He shut the door after them and advanced on her. She held her ground.
“You should have kept your word and disappeared—”
“As you kept your word? You hired someone to kill me.”
One side of his mouth twisted. “He failed, I see. I suppose if you want something done properly, you best see to it yourself.” He brought a hand to her neck. His fingers gently circled her throat, grazing lightly, making her skin crawl.
“Only you did try to do it yourself. And you failed, too.”
The flesh near his eye jumped at her taunting reminder. The only sign that she had annoyed him. “What of your lover?” he asked, the hand still on her neck. “He seemed a rather possessive sort.”
Her chest tightened at the mention of Owen. “He tired of me,” she lied, hoping he believed her. She needed him to forget about Owen.
He angled his head, considering her. His hand skimmed down her neck, flattening over her heart. “Indeed? A shame he took what was rightfully mine.”
Revulsion swamped her. She lifted her chin defiantly. “The opportunity for that has passed, Your Grace.”
He laughed bitterly. “True. Even assuming I could stomach staying married to you . . .” He surveyed her. “You’re still a lowborn bastard.”
“So let us rectify matters.” Her gaze narrowed on him. “Without killing me.”
He laughed. “I confess I find you much more intriguing. You aren’t quite the dull object I married months ago. And your looks are much improved.”
“I’m suggesting a divorce,” she snapped, recalling Owen’s earlier words.
“Impossible. We haven’t grounds for divorce—”
“Adultery.”
He blinked. Lifting the back of his hand to his mouth, he laughed.
She had surprised him. She angled her head and pushed her advantage. “That would qualify as grounds for divorce, would it not? And the shame would be mine.” She held her breath, waiting.
He considered her for a long moment, no doubt contemplating that a divorce on the grounds of adultery would place the shame on her and make him the sympathetic party. She did not care one whit for her reputation as long as she was free of him.
“There would still be a scandal.” He tsked his tongue. “Much too ugly. It would ruin my chances with Joanna.”
Annalise cocked her head. “Joanna has always been enamored of you. She would overlook it.”
“I’m not concerned with her. The chit is thoroughly mine . . . of that I have no doubt. Her father is quite another story.”
“Agree to a divorce or I shall walk out of this room and announce to everyone that you tried to kill me. That would likely cause a greater stir and send Lady Joanna’s father running.”
His hand was suddenly at her neck again, tightening around her throat. “You dare threaten me, you little bitch. I’m the Duke of Bloodsworth. What are you but a lowborn upstart? Any tale you spin will be discounted.”
“Oh, but the gossip,” she wheezed. “How you should hate that.” She scratched at his hand until he eased his grip.
He pushed his face close to hers. Spittle flew onto her cheek. “You think yourself so clever?”
“It’s a question of which scandal you prefer. At least a divorce gets you rid of me.”
His face twisted into something feral and desperate. Eyes glittering with a malice that sent a bolt of fear down her spine, he pressed closer, his cheek brushing against hers. “I think I shall keep you. There’s pleasure to be had in torturing you for all the trouble you’ve caused.”
She went cold and felt the blood leech from her face.
His voice slithered around her. “I might not be able to kill you, but there are fates worse than death, you know. Abuse and punishments. Shall I show you?”
She didn’t have a chance to react.
He forced her back until she collided with the bed. He shoved her down and straddled her. It was all horrifically familiar. She scratched fiercely at his hand. Her breath escaped in hard, desperate pants as her nails scored him, but it was as though he didn’t even feel her.
He looked down at her, his lips curling back from his handsome face. “Go ahead. I like the fight.”
From the flare of his nostrils, she knew he spoke the truth. He wanted her resisting him.
But she couldn’t simply surrender. She saw Owen’s face in her mind. Tears burned her eyes. He would want her to fight. She couldn’t not fight.
With a choked sob, she struck him across the face. The sharp crack rang out in the room.
He grabbed both her wrists, securing them and pinning them above her head with one hand. His other hand caressed her face, drifting down her throat. Reaching her breast, he fondled her roughly through her gown.
She snarled and snapped her teeth at him. He jerked his face aside, chuckling. “No worry. I shan’t leave a mark on you. At least not where anyone can see. There will be no talk. You shall look quite presentable in the morning.”
He lifted the hand from her breast for the barest moment before his knuckles crashed into her side.
She cried out, the air expelling from her lungs in a great, pained whoosh.
He grabbed the front of her gown and yanked. The rip of her dress was an ugly and obscene sound on the air. His eyes glittered wildly down at her, his lips curved in a cruel smile as he fumbled at her skirts.
Dazed from the blow to her ribs, she struggled to recover . . . to move, to fight. She kicked, thrashing her legs. It did no good.
He wedged himself between her thighs. His hand slid up her stocking-clad thigh and his breath came harder, faster, in her ear. “You feel good, Annalise.”
“No,” she growled, wrenching her hand free. This would not happen to her. She clawed his face, grunting in satisfaction at the bloody scratches welling on his cheek.
He laughed, his eyes wild, and that’s when she knew he was truly unhinged. It would take more than her fingernails to his face. She slammed the base of her palm into his nose. He howled, blood spurting, showering her. His hands flew to his nose.
