luca,” Charlotte said before she could stop herself.
He chuckled darkly. “I’ve met your Luca. A foppish dandy. He wouldn’t even see me coming.”
Charlotte’s lips parted in defiance. Good. Let him underestimate Luca. That would be his undoing.
A woman’s voice came from the doorway, calm but commanding. “Release her, Roger.”
The man turned, his grip loosening but not falling away. “I’d rather kill her now. She’s useless to us.”
“That is not what we agreed,” the woman said as she stepped inside. She was short, with white hair and sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Her voice carried authority, though her tone was almost amused. “We’ll keep her alive a little longer.”
The man finally released Charlotte, but stayed close, his expression sullen. “She lied to me.”
“Do you blame her, Son?” the woman replied. “You might try being less terrifying next time.”
Charlotte rubbed her throat, taking shallow breaths. The woman smiled at her—a smile with no warmth in it.
“Now, dear,” she said pleasantly, “you’re going to tell us all about your investigation into The Chelmsford Asylum.”
“I don’t know anything,” Charlotte rushed out.
The smile vanished. “You may think you have some advantage here,” the woman said, “but you don’t. You are our prisoner, and we can discard you at will. Do you understand?”
Charlotte’s voice faltered. “Yes.”
“Good,” the woman said, her tone returning to false sweetness. “Let’s begin again, shall we? We know you’re working with Lord Luca. What we want to know is—why?”
Charlotte’s gaze darted towards the man, whose expression was pure hatred. “We were investigating the women who came here… and died,” she replied.
The woman tilted her head. “Here? Do you think this is The Chelmsford Asylum?”
Charlotte met her gaze, refusing to cower. “I do.”
For a moment, the woman only stared, then a cold smile curved her lips. “You are far smarter than I gave you credit for, Miss Winslow.”
“I shall take that as a compliment,” Charlotte said, though her voice came out thin.
“You should,” the woman replied. “You are the diamond. The chosen one. But I always thought you vain and pretentious—no serious thought in your head.”
The man’s appraisal was a grunt that carried through the cell like a dismissal. “This is the diamond?” he asked, his eyes raking her from chin to hem.
The woman stepped closer and plucked a stray curl that had escaped Charlotte’s chignon. “She is quite beautiful,” she said, almost idly, “but my sister was the beautiful one. Look where it got her.” Her mouth tightened. “She’s dead.”
Charlotte’s pulse tripped. “Who was your sister?”
The woman’s hand fell away. “Cressida.”
“The late Duchess of Brackenford,” Charlotte murmured.
“Yes,” the woman said with a shrug. “She failed her husband because she could not give him a son. She had one duty, and she did not do it.” There was impatience in the edge of the sentence, as if the failure still annoyed her.
“That doesn’t mean she deserved to die,” Charlotte said.
The woman’s eyes flashed, and the placid mask dropped for a heartbeat. “It does mean that. How else would the duke have an heir if she remained?”
