Violet reacted without thinking. She shoved back hard, striking out blindly. Drake groaned faintly. That sound cut straight through her and also distracted her enough for a man to pull her off him and cast her aside.
“Call your men off, Percival.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, unaffected. “I cannot do that, Evangeline.”
She scrambled to her feet, but before she could move, Percival seized her by the arm. He wasn’t as tall as Drake, wasn’t as strong, but he was tall enough, strong enough. Her struggles proved futile beyond words.
A curse flew from her lips. Violet had never felt so utterly powerless. She could only helplessly watch as the men carried Drake off. Pearls gathered in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. Cry, she would not. She could not show fear. Heartache. Percival fed on them. She’d even go as far as to say that for men like him, they were the very currency of his power.
She turned her fiercest glare on him. “You will regret this.My lord.” Regret he hadn’t taken the out she’d given him at the time. She would make certain he got everything he deserved and more.
His evil eyes met hers. “The only thing I regret, dear, is not marrying you the day I signed the betrothal agreement, which shall be a mistake rectified in a few hours.”
Not if she could help it.
“Come,” he guided her from the garden.
“Where are you taking me?”
She had not thought there could be anything more evil than his eyes, until she saw the grin her question drew from him.
“Oh, to a wedding gift from your brother.”
He might as well have taken his cane toherhead. Reginald. Of course. Everything always led back to him. Violet dug her heels into the earth, every instinct rebelling, but Percival’s grip tightened, digging into her flesh.
“Have you learned nothing?” he snapped, yanking her forward. “Resistance doesn’t change your fate.”
Perhaps not. But she had made her own fate once. And she would do it again. And again. And again. She would make this wretched creature eat his words. And shewouldescape this monster.
*
Drake woke toa blinding throb in his temples. To borrow those abominable words from Reaper,cock on a duck. Cock on two ducks. He couldn’t even bloody open his eyes to sweep his surroundings, much less calculate the danger. He did know Violet wasn’t beside him. He couldn’t feel her. Her absence was a different throb altogether.
Had she been taken?
Of course, you fool.
His wits must have been struck good and proper for him to entertain such a hopeful question. He forced his eyes open with difficulty. The floor beneath him was hard. Unforgiving. Cold enough to seep through his coat and bite into his bones. His wrists protested when he tried to move. So did his damn feet. Tied and trussed up like a pig, then. Whoever had done this had not taken chances.
His vision swam, light and shadow smearing together before the world grudgingly sharpened.
An empty kitchen cellar?
Stone walls pressed in on all sides, damp with age, the air carrying the faint, unmistakable chill of the coast. The ceiling hung low above him, crossed with rough beams blackened by years of smoke. A narrow, iron-barred window sat high in the wall—so no damn escape—admitting a thin, reluctant blade of light.
How long had he been out? Hours? Days?
Drake drew a shallow breath.
This was a first.
Memory began to slink back. Violet’s look of horror. The fearful cry of his name.
“Hell and damnation,” he spat. Who the devil was mad enough to knock him out and kidnap him? The person who did this would not get any damn mercy from him when he got free. And he would damn well get free. Drake grinned as his imagination took over. He’d toss this cockchafer into a damn cell to make him rue the day he’d ever struck him down before Violet.
Drake groaned.
How many times had he collapsed before his little spitfire now?
