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Thus scampering out of town with Piers’s money? I don’t think so. “Why the hurry?” she teased, as she often had. “I suppose you are pockets to let again?”
He grinned, quite in his usual way. “Well yes. But the thing is, I’ve persuaded my father to give me the run of one of the estates, and I’d like to see what I can make of it for next year. I was talking to Petteril about what he’s done on his estates and—”
“Oh?” April interrupted. “When was that?”
Darcy scratched his head. “Can’t remember, to be honest. I just know what he said.”
He was very good at this. No one would have supposed him to be anything other than he appeared. And yet he was making her take her husband’s money to Seven Dials in return for his release. And threatening to repeat the offence indefinitely. What kind of a monster was he?
Darcy leaned forward. “To be honest, Lady Petteril,” he said seriously. “I want you to think well of me.”
She didn’t know how she managed to stop her mouth from falling open. Her hand even twitched in her lap with the need to hit him—not even a short, sharp slap but a powerful smack that would knock him off his chair.
Trembling with the effort, she managed to say, “I wish you well, of course. You must excuse me now, however.”
She rose to her feet, suddenly afraid her legs would not carry her. Fortunately, he sprang up at once, bowing and apologizing as he hastily vacated the room to be escorted from the house by the waiting Francis.
No wonder Darcy had got away with this for so long. He was so damnably plausible... He might even have a different motive which was what truly froze her blood.
Perhaps Piers was right when he teased her that Darcy admired her. Perhaps it was more than admiration...
If Piers were dead, Darcy probably imagined he could, despite his parents’ inevitable objections to her low pedigree, marry April. He would thus have an immediate share in the settlements Piers had insisted on making on her, her lifetime rights to residence in all of the Petteril properties, and even in the guardianship of the tiny new Lord Petteril.
Which would mean Piers was wrong. They had no intention of letting him live, whether to be bled again or not. They meant to murder him.
***
PIERS, WITHOUT HIS window activities, found that the time dragged by painfully slowly. He could never have dealt with the sheer boredom of his captivity if it had all been like this...
But at least he spent more time listening to the noises in the house. April had said it was a cottage. He was at the back. She suspected his jailers lived at the front, behind shutters and thick net curtains. Not that anyone would poke into anyone else’s business around here. A blind eye to crime was necessary, even if one was not actually involved.
Occasionally, he heard the internal door open, and someone moved along the passage, possibly to the kitchen for food. The front door opened and closed a couple of times. At least once, it was someone coming in, for he heard the low-voiced greetings. But no one came near Piers as the sun moved with agonizing slowness away from his window.
His kidnappers would be watching quite carefully over the waste ground where April was supposed to leave the ransom money this evening. They could not leave it there for long in case someone else pinched it, but at the same time, they would be stupid to touch it if there was the slightest chance of being observed by the law.
The watch did not come into Seven Dials often. When the runners came, it was usually in force for a particular raid, so they would stand out like beacons. Piers prayed he had the timing right, and that everyone else would stick to it.
His hair stood on end at the thought of April walking alone through Seven Dials at twilight, carrying three thousand pounds. Around here, they would slit your throat for a pocket handkerchief. He kept telling himself that April knew her old world far better than he did, but it didn’t ease his worry. What if one of them followed her afterward, not to make sure she left Seven Dials but simply to kill her? Or decided to kill her as soon as she dropped the money?
His head began to pound as the potential disasters circled and echoed around his head.
His other concern was that his jailers would not come back to split their loot. They could just leave him here and go. In which case he could, of course, just climb out the window. But the ransom would be gone, they would be free, and Piers would still be vulnerable to repeat attacks that would keep diminishing his estate, his people’s prosperity, his son’s inheritance.
Despite April’s fears, he still doubted they would kill him. If they did, there was no point in this whole business of them pretending to be the same man and letting him know they were aware he could not identify them.
No, the more he thought about it, the more determined he grew. As soon as anyone left the house at half past seven, he would have to climb down and observe. And if they did not return to the cottage, he would just have to follow them.
Which he didn’t really want to do in his drawers and no boots. He wondered if he could beg, borrow or steal such items now, and return...
No, there was no time and he could not take the chance of being seen or blabbed about. He would just have to be flexible and adapt to events. In the meantime, he stared at his watch and walked up and down the room to keep his legs supple and ready.
At half past six, he heard the front door open and softly close. Footsteps padded into what he thought of as his jailers’ parlour; voices spoke. So, they were both here again.
He sat down on his blanket and strained his ears for the smallest sound. As far as he could tell, no one came out. At a quarter past seven, in case they visited him one last time, he poured the mugful of beer into the chamber pot and covered it with his cravat once more. If they got careless and left it there, it would serve as proof of his presence, though not of theirs.
He set the empty cup down in its place and sat down again, his heart beating a steady tattoo. April would be in Seven Dials by now, walking toward this very building. He wished he could see her, wished he could be sure of her safety...
It looked as if there would be no last supper for him. Or at least, not before they got their money...
