Page 120 of Unmasking the Diamond
“And what of Lady Matthew?” Alcott asked.
Mr. Bancroft gave a curt nod to the neighboring cell. “She is in there.”
Alcott didn’t wait for another word. He crouched, peering through the narrow slit at the top of the iron door. “Charlotte!”
A small, brittle voice answered from the darkness. “Alistair?”
Alcott swung the door wide and stepped inside. Luca stood back at the threshold, not because he wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do. Up close, the sight of Charlotte stopped him in a way nothing else had. Her blonde hair was matted anddull, a smear of grime across one cheek. Her pale green dress had been torn and muddied, but the thing that struck him most was the set of her shoulders—still defiantly upright, even as she tried to rise and her legs trembled.
Alcott closed the distance in two strides and was at her side, steadying her, then embracing her. “I was so worried.”
“You found me,” she breathed.
“Wefound you,” he corrected. “I couldn’t have done it without Luca and Lord Rupert.”
Charlotte turned and she met Luca’s gaze. “Thank you,” she said. Then she smiled—small, private, and unmistakably meant for him. The world narrowed. Luca felt everything else fall away. His chest ached with the urge to step forward, to take her into his arms and say the words he wanted to say, but this was not a place for confessions.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Alcott said as he started to lead her towards the door.
Charlotte’s hand tightened on his sleeve. “No. We can’t leave without Lady Matthew. She’s in the next cell.”
Alcott’s mouth tilted. “You think we’d have come so far and not fetch her?”
“Good,” Charlotte said. She turned then and her eyes went wide. “Lord Matthew?”
A smile came to Lord Matthew’s face. “Miss Winslow, it is a pleasure to?—”
Charlotte marched straight to Lord Matthew. She reared her arm back, and landed a clean, hard punch on the man’s jaw.
Lord Matthew staggered back.
Charlotte stood straighter than Luca had ever seen her, fury bright in her eyes. “You are a despicable man for leaving your wife to die in here,” she said, every syllable carved from contempt.
The man rubbed his jaw and offered a feeble defense. “She was mad. I had little choice in the matter.”
Charlotte lunged forward, but Alcott caught her by the waist, holding her back with a restraint that was as tender as it was firm. “He isn’t worth it, Charlotte.”
From the rearmost shadow, Rupert’s voice cut in. “I will retrieve Lady Matthew. Someone needs to guard Mr. Bancroft.”
“I will do it,” Luca offered, reaching for his pistol.
Rupert tucked his pistol into the waistband of his trousers, unbolted the door and stepped inside. A long moment later, he carried out a frail, dark-haired Lady Matthew in his arms.
“I can walk,” Lady Matthew insisted.
Rupert gently placed her down and Lady Matthew was unsteady on her feet for a moment. Then she straightened and her eyes sought out her husband’s.
Lord Matthew opened up his arms. “My love,” he said in a sickly sweet voice.
Lady Matthew did not move. Her hands balled at her sides, knuckles white, the contempt in her eyes a blade aimed straight at her husband. “You are a blackguard. I will see that you pay for this.”
Lord Matthew’s show of injured surprise was almost comical as he lowered his arms. “It is merely a misunderstanding?—”
The sentence died on his lips. From down the corridor came the crisp, unmistakable click of pistols being cocked.
“Well, look who has come to die,” a woman’s voice taunted.
Charlotte turned her head sharply at the sound of footsteps and froze. The white-haired woman who had once visited hercell stood at the far end of the corridor, her pale features illuminated by the dim torchlight. This time, there was no veneer of civility. A pistol gleamed in her hand, and beside her, her son, Roger, mirrored the action, his weapon raised and aimed directly at them.
