Free What a Duke Wants by Lavinia Kent Page B

turn, and don’t say anything,” the voice continued. “We want what you took from Foxworthy. Give it to us and we’ll let you be. If not, I am sure that many would be interested in what happened to the colonel and his papers.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Isabella tried to hold her voice even despite the terror that was fast taking over.
    “Don’t give us that. You have until we reach London.”
    “I don’t know—”
    “I am sure you do know what happens to those who commit murder—they hang.”
    Isabella’s heart jumped to her throat. They knew. They knew what she’d done. How?
    “But—” Even as she spoke Isabella felt herself thrust forward, her feet slipping beneath her as she fell to her knees on the hard wood of the stairs, splinters slipping through her skirt. She turned quickly, but there was only the clatter of boots and the swing of the door into the taproom.

Chapter 7
    H ang. She could hang.
    Isabella had always known that, but hearing it said aloud made it all too real, too immediate.
    It was more than she could bear to think about.
    She turned over, pulling the covers up high, glad that the sun was finally peeking above the horizon. The night was over. Joey still slumbered safely in his cot, unaware of the troubles that plagued her.
    What did the whispering man want? She forced herself to remember that horrible day—not Foxworthy’s death, she always ran from that memory, but the aftermath. She’d been intent on finding the false papers that declared her brother guilty of treason. After the way Masters had treated her she almost hadn’t bothered, but her sister’s happiness had been tied up in it all as well.
    She remembered sweeping all the papers off the top of Foxworthy’s desk and stuffing them in her reticule. She’d dumped everything on her bed at Masters’s house and fished out the needed papers, turning them over to Violet.
    It would not make sense for the whispering man to be after those papers. Why would he want papers proving Masters was innocent of treason? Why would he want papers involving Masters at all?
    There had to be something else. She tried to remember what she’d seen as she tossed things aside. There’d been other papers, but it truly had been rubbish, if she remembered correctly. A couple of unpaid bills from a tailor, an IOU from a game of hazard, some lady’s florid love letters written in purple ink—they had at least been educational, if a little strange in tone—and some scraps of paper used to scribble sums, nothing that was worth anything.
    The IOU perhaps?
    No, it had been for less than fifty pounds.
    Perhaps the scribbles were a secret code? She could have built quite a drama with that as the plot. If that were the case, however, Foxworthy would probably not have been using them to blot spilled ink.
    The love letters? Love letters could be used for blackmail, but surely she would have remembered if there had been anything truly scandalous in them. The most exciting thing about them had been the bright purple ink.
    Could she have missed anything? Probably. But what did it matter now? The papers were tucked away at Masters’s house, if they had not been thrown away. The maid who had cleaned up after she left might very well have seen them as rubbish and tossed them aside. For that matter Masters might have just thrown all her belongings into the streets.
    There was no hope there. She didn’t know what they wanted and even if she did, she’d have no way of retrieving the papers.
    There seemed to be no possible solution but flight and even that did not seem possible. If only she had somebody to help, just one person on her side.
    Could Mr. Smythe be that person? What would she need to do to make him so?
    “D o you see this? How am I supposed to travel with wrinkles in my skirt? I told you yesterday to be sure everything was ready. I cannot believe you pressed this at all. What did you do last night, flirt with stable hands?