“I will not be made to look like a fool!” Mr. Ramsay stormed into the room. His face was red, his body trembled, and his beady eyes were narrowed such that they almost touched the bridge of his nose. “He is the fool! Him!”
Helena gasped. “Mr. Ramsay, what?—”
“He will pay!” he cried as he crossed the room. But not toward Helena, thankfully. Rather, he went for the empty wardrobe, which he grabbed and wrenched to the ground. It struck the floor and shook the room, and Helena cried out again. “Pay!”
“What happened?” She scurried back on the bed, her calm totally gone.
“Does he not believe me?!” Mr. Ramsay lunged at the desk by the window, snatching the lantern and launching it across theroom. It smashed against the wall and shattered. “Or perhaps I overestimated him!”
He stood there for a moment, his hands clenched by his sides, his breathing ragged and heavy. Then, slowly, he turned to face Helena, who was sitting on the bed, caught between holding her knees to her chest and charging for the door.
In fact…
She glanced at the door, finding it open. Back on Mr. Ramsay, a moment as their eyes locked, and then she took her chance. The only one she would have.
Helena leapt from the bed.
“No, you don’t!” He darted across the room, blocking the door.
She cried out and stumbled back, turned and tripped, falling onto the bed again.
“Your husband…” He advanced on her, seething. “I knew he did not love you. I knew he loved only himself. But even I failed to underestimate just how little he cared.”
Helena spun around, her eyes wide, her heart caught in her throat, to see him approaching. And the look on his face…
At that moment, she truly believed he meant to kill her.
“Please…”
“It is a shame that anything I do to you won’t make a difference,” he spat as he took another step closer. “A shame that the Duke will not care. Somehow, I will have to find my own pleasure in watching you bleed. Maybe then…” His eyes flashed with menace. “Maybe then he will realize what it means to?—”
Mr. Ramsay’s deranged ranting was cut short by a crash that echoed from downstairs. It sounded to Helena like a door being kicked open.
“Oi!” she heard a deep voice bark. “Who do you think?—”
Someone cried out. Another crash shook the house. And then Helena heard the sweetest sound she could have ever imagined.
“Helena!” It was Sebastian, his voice coming from downstairs. “Helena!”
“Where did you come from!” another deep voice barked. “Don’t think you can?—”
A thump cut off whoever had spoken, then a cry, followed by a loud crash.
“Helena!”
“No!” Mr. Ramsay yelped.
He spun about, his head swiveling, his eyes wide as he looked around the room. The anger seeped out of him. The confidence in being the biggest man in the room.
“This is not…” He caught his tongue, clenched his jaw, and then grinned. “Oh yes. Yes!”
Helen’s excitement soared, only to crash when Mr. Ramsay snatched the pistol from his waistband. His laughter was deranged as he hurried across the room, putting himself beside the open door, hidden so anyone coming from the other side wouldn’t be able to see him.
“Don’t.” He cocked the pistol and aimed it at her. “Do not even think about it.”
“Helena!”
Helena sat frozen on the bed. The pistol was pointed at her chest. Mr. Ramsay was hiding behind the wall, and the sound of Sebastian’s thumping footsteps came closer as he climbed the stairs and charged down the hallway.
