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29

29

SPENCER

A manic grin stretched across my face as the rumble of the carriage grew fainter in the distance. My plan was unfolding beautifully. That rickety old bridge, weakened by my “subtle” tinkering, wouldn’t stand a chance under the weight of the Duke’s carriage. Annalisa and the old goat – poetic justice, wouldn’t you say? – would be taking an unexpected swim in the river below.

Images of sprawling estates and overflowing coffers danced in my head. Freedom. Luxury. A life of leisure spent on the beaches of distant lands, far away from the dusty confines of Kano. Me, Spencer Cavendish, finally living the life I deserved.

A twig snapped under my foot, shattering the blissful reverie. Anne emerged from the shadows, her eyes gleaming with a devilish amusement that mirrored my own.

“Well, Spencer,” she drawled, her voice dripping with satisfaction, “did the bridge cooperate?”

“Cooperate?” I scoffed. “It practically rolled out the welcome mat for them.” I couldn’t resist a theatrical
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