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With a choke of laughter he hauled Phoebe up by a hank of hair to taunt, “You thought I loved you once and by God it was amusing to see you beg for crumbs of my regard when you were nothing to me! And then I killed your husband for you and what thanks do I get? You thought you’d escape me, did you?”
Coughing and spluttering, Phoebe cried out in terror while Hugh lunged at Wentworth, raising his heel to bring down upon Wentworth’s fingers. The other man just laughed and found another metal spike to hold, slamming Phoebe’s head against the side of the landing before dragging it beneath the water once more.
“Watch your whore die, Redding!” he shouted. “And then I’ll come after your sister since she knows my secret, too.” Wentworth laughed again while Hugh’s stomach curdled at the blood that had streaked his beloved’s forehead before she’d been pulled under again.
Desperately, he searched about him for a weapon of sorts. Hugh was still holding down Phoebe’s head. Time was running out. Every time Hugh tried to deliver a blow to Wentworth’s fingers, he deftly moved his hand and bobbed just out of reach to cling to the boat which was secured by a yard of mooring rope.
There was no other way than to do as Phoebe had done and hope he were as lucky in his timing to catch Wentworth by surprise. Hugh was not a strong swimmer but he would rather die trying to save Phoebe than watch her life snuffed out in front of his eyes.
With a great roar of fury he launched himself into the inky abyss of fast-running water.
His speed and accuracy caught Wentworth by surprise and as Hugh’s spread-eagled body covered his, he let out a bellow of shocked anger before they all dipped below the murky depths.
21
Blackness swirled about Phoebe’s frantically open eyes. She’d accepted long ago that she was going to die.
But she’d not expected it to be by Wentworth’s own hand in the icy waters of the River Thames.
Still, she was not going to give in without a struggle, so even though her lungs were fit to burst as he toyed with her, dragging her head up to taunt her before plunging her down again, she kicked and flailed with all her might.
When she caught the back of his hand with her teeth, he hit her head against the side of something hard and what little orientation she had left almost deserted her.
So, this would be it. This would be the moment she’d lose consciousness and it would all be over. She’d go to her maker and he’d pass judgement on her sins.
The fact that it wouldn’t be the magistrate, Lord Coulson, influenced by Wentworth’s poison, who’d consign her to eternity, was some consolation, though, regardless, she was not yet ready to die.
But then, some large and unexpected object landed in the water beside her. She felt Wentworth’s grip release suddenly at the same time as she was thrust even deeper. Legs and arms appeared to be flailing all around her, the water seething and frothing while her vision blackened.
Yet there was still strength in her.
Struggling, she broke the surface, gasping for air and instantly was swept up by the current, borne swiftly away from her nemesis, the hateful Wentworth, but away, too, from the man she loved, who had saved her and who may this moment be facing his own death.
Phoebe had quite lost all sense of orientation by the time she was brought up short. She was wedged against a large pylon holding up a jetty further down the river, she discovered, as she used her final reserves of strength to cling to the first anchor point that presented itself.
With her skirts and petticoats dragging her down, it was an effort almost beyond her meagre reserves to extricate herself and pull herself onto shore. There she lay, panting with exertion for several minutes, before she staggered to her feet.
At first she couldn’t even tell from which direct
ion she’d come. And then, shading her eyes, she saw in the far distance, near the water’s edge just where she’d left them, the shadows and frothing waters that indicated two fighting men.
Stumbling towards them, gasping in sustaining breaths and exhaling on chocking sobs, she tripped on a piece of detritus, an old driftwood plank that she had barely strength enough to lift.
At last, she reached the point where Hugh and Wentworth were trying to strangle each other in the muddy waters.
They were well matched, and their snarls and oaths curdled her blood. Summoning up a final burst of energy, Phoebe raised the plank into the air and brought it down hard, crushing the sneering face of the man who had tried so hard to kill her first.
Exhausted, she fell backwards, staring at the sky, until a shadow fell across her face.
Perhaps this was the moment she would die.
Instead, Hugh dropped to the ground beside her and gathered her in his arms.
“By God, you are a remarkable woman,” he muttered into her ear before he kissed her.
22
A ferry took them downriver where they transferred to a coach for the journey to the channel. Wrapped warmly in a hooded black cloak and other concealing clothing Hugh had organized, Phoebe surrendered without too many questions to what was being done on her account. Then she’d surrendered to sleep.