She squirmed out from under him. On her feet, she turned for the door, stopping when she came face-to-face with Joanna.
The girl looked from Annalise to the duke, her eyes taking in everything. “Bloodsworth!”
He whirled around at the sound of his name.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He stumbled up from the bed, hands still pressed to his bleeding nose. “Joanna, darling. What are you doing in here?”
Joanna pointed at her. Annalise attempted to cover herself, but her gown hung in tatters in front of her. She gave up and clutched at the bedpost.
“You told me you never wanted her . . . that you had to marry her.”
“I did.” Bloodsworth waved his blood-smeared hands soothingly. “What are you doing here? We’ll talk in the morning.”
“I came to hear for myself that this will change nothing between us.” Suddenly, one of Joanna’s hands flew up from the voluminous folds of her gown. She clasped a revolver that looked absurdly large in her small hand. She aimed it somewhere in the vicinity of Bloodsworth.
He jumped back. “Gor, Joanna, watch where you’re pointing! Where did you get that?”
She set her chin at a petulant angle. “It’s Papa’s.”
Annalise tucked herself behind the bedpost as if that might protect her from a stray ball. Clearly these two were perfect for each other.
“Put that thing down. Nothing has changed between us. I still love you,” he assured her, waving his hands and eyeing the revolver nervously.
“I don’t believe you,” she cried, jabbing the weapon in the air at him. “Why is her gown ripped?” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I thought you loved me! How could you even touch her?”
Annalise cringed, waiting for the crack of
the revolver.
Bloodsworth backed up several steps. “Joanna, my love! What are you doing?”
She panted, her breath falling hard and fast. “I’m not going to let her ruin this.” She then swung the revolver on Annalise. “Why did you not just stay dead, you stupid cow? He doesn’t love you. He never loved you!”
Panic surged inside her as she stared down the barrel, trying to shrink behind the post. Was this it, then? How she would die?
She moistened her lips and spoke quickly, her words a jumbled rush. “Wait. If you shoot me, you won’t have him. The house is full of people. They will swarm in here the moment you fire. Think, Joanna. What will happen to you then? Don’t let him ruin your life.”
Joanna charged forward another few steps. “You are the one ruining everything!”
Annalise risked a glance at her husband. He had ceased to back away. In fact, he inched closer to Joanna, a slow smile forming on his face. Of course. If Joanna killed her, it would be the end of all his problems. The end to her.
He crooned so low, Annalise had to strain to hear him, “If she were gone, then I would be free to marry.”
“He’ll be free to marry,” she said, “but it won’t be to you. You’ll be in prison!”
Uncertainty flickered across Joanna’s face. The revolver wobbled, lowering a fraction in her hand. A sob spilled from her lips. “I don’t know what I’m doing . . .”
Annalise’s shoulders sagged in relief, now that the revolver was no longer pointing at her.
The door burst open then, and Owen stood there, legs braced, shoulders squared.
Her heart leapt to her throat. She released her clutch on the bedpost and stepped forward. “Owen . . .” His name trembled from her lips. His presence both thrilled and frightened her. He shouldn’t be here. And yet he was.
Another man’s wife or not, he’d come for her.
Dimly, she noticed one of the grooms in the doorway behind him, clutching a bloodied nose to match Bloodsworth’s. It did not require much imagination to deduce who was responsible for that.
Owen’s gaze swept over the bedchamber, missing nothing. Including her state of dishabille. His eyes scoured her, taking in her mussed hair and ripped gown.
Something flashed in his eyes then. A rage she had never seen. Especially from him. He’d always been so in control of himself. So calm and steady. Hot color burned his swarthy cheeks.
His gaze shot to Bloodsworth, and a moment later he launched himself across the room at the duke. They tumbled to the floor, rolling and crashing into a small side table. Glass shattered.
Joanna yelped and danced out of the way, brandishing the revolver in a wide arc. It was a wonder the thing didn’t go off.
Owen’s arms sawed through the air. His shoulders pulled powerfully at his jacket as his fists met the duke’s face with loud, crunching smacks.
“Stop! Stop it!” Joanna screeched, wildly waving the revolver.
“Shoot him!” the duke bellowed, angling his face away from Owen’s brutal punches to get the words out.
Joanna pointed the revolver at the men.
“Joanna, no!” Annalise dove forward, arm stretched out.
A loud shot cracked the air.
The smell of smoke stung her nostrils as she froze, staring at the two men. Blood spattered Owen’s face and chest.
She flung a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. Her legs wobbled, ready to give out beneath her.
“Owen?” she croaked. The blood rushed to her head, filling her ears with a numbing roar.
His wide gaze locked with hers. He shook his head as if he did not quite know what had happened.
Action fired her limbs, carrying her to his side. If he was hurt, he’d need assistance immediately. There was no time for her to gawk and wring her hands. “Did she shoot you?”
“No . . . It’s not my blood.” He glanced down at himself, patting his blood-soaked front as if verifying his own words.
She released the breath she had been holding.
