Page 43 of The Black Lion
She winced when her fingertips encountered a lump on the back of her head, recalling how she’d struggled only to be rendered unconscious by a stunning blow. Blinking to clear her blurred vision, she glanced about, trying to take stock of her surroundings. Terror and panic tried to claw up from her stomach into her throat, but Arabella choked it down. She needed to figure out where she was and who had taken her. Only then could she form some sort of plan.
Her heart sank as she glanced around what appeared to be a small cabin on board a ship. The rough walls and gentle sway of the bed told her they had cast off to sea. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths as she began losing the battle against fear. Did Drew have enemies who might benefit from her capture? He must, for she could think of no other reason for someone to try to take her away fromÎle Saint Marie.
Coming to her feet, she gritted her teeth as her head pounded and swam, the room tilting and swaying as if the ship were being tossed about by a storm. But, no … it wasn’t the ship, it was Arabella. The blow must have left her head concussed. Choking down vomit, she stumbled across the cabin, bracing herself on the bed, and then a desk bolted to the wall. Falling against a porthole, she peered out and found nothing but darkness. Hot tears wet her cheeks as she rested her head against the glass. She’d visited the market at midday, which mean hours had passed since her abduction. Night had fallen, and the steady rock of the floor beneath her feet meant there was more than her injured head at work here. They were sailing away from the island, away from Drew, who must be sick with worry by now.
Arabella swallowed a sob, determined to keep her wits about her. Just now, it was all she could do to remain conscious. She had made it halfway back to the bed when the door of the cabin swung open, revealing a dark shadow on the other side. The urge to cower in the corner overwhelmed her, but she wouldn’t give in to cowardice. Squaring her shoulders, she held her breath and waited for her presumptive captor to reveal himself.
It shouldn’t have shocked her to set eyes on the man who strode in and let the lamplight fall over his face, but it did. Arabella held one shaking hand over her mouth as William slammed the door behind him and came to stand in the center of the cabin. On first glance, she might not have recognized him—but Arabella knew his face too well, as well as she knew Drew’s. She hadn’t recognized him in the market due to the beard and the hat pulled over his eyes, but that mouth would have been enough to give him away had she not been so intent on filling her belly.
It quivered with dread now, as he approached with slow, menacing steps. Arabella plopped onto her bottom on the bed, legs now devoid of strength. His skin had been sun-baked, though the peeling layer of flesh across his nose and cheekbones told her he’d been burned before he started to turn brown. His overgrown hair was left bedraggled around his face, and the whiskers overtaking his jaw made him seem like a different person entirely. It was an effective disguise if ever she saw one. He was even dressed differently, in rough breeches and a shirt that had once been white. A tattered frock coat hung from his shoulders—displaying how he’d diminished in just a few short months. He had lost at least a stone of weight, his cheekbones gaunt and his collarbone showing sharply through his half-open shirt.
“At last,” he murmured, stopping once he stood over her. “What was lost has been found. Though, I have to say, you’ve looked better, Bella. All the riches at his disposal, and it pleases Drew to dress you like a heathen tart.”
She glanced down at her light bodice and skirt, which had been simple, but clean and efficient this morning. Now, her hem was dusty and the shoulder of her bodice torn. She had lost a shoe in the struggle, and a hole had been worn in the heel of her left stocking.
“William,” she croaked, scrambling backward on the bed as he raked his gaze over her. “I thought you were …”
“Dead?” he supplied with a rough snort. There was a frightening lack of emotion when he looked at her now—no lust, no longing, no derision. The muted colors of his irises struck her as cold and flat, lifeless. “You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you?”
Despite knowing it would be foolish to antagonize him, she raised her chin a notch and glared. “It is no worse than what you did to Drew. No more than you deserved.”
He swayed on his feet, though Arabella suspected it wasn’t due to the undulations of the sea beneath them. Sure enough, when he climbed onto the bed over her, the stench of spirits emanated from his breath. Her head spun as he pushed her to lay on her back, one hand lightly circling her throat.
“Unlikehim, I intend to ensure he pays for his offense against me with his life. When he comes for you—and I have every reason to believe he will—he’ll meet his own fate atmyhands.”
