Page 117 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Meg blinked several times, then looked toward where the barks, now interspersed with growls, were emanating from. As her eyes adjusted further, Ridley’s golden body gleamed through the shadows.
Relief hit her, and she dashed forward. “Ridley!”
She reached him and, crouching, set her palm on his head to calm him, but he continued to struggle, trying to leap and lick her face, all the while alternating between barks and growls. “Quiet.” She tried to keep him down as, gently, she ran her hands over his quivering body and limbs. “Don’t jump! You’ll hurt yourself more…”
Instead of any evidence of injury, her searching fingers found a rope tied to his collar.
She blinked, and her improving vision verified what touch was telling her. Ridley wasn’t hurt. He was tied to an anchoring ring set in the wall.
Relief was short-lived as realization poured over her in an icy wave.
She shot upright and spun to face Thomas, only to discover that he was standing squarely between her and the cellar door with a length of rope in his hands.
Fear joined the roiling emotions coursing through her, but anger—for Drago and for everyone else this man had taken in—was far stronger. “You must be mad!”
“Not at all.” His voice exuded an almost unnatural calmness. “My plan is so brilliant no one will ever guess until all the pieces have fallen into place, and by then, even those who might suspect won’t be able to do anything about it.” Smug certainty colored his tone. “You’ll see…” Then his features hardened, and he shrugged. “Actually, you won’t.”
Her only hope was to delay whatever he had planned and pray that others had seen her leave with him. “Was it you behind all the accidents?”
“Of course it was.”
His gloating spurred her on; men always liked to boast, didn’t they? “So it was you who hired the man who came at me with a knife in Bond Street and those thugs who attacked Drago and me in Manchester Street.”
He gave vent to a disgusted snort. “I suppose one gets what one pays for. They said they were professionals, but clearly, they were the sort of amateurs who didn’t think it mattered if, as I’d instructed, you were alone when they attacked or if you were accompanied. They escaped Drago, but you’ll be pleased to know that they didn’t escape me. I couldn’t leave any loose ends flapping. Once my life is on the track I’ve planned, I don’t want to be constantly looking over my shoulder, so I removed those three and the earlier man as well, then moved on to a higher class of villain-for-hire.”
“Wait.” She frowned. “Earlier man? Wasn’t the Bond Street attack the first?”
The gloating was back. “No. My first attempt was really quite inspired and so very nearly worked.” His gaze lowered from her to Ridley, who was now plastered against her leg and growling low in his throat.
Meg knew just how the pup felt.
“You said you liked dogs. I was watching from a nearby carriage, and the man who released the mutt timed it perfectly. You should have died under Carmichael-Craik’s horses’ hooves. Instead, Drago saved you.” Thomas shook his head. “I should have known then that I’d have to do the deed myself, but I hoped never to directly show my hand.” He sighed. “However…” He raised his hands and uncoiled the rope. “In a way, it’s rather poetic, don’t you think, that the mutt you rescued in escaping that first attack should be the bait that lures you to your death? And his, too, of course.”
Hurriedly, she said, “The least you can do is tell me the rest.”Delay, delay, delay.“Was it you who put the branch on the track and hid in the bushes, waiting for me to be flung from the gig?”
“Yes. And dammit! Drago shouldn’t have been with you. Why he decided to accompany you to visit two old women…” He shook his head. “That was plain bad luck.”
“And it was you who put a hole in the rowboat?”
“Of course—and again, that should have spelled your doom! What possessed Drago to overcome his sensibilities over his dead brother? After that, I started to think your existence was charmed.” He paused, staring at her, then he drew the rope taut between his hands. “But this time, I’ve got you away from him, and this time, I’ll succeed.”
He took a step toward her.
Meg clamped down on the urge to cower and stood her ground. “I cannot conceive,” she said, deploying her grandmother’s haughtiest tones, “how you imagine you’re going to get away with this.” She waved at the rope. “Whatever this is.”
He took another step toward her, and she could hear the smile in his voice as, entirely unperturbed, he replied, “Trust me, I will.” Then he paused, head tipping, and more pensively went on, “Indeed, you might say my entire plan is based on trust. On the fact that the others trust me implicitly, without question, and so they believe everything I tell them. Whatever I say, they take as truth.” He was close enough now for her to make out his smile. “As they will in this case.”
Meg’s heart was thudding, but the warmth of Ridley’s body pressing against her leg reminded her she had him to fight for as well. She summoned every ounce of bravado, crossed her arms, and tipped up her chin. “As I’m going to be the one affected, what is it that you plan to do?”
She’d meant with the rope, but he took the question to refer to his entire plan and, proving her earlier observation, showed he was definitely a man. He all but preened as he told her, “My plan is so unlike anything that anyone’s done before, I have no qualms at all that Drago or anyone else will guess my intention, not even after everything is done and the coffers of the dukedom fall into my hands.”
She frowned. “How on earth…?”
His answering smile was unnervingly close to ecstatic. “It all hinges on Drago’s father’s will. And on Drago, of course, but it was entirely predictable that he’d wait until the last minute—well, the last Season before his thirty-fifth birthday—to find a bride. That, after all, was the impetus behind that clause—making sure he actually married. But you see, that gave me a chance to find him the perfect bride. Meaning the perfect bride for my purposes, and Alison Melwin satisfied my every last requirement.”
One penny dropped in Meg’s brain. Eyeing Thomas, she asked, “Are you acquainted with Hubert Melwin?”
Thomas’s smile deepened. “I see you’re following my strategy. And yes, indeed, Hubert and I have become close friends. Confidantes, you might say, at least on his side.”
