The Wicked Waif by Mary Lancaster

Author:Mary Lancaster
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2019-06-16T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

TILLIE TWISTED AND wriggled, trying to lash out, but her hands were trapped by one of her captor’s arms, and she couldn’t scream for his hand over her mouth. She could not even get a decent bite at his gloved hand, for it was too hard against her teeth. All she could do was kick.

He grunted as she connected with his knee and shin, but it didn’t slow him up. He simply dragged her along the empty passage and through the door to the back stairs.

She knew who he was, just by his smell. Luke Dawlish, her cousin.

“Stop it!” he said fiercely. “Don’t make me hit you.”

Tillie was beyond caring whether or not he hit her. Under no circumstances would she go anywhere with him if she could possibly avoid it and she meant to. It was a deadly struggle on the stairs, with her doing her best to trip him, push him or otherwise injure him to make him let go. But he was bigger and stronger, and even though she managed to slow him up and annoy him, their progress was inexorable.

Eventually, when she got in a particularly vicious kick to his shin and then hooked her foot around his ankle to trip him, he lost patience.

“Damn it, woman,” he muttered savagely. For an instant, her body was freed as he reached upward, but before she could take advantage, he simply pinched out the candles in the wall sconces above his head and the stairwell was plunged into darkness.

Her breath escaped on a sob, muffled in his hand as the terror flooded her, paralyzed her. Hours of hellish darkness, still and dreadful or spinning and heaving. She couldn’t stand it again. She would lose her mind.

But she could not give in to this, not again. Dove needed her. She would be with him and she would not let them win, these vile creatures who called themselves her protectors. It took her until she made out the glimpse of light through the door at the bottom of the steps, but this time, she did manage to think through the terror.

She went limp in his hold, as if she had finally succumbed. He grunted with relief, although she made herself as heavy and floppy as possible.

Only when he hauled her through the door into the main foyer—no doubt he meant to tell the doorman and anyone else who happened to be there that she was ill—did she spring up again.

Wrenching her mouth free of his mercifully slackened hand, she cried, “Help me!” and lashed out with her fists, twisting violently.

“My wife is having a turn!” he said grimly. “Please hold the door. My father is waiting outside with the carriage.”

Tillie stamped hard on his foot, forcing him to let out a howl of pain, and then suddenly, he was torn away from her and she was free. Someone had Luke by the collar and struck him hard, sending him sprawling back against the wall.

As his attacker turned, the blurry light resolved, and she saw that it was Dove, his fist still clenched and poised.

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