Bentley opened the door as Perry climbed the stairs, as though he had been eagerly awaiting the earl.
“My lord, you have a visitor.”
“Where is he?” Perry asked, his words laced with a deadly threat. There was still a chance that no harm had come to anyone yet. “Get the guards. We must apprehend him.”
“I left him in the drawing room, my lord,” the man explained. “He wanted to speak with you on an urgent manner. Jones is guarding him.”
Relief flooded his chest as Perry rushed past the butler with the other men on his heels. Perry pushed aside the guard standing outside the room and opened the door where Newbridge was said to be waiting. Searching the space frantically, Perry unbuttoned his jacket, his hand reaching for the smooth barrel of his shotgun. A sick feeling of dread washed over him as his eyes landed on the slightly parted brocade curtains. The fabric fluttered lightly in the summer breeze. Hastening toward the other side of the room, Perry swept aside the curtain, dread climbing in his throat. The French door was ajar.
Newbridge had escaped.
Shaking his head to clear the sheer panic that gripped him, Perry turned to his butler, who stared wide-eyed with concern upon recognizing the emptiness of the room. The man had no idea how close he was to being fired, though Perry had more pressing issues that required his immediate attention.
“Where is the countess?” the earl roared, shaking the house to the rafters.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Charlotte’s hand clung to the gate as she passed through it, nerves simmering in her stomach. She had gone too far—this was a mistake.
“Allow me to lead you back to the house for refreshments, my lord. I’m sure the earl will be returning shortly,” she insisted once more.
Turning, Charlotte made her way back through the doorway, in the direction of the home, when a tug on her arm had her falling backward against a surprisingly firm surface.
The viscount gripped her arms painfully, his hot, sour breath wrapping around her. She struggled loudly, though his iron hold made it impossible to get away. Charlotte screamed.
“You’re not going anywhere. I have some unfinished business with the earl, and there is only one direction in which you will be traveling,” his harsh voice spoke.
A chill of fear swept through her at her naiveté. She barely knew this man, had no way of knowing he posed a threat to their family. With a trembling inhale, Charlotte swallowed and assessed her strategy.
“Whatever do you mean, my lord?” she asked, feigning ignorance of the threat.
If nothing else, her daughter was safe. The thought was reassuring and filled her with strength. Charlotte must do everything in her power not to go with the viscount. The consequences could be deadly. As she struggled to free herself, his grip tightened. Charlotte cried out in pain.
“Quit struggling against the inevitable. Winchester owes me a debt, and I am here to collect.” He tugged her closer to the edge of the water, with annoyed grunts as she resisted being pulled closer to the water. She had no idea what he was planning, but being unable to swim, the water could mean a sure death if she fell into its uncertain depths.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood as her back pressed up against his chest.
Desperate, Charlotte sought to calm him. Perhaps he would be willing to negotiate. “He will pay you handsomely if you release me. If I come to any harm, my husband will kill you.”
Newbridge laughed. “You speak as though I have anything to lose. I assure you, dear countess, I do not. Having lost everything I hold dear, vengeance is the only prize I seek now.”
A cry tore from her mouth as she thrashed in his arms. She had too much to live for now that she and Perry were reunited. She screamed for the gardeners—or anyone to hear her.
“We are going to take a little journey, my sweet, then I will decide exactly what I want to do with you,” Newbridge said, winded as he dragged her to the shore. “Like, do I want you to die with me here or in front of your husband. That would be a treat, indeed.”
Her eyes landed on a small boat, tied to a ring that jutted out from the stone wall. Dread flooded her core. Though seldom used, the river had once been used for travel far more than it was in the present day.
“You don’t want to do this, my lord. It’s not too late to turnback. We can forget this ever happened,” she pleaded, pulling away from his grasp as it lessened slightly.
For a moment, Charlotte thought he was letting go. She screamed into the emptiness of the garden, wishing for her voice to travel to someone, anyone, who might help her. But they all seemed too far away to hear.
The scratchy feel of rope against her hands told her this wasn’t the case. Newbridge drew her arms behind her back, the thick binding pulling tight and digging into her skin.
“This should help make travel much easier, Countess. You are stronger than I imagined. But not strong enough,” he said and chuckled.
Charlotte cried out in pain as the rope tightened, her hands chaffing painfully as they were crushed against each other. “This is not necessary. Please, my lord. I beg you, let me live.” She shuddered as the pleading words came out. “I have done you no harm.” A small sob caught in her throat. Tears gathered in her eyes as she tested the bindings, a crushing sense of hopelessness overcoming her.
“Don’t you understand that this has nothing to do with you?” he spat. “This has everything to do with getting my vengeance. Winchester deserves everything that is coming to him. His father ruined my family. And to add insult to injury, my precious Eliza was still warm in the ground and he was rutting around town like a carefree bachelor. Such a disgrace.”
