Page 81 of How to Capture a Duke

“Shut up! Or else I’ll gag you.”

“I will not,” Olivia cried out with more bravado than she felt. “You must turn this coach around at once.”

“I warned you to stop speaking.” Spencer’s eyes took on an ominous sheen as he reached into his coat to remove a handkerchief.

She realized his intent a second too late. She struggled and managed to kick him in his shin and was rewarded with a grunt, but he was larger, more powerful, and she cried out as he pinned her down with his weight on the carriage bench, her arms trapped beneath her. He shoved the handkerchief in her mouth then tied the ends of the cotton behind her head. She tried to pull the gag out, but he held her wrists with one hand, and she was helpless to remove it.

Leaning close, his foul breath brushed her ear. “Don’t worry. My driver is loyal to me, and no one will know of your plight. We’re almost there, and this will be over soon enough.”

Fear and anger knotted inside her, and she glared at him with hatred. Moments later, the carriage halted. He dragged her from the carriage, and the foul stench of the river filled her nostrils. The tall masts of ships were illuminated by a crescent moon, and she realized they were at the London docks. It had started to rain, and a low fog hung in the air like a heavy blanket. Without a cloak and hood, her face and clothes quickly became wet. She shivered, not just from the cold, but from fear. He pushed her onward, and she spotted the outlines of large warehouses, all shuttered and dark from the outside like ominous sentinels.

Rain soaked her dress, and her hair became plastered to her scalp and dripped in wet cords around her face. The cracks between the cobblestones were filled with rainwater, and her satin slippers soon became saturated. Wild-eyed, she scanned the area in hopes to find someone, anyone, who might be able to aid her. She spotted a shadowy figure on the docks through the fog, but it disappeared as they came close, and she knew the docks were full of criminals, thieves, and cutthroats this late at night.

Spencer halted by one of the warehouses. A padlock secured the large wooden doors. “All along I’d thought my warehouse a bad investment, but I had no idea how wonderfully convenient it would become until you shared your joyous news of the baby with me tonight.” He withdrew a key from his coat pocket and inserted it into the lock.

The heavy doors opened, and he thrust her inside and closed the doors behind them. It was pitch-black. The air was colder than outside, and she began to shiver anew, both from the temperature and her fear. The strong smell of straw and sawdust permeated the space.

At last, he released her hands, and she immediately withdrew the gag from her mouth. She coughed and swallowed, her throat dry and hoarse, her lips cracked.

“Don’t bother screaming,” he said. “No one will hear you in here.”

She heard the scuffle of his boots on the floorboards then the sound of a match striking a rough surface, and then she squinted at the bright light of the lamp Spencer held in his raised hand. Her eyes adjusted to the limited light. Wooden crates were scattered around the warehouse, many nailed shut, but others opened and stuffed with straw. In other areas, crates were piled ten high.

“Move.” He shoved her in the back when she didn’t start fast enough.

She was amazed at the size of the warehouse. It had not appeared that large from the outside, but it had been dark, and she hadn’t walked around the perimeter of the structure. They walked for a while before reaching the back of the cavernous building. He led her into a small windowless room with a door. The space was bare except for an old desk in the corner and a few more crates piled next to it and coils of different-sized ropes hanging from hooks on the wall. She imagined a clerk behind the desk maintaining ledgers of all the goods coming into and leaving the warehouse.

“You own this massive warehouse full of crates of goods. You do not need the dukedom,” Olivia said.

“Like I said, my investments have taken a turn for the worse. And the dukedom is worth far more than this,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the place.

“Perhaps better supervision would have prevented your losses.”

“Shut up, or I shall put the gag back in place.”

She licked her cracked lips. She didn’t want the gag back. What use was it to argue with him anyway? He was insane.

Spencer dragged one of the crates into the center of the room. “Sit.” He pushed her down by her shoulder then removed one of the ropes hanging from the wall and tightly bound her hands.

Her panic heightened as the coarse rope bit into her wrists. All thoughts to remain silent fled. “This is madness! Tristan will learn of this. My siblings will as well. Release me and they may show you pity.”

“I said to be quiet!”

In desperation, she tried a new tactic. Maybe she could plead to his human side, the side of cousin and friend. She bit her lower lip as she looked up at him. “We were friends once. At least tell me what you plan. Please.”

Some of the tension eased from his face. “Criminals are cheap to hire. I shall not even have to do anything myself. You will drown, my dear. Your bloated body will be found days later, washed ashore, your throat slit by the dangerous thieves of London.”

All thoughts to appeal to his sympathies fled as sheer black fright swept through her. “You are a coward and cannot do the foul deed yourself!”

He shrugged, apparently unbothered by her taunt. “I will oversee it.”

“No one will believe it. Tristan won’t.”

He knelt down until his face was level with hers. His eyes were icy cold and frightful. “Oh, he will. You made sure of it, Olivia, when you packed your bags and left Keswick Hall.”

…

Tristan felt a sense of urgency he hadn’t felt in years as he pounded on the front door of the large home in Berkeley Square. Moments later, a butler with a military bearing and sour expression opened the door.