He licked his lips again and spittle dribbled down to shine on his stubbled chin. Hurting her wrists, he dragged her stiff arms down and forced her clenched fists to brush his erect flesh.
“Let go of me!” She jerked in appalled disgust.
She tried to kick him but his bulk trapped her legs. He laughed and pressed his straining member into her hands. “Oh, you’re keen.”
“Don’t touch me,” she sobbed, trying to recoil.
“Eh, flower, I’m harder than a brass doorknocker.”
She couldn’t bear this. She couldn’t.
Her cracked whimper was a wordless plea for mercy. But he didn’t seem to hear as he shoved her skirts to her waist with clumsy enthusiasm.
She tried to roll to the side but he knocked her flat with a savage punch to the mouth, splitting her lip so warm blood trickled down her chin. She lay in wretched stillness as he ripped away her flimsy underwear. With a grunt of satisfaction, he spread her quivering legs and positioned himself.
Grace tensed as he drew back ready to thrust. At the last minute, she twisted to avoid the inevitable.
“Bide still, bitch,” Filey muttered, steadying his heavy member with one hand and tugging her arms above her head with the other.
“I’ll kill you for this,” she panted, closing her eyes and waiting for him to drive into her. She was dry and he was large, so the pain would be excruciating.
Then unbelievably, a sharp bark resounded behind her.
Wolfram?
Had her prayers been answered?
She squirmed to see. But Filey pressed her down too firmly.
She heard a low growl, another bark. A shadow briefly covered the sun. Everything turned to chaos as a huge brindle shape hurled itself at Filey.
“What the hell?” he gasped.
The dog’s momentum thrust Filey hard on top of her, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Wolfram growled and snapped. The man’s shrinking member slid along her bare leg. She shuddered to think how close he’d come to ramming it into her.
She burst into a frantic babble. “Wolfram! That’s right. Good boy!”
She shoved at Filey’s suffocating weight even while he fought the dog and missed his target. He landed a sharp jab to her ribs and she cried out. Wolfram’s teeth closed around Filey’s swinging arm, inciting her attacker to a string of obscenities.
Across Filey’s heavily muscled shoulder, she saw Matthew dashing up with a heavy branch in one hand. His face was incandescent with fury. He looked like an avenging angel chasing Lucifer from heaven. He looked like he could commit murder and not even bother to shrug his indifference.
“Wolfram, heel,” Matthew said in a voice so quiet and intense that it seared. Instantly the dog obeyed, slinking back to crouch in bristling alertness at Matthew’s side.
She read Filey’s brief shock at hearing Matthew. Then the gloating smile returned and he turned his head toward the marquess. Clearly Filey thought he still held the advantage. “Come to watch, your lordship? Happen you’ll learn summat about pleasing a lass.”
“You’re a dead man!” Matthew’s eyes glittered like yellow fire and a muscle jerked in his cheek. Grace’s breath snared with fear as he kicked Filey off her, then hefted the makeshift club high. He swung it down hard across Filey’s back. A sickening thud as wood cracked on bone.
“Bugger me!” Filey gasped.
Grunting, Matthew lifted the log and hit Filey again before he could cower away. The brute lurched to the side, raising his arms to protect his head. “Leave off, will you, for Christ’s sake?”
Grace scrambled free, clutching the remnants of her dress to her breasts. Her face stung as if a thousand bees had attacked it. She drew her knees up to her chin and huddled in a protective crouch beside the path. Convulsive shivers shook her as she tightened her arms around her raised legs.
New tears flowed over the sticky residue of the old. As they fell, they made the abrasions on her face smart. She’d been so certain there was no hope. Now she couldn’t accept she was safe.
“You’ll never touch her again.” Matthew stood over Filey like a divine avenger. Her lover was almost unrecognizable. No trace remained of the kind, gently amused man. He hoisted the log above his head, ready to crash it down on Filey’s head.
“Don’t kill him, Matthew.” Grace’s plea emerged as a muffled croak. She struggled to her feet and stumbled to his side.
