Page 89 of My Rogue, My Ruin
His tongue pushed against the soiled scrap pressing into his mouth, the foul taste of it making him heave. “Can you…shout for help?” he choked past it.
Brynn nodded and did as he asked, opening her mouth and yelling out, “Is anyone there? Hello? Help us! We’re in here!”
“We’ll have none of that, if you please, my lady.”
They both stilled as the heavy wooden door pushed open. The same man from earlier entered the stall holding a pistol, and this time he wore no mask. Archer frowned, fighting to recall his face. He could not always recall names, but faces he never forgot. There was no recognition, though. He was certain he had never seen this man before tonight.
The man was tall and swarthy and dressed in the midnight garb of the Masked Marauder, with the exception of the mask. Archer glanced to the door, but no one else entered. The second man, the one who had come up behind Archer and knocked him senseless, had to be here somewhere. He needed to remain alert and focused. His life depended on it, as did Brynn’s. And Brandt’s, he supposed, who would take the fall for everything, should this cretin get away. A lethal calm descended upon him as he assessed their assailant.
The killer’s clothes were of decent quality, which marked him as a man of some means, and he seemed well-groomed. But Archer had never seen him before, certainly not in any of his social circles. He grunted against the rag, and the man approached, keeping his weapon trained right at Archer’s heart.
“Have something to say, Your Grace?” Stooping low, the man loosened the tie, pulling it out of Archer’s mouth. “Sorry about this, but we couldn’t have you attracting attention, could we?”
Archer wanted to leap to his feet and meet the man face-to-face, but if he moved, he would lose the splintered edge of the post. He continued to saw the ropes, hoping he appeared to be only struggling with discomfort. The ropes were slowly loosening, the twisted hemp coming apart strand by strand.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Someone who has benefited handsomely at your expense, it seems.”
“You are a cold-blooded criminal,” Archer seethed, not rising to the man’s bait.
The man slanted an eyebrow. “If I have to be.”
Said without an ounce of remorse. Reasoning with such a man would be pointless, but he had to keep him talking—and distracted.
“Why are you doing this?”
“For the riches, of course.”
Archer tugged on his bonds until the skin at his wrists rubbed raw. His hands were already slick with blood, but it wouldn’t take much more for him to get loose. “I can pay. Release us, and you will have all the riches you desire. I give you my word.”
To his surprise, the man laughed, the sound echoing off the wooden rafters. “I am already well compensated, and you are meant to serve a much better purpose. After all, Bow Street already considers you a suspect. We are simply facilitating your arrest.”
Archer’s eyes narrowed. The man knew a lot, but it was to be expected. He wouldn’t have been able to find out about Archer if he wasn’t meticulous by nature. “Where is your friend?” he asked casually. “The one who hit me?”
“Around. Making sure we remain undisturbed.”
The man smiled, shooting a lascivious glance toward Brynn, who had stayed silent. For the first time, Archer felt a prickle of fear pool deep in his belly. Not for himself, but for her.
“Touch the lady, and it will be the last thing you do,” he snarled.
“And how, pray tell, will you come to her defense?” the man taunted.
Archer’s breath stalled as the man turned toward Brynn and dragged her up like a ragdoll against him. She gasped at the cruel latch of his hand on her arm but made no other sound. “I like this dress on you,” the imposter told her. “Though I think I’d like it better on the floor.”
Archer once again battled the urge to get to his feet and charge the bastard. His bonds were almost loose, and now he redoubled his efforts, sliding his hands against each other in slow, deliberate movements. He used his own blood to help lubricate against the coarse rope. The pain kept him focused. That, and thinking in vicious detail what he was going to do to that piece of filth once he was loose.
Brynn turned her face away, keeping her eyes on Archer. He could see the sheen of tears in them, but she held her chin erect.Valiant as ever, Archer thought, his chest tight with pride and fury.She wouldn’t cave or grovel, not to this beast of a man.
The man’s hands fluttered toward the ostentatious display of diamonds attached to her throat and removed the clasp, the backs of his knuckles brushing deliberately against Brynn’s breasts in the process. Archer’s jaw clenched, regretting he’d ever agreed to this damned plan. He’d put her at risk and hadn’t been able to protect her. He watched as the impersonator pocketed the jewels, his hand sliding down Brynn’s rib cage and around to her rear. Archer would kill him. Of that he was absolutely certain.
Brynn struggled wildly, kicking up with her legs, not even stopping when he pressed the point of the pistol into her side.
The man grinned at her as he fended off a knee aimed toward his groin and turned in slow motion to point the pistol at Archer.
“One more move, lovely, and I shoot your betrothed. You can make this nice and quick, or long and painful. It’s your choice.”
Brynn froze, her body going limp. Shutters descended over her eyes as the man ripped the chiffon dress from bosom to waist. Archer tore at his restraints with single-minded purpose. He stared helplessly at her, rage and agony eating at him. She was the only woman he had ever cared for, and he could do nothing to protect her as the bastard dipped his head to her exposed body, his fingers fumbling at the laces on her stays. Silent tears tracked her face, her bottom lip trembling with fear.