Arabella tried to swallow and found it nearly impossible as Will’s hand tightened at her throat. A spark of something flared in his eyes, exacerbating the nausea making her stomach lurch. The press of his cock against her thigh made itself more apparent, growing and swelling as he released her throat and ran his knuckles over her cheek.
“As for you, my dear … you will return to Falmouth with me. I will not go back without you, to be made a laughingstock over our botched nuptials.”
She gaped him, disbelief making her forget the vulnerability of her position. “Are you mad? A marriage between us could never be legal! I’m married to Drew!”
His closed fist struck her face, sending pain exploding through her left cheek and through her eye. The blow had come from out of nowhere, so swift she hadn’t had the time to brace herself. Arabella’s cry of shocked outrage was muffled by his hand pressing over her mouth, as he leaned down until they were nose to nose, his eyes now alive and blazing with fury and something else … something that made her blood run cold. Just then, she knew Will might be capable of anything—a fear that had never before occurred to her.
“Now, now, none of that,” he crooned, the gentleness in his voice at odds with the violence tensing his muscles. “That has always been your problem, Bella. The men in your life have allowed you to do and say whatever you please, something I intend to remedy starting right now. As to your marriage to Drew … there is no signed church register to validate it. I don’t give a bloody damn about whatever heathen ceremony took place on that ship with one of those criminals presiding. You belong to me, and there isn’t a thing he can do about it.”
Fury welled in her so fast she forgot her aching head and turbulent stomach. Wrenching her face from under his hand, she swung a hand at Will. He grunted and tried to wrestle her into submission. Arabella was overwhelmed with the need to fight him, unable to simply lie there and let him abuse her. She clawed like a wildcat, kicking and flailing as he struggled to get her under control.
“Goddamn it, Bella, stop!”
His words broke off on a sharp cry as she drove her knee up between his legs. When he curled into himself, Arabella threw him aside and scrambled from the bed, dashing for the door. She didn’t know what ship they were on, but considering that he’d somehow found his way to the island, she had to assume they were aboard a pirate vessel. She’d rather take her chances with the pirates. Just as she wrenched the door open, Will’s fingers closed around her hair, hauling her back toward the bed. Dragging her feet only succeeded in helping him tear several strands loose from her scalp, and she wailed helplessly as he flung her back onto the mattress. Her head throbbed, and her eye pulsed in the socket. Her cheek had swollen so much she could see it in her peripheral vision, puffy and discolored.
The last of her strength was gone, and she could only blink and fight to stay alert as he used rough ropes to tie her hand-and-foot to the bed, spreading her wide. He stood back to admire his handiwork, leering at the sight she made—helpless and at his mercy.
“It’s no wonder my brother and I cannot seem to cleanse ourselves of this unholy obsession with you. What a little spitfire you are … always have been beneath that prim and proper demeanor, and well we both knew it. I will take great pleasure in breaking you. And, Bella, Iwillbreak you.”
“Go to hell,” she spat, jerking her face away as he tried to cup her cheek.
She was rewarded with a stinging slap for her defiance, blood filling her mouth with a rancid, metallic taste. Remaining silent, she glowered at him as he backed away from the bed, hands clenched at his sides, chest heaving with every harsh breath.
“I don’t like hurting you,” he ground out, baring his clenched teeth. “Don’t force my hand. Cooperate, and this will go easy for you. Fight me …”
Her gaze fell to his trembling fists, flecks of her blood staining his knuckles. Turning away, she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself out of the cabin and back on the island. Just that morning she’d come awake to Drew’s lips on her brow, his hand braced on her naked belly … the belly neither of them knew had begun to quicken with child. For the sake of her unborn babe, she couldn’t afford to continue antagonizing Will. In the past, she might have scoffed at the idea of him hurting her, but Arabella had never really known him. He might not kill her—he needed her alive to salvage his reputation back home—but he could cause her to miscarry Drew’s baby.
As he turned away and stumbled toward the desk, she pulled at her bonds, despairing that there was so little slack to allow her movement. Licking at her bloodied lip, she took deep, slow breaths and told herself to remain calm. All she had to do was bear Will until Drew arrived. Like him, she had no doubt that Drew would come after her. Unlike Will, she was more than confident he would succeed in tearing down anyone who’d had anything to do with her abduction.
For a brief moment, she feared more for Will than herself. Her husband would not be merciful a second time.
Chapter Fourteen
