Eliza kicked, her feet finding no purchase as Malcolm’s long fingers closed around her throat, squeezing painfully. Her heartbeat surged as her fingers found the hatpin. She drew it out. The room grew black around the edges, her consciousness flickering like a flame starved of air. She grasped the hatpin in her fist, blindly stabbing, again and again, until she felt his flesh give way.
Malcolm howled in surprise as she pushed the pin to the hilt. He released her and stumbled against the wall. She’d gotten him in the gut, the red stain of his blood blooming through the fabric of his pajamas as he clutched his side.
She scrambled over to Gabriel, her throat throbbing with pain. Her clumsy, shaking fingers worked at the knots. His eyes met hers. “No, my darling,” he said sadly. “You need to go.”
“I’ve almost got it ... I ...,” she rasped.
“You goddamn whore!” Malcolm screeched, fixing his wild gaze on Eliza. He hurtled forward, blood seeping between his fingers as he pulled the hatpin free and threw it to the floor.
“Eliza! Run!”
Eliza looked at Gabriel and thought of their baby in her womb—the child they’d made from their passion for one another. A child whose heart would cease beating if hers did. She thought of Lydia, and Albert, and Mimi Lisette. She thought of the pale, lifeless girl at the bottom of a pond made of glass, unloved and drowning in her guilt and grief. And she ran.
CHAPTER 46
Eliza flew through the red door, not knowing where it led, all of her instincts screaming for survival. Malcolm was roaring like an angry lion behind her. His wound had only inflamed his madness and rage.
She took a deep breath, her throat still stinging where Malcolm’s thumb had nearly crushed her windpipe. She’d almost died in that room. But she couldn’t think about that right now. She had to think about her baby. Herself.
After a few moments of blind stumbling in the dark, Eliza realized she was in the basement passageway she’d explored days before. The smell of damp earth surrounded her, and up ahead, lit by the open trapdoor, was the spiral staircase that led to the south wing.
She hurtled forward and heaved herself onto the first step, using the metal railing to propel herself upward.
“Eliza!” Malcolm’s voice was a ragged screech as it echoed off the stone walls of the basement. “Come back! I won’t hurt you—I promise. I’m so sorry.”
She wanted to scream curses at him. Instead, she remained silent, trying to get a sense of how far he was from her. A plan was beginning to form—a way she could save Gabriel. Her real husband. The man who loved her. A memory of their wedding flashed across the back ofher eyes—a memory of promises made in another man’s name, but no less true. No. She wouldn’t lose him. She would fight.
In an instant, prey became predator.
Eliza hoisted herself through the open trapdoor.Quickly, Liza. Move!
She ran to the window and tore the ragged drapes free, dust and soot flying into her face. She layered them over the chair she’d fallen over the night she’d discovered the room, then took up her post, crouching behind the pile of detritus.
It wasn’t long before she heard Malcolm’s labored breathing at the bottom of the stairs. He was muttering to himself, his words indiscernible. Eliza reached into the pocket of her dungarees and slid open the lid to the tin of matches. She took three out. And waited.
And then there he was, the top of his head emerging through the open hatch. He chuckled as he saw her. “Ah, there you are, my pretty little wife. My angel in the house.”
“Please don’t hurt me, Malcolm.” The wheedling tone in her voice was pure artifice. Inside, she felt only rage.
“I’m afraid I have to, darling.” His mouth wrenched into a pained rictus. “I only have one regret.”
“What is it?”
“That I didn’t take you that day in my study when you opened your pretty quim for me.”
“It could still happen, Malcolm. We could truly be as man and wife. I could fetch a doctor to treat you with new medicines. We’d be happy, the three of us. True libertines. Think about it.” She was moving now, sidestepping, leading him toward her. “No one would ever have to know our secrets.”
“You’re ever the temptress, aren’t you?”
“I have your heir, Malcolm. Here.” Eliza rested her hand on her belly. “Don’t you want to see him?” She took another step. He mirrored it. “Don’t you want to have more?”
“I’m dying, remember? I have nothing to lose. Nothing to gain.”
“Then why killme? Why kill our baby?”
“Hisbaby.”
“No one has to know.” Eliza strove for the right words. “I’m so sorry your father hurt you. He turned you toward wickedness with his hateful words and his cruelty. But I see you—I see your goodness beneath all that anger. I won’t desert you. You can trust me, I swear it.”
