Page 133 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Dorian will come for you,she reminds herself. Not immediately, of course. He’ll need time to recover. But when he can, he’ll come for her.
She won’t have to endure the Duke for long.
“Aren’t you curious as to why I’m going to such lengths to claim you?” the Duke asks.
Selene, of course, knows exactly why. But she won’t give him the satisfaction, especially as she knows she’s getting out of this at some point, and she’d rather pretend she knows nothing when she does.
“No.”
Something flickers in the Duke’s gaze. “Does it bother you?” he asks.
“Does what bother me?”
“That your husband is dead because of you.”
Selene’s vision spots. Fire burns in her chest. It doesn’t matter that Dorian is alive. It matters that he almost died, that he suffered at this man’s hand, that she had to watch—
“You bastard.”
She picks up the knife on the table and lunges towards him. The Duke startles, but he grabs her hand before she canreach him, twisting it around her back. Selene cries out. The knife clatters to the floor.
“Well, well,” the Duke grins, his lips against her neck. “There’s a bit of fire in you after all. That will be fun in the bedroom.”
Selene shuts her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry in front of him, but the thought of having him back in her bed, of him being inside her again…
No. No, she won’t allow it. She’s getting out of here before then. She’ll kill him on her wedding night, if she has to. She’ll find a way—
Selene has never thought herself capable of murder before, but she knows she is now. She’ll smother this man to death before she lets him bed her.
He shoves her back into her seat.
“Eat,” he commands. “It’s a long trip north.”
“North?” North is not where his estate lies. But then, he can hardly take her back into polite society under such circumstances. He’s right—he won’t get away with this for long, but he doesn’t have to. He just needs her inheritance, and her grandmother—
Gods, did he kill her too? Is he going to do so again?
“That’s what I said,” he snaps. “Noweat.”
Selene forces herself to chew, though every bite turns to dust in her mouth. She’ll need her energy if she is to escape. The Duke watches her, tapping his fingers against the table in restless impatience. His men are just as tense—shifting in their seats, casting glances towards the door.
Something is delaying them.
The Duke’s jaw tightens as he calls for a servant. “Where is my carriage?”
The innkeeper steps forward instead, wringing his hands. “There’s been a delay, my lord. A problem with the horses. We’re sorting it now.”
The Duke exhales sharply. “Then sort it faster.”
He drums his fingers on the table, glancing towards the window. Selene sips at her water, forcing herself to stay still, to appear resigned. But inside, she’s tallying every detail. The way the Duke is growing more anxious. The way the innkeeper avoided his gaze.
Something is coming.
Minutes stretch into hours. The Duke grows edgier with each passing second, snapping at his men, at the servants. When the innkeeper finally returns, pale-faced, he bows quickly.
“My lord, your carriage is ready.”
The Duke wastes no time, grabbing Selene’s wrist and dragging her to her feet. She stumbles after him as he storms through the inn, out into the cool afternoon air—
