Master of the Moor: a Gothic Romance by de Maupassant Emmanuelle

Author:de Maupassant, Emmanuelle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hot Historical Romance
Published: 2021-04-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Mallon woke to raised voices and a neck stiff from having rested at an unnatural angle in the chair. Who was disturbing the peace at this hour? Not a fracas between the servants, surely. They moved through the house without making a sound; to cause such a commotion in the dead of night would be unthinkable.

Wrenching open the library door, he stepped out into the hall. He’d had just about enough this evening. The noise was coming from the half-landing by the sound of it. Hell’s teeth! What was going on?

One glance upward showed him the countess cowering, and Lord Slagsby towering over her with his fist raised. A red mist descended at the sight of Geneviève recoiling from her attacker.

“Get your hands off her, you bastard.”

Slagsby swayed, looking down, attempting to focus. Recognizing Mallon, his face took on an ugly sneer. “You, was it? Waiting for this foreign slut?”

In a flash, Mallon was up the stairs, his knuckles connecting with Slagsby’s nose, followed by a swift punch to the stomach. The younger man crumpled to the floor.

Mallon was hauling Slagsby up by his collar when Hugo appeared on the upper landing, rubbing his eyes. “What’s happening? Is it a burglar?”

“Get down here, Hugo.”

Seeing Slagsby wiping his bloodied nose on his sleeve, Hugo was all concern. “Whatever’s the matter? Did you fall down the stairs, old chap?”

Slagsby shot Mallon a murderous look.

Hugo suddenly noticed the fourth among them. “Good grief! Geneviève! I mean, Countess! Are you all right?”

She was crouching in the corner, attempting to hide her dishevelled appearance. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice very small.

Briefly, she threw a glance to Mallon. There was no need for her to speak. He could guess what she wished from him.

“I’ll see her safely to her room, and I suggest you accompany your guest back to his. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Seeing his nephew take Slagsby gently around the shoulders, Mallon was struck by how loyal Hugo was. Generous-hearted in the extreme. Edward would have been proud.

“And lock the door on him—for his own safety,” Mallon added grimly.

He turned to Geneviève. She was in shock, white-faced and shivering. He fought an impulse to drag Slagsby back and throw him down the stairs.

“You need a stiff drink. Can you walk?”

With a nod, she turned towards him but then looked puzzled, pulling her torn nightdress to make herself decent. With trembling fingers, she attempted to retie the sash of her dressing gown.

By the time she looked up again, Mallon felt he’d turned to stone.

She’d covered herself, but not before he’d seen her breast. Years of visiting the brothels of Constantinople had made him familiar with the female form. He knew it in all its variety and there had been only one woman who’d borne this particular mark.

It had been too dark to see her face—a fact that had added to the frisson of the encounter. How many women had such a mole? A coincidence, surely? But, as he looked into her eyes, he knew that she stood before him.

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