Page 48 of Only Pleasure Will Do

“You may scream or shout as much as you wish now,” the earl said as he climbed out of the carriage. “There’s no one to hear you for five miles or more.”

Amorina concentrated on her breathing, which had been seriously impeded by the gag for the past hours. When the carriage had stopped at the Berkeley Street house for Redmond to disembark, his parting words to his father had been the suggestion of the gag, which Edgemont had had his coachman carry out immediately. “My son’s idea is sound. I don’t wish to call attention to our journey, nor do I want to hear two hours of begging and pleading, or even worse, vulgar invective.”

After Redmond’s sordid lies about the death of Lord and Lady Dalbury and their poor infant son, no amount of begging or pleading would’ve induced Lord Edgemont to spare her life. He held her solely responsible for the death of his godson—the death so gruesomely detailed in the morning’s broadsheet it had even made her squeamish when Redmond read it aloud to his father. She’d tried to protest her innocence and had earned a slap from Redmond that had rocked her head back on her neck. Both men had made it abundantly clear that she was being delivered to the country for a very private execution.

So she’d spent part of the silent journey thinking of all the nasty things she’d call him if she could. The rest of the time she thought about Pearl and how she wouldn’t see her grow into the beautiful woman she knew her daughter would someday become. How she wouldn’t be there to protect her from men like the Sir Peters and Tommy Redmonds of the world. Pray God, Reginald would do those things for her.

Reginald. She so wished they’d had more time together. At least she hoped he’d remember what little they’d shared as fondly as she did.

When she could breathe normally, she slid over to the open door and slithered to the ground. She would not go to her death without some sort of fight. She owed that to Pearl, to Reginald. Striding over to Lord Edgemont, who stood watching his men as they assembled some sort of structure, she once again tried to explain to him that Lord Dalbury was not dead. “My lord, I wish you would listen to me. I swear to you, Lord Dalbury and all his family are alive and well. They are at Lord Manning’s house this moment, awaiting my return.”

The man turned a withering glance on her. “I do not take kindly to liars, Madam Vestry.”

“I am not lying, my lord. Your son…” His lordship would not believe the truth about his son. Not from her, anyway. Still, she would make him hear it. “Your son is the one who sought revenge on Lord Dalbury and his family for the wound Lady Dalbury gave him last summer. A year ago March, he had me working as his accomplice to destroy Lord Dalbury’s reputation and blackmail him after he ruined a woman in my establishment.”

Lord Edgemont whipped his hand around so fast she didn’t see it coming. Incredible pain flared along her cheek and she lay on the ground, jaw aching.

“Tell lies about my son again, and I’ll have my man gut you alive.” His lordship’s eyes glowed with hatred. “As it is, hanging is too good for the likes of you. But it is the law of the land that murderers shall be hanged, and I will obey that letter of the law to the best of my ability.”

Slowly, Amorina rolled up onto her knees and struggled to stand, the whole side of her face throbbing. If the truth would not serve, perhaps a lie would do her better. “If you wish to obey the letter of the law, my lord, you cannot kill me.”

That, at least, got his attention, for he cut his gaze from the half-built structure to her. “Why not, murderess?”

“Because you would then be guilty of murder yourself.”

“Hah.” He screwed his mouth up in a parody of a smile. “Every criminal’s defense. English law allows for the execution of those guilty of capital crimes and thus it is not judged as murder, but justice.”

“No, my lord. You would still be committing murder for I am with child.” She stared straight into the angry blue eyes as they widened then narrowed.

“You lie.”

“I do not.” And perhaps she didn’t. She hadn’t had her seeds for more than two weeks now and had lain with Reginald several times. It was possible, surely.

“And who do you claim is the father? My son? You think to make me take pity on you because you say you carry my grandchild?”

For a split second, she almost said yes. But something in those cold eyes told her that argument would gain her no sympathy whatsoever. Tell the truth and shame the devil. “No, my lord. I have not lain with your son for some time now. He could not be the father of my child.” And likely not of any child, considering the placement of his wound. “The father is a magistrate of the court at Bow Street, Sir Reginald Matthews.”

That name did take Lord Edgemont aback. “Lady Dalbury’s cousin? You mean to claim her cousin—” He waved her away. “You may well have lain with the gentleman. That is your business, Madam Vestry. But you cannot be certain the child is his.”

“Oh, but I can, my lord.” She stared straight into his face. “As can he.”

“All done, your lordship.” One of the workmen who’d ridden down atop the carriage came up to them, his face red and sweaty.

“Very good. Let’s get on with it then.” Lord Edgemont nodded to the man, who grabbed Amorina from behind.

“What? Stop, stop. You cannot do this, my lord.” Jerked backward, Amorina stumbled and almost fell.

The workman pulled her up, swung her around, and pushed her toward a waiting cart. She beat at the man, using her tied hands as a club, landing several hard blows to his arm and chest. Another workman ran to his aid and swung her onto the tail end of the cart, where she suddenly came face to face with a noose.

“No! No!” Struggling with all her might, she elbowed the second man in the side, toppling him off the cart. She kicked at the first man who’d grabbed her but missed. Precariously balanced to begin with, Amorina wobbled, the motion carrying her too far forward and she fell, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of her.

“Are you men so weak you cannot subdue a small woman?” Lord Edgemont stood over her as she struggled to gasp in a breath. He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Now get her up there and take care of this matter before I lose my patience.”

He thrust Amorina into the hands of one of the men, who hustled her back up on the cart as she still struggled to breathe. With one man pinning her arms to her sides from behind, the other man was able to slip the noose around her neck, despite her attempts to avoid it. The scratchy rope bit into her flesh when the man drew it tight around her neck.

She stood panting, looking wildly about the little clearing for help that would not appear. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she sobbed. “Don’t do this, please, I beg of you. My child.”

“One more bastard to fill London’s slums won’t be missed either by God or the English government,” was Edgemont’s cruel reply. “An eye for an eye. Your child for Dalbury’s. You for him and his wife. May God have mercy on your soul.”

“No, no, I swear to you, they are not dead.” Her voice rose in a shriek. “They are not!”

A low, rumbling sound of distant horses’ hooves filled the clearing. Someone was coming down the driveway.

Amorina filled her lungs with perhaps her last breath and screamed. “Help! Help! Someone, help me!”

Behind her, the sharp slap of a hand on horseflesh, and the cart jerked forward. She rose on tiptoe, scrambling to keep her purchase as long as she could then there was nothing beneath her feet but air. Her body plummeted, the rope bit harshly into her neck, then darkness.