Page 95 of How the Earl Entices

His eyes gleamed brightly at her reaction. Exactly what he’d hoped.Damn him!

“Don’t seem so surprised. As viscount, I needed an heir, and Cora failed to produce one.” He smiled to himself in private amusement as he stopped circling the room, standing much closer than before. “But the new wife is bred. An heir is on his way, I’m certain.”

Grace recognized in his eyes the hatred he held for her, because she hated him in kind, with every ounce of her soul. Once upon a time, that raw hatred would have immobilized her with helplessness. But no more.

He paused at the writing desk, and terror gripped her as he picked up the first page of her unfinished letter to Ethan. Dark amusement curled his lips as he scanned over it.

“When you disappeared so suddenly all those years ago, I’d suspected that you might be with child. I had to question your maid quite thoroughly before she admitted that you’d missed your courses. But then you died, burned to death in that fire.” He chuckled, and the evil sound turned her blood to ice. “The doctor I hired to examine your remains assured me that you weren’t carrying a child, that it must have been the illness and David’s death that had prevented your courses.” Disgust darkened his face. “Women are such weak things.”

His eyes glowed like brimstone in the lamplight, hoping she’d rise to the bait and react. But she knew better, even though terror gripped her chest like a fist. Instead, she watched him, noting every breath he took, each tensing of every muscle, and waited.

“With David and you both dead, I focused on building my legacy, on making the Lockwood title powerful and strong. There’s only one thing now that can destroy all I’ve worked so hard to achieve.” He set the letter down and turned to face her. “Your son.”

Panic struck her like lightning, forcing the air from her lungs. All of her began to shake.

“Where’s the boy, Susan?”

“Go to hell!” she cried out. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“I don’t plan on hurting him, you stupid bitch.” A look of pure evil gripped his face. “I plan on killing him.”

He lunged for her.

Grace darted to the side. He raced past, his hands grabbing only empty air. She ran into the other bedroom, but with a growl, he dove in front of her, cutting off her escape down the stairs.

With a fierce scream of fury and frustration, she swung her fist as hard as she could, clipping him on the chin and momentarily stunning him as he staggered back a step.

He grabbed for her, this time catching her arm and yanking her off-balance. She fell toward the dresser. Her hand skidded across the top, desperately searching for anything she could use as a weapon—

The razor! A cry broke over her lips as she closed her fingers around the ivory handle. She swung. The blade flashed through the lamplight and sliced through his arm, the sickening parting of flesh giving as little resistance as soft butter.

Vincent bellowed in pain and released her as his hand flew to his arm.

Grace staggered away, futilely trying to catch back the air in her lungs as she ran toward the stairs. She didn’t look back as she raced down into the dark studio below, nor could she hear him over the drumbeat of blood coursing through her ears and the pounding of her footsteps. The wicket gate stood open to the moonlit alley beyond the door, its lock broken—

An arm looped around her waist from behind and flung her into the air.

She landed on her back on the worktable, the blow of her body against the wood so jarring that her teeth rattled. The jars of pigment fell from the table, smashing onto the stone floor with the percussion of cannon fire and shards of flying glass.

As she gasped frantically to catch back the air forced from her lungs, he leaned over her. His hands went to her neck.

“I should have done this to you all those years ago,” he hissed, “when I found out how you’d cheated me out of what was mine. But I gave you the chance to turn everything over to me and live.” His hands tightened around her throat. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

His hot breath flared across her cheek as she turned her head away. The last thing she would see in this world wouldnotbe this bastard’s face!

She couldn’t stop a tear from sliding down her cheek, or unbidden thoughts of Ethan. Oh God, her baby! Her little boy…agony ripped through her. To never see him again—

But he would live. That was her only consolation as Vincent tightened his hands around her throat. Ethan would live. Ross would care for him and protect him, send him to school, give him the life she was never able to.

He laughed and licked her cheek, the tip of his tongue tracing her scar. When she shuddered in revulsion, he taunted, “You always were such a pathetically weak little thing.”

Something deep inside her snapped. Her eyes shot back to his as pure rage and fury consumed her. She ground out, “I’mnothinglike the girl I was before!”

Summoning all her strength, she twisted beneath him and kneed him hard between the legs. He bit out a fierce curse and fell onto his side in a spasm of pain.

She struggled to shove him away, but he was too large, too heavy. With one hand grabbing at the edge of the table, she clawed viciously at his face and eyes with the other, to cause as much pain as possible so he would move away. But he only growled and grabbed her by the throat again, squeezing hard.

Choking as black circles blurred her vision, she tore open the drawer. She reached inside, searching frantically—