She swerved toward the trees.
Too late.
He lunged and grabbed her shoulder with bruising fingers. As he flung her down, she screamed. Her front collided with the dirt with such jarring force that her teeth rattled.
Filey threw himself on top of her. His weight crushed her. She’d forgotten how big he was. She tried to claw along the ground but he flipped her over to face him as if she weighed no more than a blade of grass.
She screamed again although there was nobody to save her.
“Button your bloody gob,” Filey growled, shoving one filthy paw over her mouth and muting her cries. He trapped her between his knees so she couldn’t wriggle away.
Suffocating blackness edged her vision as he covered her nose. She punched and kicked but it was like fighting a wall of solid oak. He was so large, he hardly seemed to notice her flailing beneath him.
She couldn’t breathe.
Savagely she bit down on his palm until his blood filled her mouth.
“Shit!” Filey ripped his hand away. Grace had an instant to suck in a mouthful of reviving air before he smashed her across the face with his closed fist.
Agony arced through her head. Stars distorted her vision. She grappled back to consciousness and screamed. The sound echoed around the woods.
There was no answer. How could there be? Matthew was too far away to hear.
She must face this horror on her own. Tears poured down her cheeks as she struggled uselessly against Filey’s massive bulk. He stank of onions and unwashed male and lust. She gagged as she gulped in enough fetid air to stave off fainting. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he caught her legs beneath his.
“Eh, none of that! Or I’ll whack you good and proper. Makes no road to me whether you’re awake.”
“I’d rather be unconscious!”
“Aye, well, I’ll knock you around if that’s what you’re after. There’s lasses like a bit of that.”
Grace’s hatred surged anew. “The marquess will kill you!”
He snorted his contempt. “That namby-pamby nod-cock? Chance would be a fine thing.”
His hands closed brutally hard on her arms as he rubbed his erection against her belly. He was sickeningly ready.
“What about Lord John?” She was willing to invoke the Devil himself if she had to.
“Aye, Lord John Lansdowne is another kettle of fish. But he’ll reckon you was willing. He knows what trade you plied.”
“I’m not a whore!”
“Well, you are now. I don’t see parson blessing your fun with his lordship. Give over skriking and lift your skirts.”
“Get off me!” She bucked but he was too heavy to shift.
Filey’s rancid breath puffed into her face. “Eh, but you’ll make a grand wild ride, lass.”
She shrieked with outrage and clawed at his eyes. He jerked out of the way and she gouged his cheek instead. Her finger
nails sank with revolting ease into skin and flesh. She snatched her hand free as four jagged lines sullenly began to leak blood.
“Fucking bitch!” He raised his fist again and clouted her on the side of the head so hard that her ears rang.
Filey’s blow dazed her into paralysis. She didn’t flinch when he hooked his hand into her low-cut bodice. Vaguely, she felt his thick fingers curl against the top of her breasts. Then a sudden wrench as he rent her gown to the waist.
The sound of shredding material wrested her back to awareness. Her bare breasts spilled free of the ruined gown. Through bleary eyes, she saw him lift himself on his elbows.