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Estelle stared at the closed door, her chest heaving with exertion as her body drew in the much craved air it needed. Her trembling knees wouldn’t hold her up. She slumped to the ground in a petrified heap; tears flowing steadily down her face. It was difficult to comprehend what had just happened, or why, but she knew that if there was ever a part in her life when she had a close brush with death it was now. A deeper part of her refused to believe it, but each time she swallowed her throat ached in protest and proved it to be true. She touched her bruised neck with trembling fingers, then cried out croakily as she recoiled in fear when the door suddenly burst open and Myles stormed into the room, his gun pointed skyward.
“Jesus,” Myles swore when he entered the room and saw Estelle in a heap on the floor. The raw terror in her eyes was something that would haunt him for a long time to come. He didn’t need to ask what had happened to her; the marks around her neck said it all. His gaze flew around the room, searching the shadows but he knew from that he was too late.
With one eye firmly fixed on her, he stepped back out into the hallway. His frustration grew when he found it empty except for Barnabas, who was stumbling sleepily toward him, tugging his dressing gown on as he went.
“Get back into your room and lock the door,” Myles ordered.
“What in the Devil’s name-?”
“Do it,” Myles ordered. He glared at his father who stared at him for a moment or two before he retraced his steps and returned to his room.
Estelle kept her gaze locked on Myles, and the wicked looking gun in his hand. It was clear he just left his bed. He hadn’t had the time to tie his shoulder length hair back, or don anything more than a pair of breaches and a billowing white shirt which was still open to the navel and revealed a muscular chest, lightly covered with dark hair. The sight of him was immensely reassuring, and helped ease the residual anxiety from her ordeal. To see Myles thus brought normality to the situation that eradicated the shadows and made her situation more domestic and less traumatic. She knew now that everything was going to be alright.
It was then that it struck her that there was more to Myles than she had ever realised. Rather than being a sophisticated and wealthy man about town, he looked as wild and unkempt as she had been on the clifftop where they had first met. An inner part of her femininity recognised him as a mate; a like-minded soul who was just as willing to shake off the shackles of life as she was. When she had met him up on the bluff the other day she had penned him as nothing more than an extremely handsome yet pampered aristocrat. Seeing him thus, with a gun held far too confidently in his hand, ready to fight the demons within the house, gave her an entirely different view of him. She knew this was the real Myles. He was a man who would fight for those who mattered to him, and work hard to look after what life had afforded him. She suspected it was why she always felt safe whenever he was around. He was confident in his world, and she suspected there wasn’t much life could throw at him that he couldn’t deal with in some way. It was a good thi
ng too, given the dangers that surrounded them. They had a killer in their midst; a killer who now wanted to murder Estelle.
“I don’t understand why they would want to kill me,” she whispered only to then realise he couldn’t hear her. He was busy talking to someone down the corridor, ordering them back to their room.
She took advantage of his momentary distraction to study the length of his leg lovingly encased in his breeches. Without his stockings she could see that his legs were also covered with a heavy coating of black hairs which only emphasised his masculinity.
Absently rubbing at her bruised throat, she shifted her thoughts away from him, and focused her attention on what had just happened. She wanted to blank it all out, but was compelled to look at the bed. A now familiar fear threatened to overwhelm her again, though, so she quickly looked away again.
Once his father was safely locked into his room, Myles returned to Estelle’s bed chamber. He searched it before he made his way over to her.
“What happened?” he asked but winced at the foolishness of the question. It was obvious what had happened to her from the ligature marks around her neck and the stunned look in her eyes. “He was here wasn’t he?”
“He?” she whispered.
He was about to say ‘killer’, but knew from the terror still lurking in her gaze, which continued to flicker nervously about the room, that she didn’t need scaring any more. Besides, he couldn’t just assume it was a man who had just tried to kill her.
“The person who did this to you.” He touched the reddened marks around her neck gently. He studied her for any signs of pain or discomfort beyond bruising.
Estelle sat perfectly still when she felt the tender touch of his fingers. Her gaze remained locked with his, right up until the moment that tears blurred her vision and she could no longer see beyond her despair. A low sob escaped her and turned into a small wail. Everything else was smothered by the hardness of his shoulder as he hauled her into his arms and held her tightly.
Myles rested his head against hers and absorbed the feel of her against him. Thankfully, she had managed to escape this time, but he suspected that the killer wouldn’t allow her to escape for long. They had no idea how yet, or when he would try to take her life again, but Myles knew that the murderer would be back. Next time, he would be waiting for him. If there was one thing he couldn’t abide it was the thought of losing her: Estelle, the woman he suspected so easily and so very quickly, had stolen his heart.
“When I first heard you scream I thought you had found something, or had just had a nightmare. You know, from the other night and the cloaked figures, or your experience in the woods,” Myles murmured quietly.
Estelle shook her head. “I screamed because I had run out of things to throw at him.”
“Was it a man?” He tipped his head to one side to look down into her face.
“I don’t know. I think so. Whoever it was had a strength I struggled to fight.”
“But you did,” he reasoned. “You managed to shake them off and they ran when you started to scream.”
“Why would they want to kill me? I mean, I haven’t done anything to anybody. I haven’t ever met Gerald before yesterday morning. Why, I don’t know many people in the village. What grievance could anybody have with me?” she whispered.
“I think someone who is inclined to want to take someone’s life doesn’t have to have a grievance, my dear,” Myles said. “If they want to kill they don’t care who they take, or where their victims are from. They just kill at will and try to reason it out afterward in their own maniacal way. Everyone is at risk in this house, I don’t doubt. Because of that, I don’t think you should be on your own from now on. While I should like to put a maid in here with you, I don’t think they are going to be of any help if the killer returns. In fact, it might just put them in more danger.”
“It might result in them being murdered as well, especially if the killer is taking lives randomly,” she whispered with a shiver.
She clung to the voluminous folds of his shirt with desperate fingers, and couldn’t bring herself to release him again. She tried to force herself to unfurl each finger until she could release the material, but she could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the clothing. It was too reassuring to release, because she would then be left cold again and she couldn’t abide that. Still, she tried, if only to assure herself that her hold on him wasn’t necessary. When she did manage to loosen her grip, though, Myles hand covered hers to stop her from moving away. She looked at him.
“I won’t let them get you,” he promised.
Estelle looked deeply into his eyes and read the sincerity there. In spite of her attempts not to, the memories of what had just happened to her resurfaced. The desperation to see him, and the realisation of his importance in her life, prompted her not to waste a single moment of the time she had fought so hard for. She knew that if she did she would regret every second wasted. With that she leaned upward, toward him.