Joanna began to scream then. A shrill screech that reverberated off the walls. She dropped to her knees beside Bloodsworth, the revolver thudding to the floor. She rolled him from his side to his back, which was when Annalise saw the nasty wound in the side of his head.
She averted her eyes, her stomach churning.
Owen quickly pulled her away. They rose to their feet, giving Joanna and the body a wide berth.
The groom in the doorway rushed closer to see and made an odd bleating sound before racing back out of the room.
“He’s dead,” Annalise muttered numbly, shaking her head in disbelief. Bloodsworth was a wretch who had tried to murder her, but she didn’t relish the sight of his corpse.
Joanna’s screams quieted, turning into a low, keening wail. Her hands pounded at the duke as if she could somehow revive him with the force of her fists.
Then everything blurred as people flooded into the room. Joanna’s father barreled in and swept her into his hold. The watch arrived, no doubt fetched by the zealous groom. Soon more uniformed men from the local constabulary arrived. Joanna’s cries only grew louder as she was led away.
Annalise was ushered from the chamber after answering a series of questions, leaving Owen behind. A quick glance revealed him in deep conversation with one of the constabulary.
The butler led Annalise belowstairs into the vast library. She fidgeted anxiously. Her hands shook so badly she sat on them in attempt to still them. Owen soon joined her. He had changed from his bloodstained clothing. Dressed in a shirt that fit him too tightly, he sat beside her on the settee.
He tugged her hands free and folded them into his own. He chafed them gently, his dark eyes peering at her intently. “Annalise? Are you . . . are you well?”
She nodded jerkily.
His gaze skimmed over her. A blanket hid the evidence of her ripped, bloodied gown, but he’d seen that earlier. He hadn’t forgotten. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head as she glanced down. “I stopped him before he could hurt me. The blood is his, not mine.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “You did that to his nose?”
She nodded.
“You’re amazing.” He brushed his lips close to her ear, his hands chafing warmth back into her fingers. His smile faded. Cold realization settled into the dark blue of his eyes. “He was the one. He hurt you. He put you in that river.”
“Yes.”
“And you went back to him?”
“He would have hurt you. That’s what he threatened to do the day I saw him in Town.”
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, sending the dark blond strands flying in every direction. He leveled a tormented stare on her. “You were looking out for me?”
She moistened her lips. “Yes.”
“Don’t—you shouldn’t—” He stopped and closed his eyes in a long blink. He inched his face closer to hers, his voice a rough whisper as he said, “My life is not worth more than yours.”
“I could not let anything happen to you.”
He threw back his head, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling. His hands clenched around her still trembling ones. “Of course, you did not consider that it would destroy me if I lost you.”
At this announcement, her hands only shook more. She sucked in a breath that felt too raw and sharp going down.
After a moment he returned his gaze to her face. “You’re safe now, Annalise. You’re free.”
Her gaze held his, those words rattling inside her head. Free.
“She’ll be fine once we get her some warm tea and up to bed,” the housekeeper volunteered, intruding on their little exchange.
Annalise’s gaze snapped to the housekeeper. She glanced around the vast library. This was Bloodsworth’s home. Not hers. She had no desire to stay another moment ben
eath this roof. “I’m not sleeping here,” she announced. “In this house.” The very idea made her shiver.
Owen brushed a tendril of hair back from her cheek. It was tender, but she inadvertently flinched. He frowned and pulled back, his eyes flickering over her. There was something unreadable in his gaze.
A great commotion outside the library drew her attention. Jack Hadley burst inside the room. Someone must have sent for him. She rose unsteadily to her feet, uncertain.
His gaze landed on her, his eyes wide and so like her own. Beyond him stood Marguerite and her husband.
“Annalise,” her father choked.
Marguerite rushed past him to embrace her. “We thought you were dead.”
Guilt stabbed at her. She had dismissed returning to her family after Bloodsworth tried to murder her. Jack had neglected her all her life until a year ago, and as fond as she was of her sisters, she saw them only infrequently. She did not think any of them really cared about her. Apparently she had underestimated them.
Her chest ached as she felt her sister’s tears against her own cheek, evidence of how much she cared.
Jack’s hand trembled as he caressed her head. “I’m so sorry, Annalise. I pushed you into marrying Bloodsworth.” His voice faded and he closed his eyes in a pained blink.
“Come, Annalise. Let us go home.” Marguerite looped her arm around Annalise’s waist and started to lead her from the room.
Annalise stopped, her gaze moving back to the settee where Owen had been sitting.
Only he wasn’t there now.
Frowning, she looked around the library, searching. Her gaze flew over Jack and Marguerite to the housekeeper, “Where is . . .”
“Lord McDowell?” The housekeeper motioned behind her. “Oh, he just slipped out.”
Her heart squeezed. Her gazed skipped wildly around the room, desperate, hopeful, as if she might have somehow overlooked him before.
“Come, Annalise.” Marguerite squeezed her waist. “We’ll get you home and soon all of this will be but a dim memory.”
Annalise nodded numbly even as she still looked, still hunted for the sight of him.
He was gone.