Afterward he felt clear, cleansed, whole. He felt like a man with a man’s pride. And a man’s ability to love. And to protect what he loved.
He tightened his hold on her and silently dared the devils haunting his life. They threatened his most precious jewel at their peril.
The world thought it held the advantage over Matthew Lansdowne.
He’d prove the world wrong.
Chapter 18
Grace wandered through the sunlit woods in a daze of sensual bliss. She’d been Matthew’s mistress for three days and her body ached delightfully from his frequent attentions. Each time they made love, the rich pleasure widened and deepened until now it ran like a broad river beneath everything she did.
Hard to believe her assured lover had never touched a woman before he’d come to her bed. Hard to believe she’d never considered herself capable of passion. Hard to believe she could draw such joy from irrevocable ruin.
She’d left Matthew to his roses half an hour ago. Reluctantly. But his experiments were at a crucial stage and her presence distracted him. The knowledge made her smile. She looked forward to this evening, when he worked out the day’s frustrations on her.
“Aye, that’s what I like to see.” Filey emerged from the overhanging trees and stood squarely in front of her on the path. “A lass smiling with right ready welcome.”
Grace’s fragile well-being evaporated in an instant.
Fool, fool, fool.
How could she forget she was a helpless prisoner? How could she forget peril lurked around every corner?
She was alone and utterly defenseless. Matthew was in the courtyard. Wolfram had stayed snoozing beside his master. She’d left her little table knife in the pocket of another dress. She’d become disastrously complacent.
Fear contracted her belly into painful knots and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The memory of Filey’s rough, sweaty hands fumbling at her breasts rose in her throat like vomit.
“His lordship is just behind me.”
She cursed the betraying tremor in her voice. Nervously, she backed away. Could she run fast enough to escape? She doubted it. And Filey was so strong, once he caught her, she had no hope of fighting him off.
Filey’s gloating grin was so wide, she could see the dark gaps at the back of his mouth where teeth were missing. “Eh, no pulling the wool over my eyes, flower. I seen him digging at his garden. Bugger me if I’d leave a bonny lass for a parcel of dead sticks. Time you got a real man between your legs. And I got the horn for you right bad.”
Revulsion bolstered her failing courage. She raised her chin in shaky defiance. “You have no right to talk to me like that. Monks told you to stay away until Lord Sheene tired of me.”
“Aye, but Monks aren’t here. Happen he’s watching the gate. Any road, if the marquess is coddling his plants instead of poking his slut, I reckon that’s proof enow he’s had his fill.”
“That’s not true!” she said hotly, still edging away.
“Aye, well, even so, nobody misses a slice off a cut loaf.”
Grace hid a shudder at the horrible analogy. “You’re disgusting.”
Filey took a menacing step in her direction. “Careful, lass. Happen I’ll remember you said that when I fuck you.”
Fury swamped her debilitating fear. “You’ll never have me, you foul brute.”
She whirled on her heel and broke into a panicked run. Panting, she dashed down the path toward the house. But she’d walked further than she thought. Acres of trees extended between her and the safety of Matthew’s arms.
“Bugger the skittish bitch,” she heard Filey mutter, then the thud of his feet as he set out after her. She gave a terrified sob and forced herself to a faster pace.
Wildly, she swerved around a bend in the path. The dry leaves beneath her feet slid away. She stumbled to her knees with a painful jerk.
“Dear God, help me,” she gasped.
Precious seconds dissolved as she righted herself and launched into her careening flight once more. Filey’s sawing breath was so loud in her ears, he must be only inches behind her. She didn’t slow down to check.
She put on a last despairing kick of speed. Filey was close enough for her to smell fresh sweat over his usual acrid stench.