“Let me go—”
He slapped the words from her mouth. Fear weakened her knees as his hand crawled to her neckline and hovered above the fabric. “The men, I daresay, love nothing more than a wedding. You cannot imagine how greatly matrimony would increase one’s quality of life.” He paused. “Now. Have you anything to ask me, Miss Gresham?”
Sweat formed on her skin. She would not give in. She would suffer, but she would not succumb—
The fabric ripped from her shoulder.No, God.Another rip. Terror writhed through her and she crammed her eyes shut as shred after shred of satin exposed her undergarments and skin. A sob escaped.No, no, no.
She must have collapsed, because next thing she knew, he was swinging her into his arms and carrying her back into the house. She was returned to the room and the blackness.
“All of this shall end when you ask me to marry you.” He threw her against the wall then leaned into her and grabbed her chin. “Have you so much pride that you would reject me still?” When she did not answer, he buffeted her face. Twice.
“Why?” She clawed at his hand, blood on her lips, head dizzy. “Why … are you doing this?”
“Because I want you to give what I could very easily take.” He struck her to the ground and grabbed another fistful of fabric. The rip was loud and dooming. “You shall beg for my hand in marriage, or you shall rot as a starving animal in this room for the rest of your entire life. The choice is yours, Miss Gresham.” He marched to the door. “I shall leave you to your thoughts.”
The door slammed shut.
God, help me.She groped for the comb, pressed it between her palms, and curled into a fetal position. Sobs overtook her.Help me, please, because I am losing strength.
Creak, creak, creak.Partway through the night, Isabella awoke. Fear sickened her stomach, surging bile to her throat, and she prayed she would not lose the only nourishment she’d been given in days.
As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she stared at the outline of the door, but the noise seemed to come from somewhere else.
Creak, creak.She jerked to face the window.
Pale, thin fingers widened the crack between the boards. A thud. A louder creak. Then the first board fell away and allowed in a cool breeze of air. “Miss Gresham?”
Isabella hurried to the opening.
From the other side, the outline of Cressida’s face stared at her. Another board fell free. “Make no noise and come. Hurry.”
“But the men—”
“All drunk and slumbering. I have given the dogs meat. Now hurry.” The last board groaned and cracked as she yanked it free.
Temples throbbing, Isabella grabbed the edge of the window, hoisted herself up, and leaped down to the other side.
The woman took her hand. The grip was icy and bony, and her fingers squeezed so hard that pain flared. “Whatever you do, you must not stop running. Do you understand?”
“You must run with me—”
“No.” Cressida shook her head with violence. “Come.”
With a cool wind rushing through them, they lunged through the darkness, hair whipping across their faces. As they rounded the end of the house, one of the grey dogs snapped to attention. His chain clinked. His white teeth bared.
Please, God.
A growl filled the silence, but instead of howling, he took another ravenous bite of his meat chunk.
Relief expanded Isabella’s chest. They increased their pace. The house was behind them. The dogs behind them. The dying fire, the broken bottles, a few unconscious men behind them. In mere yards, they would reach the—
A shot exploded.
Cressida was thrown forward, her fingers ripped from Isabella, as the heavy scent of gunpowder struck the air like poison.
No.The panic morphed into grief. Isabella fell next to the body, groped for the face, lifted the woman’s wet head into her lap. Blood everywhere. She swallowed back a wave of vomit.No—
“I admit to astonishment, Miss Gresham, that you would take a stroll at such a late hour as this.”
