Page 116 of Unmasking the Diamond
“That is not a plan; that is suicide,” Alcott said sharply. “You’ll do her no good if you’re dead.”
Luca exhaled heavily, his hands curling into fists. He knew Alcott was right, but the thought of waiting another moment—another hour—was unbearable. “So what do you propose?”
“We gain access to the asylum,” Alcott said, his tone steadier now. “We’ll go through Lord Matthew. His wife is confined there. We can offer to accompany him on a visit.”
Luca frowned. “Matthew left his wife there to die.”
“He doesn’t know thatweknow that,” Alcott countered. “He’ll take us, if we phrase it properly. It’s less suspicious than sneaking in or bribing an employee.”
“I doubt the man will agree,” Luca muttered.
“Oh, he’ll agree,” Rupert said darkly. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Luca gave a single curt nod. “Then let’s not waste any further time.” He swept out of the study, his friends following.
Once they stepped outside, Rupert gestured towards the waiting coach. “I brought my carriage. I thought it would save us considerable time.”
“Good thinking,” Alcott said, climbing in after him.
The moment the coach pulled into the busy London street, silence fell among them. Luca sat forward, elbows braced on his knees, his leg bouncing uncontrollably. Every rattle of the wheels grated on his nerves.
He could picture Charlotte—terrified, alone, perhaps calling for him—and he cursed himself for not finding her sooner.
Rupert’s voice broke through the heavy quiet. “We’ll save her. Martha swore she was still alive.”
Luca lifted his gaze, skepticism shadowing his features. “And you believe her?”
“I do,” Rupert said simply. “She was broken by the time I delivered her to Newgate.”
The coach wheels rattled to a stop and Luca had no patience for the footman’s formalities. He stepped down before the step was lowered, and they headed towards Lord Matthew’s door. London air bit at his cheeks. The smell of coal and horse lingered in the close street as they crossed the threshold.
Luca reached the main door first and pounded on it. When the door swung open, a dark-haired butler bowed. “How may I help you?”
“We wish to speak to Lord Matthew,” Luca demanded.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but that is impossible,” the butler replied, apologetic and officious all at once. “Lord Matthew is at breakfast and does not wish to be disturbed.”
Luca did not have the time to placate the butler. “He will see us. Inform him that Lord Luca Dexter, Lord Alcott, and Lord Rupert need to speak to him at once.”
“Very well. Wait here.” The butler began to close the door, a small, polite motion of deflection.
Rupert planted his foot in the threshold and stopped it. “We would prefer to wait in the entry hall,” he said.
The butler’s face flushed. “My lord! This is most undignified,” he protested.
“I do not care a whit,” Rupert responded, shoving the door wide and brushing past him.
Luca followed, his long strides echoing on the marble floor. The entry hall smelled faintly of beeswax and roses, an incongruous scent given the tension thickening the air. A long clock ticked somewhere nearby, the steady rhythm gnawing at Luca’s already frayed nerves.
The butler, his cheeks flushed with outrage, spun on his heel and hurried away down the corridor. Luca barely noticed since his mind was fixed on what lay ahead. He could not stop picturing Charlotte trapped behind those asylum walls—alone, frightened, and at the mercy of monsters.
Moments later, Lord Matthew appeared from the corridor, his blue eyes flashing with irritation. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” he demanded, his tone thick with condescension. “You barge into my home and demand an audience? Have you no decency?”
Luca stepped forward, his temper barely contained. “We need access to The Chelmsford Asylum,” he began, “and you are going to take us.”
Lord Matthew froze mid-step, a flicker of surprise passing across his face. “Pardon?”
“We know your wife is being kept there,” Luca replied. “And we need you to take us to visit her.”
