by Alyssa Drake
Franklin has Sammie
* * *
Both men bolted for the door. Benjamin tripped unsteadily on his feet and leaned heavily on Thomas as they burst through the entryway. Thomas flagged down a hackney coach, pausing at the top of the steps as he assessed his brother’s health.
“Benjamin, normally, I would not recommend you stay behind…” Thomas said half-heartedly.
“Then do not,” growled Benjamin, glaring at Thomas.
Thomas nodded and shut his mouth with a snap. Allowing Benjamin to awkwardly scramble down the steps, he ignored the painful wheeze which escaped Benjamin as they climbed into the waiting carriage. Benjamin collapsed on the bench, his pale skin beaded with sweat.
“How has Morris been able to remain so close to the Hastings’ family without suspicion?” asked Thomas. He averted his eyes, blind to Benjamin’s physical struggle.
“He had no motive,” replied Benjamin. His labored breathing eased as the coachman whipped the reins, the carriage rocking forward.
“And now?” Thomas pressed.
“We still have no idea what he wants,” snarled Benjamin, his eyes glittered black. “If Morris harms Miss Hastings, I will rip him apart with my bare hands.”
“Why would Miss Hastings leave with Mr. Morris?” asked Thomas, his voice cut through the tension. “She is aware of the danger we face.”
“The engagement luncheon is this afternoon. She would have accepted any excuse to escape.” Benjamin allowed himself a small smirk. “Her cousin must have provided her with an irresistible offer.”
“I thought she promised both Edward and you that she would stay on Mother’s estate.”
“I do not believe the words I promise crossed her lips on either occasion.” Benjamin snorted.
“We will find her Benjamin,” Thomas replied forcefully.
Benjamin did not respond. Would she still be alive when they found her?
Chapter Three
“You hit her too hard.”
The words floated through Sam’s subconscious, hollow and tinny. Her eyelids fluttered, dim light assaulting her eyes. The dull headache at the base of her neck flared, exploding through her head. Her arms refused to budge, disobeying her silent commands to raise. Dread churned her stomach.
Where was Franklin?
He wheezed next to her ear. Sam’s fingers twitched. Rough bed sheets scratched against her fingertips with each convulsion. Franklin’s humid breath painted chills over her skin as he inspected Sam’s face callously, his fingers biting into her chin.
“I did not.” He hissed, his cold hand pressing roughly against Sam’s parched lips. “She is still breathing.”
“Barely,” the cold voice replied.
Franklin had an accomplice! Sam’s breath caught, her brain flashing through the myriad of faces she’d met over the past few weeks. The voiced sounded familiar…
“Does it honestly matter?” said Franklin. He traced an icy finger down Sam’s cheek; her fingers jumped. “She will not live to see her wedding day.”
“Franklin.” A note of caution hung in the air. “Only she knows the location of the jewelry.”
Franklin sighed heavily. Sam pictured his shoulders slumping under the chastisement. However, the image quickly replaced itself with a sneer, the new face of this crueler, calculating Franklin. Without warning, he struck the side of Sam’s face with his palm. The hard slap caused Sam to cry out, stars exploding behind her eyelids. The throbbing in her head increased tenfold, agony vibrated through her body. She gritted her teeth, her left hand closing into a fist.
“She is fine,” Franklin bit off, a smirk in his tone. “Now, you must take your leave before she fully regains consciousness. We cannot allow anyone to learn of your involvement.”
Franklin and his anonymous visitor moved to the front of the apartment, leaving the door to the small bedroom slightly ajar. Sam held her breath, listening and hoping to discern the identity of Franklin’s mysterious guest. Snippets of garbled conversation drifted from the foyer. Man or woman? She couldn’t decide, the pain in her head distorting the words. A small groan escaped her lips.
Silence. She gulped. Had they heard her?
A reverberating slam indicated the visitor’s departure, followed by the click of the front door lock and a muffled thump when Franklin redeposited the brass key ring on the hallway table. Franklin’s weight eased across decrepit floorboards. He paused in the sitting room and turned toward the rear of the apartment, lumbering toward—Sam assumed—his bedchamber.
