Daffin rubbed his jaw. Knowles. Quinton Knowles. That son of a bitch. Daffin had known that name since he was eleven years old.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Regina waited until she heard a heavy door open and close on a lower floor, likely a front door. Quinton had tried to drug her again, but she’d managed to hold the liquid in her mouth until he left the room, then she spat it on the floor. She’d heard him moving about the house for a while. She had no idea what he was doing, but he’d finally left. She’d waited at least an extra quarter hour to ensure he wasn’t coming back.
She used her teeth to gnaw at the ropes that bound her wrists. When that didn’t work, she managed to stand and hop to the candle Quinton had left burning on a stool by the door. She pulled her hands as far apart as she could and stuck the knot in the fire, waiting for its fibers to burn away, hoping it would fall off before it scorched her skin.
She suffered a minor burn, which she doused with the cup of water Quinton had left for her. Knowing she’d need her strength, she quickly choked down the dry, stale bread spread with jam that rested on a plate near her mattress. While sheate, she used her free hand to untie and pull off the ropes at her ankles. When she was finally free, she rushed to the door and tried it.
Locked.
She hurried to the nearest window and glanced outside. It had snowed over the last few days, the ground and rooftops covered in white. The window had a layer of ice on it. She peered down. She was on the second floor. It was a steep drop. She’d kill herself that way. Turning in a circle, she rushed to the only other window in the room. She glanced outside and breathed a sigh of relief. The roof on the porch of the adjoining house jutted out several feet below. She could make it.
She jiggled the window, hoping against hope that it would be open.
Locked. Drat.
The image of her time in the dining room at Mark and Nicole’s house with Daffin came roaring into her mind.“A skilled criminal can knock out a pane of glass with his hand if he knows what he’s doing.”Daffin had demonstrated, but the windows in Mark and Nicole’s town house had not been poorly made. Regina could only hope the windows in this dank house were flimsy. She knocked on the top of the lower pane with the heel of her hand.
Nothing.
Was it frozen in place? Swallowing her rising panic, she knocked again, angling her hand this time and using more force. The pane popped free, sliding down and out of the frame. Regina caught it quickly with both hands and lowered it to the wall below the window. Cold air rushed in to nip her bare skin. She shuddered but stuck her head out the window and breathed in fresh air for the first time indays. Even freezing air was welcome after the dankness of the room she’d been held in.
Woozy from both the drugs and several days’ inactivity, she prayed she would be able to navigate slipping through the window and jumping to the rooftop below without falling to her death. She held her breath and waited for a lone coach to pass. Otherwise, the street seemed deserted. She didn’t dare try to alert the neighbors. The area looked disreputable. For all she knew, the neighbors were aware Quinton kept people locked in this house and approved of it. She wasn’t about to trust her safety to a stranger. Not when everything was riding on her getting home to keep her family from more danger.
She didn’t dare get dressed before trying to climb about on rooftops. The clothing might impede her escape. Instead, she decided to drop her clothing out of the window and dress once she’d made it safely to the ground. She could only hope it was a decision she would not regret. She hurried to the pile of her clothing on the floor, gathered it into her arms, returned to the window, and leaned out as far as she could. Then she dropped it all in an ignominious heap into the snow below.
No turning back now. She took a deep breath and hoisted up her shift. She lifted a foot and stuck out her leg from the window. The cold air sliced across her bare skin. She lifted the other foot. Balancing on the windowpane on her derriere, she managed to turn backward onto her belly and dangle, her feet floating free in the freezing night.
A single glance down tightened her throat with panic. The drop to the rooftop seemed much more daunting now that she was dangling from a second-story window. Summoning all the courage she could muster, she shimmied out until onlyher hands gripped the windowpane, clutching for dear life. She closed her eyes briefly.
Regina’s feet were probably only a yard away from the top of the roof. She couldn’t hold on much longer. Now was probably not the best time to wonder if the neighbors’ roof was old and rotted. Would it hold? Or would she go crashing through it and land in a heap on their doorstep?
It didn’t matter. There was no way she could pull herself back up to the window. She had to take the chance.
She counted to three, closed her eyes again, and let go of the window frame. Her shift whooshed up around her thighs and she fell to the rooftop, banging her knee against it. But the rooftop held. It held. She said a silent prayer of thanksgiving as she crouched there, steadying herself on the balls of her feet, listening for any noise. There was only the haunting call of an owl in a nearby tree. She expelled her breath, trying to ignore the ice and snow burning her bare soles. She peered over the edge to see how awful the rest of the drop would be.
Thank heaven for small favors. A nice, fat hedge covered in fluffy snow sat underneath the rooftop to the side of the front door. Normally, the hedge would be nothing but sticks in winter, but the pile of snow made it look almost inviting. Regardless, it was the only choice she had. She pulled her shift as far down as it would go and lowered herself off the side of the roof, her fingertips clinging to the gutter just as they had the window. Her feet skimmed the snow on the top of the hedge when she let go.
What happened next was… uncomfortable. Very well, it was downright painful. But moments later, when she landed on the ground—having rolled there off the hedge—and assessed the damage, she was happy to find only bleedingscratches versus broken bones. She could live with bleeding scratches.
Now to keep from freezing to death.
She scrambled to her feet and located the pile of her clothing a few yards away. She grabbed up the gown first and tossed it over her head, pulling it down to cover herself. There was no way she could button it properly without help, but at the moment that was the least of her worries. Next, she pulled the pelisse over her already shaking shoulders. Her teeth were chattering. She didn’t bother with her stays, or stockings. They were too much trouble under the circumstances. Instead, she rolled them into a ball and stuffed them into the hedge. She smiled to herself. Whoever found them come spring would be in for a surprise.
She grabbed her boots and shoved them on her feet. Then she took off in the direction she’d seen the last carriage go, limping from the damage she’d done to her knee. The road had to lead somewhere, hopefully somewhere she recognized.
Nearly an hour later, she found herself back at the same intersection where she’d begun. Tears stung her eyes. She’d merely gone in a circle, and she didn’t recognize anything. She was hopelessly lost. The laudanum lingering in her body affected her more than she’d known. Her thinking wasn’t straight. She stood there, contemplating what she should do next. A hackney coach came rumbling down the street. A mixture of relief and sudden wooziness nearly crumpled her to the ground. She waved down the conveyance. She had no money in her pockets, but she would ask for help and pray he was kind. It was her last hope.
The man pulled the coach to a stop next to her. “Are ye all right, missus?”
“No,” she said, opening the door and using the last bit ofstrength she possessed to pull herself up and collapse onto the dirty floor of the conveyance. “Take me to the Marquess of Coleford’s house on Upper Brook Street.Please.”
“The Marquess of Coleford? Are ye certain that’s wot ye want, missus?” the man called to her. The poor driver sounded extremely skeptical that the bedraggled woman in the back of his coach had business with the Marquess of Coleford.
“Yes,” she managed to breathe before passing out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
