Page 96 of One Night with a Rake

***

Georgette’s throat burned like fire. She could only draw a shallow breath, but even that hurt so badly she hardly dared do it. She didn’t open her eyes. It would make everything real if she opened her eyes.

She couldn’t feel her right hand. It took her a moment to remember it was bound to the iron bedstead. Her left one rested on her abdomen, but she didn’t allow herself to twitch a fingertip. She took a mental inventory of herself and discovered she was fully dressed with her silky gown covering her legs.

Footsteps, measured and heavy, pounded in her ears. Roger was still there, pacing the small room.

She was lying in a damp spot. Shame washed over her as she realized she’d wet herself before her vision had tunneled for the final time and everything went black.

“Too quick,” he muttered. “It was too damn quick.”

She felt his brooding presence standing over her so she held her breath.

“Why couldn’t you quit screaming? Why couldn’t you just relax and let yourself go quiet? You should have trusted me. I wouldn’t have taken you down all the way the first time.”

He settled on the bed beside her. “It’s a beautiful thing, you know. The way a woman’s eyes go all fuzzy and out of focus. The way her muscles go limp, soft, and surrendered. It’s restful. For both of us.”

She shivered inside, terrified he’d realize she wasn’t gone. She was still there, still listening to his macabre confessional. Why on earth had she gone with him? Even if Mercy had been in trouble, why had she thought she could handle it on her own? Nate had always warned her that it wasn’t safe to go haring off. Why hadn’t she heeded him?

“All you had to do was let me do what was needful,” Roger said softly. Then his voice turned hard. “But not you. Not high-and-mighty Lady Georgette.”

He stroked her cheek with his knuckles and she couldn’t suppress the way her muscles jerked beneath his touch.

“So, you’re playing possum,” he said with a chuckle. “Come back then, my little possum. We have another chance to get it right, you and me. Now be quiet and we’ll go slow this time.”

Georgette opened her eyes and tried to cry out, but no sound came out of her throat. Roger stood and began to unbutton his shirt. She rolled and began to claw at the knot holding her hand fast to the headboard.

Oh, Nate!

Then the door flew open and, big as life, Nathaniel Colton rushed in. She’d wished to see him so violently, Georgette feared she was hallucinating. But if the fierce man with the heaving chest and murder in his eyes was her imagination, it was more vivid than her wildest dream.

Head down, Nate charged Roger and plowed into his midsection. The pair of them boiled across the room in a flurry of punches and kicks. The snarls and grunts coming from the two men sounded more like a bear-baiting than a fight between humans.

Georgette redoubled her efforts on the knot that held her captive.

Nathaniel sent a blow to Roger’s jaw that snapped his head around. Roger gave himself a shake, then picked up a chair and brought it crashing down on Nate’s head and shoulder. Nate staggered and Roger roared toward him.

Momentum propelled them through the door and they slammed into the rickety railing. The old wood splintered under the force of their weight and, twisting and turning, the two men plummeted off the balcony and down to the common room below.

The shouts and screams were deafening. Then everyone went deathly quiet, which was far worse.

“Oh, please, God. Help us, God,” Georgette chanted softly as she wiggled her hand free. She skittered to the edge of the ruined balcony and knelt to peer down.

Roger stared sightlessly back up at her. His body was splayed across the roulette table, the sharp spike at its center protruding obscenely through his neck.

Nathaniel was face down on the scuffed hardwood. A pool of red was spreading beneath his head.

Thirty-six

Pain dragged him up from oblivion. When Nathaniel opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself lying in a bed beneath cool, clean sheets. He had no recollection of how he’d come to be there.

He tried to sit up, but the throbbing at his temple arched into a wicked spike of agony. He lifted a hand to his head and found a thick bandage wrapped around it. Nate eased back onto the down pillow and let his gaze wander the room.

A woman dozed in a chair beside his bed. Her soft brown hair was tumbled around her shoulders and faint gray smudges beneath her eyes told of a sleepless night. Nate had the niggling feeling he ought to know her, but no name sprang to his lips.

A cheerful maid entered the room with an armful of fresh linens. To his very great relief, Nate recognized her.

“Mercy,” he said.