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Edward held theintruder at arm’s length, and stared at her. Like Isabella, but unlike. She lacked Isabella’s brittle porcelain beauty, a quality he’d once found captivating, but soon learned disguised a heart of stone.
“Let me go—you’re hurting me, sir!”
It was the woman from Pengarron—Mrs. Trelawney—the woman who’d come to his home yesterday, all fire and vengeance, defending the child she loved. The woman he’d thought might be worth knowing, but in the end, was just like the others—come to mock him.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Does your husband not provide you with sufficient entertainment at home that you seek it by mocking the Beast of Boscarne?”
“No…”
“Does it amuse you to witness my insanity?”
“Of course not,” she said, “I came looking for my dog.”
“At this hour? In your condition?” he asked. “Do you take me for a simpleton? A dog, indeed!”
“I speak the truth!” she snapped. “Did you not tell my daughter you’d strangle her dog if you caught her on your property? I came here to prevent another murder at your hands!”
Her words sliced through his heart.
She drew in a sharp breath. “Forgive me,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
His anger ebbed as he looked at her determined expression. She’d been driven by the need to protect a life—to protect it from him. This brave little woman believed him capable of such a deed! But had he given her, or anyone else, cause to believe any different?
“I wouldn’t hurt your dog,” he said.
“Oh,really?” she retorted, “after what you told my…aaah!”
She screamed and clutched her belly.
“Are you all right, madam?” he asked.
“No, I’m bloody not!” she cursed, “I’m…ouch!” she pitched forward and he caught her in his arms. She clutched at him, her fingernails digging into his flesh.
“Sweet heaven!” she cried. “It’s coming! The baby!”
A ripple of fear tore through him, the memory of Isabella vivid in his mind—her swollen body thrashing from side to side in her bed while she screamed in agony, until it stilled—the horribly quiet little bundle which the midwife hastily removed from the room—Isabella’s voice, whispering in his ear, cursing him to reside in hell for murdering her and his child—and finally, her dark, lifeless eyes staring up at him—eyes which had haunted him every night since.
He wasnotgoing to have any more lives on his conscience, nor give anyone else cause to accuse him of murder. If the woman in his arms was going to die, let it be in her home, and not his.
“No…” he whispered. “It won’t happen again. I won’t let it.”
She clung to him, her body shaking. “Help me!” she cried.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll take you home. Can you walk?”
She took a step forward, then her body shook once more, and she moaned in pain.
“I can’t move!”
“Then stay here and I’ll fetch a doctor.”
“The nearest physician’s in Penzance—he’ll never get here in time!”
“Your husband, then?”
“He’s not at home.”
