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Foster’s gaze grew cold and he straightened his shoulders. “I’m not a fool. I know you only proposed to her out of spite, because you were cut from the will.”
“A will you forged.”
His cousin’s lips twitched and color returned to his cheeks, great red splotches. The tell Demeter unlocked. “I did no such thing.”
“You’re lying, Foster. I know your tell now.”
“I will go and get her.” Foster motioned to the butler. “Fetch my dueling pistol.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Blake stepped in front of his cousin.
“You cannot find her without me.” Foster’s smug expression made Blake tighten his fists until his knuckles hurt. He swore when this was all over, he was going to do everything he could to tear Foster’s life apart. “You don’t deserve her, Blake. Lady Demeter is something so, so...” He sighed. “Special. You and the foolish members of thetoncould not even see what was right in front of you.”
“And I suppose a fraud is so much better for her.”
“I would treat her like the special woman that she is.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Now tell me where she is or I’ll reveal you to everyone for what you are.”
“How will you? You have no proof.”
“It’s only a matter of time, Foster.” He inched closer, keeping his voice low. “Maybe days, maybe weeks, but I will ensure your entire story is picked apart until everyone knows you are a liar and a cheat. Your big house and wealth will mean nothing. All those fine friends you’ve so recently found will abandon you. You’ll be finished.” He gave a sinister smile. “Back to your lonely life away from Society.”
Foster’s gaze flitted back and forth until he dropped his head. “Fine. I shall tell you where they are. But this remains our secret.”
“Fine.” If his cousin frittered away everything his Aunt owned, he did not care at this point and he was fairly certain Aunt Iris would have agreed. To save the woman he loved, he would make any sacrifice necessary.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Blinking in the sudden daylight, Demeter suppressed the nausea lurching its way up her throat. A large warehouse towered overhead and she heard the clanking and creaking of ships nearby. The man who had carried her to the wagon snatched the long rope around her wrists and used it to pull her to the edge of the vehicle. Her wrists burned and her joints ached as she tried to pull back, digging her shoes into the wooden base but he yanked her hard, forcing her to flop forwards. Her chin smacked into the wood and she cried out.
“Just behave,” he told her, “and then you won’t get hurt.”
“She’s a bloody handful this one. Thought she was meant to be a lady,” the other man muttered.
Her retort was lost to the filthy cloth bound about her mouth. She half-stumbled, half limped across the docks toward a smaller building at the side of the warehouse. Every inch of her throbbed painfully from the bumpy journey here.
Despite the increasing warmth of the day, a shiver travelled through her at the sight of more men loitering around the building. She gasped, spying the huge man she’d spotted waiting for Mr. Foster in the tavern what seemed like ages ago.
“Put her over there,” he ordered and the two men dragged her toward the edge of the building and tied the rope through a metal loop intended for the horses. She bit back a cry when the ropes chafed the sensitive skin of her wrists and they pulled it so tight, she could do nothing but lean awkwardly against the brickwork.
Her legs trembled and her heart had not ceased pounding since they’d grabbed her. She longed to drop to the ground and regain her strength but how could she even escape? There were five men by her count and most of them built like giants. All she could think to do was to force herself to keep taking deep breaths and hope someone would happen upon her.
The leader gestured to two of the men and she watched the exchange, able to make out some orders to go stand guard somewhere. The two who had grabbed her were told to guard her, then he gestured to the final two to accompany him. She made out the word Foster and talk of payment but he turned his back before she could figure out what his intentions were.
The two left guarding her shared a smoke, their backs to her, giving her no chance to try to plead with them, even if the cloth about her mouth would let her. Her tongue was dry and her cheeks hurt from where the fabric cut into her skin. She couldn’t find a single part of her that did not hurt.
She hung her head for a few moments, then imagined Blake. Would he know she was missing? Would he be worried for her? She should have just agreed to marry him—they could have even eloped and be wed and she would not have even been here and none of this would have happened. She would be waking in his arms, blissfully content, feeling like the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world.
Feeling as though she deserved him.
Blast, it hadn’t been excitement she’d been looking for. It had been something else—something she found with Blake. If only she’d snatched up the chance to take it. Now she could die here and never be his wife. What an utter waste.
Demeter tugged on the ropes and the ring clattered against the brick. One of the men twisted, rolled his eyes at her movement, and turned his back to her. She shook it again, more vigorously this time. Perhaps she could work the ropes loose or even the ring. It did not look to be held in that securely.
“Stop that,” the large man ordered.
Eyeing him, she deliberately clanged the metal again and again, harder and harder.