Wolfram growled as if expressing his opinion of her request. Matthew’s lips tightened over his teeth in a similar snarl. He didn’t look at her but kept his eyes fixed on the cringing Filey. “Why not?”
“Just a bit of fun, your lordship. No harm. You know what lasses are like.” Then fatally, “Well, maybe your lordship don’t know. But the tart was hungry enow for a poke from a real man.”
“Roast in hell, you bastard!” Matthew’s eyes shone blank with rage and his muscles bunched as he prepared to swing the log down for the killing blow.
With horror, Grace realized he’d moved beyond the constraints of reason. She caught at his arm. “Don’t do this. If you kill him, your uncle will chain you up again. He’ll use it as conclusive proof of madness.”
Matthew still brandished the log. “He hurt you.”
“Yes, he deserves to die. But not at the cost of all you’ve achieved.”
“Please, your lordship! Please, lass, take pity on a poor wight.” Filey’s pathetic groveling was almost more disgusting than his bragging. Fumbling to fasten his breeches, he staggered upright. He winced theatrically with each movement.
Grace ignored Filey and spoke to Matthew in a low voice that trembled with conviction. She couldn’t let him do this, even if everything within her screamed for revenge. “Don’t give your uncle this ammunition against you.”
Lucidity seeped into Matthew’s eyes, tempering the blazing gold. He touched her bruised cheek while his mouth thinned.
She must look a mess. The pain was certainly bad enough.
“I’d like to smash him to pieces,” he said fiercely.
As always, she drew strength from his touch. “So would I, but your uncle must never think the madness has returned.”
Wolfram gave another growl. She turned to see Filey trying to limp away. He hadn’t straightened from his awkward crouch. His face was a mask of agony.
He’d suffer from Matthew’s beating. He deserved to. The bruises he’d given her still ached. Her head still pounded. Her stomach still cramped with horror.
“You broke my bloody back,” Filey whined, darting a worried eye at the dog.
“Unfortunately, I doubt it,” Matthew snapped in his best Lord Sheene manner. “Get out of my sight before I reconsider letting you live.”
“Aye, my lord.” Filey edged away from Wolfram. “Very good, my lord.”
“Wolfram, chase,” Matthew said softly.
The dog bounded after Filey, forcing him into a shambling run. “Bloody hell! Call off your mongrel! Shit! Get away from me, you mangy bugger! Leave off!”
Matthew placed one arm around Grace as the ungainly pursuit continued through the trees. She leaned gratefully into his strength. Her legs felt like they were made of watery custard.
“Will Wolfram hurt him?” Grace asked shakily when Filey’s groans had faded to a distant echo. Talking tested her split lip. Her jaw throbbed where Filey had punched her.
“Not unless I tell him to,” Matthew said grimly. He flung away the log with a disgusted gesture and tore off his coat to wrap it around her. She appreciated the warmth. She was deathly cold.
She grabbed Matthew’s arm, using her other hand to preserve what modesty she could. Silly, she knew, when he’d seen every inch of her, kissed every inch of her. But after Filey’s depredations, she craved the frail armor of clothing as much for her soul as for her body.
“Christ, Grace. Look at you.” His expression was savage as he studied her injured face. He wrenched a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her oozing lip. “I should have killed the
bastard when I had the chance.”
She winced and spoke through chattering teeth. “Thank God you arrived. I thought he was going to…He was going to…”
Her voice faltered into silence. Ugly gulping sobs tore at her throat.
“Shh, it’s all right.” Very carefully, his arms encircled her, surrounding her with heat and his familiar scent.
Eventually, she raised tear-drenched eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Let’s get you back to the cottage.” With the easy strength that always surprised her in such a lean man, he swung her into his arms.
“I can walk.” She wasn’t sure that was true.
“I’ll carry you.”
She didn’t have it in her to argue, so she rested her pounding head on his shoulder. “You make me feel safe.”
“I shouldn’t,” he said flatly, striding along the path.
