‘Don’t you worry your grace,’ wheezed the Reverend cheerfully. ‘Freddy’s here. He’s currently in the carriage guarding Admiral Atwood.’
‘Do you know where the priest hole is hidden?’ Nicholas questioned Benjamin Atwood without preamble once the man been freed from the trunk and brought inside. Clearly in pain, the Admiral did not immediately answer the Duke’s question as his eyes sought out those of his son. Though unable to speak, Henry’s gaze glittered with unmistakeable hatred as he stared back at his father.
‘I don’t know where it is,’ responded the Admiral, finally tearing his gaze away from his son’s blatant loathing. ‘I never came here after Gabriel’s mother died.’
‘Your trollop, you mean,’ spat out Henry from behind the gag.
Adam raised his eyebrows. ‘Clearly your mouth securing methods require a little work,’ he murmured to Roan.
‘Unquestionably a lack of practice,’ came the grim response.
‘What does he mean byyour trollop?’ barked Nicholas to the Admiral who by this time was swaying on his feet.
‘Would it be an idea to get him a chair?’ asked Grace with a small cough. Her voice was so diffident, that she drew incredulous looks from both her father and her husband. Indeed, it couldn’t be denied that her subservient tone was entirely dissimilar to her usual inclination. However, once she’d been assured of her husband’s continued health, Grace had deemed it wise to avoid raising his ire even further given that hishealthmost definitely extended to his temper.
Glaring at his errant wife, Nicholas grabbed a chair and commanded the Admiral to sit on it. ‘Speak,’ he ordered, clearly coming to the end of what little patience remained.
‘Gabriel is my son,’ whispered Benjamin Atwood brokenly, ‘and Henry knows it.’
There was a deafening silence as the implications of the Admiral’s words sank in.
‘Thunder an’ turf,’ breathed the Reverend first.
‘Does Gabriel know?’ demanded Nicholas wondering how the hell they were going to break it to him.
Nicholas bent over their chuckling prisoner and dragged down his gag. ‘Does Gabriel know?’ he ground out.’
Henry laughed out loud, almost choking on his mirth. ‘He didn’t take it well,’ he mocked sadly.
‘I’m finished with him,’ declared the Duke in disgust, standing back up.
‘So how the deuce did you think you could help?’ demanded Grace, momentarily forgetting her decision to remain submissively in the background.
Admiral Atwood looked up at her, his face strangely serene. ‘Like this,’ he murmured, suddenly reaching inside his coat and pulling out a pistol. Before anyone could react, he abruptly stood, calmly pointed the gun at his son and fired, before turning the pistol and using the second barrel on himself.
Chapter Twenty Six
Gabriel could see their gaoler was becoming increasingly skittish as the minutes went by, mainly because the man kept glancing over his shoulder towards the door as though somehow his checking would materialise his employer out of thin air.
Both Gabriel and Hope remained standing but the Viscount dared make no sudden movements on account of the pistol still pointing steadily at them. John made no attempt at conversation but in the flickering light, Gabriel could clearly see the sweat begin to gather on the thug’s brow and feared that sooner rather than later the man would risk Henry’s wrath, shoot them both and be done with it. He was trapped, every bit as much as they were, with no one knowing his whereabouts except his master and two associates.
Silently, Gabriel calculated the distance between them and their abductor. Could he cover the ten feet separating them before the man had time to aim properly and shoot? If he did so, he would undoubtedly be risking Hope’s life as well as his own. Drawing the ruffian’s fire towards himself would most certainly leave Hope’s life forfeit if John managed to get off a lucky shot.
His thoughts went round and round in his head and meanwhile he was well aware that his companion was also becoming increasingly distressed.
Hope did not dare move. She felt as though she was in some kind of hellish realm with the flickering light from the lantern on the floor competing with the lamp hanging from the wall. Shadows danced and weaved with the flames causing their assailant to come in and out of focus in an almost demonic fashion.
Trying her best to stifle her rising hysteria, Hope glanced over at Gabriel who clearly could not risk taking his eyes off their gaoler. She dared not even squeeze his hand lest it take his attention away from the pistol pointing straight at them. Her heart was thudding erratically, increasing in tempo along with her panic. Dear God, they were both going to die. She wasn’t ready to die…
Suddenly, shockingly, there was a muffled gunshot, followed almost immediately by another. John started slightly, but for a couple of seconds did nothing. Then, clearly coming to a decision, he gave a telling half step forward and raised his arm slightly.
Heart slamming, Gabriel knew he had to act, but before he had chance to move, the most deafening noise he’d heard in his entire life suddenly shook the chamber they were in.
‘WE’RE DOWN HERE, HEEEELP…’
Fortunately, despite almost having an apoplexy, Gabriel had in fact heard Hope shout before, though he didn’t recall it being quite so ear splitting. Not so their gaoler. As the thunderous racket reverberated around the chamber, he instinctively began to crouch, clearly thinking something calamitous was happening. The Viscount needed no further urging. Letting go of Hope’s hand, he sprang forward, taking the henchman entirely by surprise. As the ruffian began to lift his hand defensively, Gabriel knocked the pistol out of the man’s hand and drawing back his arm planted a facer that would have made Gentleman Jack proud. Indeed, his punch was so hard their assailant sailed backwards and crashed against the door, his head hitting the wood with a sickening thud.
Gabriel stood over the brute's prone body panting and shaking his throbbing hand as Hope sobbed softly behind him. Then bending down, he checked for a pulse but found none. Unbelievably, their gaoler was dead.
