Octavia grew visibly tense. “What do we do?”
“We don’t have much of a choice,” Roswell admitted. “But this fight is far from over. We will get you out of here.” He shifted his gaze to Anette. “Both of you.”
Anette gave him a decisive nod, but he could tell she had some doubts. He could see it in her eyes. She was just trying to put on a brave face.
He knew they were in an impossible situation, but he refused to give up. Not until Octavia and Anette were safe.
Mr. Barnard’s voice grew more irritated. “If you don’t hurry along, I will shoot Mr. Bolingbroke in the right foot and do not think I won’t. I think I have already proved that I am capable of doing such a thing.”
“Come along,” Roswell said. “We need to do as he says.”
As they descended the stairs, Roswell attempted to come up with a plan, but he was at a loss for one. How had he let his guard down and let Mr. Barnard manipulate him? He knew better, and that is what irked him the most about his situation.
“Here you are,” Mr. Barnard said with his arms wide open. “I am glad that you weren’t foolish enough to retrieve your pistols. As you can see, you are vastly outnumbered.”
Roswell’s eyes roamed over the men that no longer looked like they had too much to drink. Instead, they all met his gaze with scowls. A few of the men had pistols tucked into their waistbands. And Caleb was in the midst of them, his hands bound together with rope.
Mr. Barnard held a pistol in his right hand. “If you don’t mind, remove your pistols and place them onto the ground… slowly.”
Reaching behind him, Roswell retrieved the two pistols and placed them onto the ground in front of him.
“Very good,” Mr. Barnard said with a broad smile on his lips. “This was almost too easy. When I told Fredrick that I would kill everyone that was important to him, I thought I would have received some resistance. But I was wrong.”
“Lord Roswell is regarded as one of England’s finest spies,” a familiar voice jeered from behind the group of men. “Yet look how hard he fell.”
The men parted and Mr. Wilson walked towards him with a smug look on his face.
“Wilson?” Roswell asked. “You are behind all of this? But you are…”
“Kendrick’s secretary,” Mr. Wilson said, finishing his thought. “I am so much more than what Kendrick asked of me. He underestimated me, and that will be his downfall.”
Mr. Barnard pointed his gun at Roswell and cocked it. “It is time for you to die, my lord,” he said, a devilish glint in his eyes.
ChapterTwenty
Anette could not stand there and let Roswell get shot, not when she could do something about it. Not bothering to weigh the consequences of her actions, she moved to stand in front of Roswell and pleaded, “Don’t shoot him, please.”
Mr. Barnard did not appear very sympathetic as he ordered, “Get out of the way.”
“No,” Anette said. “I won’t do that.”
Roswell leaned closer to her and asked, “What are you doing, Anette?”
“I am not going to let him shoot you,” she replied.
He reached for her arm and gently turned her to face him. “I do not care if I live or die, but you… you must live to see another day. It is the only thing that gives me solace.”
“What you are asking of me is impossible,” Anette whispered. Did she dare tell him that her heart would never recover if he died?
Mr. Barnard interjected, “Are you going to let your woman fight your battles, Lord Roswell? I hadn’t taken you for such a coward.”
“He’s no coward. You are!” Anette shot back.
“I would consider your words carefully since you seem to forget that I could shoot you just as easily,” Mr. Barnard growled.
Mr. Wilson spoke up. “No one is shooting anyone, at least not yet,” he declared. “Put away your pistol, Barnard.”
“You promised that I could kill Lord Roswell and Lady Octavia,” Mr. Barnard responded.