How much time did she have before he returned to check on her?
She forced her eyelids open and cried out when sunlight burned her eyes. Smashing her lips together, she smothered the scream hovering in her throat, screwing her eyes shut, tears streaming down her cheeks. Slowly, she dragged in a ragged breath.
“You can do this,” Sam said, her doughy lips mangling the words.
Gradually, she peeled one eye open, then the second. After three rapid blinks, her eyes focused, sharpening the bleary shadows into recognizable shapes. The room remained unchanged—pieces of fruit and cheese lay forgotten, scattered among broken china.
How much time had passed?
Sunlight streamed through the tiny window, an indication of late morning. One or two hours, she surmised, long enough for Edward to discover her disappearance. Although with no clue to her whereabouts, how would he find her?
She sucked in a deep breath, slowly raising her heavy arms, and gasped. Her wrists were lashed together! Lifting her hands in front of her face, she inspected the thick rope wrapped twice around arms. Her head throbbed, the pain radiating into her jaw.
Touching her fingers to her scalp, Sam pressed against the spot where Franklin struck her with the plate, her fingers brushing over a wet area. She yanked them away—blood. Terror clogged her throat.
Franklin intended to kill her, perhaps in this very room, and he would take pleasure in the violent action. Sam shuddered. She needed an escape plan. Where was an ivy-covered balcony when she needed one?
Her eyes, now accustomed to the light, scanned the room for a weapon; there was none. Her only chance would be to take him by surprise. She could strike Franklin with her bound arms, stun him long enough to snatch the key from the tiny table where Franklin deposited it, and scurry for safety. That sounded just crazy enough to work. As long as his faceless visitor did not linger in the hallway, she should be able to reach the street and draw the attention of a passing carriage. If there were none, she would run. Eventually, the road would lead to someone who could help her.
Suddenly the room spun, and her stomach flipped, churning violently. She tumbled to the side, flipping her body over the side of the bed, balancing precariously on her restrained hands as she vomited. Her throat and stomach burned from the acidic taste, the hammering in her head worsening. She retched again, pain radiating through her body.
“I see you are awake, my dear.” Franklin pushed open the door with a macabre grin. His eyes swept the room, landing on Sam who sprawled gracelessly across the bed and the growing puddle on the floor beneath her. He wrinkled his nose.
“Disgusting,” he muttered. “A horrible side effect of the drug I administered while you were unconscious.” He laughed, his joy echoing around the room. “Do not worry, my dear, you will be long dead before the effects of the drug subside. Think of it as my last gift to you—a painless demise and freedom from the shackles of society.”
He grinned as horror crossed Sam’s face. She glared at him, seething with anger, her entire body ablaze, hatred overwhelming the agony. With a snarl, Sam flew off the mattress and lunged at Franklin, her restrained hands clawing at his face. Franklin easily slid away from her fingernails. The room tilted, and Sam collapsed on the floor at Franklin’s feet, a lump of immobile limbs and ire. She convulsed violently as another wave of nausea overtook her and curled into a tight ball as the bile gathered in her mouth.
Franklin chuckled and shook his head. He wa
tched her contort on the floor with mild interest, patiently waiting until Sam’s writhing body stopped twitching. Sam glowered at him from her twisted position on the floor, breathing heavily. Swiping the curls clinging to her sweaty face, she curled her lip and spat at him.
“Such behavior from a lady; a shame Rebecca was not able to raise you properly.” Franklin chided, still grinning.
“She never had the opportunity. She was stolen from me,” replied Sam. The dizziness ebbed, and she was able to push herself to her knees. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her dress. Another garment ruined.
“Not by my hand,” said Franklin, snatching Sam from the floor by her hair. He yanked her to her unsteady feet, grasping her elbow to prevent her from falling into him.
“Not directly.” Sam exploded, twisting to face Franklin, his painful grip the only reason she remained upright. The wooziness surged again, blackness rimming her vision. She swallowed several times, her mouth watering under a new bout of queasiness.
Franklin raised his eyebrows as his blue eyes filled with curiosity. “I am not one to deny my crimes; however, I had no part in Rebecca’s death.”
