“He had gone blubbering and pleading to the hangman’s noose, and his last act as a mortal man had been to piss himself.That morning, he had arisen in his dank cell in Newgate, begged one last time to sire a child on the warden’s daughter, lied through his teeth to the priest who came to grant him absolution, and vomited up his last breakfast.Now he was paying the ultimate price for his many sins.After the hanging, Oliver’s descent into hell was not what he expected. Indeed, it bordered on the pe...culiar. Darkness, aye, but what were those evil slits of gray light and that creaky, lumbering sound? And if he had left his mortal body behind, why did he feel this damnable pain in his neck? Why did he smell fresh-cut wood?It was new and particularly awful for a man who had not expected to die by execution as a common criminal, of all things. He had always known he would die young. But he had worked hard to ensure himself a glorious demise. He had dreamed of perishing while fighting a duel, racing horses, perhaps even while bedding another man’s wife.Not—God forbid—swinging by the neck while a bloodthirsty crowd jeered at him.At least no one knew it was Lord Oliver de Lacey, Baron Wimberleigh, who had died at dawn.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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