Page 94 of The Scarred Duchess
Marquess Beauford gasped. He had been jolted awake from a most disturbing dream. He had started the night in his luxurious bed, but now found himself on the floor, gasping for air as if he had been submerged in water. In fact, he had been struggling to come to consciousness, feeling a crushing weight upon his chest and an overwhelming sense of suffocation.I cannot breathe!The weight on his chest eased and blessed air filled his lungs.Is someone sitting on me?“What the deuce?” he exclaimed. A hand clamped down hard upon his mouth.
“Shhh... no talking,” whispered a voice. Deep. Male.
The room’s curtains ensured the ebony darkness remained uninterrupted; there was not a hint of shadow. Beauford tried to sit up but discovered that his hands were tied securely; he could not lever himself upright. He groaned softly against the rough, filthy hand on his mouth and tried to look around, wondering what manner of devilry had been wrought upon him.
“I’m lifting me hand. Be a good lad. Nod if you can.”
Beauford nodded. The liberty to breathe freely was sweet. A cold blade against his neck soured the momentary reward.
“I want you to know it be me girl you was thinking to pluck.” The blade pressed forcibly into his neck.
It took him only a moment to realisewhichgirl he meant. Beauford swallowed and sputtered, “It was a foolish wager. A game. A prank, that was all.” A sharp prick bit the tender flesh below his earlobe. A hand clamped over his mouth preventing his cry to the fiery pain coursing down his neck.
“Prank, my arse,” snarled the shadow. “Tell me all you’ve done and you may see the light of day.”
Beauford confessed his every transgression—gambling hells, opium dens, servant girls, tenants’ wives, and ladies of little means. Miss Bennet had been his last sin and first unsuccessful tryst. It had rankled him not to gain her notice, so he set up the wager at Boodle’s.
“If she had not been Lambrook’s favourite,” he gasped, “I would have moved on to easier fish.”
“Why Lambrook?”
“He is my Seymour cousin and next in line. Moralistic monks, the whole family.”
The shadow patted his cheek. “You done well.” An iron hand clamped down under his chin. Beauford sucked in a breath. He exhaled a gasp of pain. His neck heated as warm fluid oozed down its side. His bladder released warmth under his derriere. His eyes felt heavy.Just a moment’s rest, I need…
Reeves wiped his blade on his victim’s nightwear. “TheColonel was right. Find the intelligence, win the war.” He rose from his chair and grinned at the dead marquess.
Let’s see what secrets the old man hides. Like father, like son.
He strode towards the duke’s bedroom; the door was unlocked. It took but minutes to have the decrepit old man secured into a large reading chair, wrapped up with a bedsheet and gagged. “If you makes a sound, you die. Nod if you understand.”
The duke did so. Reeves removed the stocking trailing from his mouth and fed him some water. “Years ago, you sent a man to spy on your cousin.” The duke started to shake his head. Reeves grabbed his chin. “I killed him.” Reeves leant in; they were nose-to-nose. “Lie again and I will leave your entrails on the floor.”
The duke nodded.
“You didn’t hear no more from him. Who else did you send?”
The duke stared at him. Reeves slapped his cheek. “Who?”
“Kelly. Kelly the Scotsman.”
Reeves nodded. “How would I know him?”
“His right hand. Lacks fingers.”
“Ayuh. That’s good to know. What else?”
“Release me,” the duke begged. “I will fatten your pockets.”
Reeves pulled his dirk and tucked it under the duke’s ear. “Where did you send Kelly? What did he do?”
The duke shook his head.
“Last warning.” He pushed the blade into a whiskered cheek. “Where did you send Kelly?”
“St Albans.”
“To do what?”
