not yet. Not today.
‘Come, Dan will return soon. Let me help you dress.’
On the drive back to the village, Ellie rested her head on his shoulder, her body rocking against him with the horses’ steady rhythm. Unconsciously he pulled her closer and she snuggled into him, nuzzling his neck. His heart felt tattered, torn to shreds, and he welcomed the pain.
They pulled up outside her front door. ‘Goodnight, Ellie,’ he whispered into her hair. He tipped her chin and brushed her lips with his thumb, aching for more.
‘Goodnight, Garrick. Thank you for a wonderful day,’ she murmured.
Tomorrow, he’d gather the strength of will to set her free. After all, she’d never been his to keep and a man with a stain on his soul didn’t deserve happiness.
Eleanor closed the door the moment the gig drove away. She busied herself preparing supper, trying not to think about the path she’d chosen and what it meant for her future.
He’d given her a beautiful day in idyllic surroundings and it hadn’t been too hard to imagine herself spending the rest of her life with him. He was thoughtful, charming and fun. Most of all, when he made love to her, she forgot his reputation as a rake, forgot the duty she owed to her family, forgot she was ruined. It wouldn’t matter how good he was to her, he could never marry her now.
Nor could anyone else.
And until their bargain was over, she must not let him steal her heart.
That foolish organ gave a funny little skip, a happy little hop in her chest. Too late, apparently.
She jabbed the fork into a slice of bread. What a fool. Each time she thought about bidding him goodbye, she cried. If she didn’t take care she’d turn into a permanent watering pot. She’d always despised lachrymose females who complained about their lot in life. She’d made her bed and she’d lie on it, cheerfully, and think about the future when it arrived.
If she had a future. Drat it, there she went again.
She stared at the toast and jam she’d put on the plate, but there was no room in her stomach for food. Tea. She needed a nice cup of tea. In bed. And a book. She put the kettle on and changed into her nightdress and robe.
Her front door creaked open. Her spirits soared. Garrick had returned. She ran to greet him.
It wasn’t Garrick outlined in the doorway, but a stranger. Large and threatening, with a wind-reddened face and heavy black brows above a red-veined, bulbous nose, he barged over the threshold. Oh, God. She must have forgotten to throw the bolt.
She backed away, her mouth dry and her heart beating loudly. While not tall, he was heavyset and could overpower her in an instant. Her stomach lurched as small black eyes ran down her body, eyebrows lifting. The worst thing about him was his grin, loose wet lips drawing back over broken yellow teeth beneath a greasy black moustache.
‘Get out.’ Her voice shook. She clasped her hands together, seeking strength. ‘You have no right to be in here.’
‘Now, now, my lady, don’t get excited, I’ve come with a message from his lordship.’
‘The Marquess of Beauworth?’
‘The very same.’
Something jarred about his words. She gasped. He had called her my lady. Garrick knew? Her rapidly beating heart clogged her throat. She swallowed. ‘Get out.’
He made no move.
She glanced around for a weapon. If only she had not left her sword at the barn.
The man closed the door with his heel, following step by step as she backed away. She daren’t take her gaze from his face in case he attacked.
A weapon. She needed something heavy. She sidled into the bedroom, working her way to the brass candlestick on the night table. Breathing steadily, clutching fast to her courage, she backed around the bed. The table nudged her back. Her fingers fumbled behind her and found cool metal.
She held up her other hand in a warning. ‘No closer.’
He reached into his pocket. He must have a pistol or a knife. She had to act.
She grasped the candlestick firmly, hefting it in her hand where he could see it. ‘Stay back or I will put a dint in your face so large your mother will never recognise you.’
His hand emerged with a small brown bottle. He laughed, an evil, sneering sound. ‘Them’s fighting words, my lady.’ The sound of the front door opening sent a chill down her spine.
‘Where the hell are you?’ a male voice called.
More of them. Bile rose in her throat.
‘In here, Sarg.’
She might be able to deal with one, but two? Dear God, what did they want? Her chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. ‘There is money in the chest under the bed,’ she croaked.
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ bulbous nose said. ‘Later.’
The chill down her back turned to ice. She launched the candlestick at his head.
He knocked it aside with his arm. ‘Ouch,’ he bellowed. ‘You little bitch!’
He lunged at her. She ducked under his arm. He caught a handful of her hair. Pain shot through her scalp. Eyes blurring, she twisted in his grip. Lashed at his groin with her bare foot and hit his thigh. She stumbled. He yanked her back by her hair. More pain. Her eyes streamed. She flailed at his face with her nails.
Arms grabbed her from behind, around her throat and waist. A belt buckle jammed into her back. The second man. Panic chilled her to the bone.
‘I told you to wait.’ His voice in her ear was low and angry. ‘Where’s the bottle, Caleb?’
‘’Ere, Sarg.’
A grinning Caleb held the small brown bottle to her lips. She recognised the smell. Laudanum. She clamped her mouth shut. The man behind pinched her nostrils. Hard. Painfully hard, while Caleb pressed the bottle against her lips. The fingers around her throat tightened. Arms crushed her ribs. Her lungs burned. Her head swam. Air. She needed air.
One quick breath. Turning her face, she opened her mouth. A bitter-tasting liquid flooded in. She swallowed. Managed a breath.
‘More,’ Sarg said.
More liquid. She struggled blindly. Her movements became weaker. Dizzy, she felt her limbs loosen. The triumphant leer of the man Caleb faded.
The cottage had an air of desolation. An emptiness. Garrick sensed it the moment he entered and still he called out, ‘Ellie?’ Silence.
He placed her sword and
