Page 71 of Three Weeks with a Princess
She came to an abrupt halt because she could barely see more than a few feet ahead of her. The various potted plants and trees cast heavy shadows and the light seemed filtered and diffused throughout the unusually shaped glass structure. Lia blinked several times, forcing her vision to adjust.
Her hearing was fine, however, and what she heard made her stomach churn. Amy’s voice was thick with tears as she pleaded with Prudhoe to stop hurting her. Lia picked up her skirts and rushed up the center aisle of the orangery, following the voices. She rounded a high stand of potted bamboo plants and ground to a halt.
Amy was on the floor, huddled against the side of an ornate marble fountain. The cheerful burble of water flowing from a stone cherub’s jug formed a ghastly counterpoint to the girl’s wrenching sobs. Her diaphanous gown was torn, exposing most of her breasts. Her hair was badly disheveled, as if someone had dug his fingers into her coiffure and dragged her across the room. Even in the dim light, Lia could make out the bruises on the dancer’s face and neck.
The girl was hunched over, her hands wrapped tightly around herself as if to guard her midsection. Prudhoe loomed menacingly above her.
“Don’t kick me again,” Amy sobbed. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Yes, you will, you whore,” the brute said. “And you’ll do it whether I hit you or not.” He barked out an ugly laugh. “I do enjoy hitting your sweet, plump flesh, my little Amy. It feels so lovely under my fist or boot.”
When he drew back his leg, Lia catapulted forward.
“Stop it, you monster,” she yelled, shoving him from behind with all her might.
Prudhoe stumbled hard, cursing as he crashed heavily against the side of the fountain.
Lia braced herself, legs wide. She didn’t dare turn her back on him, so she just threw a quick glance over her shoulder at Amy, who’d all but curled up into a shivering ball.
“Can you get up?” Lia asked.
“I . . . I think so.”
As Amy laid trembling hands on the rim of the fountain and started to pull herself up, Prudhoe made it up on his knees, his features twisted with pain. His dark eyes blazed with a fury that made Lia’s heart pound its way into her throat.
“You goddamn bitch,” he snarled. “I’ll bloody well kill you both.”
“I think not.” Lia was rather astonished by her outward sense of control because her insides were trembling like a broken branch in a gale. “In fact, if you don’t take yourself off immediately, I will report you to the magistrate myself. I assure you, he’ll take this matter very seriously.”
Prudhoe finally hauled himself to his feet in an awkward maneuver; his shoulder was clearly damaged. Lia had no regrets about injuring him.
“Really?” he said with a nasty hoot as he planted himself in front of her. “Do you think a magistrate will take the word of two whores over that of a baronet? Hardly, you daft bitch.”
“While whores are just as deserving of justice as anyone else, may I point out that we are actresses? Mr. Lester will be livid when he sees how you’ve abused poor Amy. I’m sure he’ll swear out charges.”
Prudhoe went still, his head tilted at an odd angle as he studied her. Then his lips peeled back in a vicious smile. Lia silently thanked the saints that she wasn’t a woman prone to fainting because the evil intent in his expression was truly unnerving.
“Not when Mr. Lester—and the magistrate, if necessary—learn that you and your little friend tried to rob me.”
“Trust me, Sir Nathan, Mr. Lester will not believe you.”
“How’s this for an idea? Why don’t I fetch a constable right now and see what he has to say about it? Or, better yet, why don’t we proceed directly to Bow Street? Then we’ll see who believes whom.”
Amy clutched at Lia’s skirts. “Miss, I can’t go to Bow Street,” she whispered in a shaky voice. “It’ll be a huge scandal. Please, let’s just get out of here.”
“Nobody’s going to Bow Street,” Lia said firmly. “Except possibly Sir Nathan after we tell Mr. Lester what happened here.”
Unfortunately, her threat seemed to have little effect on the dreadful man. He took a menacing step forward. Amy whimpered, sinking down again. She kept a firm grip on Lia’s skirts, which would hamper their ability to escape.
“Not another step, Sir Nathan,” Lia ordered, holding up an imperious hand. If Barbara didn’t return with help soon, she’d have to resort to desperate measures.
Naturally, he ignored her and moved closer. The glint in his eyes told her that he was enjoying himself, despite his injured shoulder.
“What will you do if I don’t obey your silly commands?” he drawled. “Will you hit me again? I assure you, the result will not be pleasant if you do. But how I punish you in return will be exceedingly pleasant for me.”
If only Gillian were here, she would deliver a smashing uppercut to the bastard’s jaw, or stab him, if necessary. Lia, unfortunately, had never trained in the pugilistic arts, nor did she carry a knife, although she intended to address that oversight in the future.
For now, she could only rely on her wits.
