“No, you treat your workers no better than slaves in horrendous conditions,” Miss Delacourt stated. “I have seen it firsthand.”
“No one has complained before,” Lord Drycott said.
“I doubt that,” Miss Delacourt responded.
Lord Drycott scoffed. “I truly don’t care what you think, but you should stop talking now. You are trying my patience.”
“Good, at least I am doing something right,” Miss Delacourt said.
“Listen, you chit, you are nothing to me, and you will die a lonely, miserable death,” Lord Drycott spat out.
Fredrick interjected, attempting to divert Lord Drycott’s attention away from Miss Delacourt. “You can’t be that naïve to think killing us will solve anything.”
“It is late, Chatsworth, and no amount of talking will change your fate.” Lord Drycott snapped his fingers. “Kill them.”
“I wouldn’t do that just yet,” Fredrick said.
Lord Drycott, his face etched with boredom, asked, “Why is that?”
“You never did ask if we came alone,” Fredrick responded. “Did you?”
With an unconcerned glance over his shoulder, Lord Drycott inquired, “Who did you bring with you to die?”
“You have it all wrong. If you don’t give up, it is you who will die,” Fredrick asserted, his tone unwavering.
Lord Drycott seemed amused. “Me?” he huffed. “No one is going to kill me. Do you know how much money I have accrued in the past few years thanks to this war?”
“That means little to me,” Fredrick said.
“It should be everything to you!” Lord Drycott shouted. “You stand there, judging me, but you don’t know what I have had to do to ensure I become a very rich man. My father left me a bankrupt estate, and I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“By opening factories that took advantage of their workers?” Fredrick questioned.
“That was only the beginning of my empire,” Lord Drycott said, his arms outstretched. “You can’t stop what I have put into motion.”
“I can, and I will,” Fredrick said.
Lord Drycott, growing increasingly impatient, reached behind him and retrieved a pistol. “I tire of this conversation. You will be the first to die,” he said, pointing the weapon at Fredrick.
But before he could pull the trigger, Miss Delacourt swiftly positioned herself in front of Fredrick. “If you want to kill him, you have to go through me first.”
“My pleasure,” Lord Drycott said.
In a swift motion, Miss Delacourt produced a concealed dagger and hurled it at Lord Drycott. The dagger found its mark, embedding itself in his right shoulder.
Lord Drycott looked at the dagger in surprise. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice laced with pain.
“That is a warning,” Miss Delacourt responded. “If you don’t put down your weapon, the next time my dagger will be aimed for your heart, and I assure you that I won’t miss.”
“Boss?” the burly man asked. “What do you want me to do?”
Narrowing his eyes, Lord Drycott growled, “She is bluffing. Kill them.”
The sound of a cocking pistol could be heard coming from behind Lord Drycott. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a familiar voice said.
Roswell, calm and collected, stepped into the room with a pistol aimed directly at the burly man. “If your finger twitches on that trigger, I will shoot you,” he warned.
Fredrick seized the opportunity to draw his own pistol and stepped out from behind Miss Delacourt. “It is over,” he said, addressing Lord Drycott. “You have lost.”
