Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(62)

The letter crinkled against her fingers, reviving her with hope that Sev wasn’t afflicted with regret.

“What do you have there?” Cleo asked, looking up from her novel, her finger marking her spot in the book.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing! Nothing made you smile?”

Grier’s smile only deepened.

Cleo rolled her eyes. “A love letter from Sevastian, perhaps?”

“Something like that . . .” she hedged, rising from the sofa. “If you’ll excuse me.” Sevastian waited.

Cleo waggled her fingers in the air. “Run along, reread your letter in privacy where I don’t have to hear your lovesick sighs.”

Grier hurried from the drawing room, stopping only to fetch a cloak. Her heart raced at Sevastian’s romantic gesture . . . it gave her hope that what he felt for her was deep and true . . . strong enough to withstand his grandfather’s disappointment. Strong enough to last.

She earned a few speculative glances as she passed servants on the stairs, but she didn’t let it deter her. She stepped outside the back servants’ entrance and burrowed into her cloak, scanning the narrow alley where deliveries were usually made.

A carriage idled alongside the wrought-iron gate, the driver blowing into his hands.

She skipped down the steps and quickly made her way along the path, mindful not to let the iron gate clang too loudly behind her. She gave a quick glance around to be certain that no one lurked about. No servant stood outside. She was all alone in the gray afternoon . . . only a few yards separating her from Sev.

Her feet flew faster, her heart beating like an anxious drum in her chest. Until this moment she didn’t realize how desperately she needed to see him . . . needed soothing that everything was going to be all right.

At the carriage door, she hesitated, expecting Sev to reveal himself . . . open the door and greet her, assist her inside with him, perhaps pull her into his arms for one of those kisses that melted her from the inside out. She’d missed his kisses.

“Sevastian?” she called, looking to the left and right, wondering if she could be mistaken, if this wasn’t his carriage at all and she’d made some kind of mistake.

A long moment passed until the door finally opened.

And yet it wasn’t Sev’s face that emerged behind the door.

His cousin stared down at her with a welcoming smile—a smile that did not reach his eyes. Her heart stuttered in her chest before resuming its beating. Something lurked in those eyes. Something that made her feel decidedly unsafe. The same as when she confronted a wildcat hunting in the mountains back home. He had that same cagey look in his eyes as an animal cornered.

Only he wasn’t the one cornered.

“Ah, Miss Hadley.” He leaned out of the carriage. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Where’s Sevastian?” She looked over his shoulder into the dim confines of the carriage even though she didn’t really expect to see him there.

“He sent me to fetch you.”

She felt her brow furrow. “But the letter . . .”

“The missive was indeed from him.” He nodded jovially, his red hair bright even in the murky air. “He asked that I convey it to you and then fetch you for him.”

Grier frowned and angled her head, mulling.

If Sev longed to see her as his letter claimed, why would he have sent his cousin in his stead? It just didn’t sound like Sev. In fact none of this felt quite like something Sev would do.

Malcolm stretched out a hand to her from inside the carriage. “Come. You don’t want to keep Sev waiting.”

She shook her head slowly side to side and hedged back a step, now quite convinced something was amiss. The tiny hairs on her nape tingled in an alarming manner.

Malcolm sighed as if beleaguered and dropped down from the carriage. “Come, Miss Hadley.” His tone cut like the whip of a schoolmaster’s rod and she blinked, her skin shivering with growing alarm. “I haven’t all day to linger here.” He reached for her arm and she jerked it clear of his grasping hand.

“No, thank you,” she said sharply. “I just remembered I have several things to do today. I’ll wait to see Sevastian at the theater tonight.” Reluctant to turn her back on him, she inched away again.

She didn’t make it another step before Malcolm lunged for her and grabbed her arm.

She cried out and shoved at his chest with her free hand. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her and clamped down on her other arm, hauling her toward the open door of the carriage. She dragged her heels, but her soft-soled slippers slid like butter over the ground.

“Stop!” she cried, certain Sev was not behind any of this, but her mind didn’t have time to process why any of this was happening . . . why Malcolm would treat her in this rough manner.

“Stop fighting me,” he panted, locking his arms around her and hauling her off her feet, squeezing her ribs to the point of agony.

And with those words, she knew she absolutely had to fight. He meant her harm. With her very last breath, she could not stop fighting him!

Spots danced before her eyes and the edges of her vision blurred. Realizing how close she inched toward swooning, she bucked against him in one fierce surge of strength.

He cursed. His arms loosened and she broke free for a fraction of a moment before he snatched her by the back of the head, digging his fingers deep into her hair. He spun her around and slapped her soundly in the face.