Bryony’s heart was beating double-time as she came face-to-face with the man who was her husband. He was clad ina dark blue velvet robe, his sparse hair mussed. He needed a shave.
“Wife,” he said. “How good of you to come. Dare I believe you couldn’t wait until this evening to consummate our marriage?”
The thought made her stomach turn. “No. I’ve…that is, I was hoping…” She clasped her hands together, her nails biting into her palms. “I wish to annul the marriage,” she said, the words running together in her haste. “I will pay the debt for my father. No one need know of the earlier wedding. There will be no embarrassment for either of us.”
His little pig eyes narrowed as she finished speaking.
“I know this comes as a surprise,” she hurried on when he made no reply, “but I’m just not ready for marriage. Perhaps in a year or two,” she added hastily.
A faint smile twisted his thin lips as he removed his robe, revealing a pair of silk pajamas that made him look even fatter than he was. “I think I prefer my idea better,” he said, taking a step toward her.
Bryony took a frantic step backward, but there was a wall behind her and she had nowhere to go.
Reaching out, he snagged her wrist with his pudgy fingers and dragged her into the bedchamber. She stared in horror at the enormous bed with its purple velvet hangings. Merciful heavens, did he intend to claim his husbandly rights here and now?
Panic raced through her when he pulled her roughly into his arms and began to kiss her, long, wet kisses that filled her with revulsion. She bit his lower lip, kicked his shins, but he merely laughed in her face. She begged him to let her go, but he paid no attention. She lashed out at him again to no avail, her struggles useless against his strength. Until she raked her nails down his cheeks, drawing blood.
With an oath, he drew back and slapped her across the face twice, the force of the blows driving her backward. She tripped over a throw rug, let out a frightened cry as she fell backward. There was a horrible crunching sound as the back of her head hit the hearthstones in front of the fireplace.
Stefan woke with Bryony’s cry ringing in his ears. Naked, he rose and pulled on a pair of trousers, nothing more. It took only a moment to hone in on her blood. A thought took him to a large estate. Bryony was inside. Dying. A quick brush of her mind with his told him everything that had happened.
He pounded on the front door, cursing the threshold’s power to keep him out, cursing himself for shutting her out of his life. He had told himself he was doing what was best for her and that misguided decision had led to this. Dammit! Her father had failed her and so had he. If she lived, he would never fail her again.
A butler answered his knock, took one look at his face, and closed the door.
Stefan pounded on the door again, but there was no answer. Willing himself into the backyard, he found a servant. Trapping the man’s gaze with his own, he said, “You will go into the house and invite me inside. Now, dammit!”
The man hurried toward the back door, opened it, stepped inside, and quickly said, “Please come in, sir.”
Stefan flew past the servant and raced up the stairs.
Bloodworth stood over Bryony, his hands on his hips. Blood dripped down his cheeks. He looked up when Stefan entered the room. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“What have you done?” Stefan asked, his voice deceptively mild.
“Nothing. It was an accident and it doesn’t concern you. My wife fell and hit her head.”
“Have you called for a doctor?”
Bloodworth shrugged. “It’s too late for that.”
Rage unfurled inside Stefan as he stepped forward and picked up the fireplace poker. “No,” he said, his voice like ice over steel. “It is too late for you.”
Bloodworth’s face went pale, his mouth gaping open for a scream that never came as the poker crushed his skull.
Stefan tossed the poker on the bed and knelt beside Bryony. Her head was bleeding profusely, the rug beneath her was wet with it. Her face was fish-belly white, her lips turning blue, her breathing erratic. He had done this to her. He should have taken her away when he had the chance. What did he care if her father went to prison? If the whole damn family ended up behind bars? It would have been better than this.
She stared at him a moment, her expression blank, before slipping into unconsciousness.
Time was running out. Swearing softly, he lifted her into his arms and transported the two of them to the Stone House in the valley. Cradling her to his chest, he whispered, “Forgive me, my fair Bryony. You may hate me for what I do, but I cannot live in this world without you.”
Lowering his head, he removed the hair net and gently brushed the blood-soaked strands away from her neck. Taking a deep breath, he drained all but the last of her life’s blood from her body. When it was done, he bit into his wrist and held it to her lips. “Drink, love,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “You must drink.”
For a moment, he thought she was too far gone to respond but then, slowly, she began to lap at his blood. Gradually, her pale cheeks took on a bit of color, her breathing grew regular, as did her heartbeat.
When he was satisfied that she would survive, he sealed the wounds in her throat and his wrist and laid her carefully on his bed. After filling a basin with water, he washed the blood from her hair and neck. When that was done, he quickly removed her blood-stained clothing and her boots, leaving her clad in nothing but her chemise. He covered her with a blanket, brushed a lock of hair from her brow, and bent down to kiss her cheek.
For the first time in more years than he cared to remember, Stefan bowed his head and offered a silent prayer of thanks that he had arrived in time to save her life, although it would never be the same again. He felt no remorse for killing Bloodworth, only for letting Bryony down when she needed him the most.
