Page 73 of The Baron Takes a Wife

“We weren’t in love, Anatole. We were in lust and infatuation. Obsession. If you loved me, you never would have cut me.”

In that moment, he drew back as if momentarily stunned, and she was able to use the ground to leverage her body against him and throw him off her. She began to get up off the ground, but he grabbed her and pulled her back down, pushing one bony elbow against her throat to choke her, as the other arm went to his pocket. He hovered above her, pulling out another, larger knife. She remembered sitting with him under a tree as he carved their names into the bark, and he told her how his father had given him that particular knife on his deathbed, showing her the engraving. Young Elena had been entranced by this sad, tragic boy, but now she wondered if any of what he had told her had been true. Elena’s blood ran cold as the silver of the knife caught the sun, the inscription gleaming in the light.

As she struggled for air, she began to feel her will to fight leave as sick resignation washed over her. He wasn’t just going to cut her face this time. He was going to end her life. Odd for the living, even for the dead. With this realization came a raw, aching pain in her chest. If only she could have seen David one last time. To thank him for everything. To tell him. To tell him… She felt consciousness begin to slip away as she gasped for air. Anatole started to mutter as if in prayer, but in that moment, he didn’t hear the bark had grown closer.

****

“David!”

David had not heard his sister so distressed since their father died, and she had found his body in his study. Oddly the very same study where he now sat with a letter that could change his entire life.

Irene ran in with her bonnet askew and her pale walking gown stained at the bottom with grass, panting and sobbing. This was not a good sign, as his sister was not one to give in to tears easily. She threw herself into his arms as he rose, and he could tell she was trying to say something but couldn’t catch her breath.

He held her tight as he felt a cold fist clamp on his chest, making it difficult to get enough air as he ground out the words, “Irene, where is Elena?”

Irene pulled back and looked up at him, gasping but trying to steady herself. “There was a man. A man attacked us. She told me to run, to get help. But I left her David. I left her! What if he hurts her?”

Elena hadn’t sent Irene away just to get help, he thought. She had sent Irene away to protect her, leaving Elena alone with this man. He felt a surge of love for his wife, whom he didn’t think he could love any more if he tried. But that surge was quickly replaced by a cold jolt of fear. David had a feeling he knew who this man was, and he cursed himself for not realizing he would follow her outside London. Dread began to set in, but he could best help Elena if he kept a level head and shut down his emotions. If he let the soldier take over.

“Irene, think carefully. Where was this?”

“By the wishing well. Please hurry, David!”

The panic started to set back in, more bone-deep this time. He willed it to go away. He needed to hold on for just a bit longer. “You did well, Irene. I’m going to get her. Now, I want you to rest. I’ll ring for —”

“I’m going back with you!”

“Irene—”

“No, David, she’s my sister, and I won’t abandon her. Besides, I know exactly where she is.”

He pulled back to look at Irene. “She said that? That you’re her sister?”

Irene nodded, finally seeming to catch her breath. He didn’t know what that meant for him, but it didn’t matter right now. Elena didn’t have to love him back. She didn’t have to stay. She just needed to survive. He could not live in a world where she did not walk this earth.

“Fine. There is no arguing with you. I’ll send someone for the law, and we’ll be away.”

He grabbed his sister’s arm, leaving his cane behind. Fear he had never known before, not even on the battlefield, threatened to flood his body and soul, but he prayed Elena could hold on. She had to hold on.

****

Elena had never really appreciated the size of Goliath’s jaw until she saw it bearing down on a grown man’s forearm. A strong man like David might have been able to throw him off, but Anatole looked sickly and weak. He had been living in the forest, Elena remembered. Anatole cried out and tried to shake off Goliath, attempting to stab him, but Goliath held firm. As blood trickled down Anatole’s arm, he cursed and dropped his knife. Somehow, using his back paws as leverage, Goliath was able to pull Anatole to the ground. He let go of Anatole’s arm and put his giant paws on the man’s chest, immediately placing his jaw around Anatole’s throat. Elena flinched. Goliath had Anatole trapped against the ground with the weight of his paws, his jaw caging Anatole’s neck but not bearing down. He seemed like…he was waiting on her. Goliath was waiting for her to give the command. To kill. From the way his body froze and his eyes widened, Anatole realized this too.

She had never seen Goliath like this before. The gentle giant she had known was gone, his features twisted into a vicious snarl, his teeth poised to carry out her order. She was reminded for a second of the wolves in stories her grandmother told, vengeful remnants on this earth who stopped at nothing to obtain their justice. Elena slowly, shakily, got to her feet. Was this her chance for vengeance? Here lay the man who had taken her love, her innocence, her beauty and turned her against her family. He wasn’t the reason they were gone, but he was the reason she wasn’t with them when they fled, or whatever happened to them that day. He had scouted her village, gotten to know them, and then given their secrets to the Russian army. Like a judge, she weighed the case against him, and all the evidence told her he deserved to die. But there was one more thing, one last chance. She put a hand to Goliath’s back and knelt down to Anatole’s ear.

“Where is my family?” she asked, again in Russian. She felt a last, final sliver of hope swell in her heart, as perhaps with the looming threat of Goliath’s teeth, Anatole would finally tell the truth.

Anatole could barely speak from Goliath’s grip on his throat, his voice coming out in a rasp. “I don’t know. I just wrote that to draw you out,” he spat, his momentary vulnerability disappearing into a snarl. “How pathetic when you know they probably perished in the war.”

That hope that had swelled in her chest rapidly deflated, leaving a harsh, bitter taste in her mouth. That bitterness made her heart hard, made her hate in a way that she had never allowed herself in all her life. And that hate made her utter words she never thought she would say. She put her mouth back to his ear and spoke in a hushed tone as if saying it quietly would make it less vile.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

Anatole eyed Goliath fearfully but remained silent, letting her make the decision.

In that moment, all she wanted to do was hurt him as much as she hurt, to punish him for killing that last, final sliver of hope. But the rush left as swiftly as it came, and she felt empty instead, the bitter taste giving way to a nothingness.

Just then, a cool breeze of mercy spilled over her, and with it came the clarity of what it would cost her to kill him. She had always felt herself dirty before, stained by the sins of the past, but she finally understood that most of the things she had done, while perhaps thoughtless, were not cruel. As David said, she was punishing herself over and over for one bad decision. Letting Goliath kill Anatole would truly tarnish her soul in a way from which she might never recover. She recognized that as angry as she was with herself, with Anatole, hurting him wouldn’t bring her family back. It wouldn’t make up for anything he had done to her. And he had already suffered so much.