He walked around the perimeter of the room, running his hand along the walls. What he couldn’t see, he would feel. The slightest bump or space would reveal what he sought—the hidden door the devil had used.
Disappointment churned along with his building frustration, as the space held no secrets to share.
Then he remembered the locked bedroom door. Either the bedroom or her dressing room had to possess a way to a concealed passage. It made sense. Many townhouses contained such an arrangement so the servants could move about and tend to their duties with as little bother to their employers as possible, unseen and unheard as they carried out their master or mistress’s every whim.
The bedroom walls proved as solid and unyielding as the adjoining sitting room. He lit a fresh candle and headed for the dressing room but halted before passing through the door. Was that a poorly matched seam in the vibrant blue and white willow tree pattern decorating the walls above the solid white wainscoting?
Bringing the light closer, he discovered the seam perfectly met where the wood panels abutted each other. This was the door. He shoved against it. It gave the slightest bit but failed to open into the space on the other side. Friedrich had either blocked it or the thing had jammed. Or perhaps, rather than swing into the space, it somehow opened out into the room and could then be pulled shut again from inside the passage.
With a careful, bouncing shove, the jib door clicked, then opened enough to be pulled out the rest of the way.
He entered the musty space and paused, listening for the slightest hint of a sound. Holding the candle high, he noted it was in fact a passage and not merely extra storage or a priest hole for safe hiding. In white paint that had dripped and run down the wall was a circle with a cross extending out of its bottom rim. Friedrich had marked the door with the gender symbol for the female. Apparently, the footman was more educated than he let anyone know.
Elias crouched and shined the light on the floor. Scuffed marks cut through the dust, creating fresh tracks that revealed the bastard had gone this way. No one had used the passage until recently—until Friedrich.
Elias straightened and stared into the darkness the lone candle fought to illuminate. He needed a weapon before he gave chase. A frustrated huff escaped him. His double-barrel flintlock, a gift from a slightly dubious client, had yet to be moved to the townhouse, since he had not thought to need it anytime soon. He strode back into the bedroom in search of something else to use for defense besides his fists.
The iron poker on the hearth held promise. He snatched it up and rushed back into the passage. His Celia would be back in his arms before this day ended.
Chapter Sixteen
Celia bit harderinto the cloth knotted between her teeth. Out of breath from kicking, thrashing, and trying to scream through the gag, she glowered at Friedrich. She took great pride in the deep, bloody scratches she had raked down his face, and only wished she had clawed him more. It was her sincerest hope his wounds would be clearly visible from the gallows, so all would know that Lady Cecilia Tuttcliffe relinquished nothing without a fight.
The sorry blackguard had the audacity to wink at her. “Our children will be fierce.” He hooked a finger in a jug and drank before stowing it back into the shadows at the foot of the cot he had unceremoniously dumped her on, then lashed her to when she tried to escape.
“As soon as you see reason, I will remove the ropes and gag.” He scooted a short barrel closer to the wooden crate beside the bed and sat on it. A sputtering tallow candle gave out very little light in the tight, dingy space that looked as though it had been carved out of the earth with a spade. It had to be a root cellar or some such storage, considering it had a wooden door embedded in the wall between a pair of massive timber braces.
“All your money will be mine, and you will too.” He thumped his chest and smiled. “The wife I deserve. I will be the real duke instead of that fairytale man you and your mother made up.”
Was he actually that great of a fool? To think he would become the duke by marrying her? Celia looked away. She couldn’t stand the sight of the vile scrub any longer. At least he had allowed her to sit with her back against the wall before lashing her wrists to the cot’s corners.
And thankfully, he had wound the rope over her legs and under the cot, starting at the ankles and securing it all the way up to her waist before knotting it to the frame. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he appeared to have no intention of forcing himself upon her.
She almost gagged at the thought. Bile rose and burned in the back of her throat, which was already raw from trying to make herself heard through the gag. A scuffling sound, like the scratching of tiny claws somewhere in the shadows, made her draw into herself as much as the ropes allowed.
“Rats.” Friedrich tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his shirt, wet it with whatever liquid the jug held, and dabbed it against his bleeding face. From the way he cringed, the container contained some form of alcohol.
She hoped it burned like the dickens. “I hate you!” she slowly forced through the gag, exaggerating every syllable so he couldn’t fail to understand her.
The fool laughed. He pulled a long-bladed dagger from his boot and threw it at the dirt floor in some sort of ridiculous, repetitious game. “You will learn to love me as I love you.” He retrieved the blade then pointed it at her. “I have loved you since I first saw you all those years ago.” He threw out his chest. “You should thank me. I protect you now from a man unworthy of you.” His expression shifted to one that gave her chills. “You will either share your wealth and learn to love me as your husband, or I will have you hanged for…” He frowned as though unable to remember the word. “Fraud,” he said with a victorious dip of his chin. “Yes. That is what he shouted at you that day when I tried to save you, and you sent me away instead of him.”
She fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. She would die in this hole or at the end of a rope before she gave herself to this mad devil.
He returned to throwing his knife to make it stick straight up in the ground. “You will discover I am a patient man,” he said. “I can wait as long as it takes for you to realize I am the one for you. My father taught me that women never know what is best until a man shows them.” He nodded and threw his knife again. “You will see.”
Celia turned her face away from him again. The greasy smoke of the sputtering candle gave her an idea. Friedrich claimed to love her. If he truly did, in his own irrational way, then surely he would remove the gag if she acted as though she were choking. Then if she lied and agreed to marry him, he would bring her up out of this hole, and she could make her escape. Or scream. Or both. Whatever it took to help Elias come to her rescue.
Because Elias would save her. She knew that with every fiber of her being. Her only concern washowFriedrich intended to marry her. What if the crazed fool thought committing the carnal act would make them husband and wife? She shuddered at that possibility.
“You are cold?” Friedrich rose. The low ceiling of the dank room forced him to bend slightly. He unrolled a blanket from the foot of the bed and tucked it up around her shoulders. “Better?”
She closed her eyes and turned her face away, frustration making her grind her teeth harder into the cloth.
“You are stubborn.” Taking hold of her chin, he forced her to face him. “I am more stubborn. We will stay here as long as it takes.”
Celia silently damned him to the hottest level of hell.
Friedrich pried open the small keg he had used as a seat and pulled out a cloth sack. From its depths, he pulled a half-eaten crust of bread that he must have rescued from the scrap bin. He wafted it under her nose. “You do not eat or drink until you are my wife. Understand?”
