Page 86 of How to Best a Marquess

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ellie found herself thrust against a rough brick wall in the back alley of the jeweler’s shop. She struggled wildly and reached out with her free hand to strike her captor, but her blow missed and knocked his beaver hat to the ground.

Shocked, she stared into Baron Willoughby’s cold eyes.

“You!” she cried out.

He leaned close, and his expression twisted into a sneer. “Yes, me.” Spittle splattered into her face and she cringed.

“Unhand me!”

His low growl made gooseflesh rise on her arms. “I warned you once. Now I want the truth.”

Fear knotted inside her, and she struggled to keep panic from her voice. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Release me. Now!”

“Not until you tell me where my wife is.”

“Your wife? I don’t know.”

“Do not lie to me, bitch. Or I’ll kill you first, then hunt down your sister and gut her like a fish.”

Sheer black fright swept through her. The rough brick of the building bit into her back. Her thin pelisse was no shield. If any harm befell Olivia, Ellie would never forgive herself.

The baron’s meaty hand squeezed her throat and cut off her air supply. She clawed at his hand, but he was too big, too strong. Within seconds, Ellie saw spots. Then, just as suddenly, he released his grip. She gasped and took in great gulps of air. His hand stayed on her throat, an ominous threat that he could tighten his fingers and limit her air supply at any moment.

He scoffed. “You have spirit. My wife didn’t last as long.”

She hated him with a passion. Hugh was right. Baron Willoughby was mad. And a madman was highly dangerous.

She had to act. Quickly. Time was of the essence. All he cared about was finding his wife and he was at the end of his tether. “I’ll tell you where Lady Willoughby is, but you must release me.”

“One scream and your sister is as good as dead,” he warned.

She didn’t doubt him. Her mind whirled as she thought of how to fight him, how to escape. She didn’t have a weapon…or did she?

“I wrote your wife’s location on a piece of foolscap,” she said. “She is staying with an elderly matron. The information you seek is in my reticule.”

His square jaw tightened. “Get it.”

Her reticule dangled from her wrist. She loosened the silk drawstrings and reached inside to remove the piece of cloth that covered the tip of the recently purchased letter opener. Her thumb tested its sharpness.

Thank you, Olivia.

With a flash of silver, she withdrew it and stabbed him in the side of the neck.

His howl of fury filled the alley, and he released his grip to clutch his injured neck. Not wasting a second, Ellie dashed toward the back door of the jeweler’s shop, threw it open, and ran smack into a hard, impregnable body. She screamed.

“Ellie!”

Hugh.

Her relief was short lived when she glanced over her shoulder. “Look out!”

The baron was in pursuit. Hugh thrust her behind him and struck the man in the jaw. Baron Willoughby fell back, tripped on a discarded alley crate, and crashed to the ground. A spurt of blood splattered against the alley wall.

Together, they approached to find that the letter opener had lodged fully into the baron’s neck, killing him.

…