“Worried about them, are you?” He snorted. Still towering over her, he unclasped his ebony greatcoat and draped it on one of the low stone walls. Then he began to untie his cravat. “No, I didn’t hurt your precious tenants. If you had shown up at their door, they would not have known the reason.”
His cravat came undone, falling neatly across his waistcoat. He threaded a gloved finger underneath his collar, loosening it. Francesca tensed. She remembered Roxbury abhorred untidiness. Time and again, he’d reproached her for sullying his clothes with her blood after her beat her. Lord, she had to keep him talking. Her blood ran cold as the look in his eyes, cold as the sleet that had begun to fall.
“That scrawny boy fooled you?” Roxbury laughed. “I paid him to say he was from the Ingletons’ farm. I found him in the next town over, digging through the trash. He was all too eager to say anything I liked if I would give him a farthing or two.”
“Oh no,” she breathed. Grendell and Daniel were right to be suspicious of Ralph. He was a pawn in Roxbury’s plan to lure her away from the safety of Winterbourne Hall, to lure her away so he could—
She stared at Roxbury as he removed his coat. Her breath hitched and her stomach clenched. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you deserve it.”
A new panic engulfed her, sickening her, as she realized he planned to finish what he’d begun in Hampshire.
She scrambled away, but Roxbury was on her before she could rise to her feet. He tossed her on her back and pinned her body down, face inches from hers.
“I know it was you,” she hissed at him, scratching at his face and the wound she knew Lino had inflicted. “At Tanglewilde. It was you.”
He grasped her wrists, imprisoning them in a tight grip that immobilized her. With his free hand, he stroked her cheek with one finger. The leather of his glove felt slimy against her skin. “I cannot deny it.” He gave her a quick, almost playful kiss on the cheek.
She flinched.
“After I saw you with Winterbourne that day in the woods, I couldn’t help myself. After all, why should I be the only man in England who hasn’t sampled your charms?”
His lips brushed her cheek as he spoke, and she struggled to remain still.
“You always wanted him, didn’t you? You think I didn’t see the way you looked at him?Lustedafter him?”
He grabbed her dress and hiked it up. “I’ll make you forget about him.” His hand groped her painfully, and Francesca screamed. She bucked and kicked, thankful when her foot landed a hard blow to his thigh. With an oath, he recoiled.
For a moment, they were both motionless, panting. Francesca’s mind raced. Oh Lord, how long had he been watching her? Waiting for this opportunity? He’d already made two failed attempts. She didn’t think he intended to fail again.
“You’ll never get away with this,” she hissed at him.
“Why not? I’ve gotten away with everything else.” He grasped her chin between his gloved fingers and twisted her face to his. “Do you think your precious husband will catch me? He thinks I’m in France. He’s in Paris even now searching for me.”
She stared at him. “What are you talking about? Why would Ethan be looking for you?”
Roxbury didn’t seem to hear her. He released her and sat back on his haunches, a distant expression on his face.
“Fools, all of them. My last shipment of arms is waiting at Dover on theParvenu—fitting name, isn’t it? In a few days I’ll sail for France. A very, very rich man.” He gave her a smug grin.
“My God, all this time, Ethan’s work...” She gaped at Roxbury. “He’s been searching for you, and that means”—her lip curled in disgust—“you’re a traitor.” Her head snapped back as he slapped her hard across the mouth.
“How dare you? You little bitch!” His face was inches from hers, his lips pulled back and his teeth bared in a feral grimace. She felt the warm trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. “How dare you accuse me of being a traitor when I’ve only done what I had to?” He pushed her head back, grinding it into the rock wall behind her. “I only did what you forced me to do.”
She gasped, fighting to escape his grip and the ragged rocks gouging into her scalp.
“You broke our engagement and left me with nothing. No way to pay the mortgage on Fountainview.” He stopped shoving her, gripping her chin between his fingers. “I needed that money.”
“My dowry,” she whispered. His courtship, their engagement—all a lie, a carefully crafted scheme to get his hands on her dowry. Deep down, she’d always known it. And yet, he’d managed to demean her, taking so much of her spirit that she had actually considered staying with him, no matter the abuse he heaped on her.
“You disgust me,” she spat.
She expected a blow, prepared for it, but he only laughed.
“Poor little Cesca,” he taunted. “Did you think I loved you? Stupid chit.” He gave her head a final shove, stood, and brushed off his trousers.
“But know this, if I am a traitor, you bear the blame as much as I.”
