“Your judge and jury. Let’s go.” Heathcliff grabbed the footman by the back of his shirt and all but carried the lean man to the house.
“When the duke—”
“I don’t give a rat’s arse about the Duke of Chatterwood,” Heathcliff said, his blood chilling at the thought.
The man ceased his words and fought Heathcliff’s tight grip, but it was of no use.
Heathcliff pushed him forward, sending him sailing into the dirt. “Try that again, I dare you,” he threatened. “Get up. Move it, you leech.”
The footman stumbled forward as if to run, but Heathcliff was quicker. Reaching forward, he horse-collared the man and sent him flying backward. He landed in the darkness with a loud thud, the sound of air leaving his lungs in a loud swoosh.
“I’ve got all night and a bad temper, so please, do continue.” Heathcliff spoke in a politely detached tone before stalking toward the man still sprawled in the dirt, gasping for the wind that had been knocked out of him.
“Are you going to cooperate, or do you wish me to continue toying with your efforts at escape?”
The footman rose to his knees, coughing. “What—” He froze.
Heathcliff realized he was facing the moon, which had served to illuminate his face to the man before him.
“Bloody hell,” the man whispered.
“Both can be arranged. Now up,” he commanded.
The footman reluctantly rose to his feet, and Heathcliff could hear him swallow. Just to be sure he wouldn’t try to escape again, he grabbed the back of his shirt, pushing the man forward, toward the servants’ entrance.
When they reached the door, he kept a firm hold on the man, wary of him making a desperate mistake. Inside, there would be several candlesticks and other blunt utensils one could wield as a weapon, if necessary. He’d like to avoid that if possible. It was one thing to engage in fisticuffs outside in the open, but inside his house . . . well, he’d rather not alert Mrs. Keyes . . . yet.
“Down the hall,” Heathcliff whispered, keeping his tone menacing yet quiet as they made their way to the servants’ hall and toward the kitchens. There was a storage room just beyond it that had always reminded him of a dungeon. Kilmarin wasn’t rustic enough to boast its own prison, but that storage room would suffice in a pinch.
Once he passed the kitchen, he counted three doors in the hall and then opened the one that led to the storage room. After unlatching the door, he shoved the man inside, then shut it. Thankfully the old room bolted from the outside. For that reason, Mrs. Keyes had never let him play in it as a lad, much to his disappointment. But he found the mechanism supremely helpful at the moment.
He made sure the latch was secure and backed up as the footman rammed his body into the door on the other side, as if trying to break through it.
“Your body will break before the door will, lad,” Heathcliff said. “Your punishment has only just begun.”
He grinned at the truth of his statement, then started asking questions.
And as the answers poured forth, his grin faded, then disappeared.
Because he realized he was about to get everything he wanted.
And nothing he deserved.
