Page 78 of Love Unraveled
Sophia steeled her back, slid across the bench, and ducked out of the carriage, refusing his assistance. She bit back a gasp as the coachman dragged a facedown Stefano to the far side of the carriage, out of sight of the house. She moved toward them, but the duke grabbed her arm, his grip painful.
“There is still enough light left to locate this box,” he said smoothly. “Spencer, grab the lanterns from the carriage and find a shovel.”
The coachman avoided direct eye contact with Sophia. He had proven he would stand by the duke, so she was well and truly on her own. If she went into the woods with them, she was certain she would never come back. In the house, there were still several footmen. It was her only chance.
The duke released his grip to pull out and unfold the map. “So, my darling Countess, which direction?”
“It is around the back and through the gardens,” she said, hoping to lure him closer to the mansion.
“Where is that on the map?” he asked, his suspicion obvious.
“I do not know,” she said.
He growled angrily, and she shrugged. “I cannot see without my spectacles. And since I do not have my reticule with me, I do not have my spectacles.”
“And it is now you tell me this?” The duke lost his pretense of civility, grabbing both her arms and rattling her.
Sophia resisted the urge to scream in his face. Instead, she smiled slowly, pacifyingly. “I keep others here, Your Grace. I cannot read without them, so they are everywhere.”
He frowned. “Why have I never seen you with them?”
“I am vain, no?”
The duke scowled, studying her for a minute, then yanked her forward toward the manse. “If you think you are going to trick me, you will be sadly disappointed. Spencer, stay with the carriage. And you, not a word of warning to your servants. If Drake doesn’t hear from me soon, he knows what to do.”
They walked across the expansive courtyard and up the sweeping stairs. No one opened the doors, so the duke insisted she do so and step into the foyer. There were sounds of footsteps on the stairs, and young Patterson’s head appeared.
“My lady,” he said breathlessly, “we weren’t expecting you.” He moved swiftly toward them but stopped abruptly, staring at her chest. “You are hurt.”
“A small accident,” the duke said, squeezing her arm. “I will see to it.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Patterson said, bowing. He glanced questioningly at Sophia, and the duke’s grip tightened.
“You can let the others know we’ve arrived. We are famished.” Sophia said it calmly but tried to flash warning in her eyes.
“Do not interrupt us until we call for you,” the duke barked.
Poor Patterson seemed confused as he scurried away. She didn’t know what help he would be. She wanted to scream, bring her small staff to her aid, but the duke still had his weapon, and someone might get hurt. Besides, the coachman would not be easily captured. What if he rode back to London? She could not risk Gaston’s life. She needed to buy some time and find out where he was held, if he had indeed been moved from her town house at all.
“Let’s get your bloody spectacles and get on with this.” He held her firmly as she led him into the yellow drawing room. The room where she’d first laid eyes on Gaston again. Where she had kissed him, so overjoyed by his return. Where she had thrown him out. She had wasted precious time with him. She swallowed the lump in her throat. If they survived, she would not waste another moment.
Luckily, she did own several pairs of spectacles. She pulled a set from a drawer, and he shoved the map in front of her. “Where to?”
She made a production of unfolding her spectacles and perched them on her nose, studying the map. “Yes, we start here,” she said contemplatively, “and then go here.”
“Where is here? What are those markings there?”
Sophia had no idea what the markings were, and she feared he would soon catch on that the map was useless. “I am truly famished.” She rubbed her forehead. “And my head hurts.” She looked to the window, where the drapes were drawn. “And it grows dark,” she said as though she could see outside. “Can we not wait until morning?”
“No,” he snapped, renewing his grip and dragging her back out of the drawing room and into the entrance hall. He fussed with something with his other hand, and she felt the press of metal into the base of her spine. “We do this now. Open the door.”
Sophia did as told, yanking it open. She gasped, her knees weakening as she cried out in relief. Hercavaleriehad arrived.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
He says the best way out is always through.
—Robert Frost, “A Servant to Servants”
