“You’ve ruined my life,” he growled.
She shook her head. “Yes, so you’ve repeated ad nauseum. But I’ve been a courtesan for six years, Evelina joined me four years ago, Julia two. Why in the world would you break into my housenow? I couldn’t have freshly damaged you, I’ve done nothing different.”
“I’ve been working toward a marriage,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “The middle daughter of the second son of Viscount Trafford.”
She stepped back. “Christ, Father, she cannot be more than two years older than I am. That’s disgusting.”
“What choice did you leave me?” His face grew red and spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. “You and your sisters stole any chance I had of furthering myself through your marriages. And then you went and whored yourselves out so blatantly, damaging my name. It took me this long to work on Trafford. To convince him through a variety of means.”
“Blackmail him, perhaps?” she asked softly. “He has a secret family, yes?”
He arched a brow. “Seems you have your information, too.”
“What in the world would your disgusting bargains with Trafford have to do with me?” she asked.
“A few weeks ago you started up with that Windham bastard. All your scandalous activities started spiraling back to the country. The scandal rags were dripping with the stories of your races and gambling and running around like a fool with him. They named your sisters, they namedme.”
She flinched. Using her own name, trying to tweak her father’s fury, it had been her biggest mistake. And now it seemed it was coming back to haunt her.
“And?” she asked coolly, though she had an idea of what happened next.
“Trafford said he was trying to avoid a scandal, not fall back into one. He refused the match, bought off my source of information about his other family. Matched his daughter to some other man before I could protest too publicly. I lost my connection to an increase in my worth because ofyou.” He got even closer and she backed up, but there was no more room to move. He had to her pinned against the table. “And it will keep happening. You will keep up what you are, and it will always damage me. But if you’re dead, then it ends.”
Raw, powerful fear roared through Arabella as she stared into the face of a man who should have loved her, but had only ever hated her even before she ran. A man who looked entirely serious about what he wanted to do.
There was a light knock on the parlor door and they both froze and looked toward it. “Miss Comerford?”
It was Barnaby. When she looked back at her father, she saw he had a gun out now. Pointed toward the thin door and the servant beyond.
“No,” she whispered. “Let me.” She hoped her voice sounded less shaky when she called out, “Yes?”
He hesitated when she didn’t call him in, but then said, “The food has been delivered to your chamber—a few of your favorites.”
“Good man,” she called back. “You’re so kind. Now, please, you and your lovely wife must take the rest of the night off, as I said earlier. I’ll lock up before I go up.”
“Yes, miss. Goodnight,” Barnaby said, his tone lined with confusion. But he didn’t try to come in and she heard his footfalls moving away. To safety. At least she could provide that.
“Funny how you’d protect a servant but you’d throw your sisters to the wolves and destroy me.” Her father caught her arm and dragged her toward the door, his fingers digging hard into her flesh and his gun pressed against her side. “Now, you’re going to write a letter of goodbye, Arabella. And we’re going to take care of this.”
“Fine,” she said. “Fine, I’ll do as you like. Let me write it upstairs. I can leave it where someone will see it.”
He glared at her as he pulled her into the hall. There the light was fuller and she gasped. He looked twenty years older rather than just six. And his gaze was wild and so cruel.
“If you alert anyone in this house to my presence, if you think you’ll get away somehow by tricking me, know that I will kill anyone who comes for you with no hesitation. Your servants, your sisters, your latest lover. I’ll shoot any of them without any remorse and let you watch them die.”
She nodded, blinking at the tears stinging her eyes. “I won’t do anything.”
He drew her to the stairs and they staggered up together and into her chamber. She looked past her bed, toward the dressing room. “I’ll write it in there,” she said, and pulled from his arms.
She went into the other room, ignoring the tub where she’d last been with Silas for the moment. To realize that might be the last time they were ever together in any intimate way was too painful. She would die and he might believe she’d killed herself. Might think it had to do with their supper tonight and the rejection of his family.
God, he would hate them and himself. She had to make sure he didn’t believe that. That her sisters knew she wouldn’t leave them on purpose. She had to leave clues that her demise had been at this man’s hand so she could protect her sisters from any retribution he might seek against them when he wasn’t satisfied with only destroying her.
She drew paper from a drawer in her dressing room and stood at the table, staring at that blank vellum for a moment. “What should I say?”
“That you know you’re a ruining whore who doesn’t deserve to live and that you went to the Thames to kill yourself. Wash away all that disgusting sin. Oh, and add that you’re mostly sorry to your dear father.”
She shut her eyes and drew a shaky breath. He had no idea that he was playing into her hand. No one she knew or loved would ever believe any of that nonsense.
