It wasn’t the wisest thing to say. The baronet did have a knife in his hand, but she couldn’t allow him to believe that all the power belonged to him. Men like Mowbray existed in the certainty that they were above all consequence.
They weren’t.
He actually smiled at her. “They can try, but three men versus my Guardians hold little advantage.”
“As you said, they aren’t mere men.”
“The full moon was last night.” His smile twisted into a smirk. “It’ll be twenty-nine days before they can transform into monsters once again. Until then, they’re only thieves with no great ability, no exceptional strength, and no match against over a dozen trained operatives.”
Her heart pitched into her stomach. If Ezra, Tej, and Rhys did come for her, they could be heading directly to their deaths. And she would be responsible.
Despite her attempts to keep her expression neutral, her dismay must have shown on her face, because Mowbray’s smirk widened into a satisfied grin.
“It would’ve been wiser for you, Miss Colfax, to have adhered to the original terms of our agreement. I’ll leave you to contemplate that.”
Still holding the knife, the baronet headed toward the door. At the threshold, he paused and addressed Page. “Post a guard outside.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once Mowbray was gone, Page peeled himself away from the wall and moved slowly to stand in front of her.
“I will keep you alive,” he murmured softly. “Long enough to make sure Brody sees you suffer in unspeakable ways. Only then shall I kill him.”
She met Page’s gaze but said nothing.
He made a huff of annoyance, clearly hoping to wring some kind of reaction out of her, before marching out of the room. The two Guardians filed after him, closing the door behind them. Judging by the shadows beneath the doorframe, someone stood sentry just outside. Clearly, they didn’t consider her enough of a threat to have someone inside the chamber with her.
Their arrogance was a mistake. And she was not to be underestimated.
She waited, marking time by the pops of the logs in the hearth. It was full dark now, and other than the light from the fire, everything was thick with shadow. There was activity in the house, the sounds of people below. Judging by the heavy treads, the lack of desire to suppress the noises of their movements came from confidence, and that meant that the building brimmed with Guardians. This was the home of their patron. No need for concealment.
They were also certain that if Ezra, Rhys, and Tej came, the Guardians wouldn’t have to hide themselves or plan for any concealment or strategy. Their intention would be a full-on battle that left no survivors.
She pushed away the cold racing down her spine.
Hard to fully judge time without a clock, but she guessed it to be about ten minutes since Page had left the room. Then, she got to work.
Though her hands were bound, she had enough movement in her arms to reach into her right pocket. They hadn’t searched her, believing her only defense would be from an obvious weapon—of which she had none. She’d dropped her pistol back when Page had hauled her onto his horse. Yet, she didn’t need a weapon.
From her pocket, she pulled out a length of thick cord. Charlie had always urged her to keep cording on her person at all times, and for that, she was grateful.
It wasn’t easy work, to tie a loop at each end of the cord when her hands were bound. Yet at Charlie’s insistence, she’d practiced many times before and thanked his diligence now. Her fingers moved quickly. She kept casting glances toward the door, yet the sentry outside maintained his position in the corridor and didn’t come in.
At last, she had loops tied at both ends of the cord. This next part was the most difficult. It had taken her many tries to master it when practicing.
The space between her hands was small, leaving little room for the cord, but she rubbed her palms together, urging the length of cording between her wrists. Finally, the looped end of the cord emerged, and she twisted her fingers to grab hold of it and pull, until the length of cord was half on one side of her hands, half on the other.
Carefully, quietly as she could to keep the chair from creaking beneath her, she lifted her feet. She took one loop of cord and hooked it around the toe of her shoe, before repeating the movement with the other.
It was an awkward position, her feet hovering in the air, her hands suspended just above them. Yet she clenched her stomach to maintain her balance. Then, she began to move.
She kicked her feet up and down in a sawing motion. This, too, she had to do as noiselessly as possible, and she winced when the chair shifted beneath her. She paused, but the guard remained outside.
She resumed the movement, as though she was quickly working the pedals of a pipe organ. Up and down. As she did, the cording rubbed against the rope binding her wrists. Both cord and rope grew hot, and she bared her teeth as the heat singed her skin. Yet she didn’t relent.
In increments, the cord wore away at the rope, cutting through the thick hemp. Until, at last, her hands snapped apart as the rope broke.
Pulling the remains of her bindings from her wrists, she permitted herself a bare moment to touch her chafed and burned skin.
