Amália swallowed and continued in a ragged whisper. “I thought he would come tonight with Senhor Darcy, but he did not. He cannot bear to see me, I think.”
“Perhaps he thought it would be easier for you,” Elizabeth suggested.
Amália shook her head. “Nothing is easier,” her voice trailed off on high note, and her body trembled again with tears, but she drew a brave gasp to collect herself. “No, I must go, away from his friends. It is not right.”
“Where else can you be safe? He would not expect—” Elizabeth broke off, her brow furrowed. “Did you hear that?”
Amália’s face pinched. “It is the housemaid, no? She comes to stir the fires?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Not usually, unless it is a very cold night. Perhaps one of my young cousins requires something.”
“Their nursemaid, she is not with them?”
“I do not—” Elizabeth started with a gasp when the door to Amália’s bedroom was quietly opened. She squinted into the darkness, for at first there appeared to be no one there. An instant later, her aunt stepped round the door frame, and Elizabeth prepared to welcome her to their feminine conversation. The welcome died on her lips, however, when she beheld the abject terror in Mrs Gardiner’s eyes.
Amália cried out—a wordless shriek of horror, and began scrambling backward on the bed. Elizabeth scarcely noticed the other lady’s reaction, for she could only see the man behind her aunt, whose left hand was at her throat, and whose right held a blade. Madeline Gardiner was sobbing almost beyond control, her hands trying desperately to pull his from her neck.
“Minha querida!” the man enthused. “Senti a tua falta!” He checked his captive harshly, jerking a tearful gasp from poor Mrs Gardiner. “It is the time for us to return home, yes?”
Elizabeth was trying to catch her aunt’s gaze. Who was this, and how had he entered the house? More importantly, if he held her aunt captive, what had he already done to her uncle?
Amália rose from the bed, shaking and extending a pleading hand. “Por favor324, Miguel! You must not harm her!”
“I shall do as my beloved wife wishes,” he replied with a sickening smile. “Youaremy wife still, my jewel. Come now, and she shall be unharmed.”
Amália was backing away, glancing behind herself toward the window facing the street.
“It is three floors down,” Miguel commented, with evident enjoyment. “You may go that way if you choose, my dear, but I had hoped you would come through the door with me.”
Mrs Gardiner tugged again at his hands, just enough to shake her head. “Do not! He will k—”
Miguel choked off whatever else she might have said, and crooned to his wife. “My precious, have I not always been a faithful husband to you? Have I ever harmed you?”
Amália was shivering from head to foot, racked with painful indecision. “Miguel, let her go! I will go with you, but please—” she shuddered, clenching her eyes.
Elizabeth had been all but ignored, but she had been slowly creeping her hands down toward the floor. Almost… there! Her fingers grazed the handle of the bed warmer. If she could reach but a little farther….
“You, there, wench!” Miguel spun upon her. He shoved Mrs Gardiner in the back with his free hand, pushing her tender throat against the tip of the knife. Elizabeth shrieked in fear, and her aunt closed her eyes to whisper fervent prayers. “I would have her throat slit before you were able to lift it!” he threatened. “Back away, over there…now!!!”
Elizabeth dropped the handle and skittered away, but not without a desperate sweep of the room. So many things she might have used as a weapon! But he was right—he would be faster than she. “I beg you,” she added her pleas to Amália’s, “my aunt has done nothing to you! Let her go! Surely something can be arranged.”
“Silence, witch!” he hissed to Elizabeth. “This does not concern you, but speak another word, and I will cut you next!”
Amália had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to grasp a paper weight, the closest thing she could find. She threw at his head with surprising accuracy, but he twisted at the last second and pulled Mrs Gardiner into its path. Both girls cried out in horror when the dear lady was struck in the cheek and wilted, dazed, to the ground.
Miguel snarled in fury as his captive fell stunned at his feet. “You would defy me? I will show you how a wife conducts herself!” He pushed at Mrs Gardiner’s inert form, shoving her out of his way, and snatched Amália’s arm. “Come, my dear, let me see if my treasure has been plundered,” he spat. “There would be no purpose in bringing a defiled wife back with me.”
He swung her body to the bed and fell upon her, then pressed the knife under her breast, with the tip angled toward her heart. His other hand ripped at her nightdress and then clamped swiftly over her mouth. “Only a moment,” he jeered into her terrified eyes, “long enough to remember the taste of you, then we board our ship. It has been too long, my sweet.”
Elizabeth’s hands were already grasping for the lamp, already reaching to swing it at his head, but he looked up and angled the tip of his knife more deeply into Amália’s breast, pointedly mocking her. “If you startle me into killing her,” he hissed, “you may be her replacement. Have you ever felt a man, English whore? You may enjoy watching.”
Amália was screaming under his hand, shaking her head with tears streaming down her face. She kicked futilely against his legs and both hands grasped at the knife, but she evidently feared snatching at it too forcefully, lest it spring back into her flesh.
Elizabeth was dancing from one side to the next, prepared at any instant to lunge at him. He was distracted now, ravaging Amália’s garments and trying to pin her struggling form. Elizabeth closed in with her heavy lamp, drawing it back with silent, deadly fury, but before she could slash it forward at him, his body was lifted from the bed and thrown against the wall.
Darcy stood over him, his expression more horrible than Elizabeth had ever seen. He had discarded his jacket somewhere, and his unruly hair fell low over glittering eyes. His hands were tensed into vises, ready to jab, punch, or grasp in an instant. “Touch her again,” Darcy threatened, “and I will forget I am a gentleman!”
Miguel sneered from the ground, with all the bravado of one who feels an idle threat. “Did you dally with my wench as well, Darcy? Or is the other your whore? She was a sweet morsel,” he licked his lips.
