She glared at him, refusing him the satisfaction of the slightest reaction.
“Understand?” he bellowed mere inches from her face.
She still didn’t react, refusing to even blink even though her eyes burned with the need to do so.
“You are mine!” he shouted again. His hot breath reeked, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of turning away.
A thunderous crash and the splintering of wood seemed to shake the room. Elias’s enraged roar as he plowed into their midst shook the space harder.
Celia’s heart leapt as he brandished an iron rod like the mightiest of swords.
Friedrich recovered entirely too quickly, dodging and lunging while slashing his knife at Elias. The low ceiling and close confines hindered both of the tall, muscular men.
Cringing and ducking as much as her bonds allowed, Celia braced herself. One or both of them could easily land on her. She yanked at her bonds until her wrists burned and felt wet with a warm stickiness that had to be blood. She didn’t care. Unladylike or not, she champed at the bit to join the battle and punish the beastly Friedrich for not only ruining her wedding day but also for ruining her new dress and satin slippers.
Elias slammed the iron rod hard across the crazed footman’s arm.
Friedrich grunted with the pain and staggered back. With his wounded arm tucked against his chest, he shifted his hold on the long-bladed dagger and stabbed and slashed with abandon.
“You will die for this!” Elias roared with a resounding swing of the iron that caught Friedrich in his side.
The footman flung himself across Celia. He held the knife high as though ready to end her. “She either lives with me or dies with me,” he growled.
Elias went still and backed up. “If you hurt her…”
“What?” Friedrich spat at him. “What will you do? You cannot talk yourself out of this one, Englishman. She is either mine or she is dead. I offer no other option.”
Deafening gunfire exploded from the doorway. “I prefer my option,” Monty said, then fired again. “No one torments my brother or those he loves.”
Pinned beneath Friedrich’s crushing weight, Celia struggled to breathe as he held the knife raised above her as though determined to live until he carried through his threat. His only movement was the slightest tremor that traveled through her. She felt the disgusting warmth of his blood soaking into her gown.
He slowly shifted his crazed scowl from Elias to her, bared his teeth, then forced out, “I meant what I said,” before slashing downward.
The searing burn made her throw back her head and sob a muffled cry through the gag.
“Celia!” Elias dove onto Friedrich and dragged the man off her.
She heard a sickening gurgle and then blessed silence. Silence had to be good. It had to mean Elias had prevailed. She lifted her head and opened her eyes to his terrified gaze.
“My beloved lioness,” he breathlessly repeated over and over while tearing away the damnable gag. “Fetch the doctor,” he shouted while sawing at her bonds with the very knife that had caused her so much pain. At least, she thought it was the same knife. Perhaps not. From the terrible burning and warm wetness covering her chest, the blade might still be in her.
“I knew you would come,” she said, hoping he could hear her. A loud roaring in her ears made it hard to tell how loud she was talking.
“I was going to find you if I had to tear London apart brick by brick.”
“Am I going to die?” She closed her eyes. It took so much effort to breathe through the hurting, she had no strength left to keep her eyes open. The thought of dying angered her. She had spent all her life alone, living a sham and allowing no one near her to protect the charade. She didn’t want to die that way too. Elias had broken her heart at first. But now… “Promise we will marry before I die.”
“You will not die,” he said, his deep voice stern but as warm and comforting as his embrace. “I forbid it, Celia. Absolutely forbid it.”
“Promise we will marry as soon as you get me out of this hole.” If he would promise her that, this horrid pain would be so much easier to bear.
“I swear it, my precious one.” He gently slid his arms under her shoulders and legs. “Hold fast, my love. I know moving will cause you more pain, but I must get you to your room.”
“And then we will marry,” she said through a cry of pain as he lifted her. “Before the doctor does anything. Before I die.” His arms tightened around her, and the tender brush of his kiss across her forehead made her cry. “Promise me,” she whispered through the burning ache that pounded through her with every beat of her heart.
“I promise, my love. Only a little farther and we will be back in your bedroom.”
Celia pressed her face against his throat and concentrated on his reassuring scent of citrus, bergamot, and amber. The clean, sharp, yet sultry notes always took her back to the garden. The feel of his skin against hers. His heat of him as he rose above her, then joined with her, branding her with his delicious scent.
