Page 18 of When the Duke Met His Match

He didn’t want to admit it, but he hated seeing her there, rotting away rather than giving up her comrades. It felt like an instinct to protect her. He knew he was playing with fire.

When Odette refused to speak once more with her arms crossed over her chest, slumped in the chair, he had no choice but to call the guard in.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he murmured, hoping his gentle tone would soothe her into spilling the names.

But she only looked at the floor, not moving beyond breathing. Her eyes were vacant and eerie.

Sighing, he stood and left the guard to take her back to her cell.

More and more of the interrogations began unfolding the same way, and Theophilus didn’t feel any closer to naming those bandits and having them arrested.

Dread crawled down his neck the moment he thought about the debrief. Each time he let his superiors in on what they had accomplished, he received more grunts and sighs rather than words of encouragement.

It seemed Odette’s despair was contagious among the officers.

Theophilus reached Lieutenant Wright’s office and found only him there. It was either a blessing or a bad sign, and there was no way of knowing beforehand.

Wright lifted his attention as he walked in and closed the door behind him.

“There you are,” the lieutenant said, flashing only a small smile of greeting. “Please have a seat, Clough. Give me the rundown.”

Speaking to him about Odette was the last thing Theophilus wanted to do. Even so, he did as he was told and sat in the chair across from his superior’s desk.

He released a deep breath and folded his hands in his lap.

“Are you making any progress with her?” Wright asked, brow raised curiously.

Making the opposite of progress would be more accurate, Theophilus silently sulked to himself.

“Yes. It is slow progress, but I want her to trust me first before I use any hard-hitting questions.”

Lieutenant Wright’s gaze lingered on him as he nodded slowly, then he released a sigh. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “We might not have enough time for that. I’m afraid her deportation is being pushed as we speak.”

Panic pricked the surface of Theophilus’ skin, and his stomach dropped. “But she hasn’t gone through trial yet.”

The lieutenant shook his head absently. “It’s either that or the gallows. It would spare her parents the grief.”

“Spare them?” Theophilus questioned, skin running hot with the rise of his temper. “It’s unfair and unjust! She hasn’t been able to plead her case.”

He seemed to register his offer’s irritation, but Wright looked just as defeated. “The war has raged on for years, and people aren’t as forgiving as they were in the past. The system no longer tolerates traitors; that is exactly how she would be marked in our society. People lost too much in the war.”

“The system is at fault then,” he returned, jaw clenched. “Odette has done nothing wrong.”

“Not everyone would agree with you, I fear.”

“Would we have done the same to someone who was helping our cause?” Theophilus asked furiously, his eyes full of rage.

He could hardly contain his anger with the slight tremor of his hands.

Criminals who had done far worse than she ever had were given the chance to go through trial and plead their case. They were tried fairly and given the punishments they deserved.

Although, he had a sinking feeling she would be dealt worse if it did go to trial.

It was more than that, however. His anger exceeded the lack of trial and the unfair decision to ship her away. It was the fact that Odette would be set off before he could truly get through her defensive walls.

The lieutenant took a deep breath and leaned against his solid desk. His eyes spoke of his sincerity. “You’re right, but there’s not much I can do about it. This call isn’t mine—it’s out of my hands.”

Another wave of anger coursed through Theophilus, but he took a moment to collect himself before he spoke with a softer tone. “Please, Lieutenant. Just give me more time to get to her. She’ll give me the names.”