Amelia’s cry instantly shot him to his feet.
Ten paces away, Amelia struggled in Peckwood’s grip, fingers helplessly trying to pry the man’s forearm away from her neck. The blackguard had her in a chokehold—a blood chokehold. Any more pressure and all blood flow to her brain would stop.
Killing her.
THIRTY
“—that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished, and the sound of a voice so familiar, and dear to the ear, can be hushed, never more to be heard.”
Was this it? The last beat of her heart? Her final breath? Amelia clawed at Peckwood’s arm, but the old surgeon’s grip was iron, and her strength was waning. She could feel it, ebbing like cold seawater. She’d been frightened before, but not like this. Never like this. Not even the feather in her pocket could quell the fear pumping poison through her veins.
She wasn’t ready to die! Not yet.
“Release her!” Graham roared, black against black. He stalked closer, his dark shape murderous in the final gasp of daylight. “You take things too far, Peckwood.”
The doctor’s arm jerked tighter. “Stop right there.”
Her hands fell away, the fight for air so consuming that any extra movement was a price she could no longer afford. Not even the added gust of wind winging up over the cliff was any help.
“You have no one to blame but yourself, Lambert.” Peckwood’s voice rumbled in her ear. “You are the one who set this whole charade into motion. You should have taken the money and let it go.”
“No, lethergo.” Simple words. Simply said. Yet unbelievably chilling. “At once!”
“I’m afraid I cannot. Not yet.” Peckwood’s breath puffed hot against her head—a head that felt like it was going to pop. “Miss Balfour is my insurance you will neither follow me nor go to the authorities until I am long gone from your reach.”
Graham advanced, hands fisted. “I swear by all that’s holy, Peckwood, I will hunt you down for the animal you are.”
“Not another step.” The doctor’s arm clamped harder.
Black crept in from all sides, like the throat of a tunnel narrowing and narrowing. Her lungs burned for want of air. Need of air. Her head swelled and her legs numbed. Dear God! If she could no longer hold herself up, Peckwood’s arm would be the noose that hanged her.
“Stop!” Graham froze, his tone hollow and haunted. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I am a doctor, sir.” Peckwood’s words traveled through a dark haze. “I would never willingly hurt anyone.”
“But you already have. For pity’s sake, man, no more. Let her go.” Fear, love, anguish…all bled together in Graham’s voice. Breaking her heart. Filling her eyes.
She should go to him. Comfort him. Comfort Colin, who rose behind Graham on his arms and knees, wobbling like a dog about to keel over.
But night fell then. No, wait a minute. She was night. One with the darkness. Slipping further. Going deep. No longer able to fight against the steel band against her neck. No feather—nothing but God alone—could help her now.
“You’re killing her!”
Graham’s truth rang clear.
Loud.
Then everything faded.
Death was nothing new, but this? Watching his love, his heart, go limp in the arms of a madman? It was not to be borne.
Graham charged ahead, determined to kill or be killed, driven to the brink of insanity by grief and rage.
Only to be knocked aside. He teetered on one foot, flailing to keep upright.
A primal howl bellowed out of Colin as he shot past. “Me-lee!”
Amelia fell.