“She died of a broken heart!” Sam latched onto her anger, fighting to retain consciousness. “You shattered it when you murdered my father.”
Laughter echoed around the room, pressing against Sam with an edge of hysteria, slicing through her blazing mind. “Rebecca belonged to me first; she loved me. Matthew was a distraction, akin to your Lord Westwood. Her death could hardly be attributed to something as minor as Matthew’s execution.”
“He was her husband.” Sam seethed, struggling against Franklin’s iron grip. His strength surprised her. Sam had underestimated Franklin’s physical capabilities; overpowering him was not an option, especially in her current incapacitated state. Sam needed a new plan, a distraction.
Franklin ignored Sam’s outburst, his eyes clouding with a yellowed memory. “I remember the first day I met Rebecca. I was visiting Uncle Ephraim for the summer. Matthew was away at school and due home in several days. We were close at the time, despite our age difference. He was the only family I felt comfortable around, and I was looking forward to spending the next few weeks with him, two mischievous boys.”
Sam pursed her lips, remaining mute, watching for an opportunity to flee. Franklin tightened his grasp on her arm as if able to read the mind of his unwilling prisoner, bruises forming under his merciless fingers. Ripping her eyes away from her arm, Sam gave the barest of nods, and Franklin continued his story.
“One beautiful Tuesday morning, I saw her.” Franklin’s voice took a reverent tone. “Rebecca glided next to the stream, elegant and completely unaware I observed her. The sunlight glinted off her auburn hair, sparking like fire.” Franklin turned, assessing Sam, his eyes traveling the length of her. “That is something you have in common with your mother, she loved to walk barefoot.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Sam’s lips in spite of her dangerous situation. As Franklin described the scene, Sam imagined her mother strolling along the riverbank, swinging her shoes to inaudible music, laughing as she kicked her feet in the water. A tiny tear trickled down Sam’s cheek. She hastily swatted it away.
“I watched her for three days before I plucked up the courage to speak with such an alluring water nymph. I startled her, a gangly boy leaping out from behind a rotting tree trunk, and she dropped her shoes in the stream. The current was strong enough to carry the shoes far out of her reach. Without a thought, I leapt into the water after her wayward shoes. She chased after me with a splash. I caught them a quarter-mile downstream. By then, the two of us were completed soaked. Our sopping clothes clung to our bodies as we climbed back onto the riverbank, laughing until we gasped for air. I brought her to Hastings Manor to dry her clothes. Uncle Ephraim took an instant liking to her. From that day forward, she was a welcome and constant guest.” Franklin’s voice trailed off, distracted by the memory. He shook himself and began speaking again.
“We had grand adventures together, exploring the riverbank for pirates’ treasure. She was convinced there was gold buried in the stream.” Franklin paused. Once more, he was overcome. “She was exquisite. Her smile, her laugh—it seems as though she is still with me.”
Franklin’s countenance cleared. He tilted his head slightly as he stared at Sam. “You are quite similar to her. I wonder if you would still bear the same resemblance if I had been your father.”
Sam’s jaw dropped, but she held her tongue.
“I professed my love, bearing my soul to her. However, Rebecca rejected my proposal. The previous evening, Matthew convinced her to accept his hand in marriage. She tried to pacify me, but our friendship was strained from that moment on.
“Frankie, you will always be my favorite cousin,” Franklin mimicked with a growl. “How could she believe that would satisfy me? It was not until years later, I learned Uncle Ephraim encouraged the attachment between Matthew and Rebecca—meddlesome old man.”
“She loved my father,” said Sam, yanking her arm and wrenching it sideways. Franklin’s grip tightened, pinching her skin.
“No!” Franklin shrieked angrily. “She loved me. Matthew stole her away with false promises, just like he stole my inheritance. He betrayed me, but I made him accountable for his crimes.”
Franklin released his hold on Sam’s arm and paced the room, a caged animal, snapping at ghosts. Foam formed around the right corner of his mouth. Sam rocked back on her heels, eyeing the open door to the sitting room. Flashes of green and gold beckoned. Waiting until Franklin stalked toward the grimy window, Sam leapt, bolting for the open door, her eyes locked on the foyer.
