His face tightened. “I’ve never wanted you to be anything other than who you are.”
“It’s not the who so much as the what,” she retorted.
Secretary? Friend? Or mistress?
All three of them chafed in some ways, but it was that last one that was dangerous.
“My lord!” Someone yelled, cutting through the tension. “My lord!”
The look Sterling shot the door of the vault was a dangerous one. It said this-had-better-be-bloody-important-or-I’m-going-to-kill-someone.
“What?” he demanded, striding to the door and jerking it all the way open.
The Willoughby’s butler slid to a halt, gasping for breath. “My lord you must come… quickly! It’s Lady Willoughby! She’s taken… another turn!”
Chapter
Five
What perfect fucking timing.
Sterling launched himself up the stairs to the front entrance of the Willoughby’s manor and skidded across the polished tiles in the entry as he turned to look for Edwina.
She had both hands buried in her skirts as she sprinted across the lawn behind him. “Go!” she yelled, seeing him turn to wait for her.
Very well then. Sterling bolted through the house, heading for the sunroom where the butler said that Lady Willoughby had fainted.
“Eliza!” Lord Willoughby shook his young bride frantically. “Eliza, wake up!”
Servants filled the doorways. Sterling pushed his way through them. “Out of the way! Hurry now, let us through!”
And then he burst into the sunroom.
There was a heavy pall in the air over Lady Willoughby.
Goosebumps lit over his skin as soon as he strode within ten feet of her, and a sudden menacing urge to be elsewhere flooded through him. No wonder the servants didn’t dare get close.
Only Willoughby could stomach it.
“Oh, thank God!” Willoughby said, looking at him helplessly. “It’s just like before! She just collapsed and she doesn’t appear to be breathing!”
“May I?” Sterling set his hands in the air above Lady Willoughby’s chest. There was a spark deep within her, battling for life, but it was as if that choking thickness was smothering her.
“She’s still alive!” Sterling grabbed the entity by the metaphorical throat….
But it was as if the creature simply slipped through his fingers.
Not a ghost. Not a phantom.
Not a gray lady.
It was like nothing he’d ever handled before. He wasn’t even sure it was… tangible.
Merely terror and dread, and an overwhelming pall of fear lighting along his nerves.
A shadow appeared, malevolent golden eyes popping open and locking upon him.
Then hands were rushing at him, wrapping around his throat.
