COLIN'S HEART POUNDEDas he approached the specified address. He noted with some surprise it was a grand townhouse nestled in the heart of Mayfair. It was a magnificent old structure, and by the looks of it, currently undergoing renovation. Scaffolding clung to its exterior like a skeletal web. He had instructed the coachman and two footmen to wait for him around the corner and be alert and ready to depart.
He climbed the brief steps to the front door, and finding it ajar, pushed inside. The place was eerily empty inside. No workers labored in the remodeling of the house, but the tools remained lying around. As if they had abandoned the project suddenly.
With every step up the creaking staircase, the weight of the task at hand grew heavier. His mind raced, replaying the events that had led him here. The attacks they had suffered, the shots, the near misses, the anguish of his wife's kidnapping. He had failed her. His jealousy had pushed her away. And his own idiocy in not realizing the danger Dunson posed had put her in danger. Each memory fueled his resolve to save her.
The bright midday sun poured through the unfinished windows, bathing the entire space in a cheery light that was so at odds with the darkness inside him.
Finally, Colin reached the top floor, where a large room awaited him, still barren and stripped of its opulent features. The kidnapper had chosen well, the perfect stage for his twisted game. Dressed in a black coat, his face hidden beneath a dark hat, the man exuded an air of sinister confidence. He recognized his former steward at once.
“Hartfield,” the kidnapper’s voice echoed in the hollow space. “Welcome to my home. Forgive me, it is unfinished at the moment, but I plan to remedy that soon.”
As he spoke, he gestured with his arms around him, as if he really was welcoming him to a social occasion. Was the man insane? Insane or not, it would behoove him to tread carefully. The man held a pistol in one of his gloved hands.
Colin clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing. "Where is my wife Dunson? Release her now, and we can end this peacefully."
The kidnapper chuckled, a chilling sound that grated on Colin’s nerves. “Oh, not so hasty. First, have you brought the money I demanded?”
“The money is right here.” Colin lifted a bag he held in his fist and opened it, showing the gold coins, bank notes and jewelry inside. He saw the other man’s eyes glimmer with greed at the treasures.
“But I won’t give it to you until you show me my wife so that I can ascertain that she is unharmed. And I swear that if you have hurt her, I will kill you.” He finished with a snarl.
“So dramatic. She is right here.” With a flourish, he turned and opened a door to what must be a small linen closet. In there, tied and gagged, was Abigail.
His shoulders sagged as a shuddering breath left him. Abigail was alive, and with no apparent harm. Then his gaze focused on her wrists, reddened by the ties holding her hands, and his fists curled in fury. He was going to tear Dunson limb for limb.
Abigail’s eyes bored into his, as if trying to communicate something.
“Remove the gag and ties and let her go, then I’ll give you the money.”
“Oh no. I don’t think so.” Dunson grabbed Abigail by the arm and pulled her, stumbling, from the closet, and pointed the pistol at her head.
Icy terror swamped Colin. His blood boiled with the need to do something. But he couldn’t risk doing anything as long as Dunson held the pistol to Abigail’s head. The smallest error and the gun could discharge... no! He forcibly blocked that image from his mind.
“Throw the bag at my feet, then retreat.” Dunson instructed, but Abigail shook her head, her eyes going wide. Dammit, she was trying to impart some vital information, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what to do. If he didn’t comply with Dunson’s wishes, he would endanger her. He needed to buy time. Make the other man talk.
“How did you get out of jail, Dunson?”
Dunson smiled smugly. “I have friends in high places, Hartfield.”
“Were you behind the other attempts on our lives?”
“Bah! The idiots. They failed. So I took matters into my own hands.”
“Why are you doing this, Dunson? I know I dismissed you from your position as steward, but don’t you think kidnapping is a bit extreme?”
“Ha! You know nothing, understand nothing. I had been the steward of Hartfield for ten long years. For ten years of my life, I labored and slaved for those lands. And you just waltz in and think you can take everything away from me?”
“I took nothing away from you. The estate was never yours and would never have been yours. I inherited it after my father’s death. I am the new Earl and you were the land steward. That is how it works. I don’t make the rules of inheritance.”
“Ah yes. Inheritance. Birth order can be such a capricious thing, but I plan to fix that.” Dunson said cryptically.
“What are you talking about?”
“You still don’t know who I am, do you? Well, let me enlighten you. My real name is Matthew Knightsbridge. Our great grandfathers were twins. Your side of the family has held all the power and wealth of the Earls of Hartfield for generations. Just because your great-grandfather came out of the womb a mere four minutes before mine. I am your cousin. Your heir presumptive.”
The news and all its implications hit Colin all at once. This man wasn’t looking for ransom money. Not when he was aiming for a much bigger prize. The Earldom. That he had revealed his identity was a sign that he planned to kill Colin. And Abigail too, of course. He couldn’t leave a witness behind. If he didn’t do something, they would never leave this house alive. But how could he make a move while the villain still held a gun to Abigail’s head?
He looked at his wife, his eyes intent, willing her to understand. In order to escape the madman, they needed to act in synchrony. Their gazes locked and, marvel of marvels, she seemed to understand. A silent communication passed between them. As if by some sort of telepathic connection, they could understand each other’s thoughts.
