Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(66)

Without looking at her he continued, as if he had not just voiced that he might like to assault her. “If I didn’t fear that you would weave a spell on me, I would.” His lips twisted into a snarling grin. “I should like to take something that is Sevastian’s . . . arrogant bastard. He doesn’t know what it’s like to suffer, to have everything taken away. . . .”

Grier refrained from pointing out that Sev had spent the last ten years fighting a war in which he lost his own brother, countless friends and comrades. Malcolm was past the point of reason. He was deteriorating—making less and less sense as he paced back and forth in the small room, his boots scuffing the grimy wood planks.

Again, her gaze darted to the lighted room beyond. She didn’t know what waited outside the meager dwelling he’d taken her to, but she knew her odds were better out there than here with him.

As Malcolm dove into another diatribe on all the injustices delivered to him and his family, she sucked in a deep breath and bolted for the door.

Adrenaline rushed her veins at his shout. She cleared the door into the main room and skirted a small table, her gaze locking on the single door. Her hand grasped the latch. She yanked the door open in one clean pull and burst outdoors.

She didn’t waste a moment to acclimate herself. Malcolm’s curses burned her ears. He sounded close, terrifyingly close, but she refused to waste a second to look behind her.

Dark night surrounded her. The cold winter wind cut through her clothes, but she didn’t let it affect her—didn’t let it stop her from diving into the woods pressing all around the small cottage she had just escaped.

The loamy odor of wild earth filled her nose. Clearly he’d taken her somewhere outside the city.

With a fortifying reminder that the forest never scared her, she plunged headlong into the teeth of it.

He followed, crashing through trees and brush behind her like an angry boar. He was faster than she would have expected.

Or perhaps her injuries slowed her—that or her heavy skirts. Her thin-soled slippers couldn’t gain much traction on the slushy ground. Whatever the case, she couldn’t lose him as she raced into deep woods, her legs pumping hard and furiously beneath her cumbersome garments. Her muscles burned, but she didn’t stop. Her wet hem dragged across the frozen ground and she grasped a fistful of skirt, trying to lift the fabric high as she zigzagged wildly through trees.

He shouted her name, the sound echoing on the frigid air, sending the birds above squawking and flying from their night nests.

Ugly sobs tore at her throat, but still she ran on, a certain, stark knowledge pressing its full weight on her.

He’d kill her if he caught her.

He was past reason at this point and enraged as he tried to run her to ground like a hound after the hare.

Panted breaths crashed from her lips. Tears trailed cold wet paths down her cheeks. Branches tore at her exposed face, snagging her clothing. Her chest hurt, but she pushed on, blindly running through the moon-soaked night. Still, there wasn’t enough light. Not nearly enough. Not enough to see any great distance ahead of her.

Suddenly the trees and undergrowth thinned out on every side of her. But by the time she realized this it was too late. She couldn’t stop in time.

She jerked to a halt, just as the ground beneath her feet ended. Her arms flailed wildly, fighting for balance. The tips of her slippers toed the rocky edge. Rocks hissed and slid loose.

She yelped, hovering, wobbling precariously on the precipice. Arms sawing at the air, she struggled to fling herself back away from the drop.

All to no avail. She toppled forward, her scream a horrible unearthly sound on the night.

Icy air rushed past her as she careened down the side of the steep incline with no hope of stopping. Not until she reached bottom.

Wind tore at her body. Her hands dragged against the craggy wall, ripped to bloody shreds as she fought for purchase, a handhold, anything to stop her descent.

The floor of the earth loomed somewhere below, waiting to greet her. To break her with cold, relentless force.

Sev. She’d never see him again. Never tell him how she really felt . . . that she wanted to marry him. Only him. And not because she’d decided she needed to marry. Not because of security or because she craved respectability. Not because marriage was that thing every woman should do.

She loved him and he would never know it. She would be gone. Forever lost, forgotten at the base of some ravine.

With a desperate cry, she fought harder, her nails splitting as she clawed. Bits of rocks and grass flew around her as she plummeted, but nothing more. She couldn’t save herself.

Malcolm had gotten his wish after all.





Chapter Twenty-six

The hand on the mantel clock chimed the hour as a carriage clattered to a stop in front of Sev’s townhouse. Sev held his breath, waiting at the window to see who stepped down. The instant Malcolm emerged from the carriage, Sev signaled the grooms hiding behind the hedges and along the side of his townhouse.

They barreled forward and hauled the driver from his perch first, per Sev’s orders. He wanted to make sure the driver didn’t escape into the night in case Malcolm proved uncooperative.

Sev rushed from the drawing room, Jack Hadley and Cleo fast on his heels. They converged all at once in the foyer.

Malcolm thrashed in his captor’s hands. “Unhand me at once! What’s this about?” His eyes alighted on Sev. “Cousin! What the devil is going on? Tell these ruffians to release me!”