Page 79 of The Duke and the Darkness

A pause just long enough for Peyton to snatch up the doll’s teapot and hurl it at his head.

It smashed against his skull and shattered with a dull thud. He staggered back from the force of the blow, only to be hit again by a barrage of cups and saucers. He threw up his arm to cover his face.

Now.Peyton ran toward him and shoved with all her might, sending him flailing backwards. She raced past him for the stairs. Only two stories, and she would be on the ground, out the door, safe—

A hand grabbed the back of her dress and yanked.

Her feet flew up from under her, and she tumbled down the stairs, each hard marble step bruising her arms and legs as she threw out her arms in a futile attempt to break her fall. She rolled to a stop on the landing. Every inch of her burned and throbbed with pain, but she barely felt it in her desperation to flee. She crawled forward on hands and knees toward the next flight of stairs.

Wilkins stepped in front of her, his black boots blocking her way. She froze, still on her hands and knees, each breath tearing from her lungs as her blood pounded in her ears.

“You think you can leave me?”

Slipping her hand down to the hidden pocket in her skirt, she squeezed her eyes shut as he bent down on his heel and leanedover her to caress his fingertips across her nape. Her hand closed around the slender piece of ivory, and slowly, she rolled onto her back beneath him.

“You think I’d ever let you go?” he taunted in a terrifyingly amused voice.

“Not without a fight!” She gritted her teeth and stabbed the knife upward. The resistance of his flesh gave way beneath the sharp blade.

Wilkins howled with pain. He shoved her away and clamped his hand over the gaping wound in his side. Blood seeped through his clothes and onto his fingers. His face twisted with hatred and fury. He pulled back his fist to punch her—

“Peyton!” The shout landed only a heartbeat before Devlin’s large body charged down the hallway from the rear servants’ stairs.

Devlin lowered his shoulder and ploughed into Wilkins, sending him tumbling backwards against the banister, then falling down the stairs. A faint trail of blood dripped down the marble steps in his wake and led to his crumpled body as he lay back against the wall halfway to the first-floor landing.

Devlin started downstairs after him.

“No!” Peyton grabbed Devlin’s leg to stop him. He’d have to drag her down with him before she let go. She knew—he was reliving that night from so long ago, exactly as she was, but this time, he wouldn’t fail to catch her attacker. And kill him.

She couldn’t let that happen. The past would not win.Not this time.

“Stay with me, Devlin,” she pleaded softly. “Save me, just as you did before.” She slid her hand up into his as it dangled at his side and laced her fingers through his. “Don’t leave me.”

He paused in indecision, his gaze flicking between Wilkins and her. Then his fingers tightened around hers, and he knelt down to sit beside her on the landing and gathered her againsthim. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly, safe and protected.

Wilkins let out a snarl of fury at seeing Peyton in Devlin’s arms and clenched his fists. He foolishly started back upstairs, his eyes flashing with determination even as bright blood blossomed at his hip. His boot left a red smear on the white marble as he took a step in their direction.

“She’s there!” Crewe called out from the stair hall below. Chase followed only a step behind.

“It’s Wilkins!” Devlin shouted down to them. “Don’t let him get away!”

Chase and Crewe charged up the stairs.

Wilkins took a long look at Peyton, and beneath his gaze, she felt her skin crawl from his betrayal and depravity. Then he raced up the stairs toward them. Peyton caught her breath and braced for a fresh attack.

At the last moment, Wilkins changed direction and hurled himself through the tall window. He launched himself out into the night in a shower of shattered glass and cracked wood.

Peyton bit down a scream at the dull thud of his body hitting the ground below and shuddered violently. Over Devlin’s shoulder, she watched Crewe draw a pistol from beneath his greatcoat and charge outside into the dark night.

Chase held his own pistol with one hand and gestured orders with the other as half a dozen men flooded into the house and began to search through the rooms to secure them. The once silent house now thrummed with voices and movement; lanterns blazed to life.

It was all too much, and Peyton gasped for breath to fight back the hot tears that threatened to fall.

“Peyton.” Devlin tenderly took her chin in his fingers and lifted her face to exam her. Worry filled his eyes. “Are you all right?” His voice shook. “Did that bastard hurt you?”

She knew what he meant—had he physically harmed her. But the wounds Wilkins cut into her were so much worse than simply physical. She shook her head and whispered, barely louder than a breath, “I trusted him and Proctor. They were family to me.” She tightened her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his, both to hide her anguish and draw from his strength. “But it was all a lie…” She choked back a sob. “How do I trust anyone now?”

“By not letting them win,” he murmured. “They stole your past from you.” Devlin rested his lips against her hair to provide the only comfort he could. “Don’t let them steal your future, too.”