Movement behind her.
Something hard slammed into the back of her skull and made her collapse into the musty hay.No.Everything black, dizzy, as rough fingers seeped into her hair.
Then a bark, a growl, and the fingers loosened with a curse.
She scrambled to her feet and ran. Gasping, she threw herself against the tall carriage house doors, but they were locked and the footsteps were already coming again.Please.Blood dripped down her neck, as she collapsed to her knees and crawled along the perimeter of the wall. She bumped into something round. A wheel. A carriage.
Merrylad whined.
Then silence.
A man’s breathing filled the room, loud and deep, raspy. The footsteps hurried as if he’d spotted her—
She lunged up and threw open the carriage door, climbed in, and slammed it shut. Seconds later it jerked back open.
Giant hands reached in for her.
Her scream rent the carriage. She kicked at the hands, but her slipper fell off and he seized one of her ankles. Jerked her forward. Grasped her by the hair again and yanked her back out.
Pain exploded, as he shoved her body into the wall and lowered his hands to her throat.No, no, no.Too dark to see, but his eyes held hers. Luminous. Wide. Bulging, as he squeezed tighter and tighter and banged her head a second time. A third time. A fourth time, until she couldn’t see anything and she couldn’t get air and the pain dulled into numbness—
Someone shouted, but it sounded so far away.
Help.
The hands must have been gone, because she slumped to the ground and laid motionless. No one came for her. No one touched her or hurt her or helped her.
God, please. Merrylad.She dragged herself forward with her elbows, felt her way to the little room where she’d last heard his growl. She had no strength to call for him and it was too dark to see. At the edge of the threshold, she waited.
If he could, Merrylad would have come for her. He would have licked her face or whimpered or barked for help.
But he didn’t.
The room was silent.
No. Please no.She curled her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around her bloody neck, and wept. Whoever had tried to kill her should have finished what they started. How much easier to die than bear this too.
Because if Merrylad was dead, so was she.
Felton followed the expressionless manservant into the hall. “What is this all about?”
“Be it far from me, sir. Young Curry is—”
“The stable boy?”
“Yes, sir, he—”
“What the devil does he want in the middle of a ball? He should be asleep by this time.”
“I hardly know myself, sir.” When they reached the entrance doors, the manservant pulled them open with a word that Curry awaited him outside.
Felton jogged down the wide stone steps, night air cooling his hot face. If he had known what was good for him, he should have stayed by Mamma’s bedside instead of traipsing off to a ball he didn’t belong at. True, he had danced with Miss Haverfield. The squire had scoffed and the ladies had whispered and the ugly red-headed gentleman had stiffened in indignation—all of which brought pleasure.
But his dashed temptation had gotten the best of him. Like a raging fool, his eyes had kept returning to the very place he’d left, that back wall where the beautiful little chit no longer stood. Why had she run off like that? Had he injured her by leaving her side?
Of course he had.
He’d known it was wrong all along, but he’d done it anyway. For the sake of his name. For the sake of how it might benefit a Northwood to dance with a Haverfield. For the very sake that he’d waited years to earn smiles and attention from the squire’s daughter.