Threading through the furniture dotting the sitting room, Sam dashed around the ornate obstacle course. As she skirted the ottoman, a heavy weight struck her from behind. She stumbled and crashed to the floor, grunting as her chin smacked against the floorboards, her jaw snapping. Twisting to her side, Sam balanced on her hip and blindly kicked her right leg out behind her, connecting with Franklin’s head. A sickening crunch echoed in the apartment. He howled with anger as blood spurted from his nose.
Sam inched along the floor, using her bound hands to drag herself forward, Franklin continuing to moan behind her. Just as she neared the edge of the sitting room, a wave of medication rolled over her. The walls tilted, hampering Sam’s attempt to crawl further. She heaved uncontrollably, fighting against the overwhelming dizziness. Her body stopped cooperating, and she mentally screamed at her useless limbs.
Franklin leapt onto her numb legs, trapping Sam against the wooden floorboards. He flipped her easily onto her back and slammed her arms to the floor, pinning them above her head. Struggling to move, Sam attempted to kick her legs, but Franklin’s weight was too great. With his free hand, he slapped her across the face, rattling her teeth. The barrage of pain did not stop, more blows following as Franklin rained down his ire.
“You will not deny me what is rightfully due. Do you understand, Samantha?” Franklin snarled, his wild eyes dancing.
Sucking in a breath to scream, Sam choked, tasting blood. Moisture trickled from her mouth, dribbling down her chin. Franklin reached back to slap her again. Sam screwed her eyes shut and twisted her head to the side, waiting for the excruciating explosion of pain. She whimpered. “I will take you to the jewelry.”
One minute passed.
She opened one eye, then the second, rotating her head hesitantly back toward Franklin. He remained stationary, hand still poised in striking position, staring skeptically at Sam, streaks of dried blood decorating his jaw in a ghoulish design.
“Where is it?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
“It is hidden in the study at the townhouse.” Sam took a shuddering breath as she revealed her secret.
The pale face of her captor split into a wide grin. He slowly rolled off Samantha’s legs and stood with a grunt. “Now, why did you make that revelation so difficult?”
Sam forced herself to a sitt
ing position, glaring at Franklin who hummed happily as he circled her, his demeanor frighteningly calm. Grabbing the rope still binding Sam’s wrists, Franklin yanked her to her feet. She nearly toppled forward into Franklin who quickly sidestepped and allowed her to crash into the sofa. She rebounded onto the unforgiving floorboards, crying out in pain.
Franklin smirked and grasped her restraints again, half-dragging Sam through the apartment with a sneer. “Shall we, my dear? We are wasting valuable time.”
Chapter Four
Gruesome pictures of Samantha’s broken body haunted Benjamin, ghostly images whirling around in his head. How could he have missed Morris? Unobtrusive, amiable and polite, he did not possess any characteristics of a cold-blooded murderer. Mr. Franklin Morris was a gentleman… and a killer.
The carriage lurched, rolling into a rut carved into the waterlogged road. Benjamin twitched and inhaled sharply, exhaling a soft curse. With a hiss, he rearranged his left leg, which was stretched across the cushion. His eyes slid over to Thomas, who stared out the window, clenching and unclenching his hand. Although Benjamin couldn’t be certain if it was Morris or Shirely who earned Thomas’ rage. The carriage jolted again. A second curse echoed in the cabin.
“Do not suggest we slow the coach,” Benjamin said, earning a brief grin from Thomas.
His pain did not matter, only Samantha’s life. He’d failed in his assignment as a guardian and as a fiancé. He would never forgive himself…
“Your fiancée would be appalled by your language,” replied Thomas, dropping the curtain and turning toward Benjamin, a transparent attempt to distract Benjamin from his despondent thoughts.
“Miss Hastings is well acquainted with blasphemies as she frequently employs them herself.” Benjamin grimaced, bracing his body against the corner of the coach as the wheels hit another section of rough road.
“Would that delightful characteristic be due to Edward’s irresponsible instruction?” asked Thomas, snickering.