Page 61 of A Lyon’s Lesson

“He’s gone to find Rick. He will discover what has really happened, and he will keep me safe. From the likes of you!” She injected such loathing into the word, she saw him visibly flinch.

His expression hardened, and he said, “In that case, there is no time to lose.”

He rose and came toward her, and she gave a tiny shriek of fright at his expression.

“No!” She backed away from him. “I’ll scream! The servants will come and throw you out.”

“Scream away. No one will disturb us.”

She recalled the fact that Hendrix had ignored her request to take Bidenden away, and a cold dread settled into the pit of her stomach. Horror seized her. Did Bidenden engineer Rick’s disappearance? Was he behind it all?

“Have you figured it out?” he asked, almost casually.

She nodded, swallowing. “It was you. I don’t know how, but somehow you have managed to hurt Rick, haven’t you? But are you sure he is really dead?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “Quite certain.”

This time her vision narrowed with a red mist instead of black, and she lunged for the pen knife on the desk and came at him with a blood-curdling howl.

Her action was so swift and startling, she took him by surprise and almost succeeded in her objective of stabbing him in the eye. He dodged at the last minute, reached up, grabbed her wrist, and twisted. She gave another cry and the knife fell from her nerveless hand as pain seared up her arm, and her wrist throbbed. She staggered back, cradling her wrist with her other hand to her breast. She feared he had broken it. Sobbing with the pain, she stared at him through blurry eyes.

“Even if Rick is dead—and I am not convinced—you cannot expect me to marry you after this!”

“Oh, but I do, and you will.”

She shook her head. “You’ll have to kill me first!”

“Oh no, my dear, that won’t serve my purpose at all.”

“You can’t make me marry you,” she said in a low panting voice.

He smiled and she shivered. Backing up to the desk, she propped her bottom on it and tried not to remember the last time Rick had made love to her on it.

“What would you do to protect your child?” His tone was almost conversational. Which made what he was saying worse.

“What kind of monster are you?” she whispered, forgetting her wrist and covering her belly protectively.

“A desperate one!” he responded with asperity. “Believe me, I don’t enjoy making such threats. I would much rather you capitulated gracefully.”

“What do you plan to do? Gut me like a fish?” she lashed out, an edge of madness in her voice.

“Nothing so bloodthirsty,” he grimaced. “I need you alive, remember?”

She shuddered, the tears tracking silently down her cheeks. She gulped. “What then?”

He shrugged. “You’re still early in your pregnancy. There are myriad ways to induce the loss of a child.”

She let out a kind of wail and grabbed the paperweight off the desk and threw it at him. He ducked and lunged for her. The glass object caught the edge of his temple and left a red mark. He shook his head and pushed her down onto the desk, where he applied his hand to her throat, his expression grim, his brown eyes almost black with mania.

She fought him, but it was futile. Despite not being an excessively large man, he was still much bigger, heavier, and stronger than her. She felt herself running out of air, and she began to lose consciousness.

Chapter 33

Rick jumped out of the carriage before it came to a complete halt and vaulted up the steps of the house, so eager to see Cecey that he was heedless of his injuries or anything else. His precipitous flight, however, was stopped by the locked front door. He pounded on the door in impatience, and when no one answered, he swore and turned, almost running into his brother who was behind him.

“We’ll go around the back,” he said. “No one is answering!” A prickle of unease skated over his skin as he leaped down the steps and loped around the side of the house, following the drive to the stables where James and Reynolds had taken the carriage.

Hereward, who never did anything in a hurry, followed him at a more sedate pace.