Page 26 of Charlotte's Reckoning
Her back, bottom, and thighs burned like fire after at least two dozen strokes of his lash. Although he’d laughed sadistically, his eyes gleaming with every crack of the whip and each cry of pain, that didn’t satisfy the depraved monsieur. He had many other tortures planned for her before the interminable torture session concluded. If he hadn’t weakened her with his lash, leaving her weak-kneed and trembling, she could have fought him and likely triumphed over his slight form. But she could barely stand when he untied her and moved her to a wooden table.
As Rowie lay there, her body trembling violently, the cold seeping into her bones, she watched and waited for an opportunity to escape. The odds were long but not impossible because the Frenchman had made several costly errors. First, he mistook her compliance for surrender. Second, he had only bound her wrists, leaving her legs free for who knew what twisted game. And, third, he turned his back on her.
As soon as he bent to get another torturous device from his satchel, she made her move. Slipping her hand from the too-loose leather cuff, she quickly unbuckled the other and slid off the table. On bare feet with steps as light as wobbly legs could manage, she grabbed the ceramic basin from the commode stand and brought it down hard on the back of his head.It shattered on contact, and he dropped to his knees.
After swaying a moment, without the slightest effort to break his fall, Napoleon’s detestable interrogator fell flat on his face. Rowie heard a sickening crunch as he hit and saw blood spurt across the floor.
A sense of triumph surged within her, but only briefly. He had yet to move, and there was so much blood, including some trickling from where she’d bashed his head. She squinted in the low light from the flickering candles, trying to see if his chest was moving. When she couldn’t tell, dread replaced elation. Had she killed him?
Inching forward, she prodded him with her foot, but he didn’t so much as flinch.
“Monsieur Augustine?”she whispered, prodding harder.
What was the sentence for a whore killing a wealthy man? She could cry rape, false imprisonment, kidnapping, and illegal slavery—all of which weretrue—but who would believe her over a powerful man with connections to the French emperor? Did they hang women in Missouri or throw them in jail and leave them to rot?
Her need to escape escalated. She should have run as soon as he hit the floor because he suddenly stirred, sucking in a wheezing, moaning breath. Before Rowie could react, his hand shot out and grasped her ankle. She choked off a scream that would have alerted the madam and the guards and instead heard him utter in a horrible voice,“Putain de salope! Vous paierez!”
Her father had supported her scholarly pursuits and had her tutored in both French and Latin. Except for“you will pay,”the monster’s words weren’t part of her vocabulary, but she knew they weren’t complimentary.
“Bitch!”he confirmed in accented English. “I won’t go easy next time.”
Feeling every stripe of his whip on her back, she vowed there wouldn’t be a next time because, if that was his idea of easy, she wouldn’t survive what else he had in store for her. She must get away. He was already up on his knees, so it must be before he regained his composure.
With her free foot, she stomped hard on his forearm, breaking his hold on her ankle. She followed it with a kick to the ribs and another lower into his side.
He howled, though she couldn’t tell if it was from anger or pain, but it didn’t matter. Augustine went down again, forehead to the floor, while guarding his ribs and cradling his arm. Unfortunately, he was still moving. If she would be free of here once and for all, she couldn’t let him raise an alarm or, heaven forbid, come after her. She glanced around frantically for something sturdier than crockery and spotted the fireplace tools on the small hearth.
She grabbed one at random andin the nick of time. The man might be small, but he didn’t give up easily because she could hear him moving behind her. Figuring she might only get one chance, she gripped the iron rod tight in both hands and spun, swinging where she hoped his head would be. It was her turn to roar, but in frustration, because her blow landed several inches too low, catching his shoulder. He staggered but kept coming.
“When I kill you, I’m going to do it slowly and painfully,”he threatened, “so I can savor the moment.”
He made another grab for her, but she stepped back out of reach and struck out wildly with the poker. Once again, she missed because he sidestepped and caught the rod in his hand, jerking it from her grip.
He stood between her and the door, the only exit. Using the trick that worked on Heloise’s two goons earlier, she ducked and tried to run past him when he reached for her again. His foot shot out, tripping her up. Then, withsurprising strength, he gripped her shoulders and slammed her hard against the wall. Both hands slid up to her throat and tightened.
“Filthy whore!”he roared in her face. “You dare accost me? Have you no idea who I am?”
“Yes, you’re a depraved French pig,”she choked out before he cut off her breath. Struggling for air, she clawed desperately at his skin, hoping he’d set her free, but his fury seemed to have rendered him immune to the pain.
On the storage shelves beside her, Rowie searched blindly with a flailing hand. Objects fell over and rolled off with a clatter, but he didn’t stop squeezing. When she came upon something smooth like glass, she latched onto it. It felt hot to the touch, nearly burning her fingers, but she was running out of time before she would lose consciousness and be at the mercy of her captor once again. Ignoring the pain, she gripped the object and smashed it against his head just as flashes of white light appeared before her eyes.
The scent of lamp oil assailed her nostrils as it splashed warmly against her bare skin. He took the brunt of it, soaking his hair and spattering on his face and shirt. With awhooshand a flash, the flame from the lamp ignited his queued hair and flowing shirt. Screaming, he released her and spun away, slapping at his head and arms.
Gasping for breath, Rowie sank to the floor, watching in horror as he panicked, flapping his arms and making it worse. Her first clue that she was on fire, too—searing hot prickles on her skin. Looking down, she smacked at the flames licking up her belly and patted the smoldering ends of her hair. It was quickly extinguished since she was naked, and the majority went on the monsieur.
Despite his complete lack of compassion toward her, Rowie couldn’t stand by and watch him burn. She rushed toward the chair where he had hung his topcoat. Returning to him, she found him on his knees, which made it easier for her to drape it over him.
“Stay still!”she shouted, the raw heat searing her skin as she frantically beat at his head and back to extinguish the fire.
Her troubles didn’t end there, however. Oil had splashed on the floor, and the flames were spreading. Desperately searching for something else to smother them, her eyes landed on a stack of towels on the storage shelf. Grabbing one, she vigorously beat at the fire, determined to prevent the locked room from turning into an inferno with both of them in it.
But she wasfighting a battle she couldn’t win. Dust in the attic was plentiful, and the blaze quickly expanded to the walls, dancing up to the ceiling. Coughing as smoke filled the room, she abandoned her attemptsat containment and went into escape mode. Halfway to the door, guilt overwhelmed her.
“Land sakes, I must be insane,”she muttered as she spun and returned to her tormenter, who was dangerously close to the flames.
She nudged him with her foot. “Get up, or you’ll die here.”
When he didn’t move, she pulled back his coat. The fire was out, but the skin on his face and chest was charred horribly.
