“Tsk, tsk, Miss Edwards, no need to leave the party early. I’ve enjoyed your tears and pain. It’s so delicious, you see.” His smile deepened. “Who’re the tears for, I wonder. They couldn’t be for that obnoxious, soulless Duke of Caspire could they?” At her startled look, he laughed. “Yes, that is a lost cause, my dear. Better you feel the pain of heartache, than the pain of imperfect love, no?”
She shook harder. The floor moved beneath her, and she wanted to lie down and curl into a ball. Nausea pushed into her stomach, and the sour sick rose in her throat.
Tapping the tip of the knife against his chin, he looked about the room. “Who’ve you been chatting with? You’re obviously alone. Do you hear voices, Miss Edwards?” His lip curled, his expression incredulous.
Finally able to breathe without the risk of his knife piercing her lung, she shook her head, unable to push the words passed her trembling lips.
“No matter. You can hear whatever voices you wish, my lovely, as long as the last voice you hear is mine.”
Her mouth dropped open as warmth fled her.
“It’s time to go,” he said as he looked over her shoulder to the room behind her. His voice dripped with eerie calm.
A shadow appeared beside her, and her breath caught. Heavy, sharp pain exploded at the back of her head, sending her forward onto her knees. She couldn’t gather the strength to rise, and her arms were dead branches at her side. Wet, sticky warmth slid down the back of her neck.
Blood.
She collapsed onto the rug. Stars swept over her blurring vision, and the glinting of Angelous’ knife disappeared behind a cloak of gaping blackness.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The rain against the window sounded like the clicking fingernails of hideous wraiths, swarming the house, eager to sink their vicious, poisonous claws into Logan’s soul.
They were welcomed to it.
How could he have been so callous and cruel to her? She didn’t deserve it. Yes, she’d been angry and careless with her words, but she was upset, confused, and completely overwhelmed. This wasn’t her time, her place, or her world. She’d been torn from everything she’d known and loved and thrown into an era where she couldn’t be herself, or live the life she was accustomed to. It was easy in a secluded manor with people who knew her secret and were accommodating, but that wouldn’t be the case anywhere else.
He knew she’d been hurt before; her defensiveness, her words, and her inability to trust him spoke volumes.
Heat flashed over his chest at the memories flooding his mind. His callous, hateful words and her expression of shock and shame drove the blood right from his heart.
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
He’d hurt her.
She deserved better.
Everyone deserved to be loved, and Logan knew he could love, because he did.
He loved Haven.
And now he’d lost her. How could he even begin to beg forgiveness for what he’d said, for how he’d acted?
His breath left in a loud whoosh. Utter dread hit him, easily pushing through the hollow space in his chest. He doubled over, his hand to his heart, gasping for air.
Something was wrong.
An ill, nauseating shadow cloaked him with its blackness.
An urgent knock pounded on his study door, and after long moments, he pulled upright. “Come.”
Connors flew into the room.
Forcing more air into his lungs, Logan braced his hand against his chest. “What is it, man?”
The butler stood at attention, but his flushed face told Logan he’d been in a hurry. “My Lord, Lord Bleydon and Miss Kroger are here.”
Sighing with exasperation, he replied, “Thank you, Connors.”
