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“Stop,” she said aloud, pressing her fingers into her temples as she sank to the ground. Her tremors began to widen into shakes, and the sobs she hadn’t allowed herself to feel began to well in her throat. She took deep breaths, trying to keep her traitorous body under control, but she wasn’t strong enough to hold back the tears.
Her head fell into her hands, and she began to cry. And then she felt the oddest thing. Malcolm crawled onto her lap and began to lick away her tears. And for some reason that made her cry all the more.
James’s interview with Sir Bertram Fellport was brief. It didn’t require many words to explain what would happen to the baronet if he ever again set foot on Lady Danbury’s property. And while Fellport was shaking with fear and resentment, James amended his threat to include Fellport’s ever coming within twenty yards of Elizabeth, no matter her location.
After all, if James followed through with his plans to make her his wife, they would undoubtedly cross paths in London.
“Do we understand each other?” James asked, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Fellport nodded.
“Then get the hell off the property.”
“I need to gather my things.”
“I’ll have them sent to you,” James bit off. “Did you bring a carriage?”
Fellport shook his head. “I came with Binsby.”
“Good. The town is barely a mile away. You can hire someone to take you back to London from there.”
Fellport nodded.
“And if you breathe a word of this to anyone,” James said in a deadly voice, “if you so much as mention my presence here, I will kill you.”
Fellport nodded again, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to follow James’s orders and leave, but James still had him by the collar.
“One more thing,” James said. “If you mention me, I will, as I said, kill you, but if you mention Miss Hotchkiss…”
Fellport soiled himself.
“I will do it slowly.”
James let go of Fellport’s collar, and the baronet stumbled a few steps before running off. James watched him disappear over the gentle rise of the hill, then strode back into the stables. He hadn’t liked leaving Elizabeth alone after such a traumatic experience, but he’d had no choice. He had to deal with Fellport, and he didn’t think that Elizabeth wanted to be in the same room as the scoundrel for one moment longer than was necessary.
Not to mention that Fellport could have revealed James’s true identity at any moment.
The minute James stepped into the stables, he heard her crying.
“Damn,” he whispered, stumbling for half a step as he went to her. He didn’t know how to comfort her, didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. All he knew was that she needed him, and he prayed to God that he didn’t fail her.
He reached the corner stall, the door still hanging drunkenly from its hinges. Elizabeth was huddled against the far wall, her arms wrapped around her legs, her forehead resting against her knees. The cat
had somehow wedged itself into the hollow space between Elizabeth’s thighs and torso, and, much to James’s amazement, appeared to be trying to comfort her.
“Lizzie?” James whispered. “Oh, Lizzie.”
She was swaying slightly from side to side, and he could see her shoulders rise and fall with each shuddering breath.
He knew that sort of breath. It was the one you drew when you were trying so hard to keep your feelings inside, but you just weren’t strong enough.
He moved swiftly to her side, settling down next to her in the hay. Laying his arm around her slender shoulders, he whispered, “He’s gone.”
She said nothing, but he felt her muscles tense.
James looked down at her. Her clothing was dirty but not torn, and though he was fairly certain that Fellport had not managed to rape her, he prayed that his attack had not gone beyond a brutal kiss.
Kiss? He nearly spat out the word. Whatever Fellport had done to her, however much he had forced his mouth against hers, it had not been a kiss.
