She raked her fingernails over his flesh, clawing him as hard as she could, but he’d snatched hold of her hair again, and now he yanked her head backwards, exposing her vulnerable neck. Sophia kicked and flailed in his grip, but this time her feet didn’t find his knee,only empty air.
“Quit yer fussing, girl. It’ll be over quicker that way.”
His hot breath drifted over her ear, and she just had time to think,this is what happens to wicked little girlsbeforeshe felt the tip of his blade prick her neck, and she didn’t think at all.
* * * *
Tristan raced across London, his horse’s hooves pounding the streets between Great Marlborough Street and St. Clement Dane’s Church into powder.
But no matter how quickly he flew, it wasn’tquickly enough.
How long had it been since Sophia left his house? An hour? Longer than that? How much time had he wasted, listening to Sampson’sWillis’s lies?
If only he’d told Tribble to send Sampson Willis on his way. If only he hadn’t left Sophia alone in his bedchamber, or returned to her sooner, or caught her before she slipped out the door…
Ifonly, if only…
He leaned over his horse’s head, a mumbled prayer on his lips. He didn’t know what he prayed for, only that his words grew more desperate when St. Clement Dane’s spire appeared in the distance.
Nearly there. Past Arundel and Aldwych, another block further along the Strand…
His heart eased a fraction in its frantic pounding as the entrance to the church and the churchyard came into view. It appeared deserted. He knew Sophia was here, but she would have taken care to hide herself well.
There was no sign of Sharpe, either, but that was little consolation to Tristan, who knew there were far more dangerous men hiding in the darkness than Lord Everly’s cowardly servant.
Men likeRichard Poole.
Wily, quick, and a ruthless murderer. He’d ended Henry’s life with a swipe of a blade, and if given a second chance, he’d do thesame to Sophia.
Tristan didn’t intend to give him asecond chance.
As soon as he made it to the church he leapt from the saddle, drawing in deep, calming breaths as he stole cautiously toward the entrance. A battle would certainly unfold in St. Clement Dane’s churchyard tonight, but by some miraculous bit of luck he seemed to have arrived before it—
“No!”
The high-pitched scream rent the air, shattering the silence. Tristan’s head whipped toward it, his blood freezing to ice.
Sophia. He’d know hervoice anywhere.
The scream had come from the graveyard beyond the church. Tristan tore off in that direction, his long legs eating up the ground at his feet. As he drew closer, he noticed a dim light at the base of a white marble crypt.
A lantern, lying on its side, and beside it, just at the edge of the pool of light was the lifeless body of Peter Sharpe. Tristan didn’t gasp or flinch at the sight. He didn’t blink, and he didn’t pause in his flight. One glance, and he could see by the spreading pool of blood seeping into the ground around the body that Peter Sharpe was beyond help.
But Sophia wasn’t. She was here, andshe was alive.
He ran for her, the graveyard unfolding at his pounding feet, and suddenly he was trapped in his nightmare of the past few weeks, the white marble crypt at his back as he ran for her, faster, then faster still, drawing closer with each step, his hand reaching for the long strands of her dark hair, catching it between his fingers just as she dissolved into mist.
But he ran on, his heart shuddering in his chest, each breath tearing from his lungs until there, at last, just ahead, at the edge ofthe graveyard…
He couldn’t see them, but he sensed movement, some sort of struggle, and an instant later he heard it. A muttered curse, and a woman’s choking cough, as if someone was squeezing her by the throat. Tristan’s heart clenched with fear, but as terrifying as it sounded, he wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes when he found them at last.
It was the scene out of his worst nightmare.
Poole had a handful of her hair in his fist, her head back to expose her neck, and a dagger, the edge of the blade gleaming, was pressed hard against her throat. Sophia was fighting him, but Tristan could see she was weakening as she struggled to draw breathinto her lungs.
Poole was either going to slash her throat, or strangle her.
Tristan bit back the agonized shout that tried to escape his own throat. The only advantage he had was Poole hadn’t yet seen him. His body tensed to attack, to leap on Poole and tear Sophia loose from his arms, but once again a tiny shred of reasonprevented him.