“You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
“I blame my uncle.” Then he added a bleak rider, “And yes, I blame myself.”
His arms tensed and she flinched. Every inch of her hurt worse as danger receded and her body reacted to the beating. She tightened her hold around his neck. The brush of silky dark hair against her fingers was strangely comforting.
“I thought you were with your roses.”
“I missed you,” he said softly.
“If you hadn’t come…” she said brokenly, hugging him closer.
“I did.”
“Yes.”
He was her rock. He was her surety. He was her beloved.
All they had in this terrible wilderness was each other. God help them.
Chapter 19
Matthew eased Grace onto the sofa. She stiffened when he put her down, even though he was careful not to jar or jolt her. Her battered face already started to swell and discolor.
Jesus, he should have killed Filey. Now he must await another opportunity.
That opportunity would come soon enough.
First, he must ensure Grace’s security. Until then, he could do nothing to pursue long-overdue justice.
“I’ll get something to make you feel better,” he said when she seemed reluctant to release him. She wasn’t a clingy woman but this afternoon’s ordeal had tested her limits.
“All right.” Her hands slid down to tug nervously at his coat, drawing the edges together to hide the white lushness of her breasts. The breasts Filey had mauled. Matthew bit back another surge of anger. Filey had trespassed fatally this afternoon. There would be a reckoning before this sweet spring turned into full summer.
“I won’t be long.” He leaned forward and kissed her mercifully unbruised forehead.
He headed into the kitchen to heat some water. Then he gathered what he needed from the shelves in the garden room. He didn’t want to leave her alone long. He hadn’t missed the flash of panic in her lovely eyes when he’d told her he was going, even if only into the next room.
Grace was sitting up, still clutching at the ruined gown under his coat, when he returned. No disguising her relief when he appeared in the doorway.
He laid out his supplies on a small table. He was deliberately methodical. It helped soothe the raging beast within that yowled to smash and rampage. “Tell me where you hurt.”
“Everywhere.” She tried to smile, but her swollen lip defeated her.
She was so brave, it cut him to the heart. Concern for her swamped even his titanic rage, although rage seethed, ready to ignite at the first spark.
He knelt beside the couch for better access. Tenderly, he smoothed bedraggled hair from her brow. “Filey didn’t get what he wanted. And he won’t. You have my word.”
Her eyes were wide with dread. “Your uncle may retaliate.”
“My uncle doesn’t hold all the trumps in this game,” he said with calm certainty. “You’re safe.”
After a long pause, she nodded.
He sucked in a relieved breath and gently pulled his coat from her shoulders. He bent to slide her slippers from her feet then roll down her tattered stockings. Finally, he unhooked the rigid fingers that curled into her bodice.
“Let me see, Grace,” he murmured when she didn’t immediately relinquish her deathly grip.
“No.” She pressed against the back of the sofa.
Oh, God, she was frightened. Of him.
Filey would rot in hell.
“I’d never hurt you, Grace. You know that,” Matthew said in the crooning voice he used when he treated an injured bird or animal. “You’re safe with me.”
Some of the tension drained from her face. Or what he could see of her face under the bruises. She relaxed her hold and the dirty yellow dress fell away. As he brushed the fabric aside, she whimpered and hunched her slender shoulders.
What was she hiding? He shifted to see but she wrapped her arms across her chest in a protective gesture.
“Grace?” he asked softly, carefully parting her entwined arms.
Then he saw her naked breast.
Filey’s teeth marks stood out clearly, rimmed in purple and grazed red where he’d broken the skin.
Apart from that foul bite, bruises covered the pale skin on chest and ribs. The violence Matthew struggled to control swelled to choke him.
“Christ,” he breathed, balling his fists.
Shame reddened her cheeks. “I couldn’t stop him.”
“No, but I will,” he grated out, unable to tear his eyes from the signs of Filey’s abuse.
She must have read murder in his face because she stretched out a shaking hand to clasp his wrist. “It’s too late.”
