Page 120 of The Viscount's Seduction
“I have money—”
“Money? Well, I’ll have it. But first I want a taste of what you shared with Glenmorrow before you made your grand marriage.”
Her rump hit the window sash. Fear raced through her, numbing her hands.
His broken teeth gleamed yellow in front of her.
“You will stop right there.”
The smell of brandy covered more putrid ones—dirt, sweat, and the decayed, rasping breath of a man thinking to take his pleasure.
The window was open. There’d be at least one groom in the still-empty stables, people traveling to parties, the watch making his rounds.
She sucked in those odors and screamed again, like a banshee of death.
She saw the fist and ducked. Not in time. The blow pounded the edge of her ear, knocked out her hair pins, and crashed into the window frame.
In the stables, a horse screamed.Banshee. If only the horse were here with her now.
Donegal cursed and drew back his fist again.
Bam, bam. “My lady?”
Lloyd. Lloyd was outside, pounding the door.
He glanced back. She yanked at her skirt and jabbed her knee into his cock, and heard a sharp rip of fabric.
Enraged now, he came for her, hands circling her neck, pushing her back through the window.
His fingers pressed and she arched away, struggling for breath, trying to scream.
Panic raced through her. She must make him let go. Her legs were pinned. He pressed against her, her only air his foul breath.
She had but a moment. He bent closer, eyes gleaming, lips pulled back. She flailed and struggled, and clawed, and—
The pencil. She swung her arm up and aimed at his eye. She missed, but the point hit something that caused a bellow and loosened his grip. One hand clasped his cheek. He grabbed for her, his hand dripping blood.
She drove her heel into his breeches. This time he doubled over.
They were battering the door. And why not use the key?
“Lloyd,” she shouted.
“Aye, bitch,” he huffed. “I fixed the door. Fix you afore they break it. If you’re dead, your Jamie will come.” He pushed at his knees, still struggling for breath.
She looked around wildly. There were shovels and pokers near the fireplace. But he was bigger, and faster, and might wrest them from her before she could bash him.
Bam, bam, bam. Lloyd had taken up something heavier than his fist.
And Donegal would soon be recovered.
She yanked up her skirts and swung through the window, stepping onto the narrow frieze that girded the building.
Needing repairs, Perry had said. Old Nate would be engaging someone soon for the wood and the brick repair.
He lunged from the window, and she lurched away, grasping for a handhold.
There. Her fingertips tightened around the edge of a brick. She looked down. She could not see the ground below, but it couldn’t be far.
