Page 76 of The Wolf of Mayfair
Fired. Every last one of them would find themselves fast unemployed if she relapsed.
And what of you?a voice silently taunted.You are as much to blame.
He should have ordered her to remain indoors. As if a headstrong Helia would allow anyone to forbid her from doing anything.
He, however, was not anyone.I am the unpliable Marquess of Wingrave.
Wingrave steeled his jaw and strode to the foyer.
The moment he collected her and brought her home, he’d build a goddamned tower and stuff her inside, if need be, to keep the chit from doing any more goddamned harm to herself.
Not even five minutes later, he found himself astride his black stallion, a powerful creature who’d always been as angry as its rider, and on his way to the damned Frost Fair.
Chapter 16
He was a descendant from the younger branch of an illustrious family, and it was designed, that the deficiency of his patrimonial wealth should be supplied either by a splendid alliance in marriage, or by success in the intrigues of public affairs.
—Ann Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho
Numb with fear, Helia desperately fought the panic that threatened to pull her under.
She’d made an enormous and costly misstep.
She’d let her guard down.
Helia attempted to keep up with Cousin Damian, but not because she had any desire to go anywhere with the new earl. Though of average height, he possessed the brawny strength of a blacksmith or pugilist, which robbed Helia of any choice. His punishing hold and the pace he’d set threatened to tear her arm from its socket.
On the annual visits he’d pay Helia and her family, the current earl would greedily assess the furnishings and hangings as if making a catalog of that which would one day be his, and she’d disliked him for that affront. She’d made it a habit to avoid him at any point she could.
It hadn’t been until Cousin Damian came to claim his seat at her beloved father’s throne that she’d understood the extent of the evil inhis soul. The constant browbeating. The taunting promise to toss her on the streets, where she’d be made a whore, if she did not become his countess.
In the time she’d spent in London with Anthony, she’d somehow managed to believe herself safe and insulated from the threat which had sent her fleeing her beloved homeland and all that was familiar to her.
Helia bit her quivering lower lip hard.
Now, back in the mercenary bastard’s clutches, she railed at herself for that carelessness.
And yet, for all the dread, Helia’s Scot’s pride, spirit, and stubbornness wouldn’t be broken by this ruthless, heartless Sassenach—nor by any man.
While the earl forced her along the unfrozen perimeter of the Thames, Helia yanked her arm in a futile attempt to free herself.
Based on the lack of reaction from her cousin, Helia’s attempts may as well have been the indiscernible fluttering of a gnat.
Desperation crested in her breast and Helia frantically fought for control of her arm. “Will ye lighten your grip?” she gritted out.
The earl didn’t let up on the unforgiving pace he’d set. “You know, I don’t think I will,” he rejoined in cool, crisp tones infused with a terror-inducing false cheer.
Helia swallowed past the fear that formed a lump in her throat.
She’d be damned if she let this monster see her inquietude.
“Ye dinnae think ye will? Or ye dinnae believe ye will, my lord,” she said, her breath coming in noisy spurts. “Because the former suggests you may be persuaded.”
He stopped so quickly and unexpectedly, Helia went flying forward. His punishing grip, however, wrenched her back.
Helia cried out.
Suddenly, he released her arm with a like velocity that sent her tumbling in the opposite direction.
