Page 59 of Sinfully Mine
Stone said Ellie Godwick had hurled numerous accusations at her husband over his attentions to Joshua Black’s widow. The clerk overheard one argument that had sent Mrs. Godwick weeping from her husband’s office.
“Tell the constable everything,” Drew commanded the clerk before riding off. “All your suspicions”
The road became narrower, now little more than a path, just as Stone had warned him. Slowing his horse, Drew looked down and saw fresh hoofprints.
He had not been wrong. Hester was here.
The sound of a bubbling stream met his ears, somewhere to the left, though Drew couldn’t see the water. Finally, the line of trees broke into a small clearing, He could just make out the roof of a structure disappearing into the forest. Leading his horse around the other side of the path, he tied up the animal, leaving it to graze in a meadow far enough away from the cabin so as not to be seen.
Drew snuck along the edges of the path, careful not to make a sound. He had no weapon on him save a knife, which would do him little good unless he got close enough to Godwick. He’d been in such a hurry to return to Blackbird Heath, he’d left his pistol in London and Hester only owned an ancient hunting rifle which would probably backfire and injure whoever used it.
The cabin appeared deserted. No horse was tied out outside. He watched for a good fifteen minutes before cautiously approaching, half expecting an enraged Godwick to come barreling out with a pistol, but nothing happened. Making his way up the steps to the cabin, he winced as the ancient wood of the porch creaked beneath his feet, before he flattened against the wall.
*
Hester froze onthe bed. Someone was standing on the porch. She held her breath, expecting Martin but the door stayed shut. Keeping one eye on the front of the cabin, she took a breath and strained once more to grab the shard of pottery just lying out of reach.
She had managed to get one ankle free. Martin hadn’t tied that foot as tightly as the knots holding her wrists or other leg. Hester had thrown one leg over the side of the bed, kicking off the blanket while she tried desperately to grab at the shard of pottery with her toes. After what felt like hours, she’d finally managed to push it closer with the edge of her foot. The problem, of course, was what she would do once she got hold of it.
“One thing at a time, Hester,” she muttered to herself.
If she could get the shard on the bed and she couldn’t manage to loosen one of her wrists, then she would hide it beneath her body. When Martin untied her tonight to see to her needs, Hester would grab the shard and stab Martin in the neck.
A breath left her at the thought.
She didn’t want to kill Martin, but there was no other way to escape him. And Hester would only get one chance. Her toes finally curled around the shard and she carefully lifted her foot to the bed, twisting her leg—
A shadow flashed by the window.
No. No. No.Martin couldn’t be back so soon.
Hester dropped the piece of pottery as close to her body as she could, sliding her hip over the top to hide it, her heart racing in her chest at the thought of what she must do.
*
Drew stood alongsidethe wall of the cabin, beside the door, ear pressed to the rotting wood, listening for any sound. If Godwick was inside, he hadn’t noticed Drew’s arrival, or worse, he wasn’t here. Which meant Hester wasn’t either and he was too late.
Though he wasn’t stupid enough to put himself directly in front of the door, Drew had peeked through a tiny window to his right, the glass was so dirty he couldn’t see anything.
Malcolm, his brother, was skilled at a variety of nefarious things. He’d be pleased Drew had actually listened when at his instructions on how to properly storm a building. But Mal would also have smacked Drew in the head for being so stupid as to face Godwick and rescue Hester with only a knife.
I should have asked Stone if there was a pistol in Godwick’s office.
Far too late now. At least he was assured the constable would be summoned, but he had no idea how long it would take him to arrive. And if Hester wasn’t inside—
Fear curdled his stomach. Godwick might already have spirited her away. For all he knew, Hester was Godwick’s wife by now. Not willingly. He refused to believe the tiny bit of doubt that pricked at him, whispering he’d driven Hester into Godwick’s waiting arms.
Or that once safe, Hester would not want Drew either.
He cracked open the door an inch. When nothing was hurled at him or a shot wasn’t fired, Drew stepped inside the one room cabin. Barely any light shone from the lone window, and he squinted into the murky interior. He caught sight of a table on the far side of the room, where a discarded apple core sat beside a shattered bowl. A bed sat in the corner. The blankets piled atop shifted as he entered.
“Drew,” a familiar voice sobbed. “My God. Drew.”
“Hester.” Drew rushed to the bed. “What has he done to you?” The bastard had tied her to the bed. Pulling the knife from his pocket, he searched for any sign of injury. “Did he hurt you?”
Cupping her chin with one hand, he closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, thanking whatever unknown force had compelled him to depart London with such haste. “I knew something was wrong. I felt it.”
“Hurry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Martin will return soon. He’s mad, Drew. He tried to kill you. It wasn’t me. I would never—”
