Page 19 of The Runaway Heiress
He had come! Their eyes met as he stepped around the guest and her uncle and came toward her. She took in a slow, shallow breath, afraid to hope, afraid to think that maybe now…maybe now he had come to save her. He was close enough that his scent assailed her, the leather and spice that clung to him, but also that scent she knew as his alone because she’d pressed her face against his naked flesh and breathed it in.
He walked by, close enough to touch. Near enough that the heat from his body reached out to her with airy tendrils that just barely brushed her. Yet, he did not stop. He simply kept walking until he stood in front of Monsieur Sinclair, his back to her. He’d gone by without even acknowledging her in any way.Her gaze took in the breadth of his back, the dark hair that fell past his shoulders and she remembered the solid strength of him beneath her hands, the silk of him between her fingers.
It couldn’t have meant nothing to him.
Whatever he was saying to Monsieur Sinclair was too low for her to hear, but she seriously doubted her ability to understand language at this point, anyway. She was all sensation and emotion. He turned toward the doors and she knew an insane need to talk to him just once. To remind him that she was there.
“Gray,” the word escaped her lips in a faint, aching whisper.
She almost thought he wouldn’t hear, but his hand stopped on the crystal doorknob. He’d heard. Her heart leaped with joy but then his fingers turned the knob and he disappeared into the room. Words could never have conveyed what his actions had so eloquently accomplished.
She was alone.
Chapter Twelve
Whatever might have been said after that door closed, Sophie wasn’t aware of it. She existed there in a fog of her own misery, reeling from Gray’s rejection, her mind turning in on itself as it attempted to insulate her from the pain. All she knew was that when next she happened to notice, Jean was standing before her pushing that bouquet into her hands again. The flowers must have fallen, because she looked down and saw perfect white petals sprinkled across the polished wood floor.
She wanted to take the bouquet, tried to move her fingers, but they wouldn’t respond to her command so the flowers fell to the floor again. Jean stood above her, murmuring some threat, the whites of his eyes seeming to glow from his anger, but she couldn’t understand the words. Could only barely feel his fingers where they pressed around her arm.
Whatever Jean saw in her face seemed to reassure him and he let her go. Sophie glanced around to find the hall deserted. Monsieur Sinclair and the last guest must have gone inside. Martine had disappeared. She was alone again. The thought hadbarely registered before Jean was sliding her hand through his arm and escorting her into the parlor.
It was filled with men. A few had brought their wives but most had come alone. She recognized a few from balls and dinners but the others were new faces. Without conscious thought, her gaze sought Gray. Even if she’d walked in with her eyes closed, she would’ve known where he stood. She gravitated to him like iron to a magnet.
He stood against the wall to her left and watched her. She’d expected the cool demeanor he’d shown in the hall but his body was tense and his gaze burned into her. Even now, when he’d clearly abandoned her and she knew he felt nothing, those gray eyes had the power to touch her. She blinked to keep her composure and forced herself to stare straight ahead.
Jean had guided her to the end of the aisle where Anton stood waiting. She didn’t acknowledge him, though, simply continued to stare ahead. Maybe if she kept herself away from what was taking place it wouldn’t really happen. Maybe it would all go away and she would wake up back in Gray’s room with his arms around her and his heart beating beneath her ear.
That was a foolish thought. She had no one but herself now. Her only choice was to fight this marriage herself. Anger surged in her chest. She would turn around and tell everyone in this room that she objected to this marriage. Jean might still force her, but at least every one of them would have to deal with their guilty consciences. They would know that she was unwilling.
A glimmer of hope sparked that anger, bringing it to full, blazing life. She closed her eyes to draw courage from it and dropped her bouquet, closing her hands into fists, readying herself to fight her way out if necessary.
Anton’s smarmy face came into focus when she opened them. He smiled at her, already anticipating having her to himself. Well, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.
She opened her mouth to tell him no, but a voice louder than hers took over the entire room.
“Now!” The voice boomed. It might have been Monsieur Sinclair.
She turned her head to find him and saw the parlor doors had opened. Had someone else come in?
Monsieur Sinclair had withdrawn his gun and it was pointed right at Jean. He didn’t look like a gunslinger anymore. His eyes were narrowed on her uncle and authority draped around him like an invisible cloak. “Jean LaSalle, you are under arrest.”
For a split second the very air stilled, as if the room itself had drawn a breath.
Then everyone seemed to move at once.
Something hit her from behind so hard it laid her out on the ground and knocked the breath from her lungs. Men shouted but their words were lost to the roaring in her ears. The yells were accompanied by three gunshots in rapid succession followed by silence.
The room filled with the acrid smoke of the shots. It was so thick that it was bitter on her tongue. She tried to push up onto her knee but a heavy weight held her down. A man’s hand rested on the floor next to her face. Gray’s hand. She’d recognized it anywhere. His chest was against her back. He’s the reason she was on the ground. He had tackled her and covered her with his body through the shooting.
The thought had barely registered before he shouted above her. He launched himself off of her, leaping on Anton who looked to be trying to get to his feet, but Gray tackled him. She watched in horror as they struggled, unable to comprehend what was going on. Her gaze took in the chaos of the room and saw that many others had come in; one of them she recognized as the sheriff, his star-shaped insignia pinned to his shirt. MonsieurSinclair was kneeling near the door, his smoking gun still in hand.
She didn’t see Jean, but Gray subdued Anton and left him lying on the floor with his hands tied behind his back. Over his inert form, she met Gray’s quick glance and knew a moment of panic. He seemed a stranger to her, completely cold and remote as he focused on the task. She didn’t know who he was. He clearly wasn’t the man who had shared so much of himself with her, while simultaneously not sharing the most important part. The panic overwhelmed her, bringing her to her feet and making her run from the room and the confusion. She meant to run out the front door but it was wide open and there were even more men that way. So she turned and ran out the back. She didn’t know where she hoped to run, only that she had to get away.
“Sophie!”
She’d barely cleared the back door when she heard Gray’s voice. It spurred her forward toward the gate in the walled backyard, but she didn’t make it. He grabbed her just as her fingers were grasping to pull it open and dragged her back against him. Solid arms closed around her, but she refused to be subdued so easily and fought him.
“Why are you running? Sophie, stop fighting me!”
