Something this man wanted for his own daughter.
Her eyes darted toward the door, and she took two cautious steps so that a wing-backed chair separated herself from the two men.
The larger of them was bald with several scars along the top of his head. He appeared as though somebody had carved his scalp at one time.
The other man was most distinguishable for his heavy black eyebrows. As they neared her, a stench wafted into her nostrils.
She was not mistaken.
Lord Quimbly had nefarious intentions.
She needed to move. To do something. At last the danger she faced prodded her into motion.
With a mighty shove, she threw the chair into their path and then bolted toward the exit. Freedom. Safety?
One step.
Two.
Just a few more and she could throw the door open.
But she was not quick enough.
One burly hand grasped the top of her arm and then another wrapped itself around her neck.
“Not so fast, Miss Goodnight,” Lord Quimbly said. “I’m afraid your plans for the day will have to change.”
Emily took a deep breath, intending to let out a scream just as a white cloth pressed against her nose and mouth.
She gagged and flailed her hands at the arm that pinned her.
He was going to kill her. She would never see Marcus again.
The only sound that escaped her was a muffled sob. Much louder in her own head than in reality.
It had all been for naught. The marriage. The trip to Gretna Green. Everything…
Oh, Marcus.
And then nothing. Darkness… and nothing.
Figuring It Out
Marcus reached out, expecting to touch soft, feminine skin but instead grazed his hand along the cool sheets of the bed.
Of course, leave it to Emily to elude him in surprising moments. As she did the evening after meeting with the blacksmith. He grinned to himself. Any man could only appreciate the efficiency of such a ceremony. But women.
Emily.
She’d needed more.
She’d seen him at the inn, apparently in the worst moment possible. For all of thirty seconds, he’d contemplated taking the willing and buxom woman up on her offer. A devilish side of him had wanted to throw off his marital responsibilities.
And then he’d caught a whiff of the woman’s perfume. She’d been unfamiliar.
In the past, the unfamiliar merely beckoned him.
But in that instant, he’d wanted the sweet clean scent of his Emily. He’d not wanted another woman’s hands fondling him. He’d not wanted to experience the awkwardness that always managed to come afterward with a strange woman.
