Page 80 of How the Earl Entices

Two large men opened the door. Their faces were hidden in the dark shadows, the blackness of the prison so deep that not even the flickering glow cast by the lamp one of them carried managed to light their features.

The men exchanged quiet words, then the man with the lamp hung it on a rusty iron hook jutting out from the stone wall and walked away. The other man remained.

“What do you want?” she called out, letting the anger overcome her fear. “I’ve already answered enough questions to prove that I don’t know anything.” Then, just for spite, she raised her chin and added, “And I wouldn’t tell you even if I did!”

“I would expect no less from a formidable woman like you.”

Christopher.

She jumped to her feet and hurried forward with a choked sob. She had no idea how long she’d been there, how many hours she’d suffered in the cold and filth—how badly beaten Ross had been when the soldiers took him away. “Where’s your brother?”

“You’ve been released,” he told her, avoiding her question. “All the charges against you have been repealed. I’m taking you out of here.” His expression hardened as he took her chin in his fingers and turned her head to examine her. “And straight to a doctor to make certain you’re all right.”

She pushed his hand away. She didn’t care about herself. “Where’s Ross?”

He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to gauge who might be near enough to overhear, then answered, his voice low, “Still in prison, awaiting trial in Parliament.”

“But surely they realize that he’s innocent.” How had she ever doubted that? England should have been celebrating him as the hero he was. “He’s certain to have been questioned by now, shown them the papers, and explained what Wentworth did.”

When Kit said nothing, she knew…The Court thought him just as guilty of treason as when they’d first leveled the charges against him. Her eyes stung with hot tears of fear and frustration. Nothing had changed. They’d traveled hundreds of miles and risked their lives, and he was still regarded as a traitor, when in truth he was the furthest thing from it.

Unable to hide the concern that hardened his face, he answered grimly, “He will receive a fair trial, and it will all come out then.”

She gave a bitter laugh. A fair trial in which he’d be found guilty, if only to save the crown’s pride. King George never admitted that he was wrong, even when he so very clearly was. “We have to help him. What can we do?”

“We will help.” He shrugged out of his greatcoat and slipped it onto her small frame. “But first, I have to take you out of here.” He buttoned the coat and turned up the collar against her neck. “Ross’s orders.”

He took her elbow and led her from the cell.

“You’ve seen him?” She clutched at his arm, refusing to take another step until he told her. “How is he?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“You lie as badly as your brother,” she bit out in worry and frustration, but she allowed him to lead her on. She needed to escape this hellish place so that she could think clearly. She, more than anyone, knew the details of what Ross had done and why, and it fell to her to find a way to help him.

As Kit guided her down the prison’s underground aisles,he kept his eyes straight ahead and scanned through the darkness around them. His other hand stayed beneath his jacket, resting on what she knew was a pistol. As if he expected someone to jump out of the shadows at any moment.

“How is he? At least tell me that much.” She sucked in a mouthful of dank prison air to steady herself, and immediately regretted it when the stench of the place filled her lungs and made her cough. “I saw how they beat him when they arrested him, and I need to know…Please.”

His dark gaze flicked sideways at her, but he said nothing. When they reached the end of the aisle, where a set of stone stairs led up to the surface, he stopped and glanced into the darkness of a narrow corridor cutting perpendicular to the main aisle, as if contemplating…

He tightened his grip on her arm and tugged her into the dark corridor. “This way.”

He pulled her quickly along beside him, catching her when her feet tripped over the uneven stones. As the darkness engulfed them, lit only by a single dim lamp hanging high on a post halfway down the corridor, the air grew colder, even more musty and dank. The pungent scent of human excrement suffocated her, and she could barely make out any of the shapes around her in the black shadows.

“There’ll be hell to pay for this,” he muttered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Fresh fear tightened a knot in her throat. “What do you mean? Where are we—”

“Here.”

He stopped her in front of a small cell at the far end of the corridor, in what had to be the oldest part of the centuries-old prison. Rough-hewn limestone two feet thick formed short walls that shut out all traces of light and fresh air from the outside world. Thick iron bars rose from floor to ceiling, locking forgotten prisoners inside with the darkness. In the silence, she heard the steady drip of water trickling down the damp walls and puddling on the floor. Along the edge of the corridor, a rat scurried away into the darkness, and she bit back a startled scream.

He looked grimly down at her, even as he tapped the barrel of his pistol against the iron bars. The metallic sound jarred down her spine with each ping. He called out softly, “Ross, you have a visitor.”

“Ross?”Impossible.He couldn’t be here, not in this hell. He was a peer, for God’s sake!

But one glance at Christopher’s bleak face told her the truth.