Deerhurst frowned as the man repeated Huntly’s address. Then his blood turned to ice shards in his veins, their painful flow stabbing throughout his body.
Phaedra.
Deerhurst leaped up, the chair scraping back in an eerie sound before he directed a murderous glare at Cromby. The man paled. Good, he still had some instinct for self-preservation. Too bad for Cromby—and good for him—he was dumb as horse shit, openly discussing such a matter in public without a damn care in the world.
Deerhurst grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing,” Cromby croaked out, grabbing at his wrists to relieve the pressure. Deerhurst didn’t allow it.
“Don’t lie to me,” Deerhurst warned, though he almost sounded like a threatened animal with such a low growl. “I heard you. What are you planning to do to Lady Phaedra?”
A wicked glint entered Cromby’s eyes, a look that turned Deerhurst’s heart to stone. “It’s too late. Your pretty lady will be damaged goods after tonight.”
Behind him, Avondale cursed.
“What’s going to happen to her?”
“Don’t worry, nothing too bad. She’s just going to find herself in need of a husband soon.”
“Kill the plan.”
Cromby laughed. “It’s already in motion. There is no stopping it. It’s as good as done.”
Deerhurst threw the man against the table, the loud clatter alerting fellow patrons. Fury clawed at his throat. “If anything happens to Lady Phaedra tonight, if even one hair on her head is harmed, I will kill you.”
Deerhurst didn’t waste any more time, he ran from the club and got his horse, setting off at a dead run to Mayfair. In anything happened to her he would never forgive himself.
Please God, don’t let me be too late.
Chapter Twenty-One
Phaedra shot upin bed, pulled out of sleep by a mysterious force, heart beating wildly in her chest. Her eyes darted over the shadows of the room, stopping at one particular spot that appeared somehow strange. She couldn’t exactly explain what had prompted her sixth sense to flare up. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t been sleeping well lately or perhaps because she hadn’t let her guard down since she cut Deerhurst from her life.
But she justknew.
She was not alone in her chamber.
Lord, help me.
She wanted to scream. She even opened her mouth to cry out in alarm. It didn’t matter if she woke her family and she’d be compromised when they’d find her with whoever was in her chamber. All that mattered was getting help.
But no sound emerged.
It was as though the distress had cut off her vocal cords. Phaedra measured the distance between the door and her bed. If she were quick and nimble on her feet, she would make it. But she had to be fast. Her gaze flicked to the shadow again.
Yes. She’d have to be very fast.
Phaedra ripped the covers off her and leaped from the bed. A curse ripped from her throat as bed linen entwined with her feet and she landed in a tangled heap on the ground.
Now her voice reappeared.
She kicked out her legs to untangle herself and tried to scramble to her feet.
“Phaedra?” a low whisper came.
She stilled. She knew that voice. Would never forget that low timbre in all her life.
