The blade reached his jaw, slicing deep. So deep. So much pain. He would never be the same, and he knew it all the way to his bones. He would be disfigured. Forever changed.
But who else would have known? How else would he have been found here? How would the earl know? Nothing made sense. And the sense it did make was more horrible than the knife cutting his flesh, making him scream.
Making him bleed.
The world turned black again, and no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he couldn’t keep himself from succumbing to the abyss.
Ara arrived atthe designated meeting place with one quarter hour to spare. The early morning air was biting, but she scarcely felt the cold. Her body vibrated with expectation. She clenched her valise and exhaled a breath, grateful she had not been discovered. They had not been thwarted, and nothing and no one could stop them.
Now that she had reached her destination, a sweet sense of peace settled over her. The rightness of it all sank into her bones, becoming a part of her. It was as if she had waited her entire life for this moment. For this man.
Within hours, they would have their freedom. Within hours, they would be wed, and they would have the rest of their lives to learn and love each other. To grow together. To find their own happiness.
Her heart gave a pang as she waited, eyes searching for a beloved, tall figure emerging from the mists.
“Mrs. Clayton Ludlow,” she whispered to herself with a small, satisfied smile.
When he cameto next, he was on his back. His body felt as if it had been decimated by a locomotive. Head, face, arms, legs—everything throbbed and ached.Holy hell, his teeth hurt. His mouth tasted of blood. His mouth struggled to form words, but searing pain shot through his cheek to his jaw, burrowing itself inside him with such ferocity he almost cast up his accounts.
“Christ on the cross, is that you, brother?”
Clay blinked. His vision swirled. The sky was bright. Too bright. Everything hurt. Where was he? And how? And why? Three Leos hovered over him. All of them appeared concerned, which was unusual for Leo, who made an art of disillusionment and detachment.
“L…” he attempted to say his brother’s name and failed. His mouth failed him. Or his face. Or his mind.
He couldn’t be sure.
“Jesus, don’t try to talk,” Leo said, dropping to his knees. “Clay, don’t close your eyes. Can you hear me?”
Tired. So tired.Clay’s eyes didn’t want to stay open. They were heavy. Filled with the weight of a thousand stones. He hurt. Everything hurt. He had lost Ara. There was a letter in his coat. From her. A goodbye.
He couldn’t bear it.
“How did you come to be here?”
“Where?” he managed to croak.
“Brixton Hall,” his brother clipped.
Clay opened his eyes long enough to see Leo’s face swimming before him. Worried.
Leo never worried. Leo wasLeo. Cold and arrogant and cynical, detached as a grave robber. How could this be right? How could any of this be right?
“Fuck, Clay, your face is…” Leo’s words trailed off, and then he touched Clay’s cheek gently. “Someone cut you badly, brother.”
The pain was so intense he couldn’t control himself. His body twisted on the ground where he had been left—somewhere on the outskirts of Brixton Manor, but Lord knew how—and he retched.
“Jesus, what happened to you?” his brother demanded.
When the heaves subsided, he spat into the dirt. Dark-red blood stained the ground. “Robbed. I was robbed.”
And he had been.
In the truest sense of the word. His vision narrowed as if he had entered a dark tunnel. Or a chamber of hell.
Then, he passed out once more.
Hours.