“Jesus, how can you say that?” Taking a deep breath to calm the crashing thunder in his blood, he slid her long sleeves down. Her arms were bruised and finger marks circled her wrists, mute testimony to how roughly Filey had handled her. The demon inside him jerked at its leash.
“I’m sorry, my darling.” He noticed how she flinched with each movement. “You’ll feel better out of this dress.”
Surprisingly, her mouth quirked in a shadow of her usual smile. “I’m sure you’re not the first young man to use that line.”
He forced a smile although her courage made him want to weep. In his heart, he howled for Filey’s blood. With the scissors he’d brought from the kitchen, he cut her skirt away. Then he removed the tattered drawers and corset and shift.
How it pained him to hurt her, but he couldn’t help it. When she was naked, he let down her tangled hair and combed it with his hands so it fell loosely around her shoulders. Through the silky black tresses, her white skin shone like a pearl, where the bruises and abrasions didn’t disfigure her.
He drew a rug over her then left briefly to collect a bowl of warm water from the kitchen. “I’ll help you sit up,” he said when he came back.
When she was upright, he wet a cloth and very, very carefully bathed her. Her body was slim and graceful in the late afternoon light. But as he traced each perfect curve, stroked each hollow, he didn’t think about sex. Instead, a vast tenderness filled him.
With the gentleness he’d used throughout, he dried her. He laid aside the damp towel and removed the lid of a small jar. “Arnica, calendula, witch hazel help bruises to heal.” As he scooped a handful of ointment, a fresh smell mingled pleasantly with the jasmine. “There are advantages to having a lover who spent his youth poring over herbals.”
“Instead of touring the fleshpots?” she asked dryly, although she tensed with silent discomfort when he smoothed the mixture on the darkening marks around her wrists.
Filey would pay tenfold for every drop of Grace’s pain. Matthew swore vengeance against his enemies even while he kept his touch light.
“Ouch.” She grimaced when he began on the swollen, purple mess of her left cheek.
She’d been so sweetly stoic through what he knew was an agonizing process. He covered the last of her bruises with ointment and turned away, wiping his hands on a linen towel. “Rest now, Grace.”
“Where are you going?�
�� Her eyes were bright with fear.
He dredged up a smile that he prayed reassured. “Only to the kitchen. I’m brewing something to help you sleep.”
She gave a visible shudder. “I’ll never sleep again.” Her hands shook as she tugged the rug up to hide her body.
“You’ll get over this.” Briefly, he touched her shoulder, feeling the tremors that racked her. “I won’t be long.”
In the kitchen, Matthew quickly made a tea of valerian, willow bark, and meadowsweet. It would dull her aches although she’d feel buffeted and sore for several days. She’d survive this ordeal and emerge whole and shining. He just wished to hell he could be there to see it.
He brought the laden tray through. “Do you feel any better?”
She looked up from her supine position and managed a smile. Or as much of a smile as her ruined face allowed. “Actually, I do.”
He deliberately concentrated on practicalities. “I’ve got bread and cheese.”
“I’m not hungry.” Weariness shadowed her expression. Emotionally she reached her limits. As she raised herself awkwardly on the cushions, he handed her the steaming cup. She clearly felt the full effect of Filey’s beating. Until now, shock had kept the worst of the pain at bay. She sipped and he couldn’t help but laugh at her moue of distaste. “It’s dreadful.”
“You can’t take opium. This was the next best thing.”
Wondering amazement filled her eyes. Astonishing how expressive even her bruised face was. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything about you. Now drink up. Then try and eat something.”
He waited for another argument. But she must have felt even worse than he thought because she finished the tea and food, then lay back in exhaustion.
“My head hurts,” she mumbled into the cushion.
He was sure it did, even though the tea already had a narcotic effect. She hardly made a murmur as he wrapped the blanket around her, scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs to bed.
After sharing this room for three days, he had no trouble laying his hands on her night rail. Not that she’d worn it much recently. He carefully dressed her, then pulled back the sheets.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered even as her eyelids fluttered. She was barely conscious.
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