windows.
A face. Her breath lodged in her throat. Was someone watching her?
Thunder rumbled nearby, echoing the boom of her heartbeat. A blink later and the face was gone. Oh God, she had to get out of here or she’d lose her mind.
No. To go home was unthinkable.
For her sake—her mother’s sake—Vivian must convince Lord Ashworth to let her stay at Silverstone Manor.
At this point, she was desperate enough to try anything.
Martin Crawford pushed his way past the butler of Suttley House and headed straight for the staircase.
The furious pulse of his heartbeat drowned out the servant’s cries to have him wait downstairs.
He’d find that double-crossing bastard and strangle him. Baron or not, Vivian’s father would pay for this sudden turn of events.
Moans rumbled beyond the wooden door at the hall’s end. Lord Whistlebury’s bedchamber. Martin wrinkled his nose and bared his teeth, recalling the scene he had witnessed those few months before.
He opened the door without hesitation. Vivian’s father stood with his eyes closed and his hands in the hair of a lad kneeling before him. Groans echoed against the mahogany paneled walls, and for a moment Martin considered allowing the act to find completion. But fury stabbed in his core and demanded priority.
Lord Whistlebury would answer to him.
“Where is she?”
The baron gasped and drew back. Both of them looked up at the intruder, the young man appearing confused and frightened. Then, without another sound, the lad sprang up from his knees and scurried from the room.
Martin kicked the door shut. “He’s different than the last one.”
Lord Whistlebury straightened his clothes, then ran a hand through his disheveled gray hair. “You could have waited for me downstairs.”
Martin clenched his jaw. “I’ve waited for my wedding to Vivian long enough. And now your butler tells me she is not here.”
“She…she…”
The hesitation pricked the inferno under Martin’s skin. “She what ? Where is she?”
Vivian’s father sank into a stuffed chair by the window. Outside a light rain started, and blew its scent into the room. The air cleared of sweat and sex.
“She left a note saying she was going to London. She said she’d never marry you and that she’d find a husband during the season.”
Martin balled his hands into fists. Spots whirled in his vision. That careless bitch. He swore he’d hunt her down if she left him. He swore she’d pay. No one abandoned Martin Crawford. Not anymore.
He narrowed his eyes at the baron and swallowed the encroaching violence. “We stopped her attempt at a marriage once before. We will do it again. You’ll tell me how I can find her, of course.”
The man hung his head. “Maybe…maybe it is better this way. Vivian is not for you. She is a stubborn girl.”
No. Vivian was perfect. Her exotic beauty stirred his blood. Her resistance only fueled his desires. His taking of her was a promise of their future. No other man was to have what was his.
“Where is she, old man? You promised me a bride.” He nodded his head at the bedchamber door. “Or did you forget our bargain?”
Lord Whistlebury wrung his hands. “Her mother is gone too.”
Martin laughed. His gaze drew in the expansive bed with purple silk coverings. “And why should that bother you? Your tastes run elsewhere, obviously.”
“People will talk…”
Martin crossed the room and stood over the crumpled man, only a shadow of his true self. These aristocrats all believed they had such power with their House of Lords and acres of land. But they spawned children and then left them behind; they indulged in perversions and then fretted over the secret. This man was no different and Martin cared not a whit for Lord Whistlebury’s sexual preferences, nor for his reputation.
But Martin did care about their agreement. He would marry a baron’s daughter. He would have the respect he deserved and he would eliminate whoever got in his
A face. Her breath lodged in her throat. Was someone watching her?
Thunder rumbled nearby, echoing the boom of her heartbeat. A blink later and the face was gone. Oh God, she had to get out of here or she’d lose her mind.
No. To go home was unthinkable.
For her sake—her mother’s sake—Vivian must convince Lord Ashworth to let her stay at Silverstone Manor.
At this point, she was desperate enough to try anything.
Martin Crawford pushed his way past the butler of Suttley House and headed straight for the staircase.
The furious pulse of his heartbeat drowned out the servant’s cries to have him wait downstairs.
He’d find that double-crossing bastard and strangle him. Baron or not, Vivian’s father would pay for this sudden turn of events.
Moans rumbled beyond the wooden door at the hall’s end. Lord Whistlebury’s bedchamber. Martin wrinkled his nose and bared his teeth, recalling the scene he had witnessed those few months before.
He opened the door without hesitation. Vivian’s father stood with his eyes closed and his hands in the hair of a lad kneeling before him. Groans echoed against the mahogany paneled walls, and for a moment Martin considered allowing the act to find completion. But fury stabbed in his core and demanded priority.
Lord Whistlebury would answer to him.
“Where is she?”
The baron gasped and drew back. Both of them looked up at the intruder, the young man appearing confused and frightened. Then, without another sound, the lad sprang up from his knees and scurried from the room.
Martin kicked the door shut. “He’s different than the last one.”
Lord Whistlebury straightened his clothes, then ran a hand through his disheveled gray hair. “You could have waited for me downstairs.”
Martin clenched his jaw. “I’ve waited for my wedding to Vivian long enough. And now your butler tells me she is not here.”
“She…she…”
The hesitation pricked the inferno under Martin’s skin. “She what ? Where is she?”
Vivian’s father sank into a stuffed chair by the window. Outside a light rain started, and blew its scent into the room. The air cleared of sweat and sex.
“She left a note saying she was going to London. She said she’d never marry you and that she’d find a husband during the season.”
Martin balled his hands into fists. Spots whirled in his vision. That careless bitch. He swore he’d hunt her down if she left him. He swore she’d pay. No one abandoned Martin Crawford. Not anymore.
He narrowed his eyes at the baron and swallowed the encroaching violence. “We stopped her attempt at a marriage once before. We will do it again. You’ll tell me how I can find her, of course.”
The man hung his head. “Maybe…maybe it is better this way. Vivian is not for you. She is a stubborn girl.”
No. Vivian was perfect. Her exotic beauty stirred his blood. Her resistance only fueled his desires. His taking of her was a promise of their future. No other man was to have what was his.
“Where is she, old man? You promised me a bride.” He nodded his head at the bedchamber door. “Or did you forget our bargain?”
Lord Whistlebury wrung his hands. “Her mother is gone too.”
Martin laughed. His gaze drew in the expansive bed with purple silk coverings. “And why should that bother you? Your tastes run elsewhere, obviously.”
“People will talk…”
Martin crossed the room and stood over the crumpled man, only a shadow of his true self. These aristocrats all believed they had such power with their House of Lords and acres of land. But they spawned children and then left them behind; they indulged in perversions and then fretted over the secret. This man was no different and Martin cared not a whit for Lord Whistlebury’s sexual preferences, nor for his reputation.
But Martin did care about their agreement. He would marry a baron’s daughter. He would have the respect he deserved and he would eliminate whoever got in his
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