Page 110 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“Your steward sent a courier to bring urgent news from home. My lord, we must go at once.”

He stands, reading my signal. “Lady Duxbury Vandermore, I’m afraid our meeting must be cut short. I shall send you word tomorrow of my answer to the proposal. Lady Vandermore, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

But Bridget is staring at me, her hand pressed against her mouth. “Katherine?”

It is like the entire room swivels its attention to me.

Agatha shoots to her feet and catches herself on the mantle. Bridget takes in my clothes, my haircut. “What . . . are you doing?”

Rahk glances between the three of us, puzzled. “You know Kat?”

Kat.How does he know my nickname? And why does he not seem shocked that I have been called by a woman’s name?

He knows. He knows I’m a woman. Hehasknown.

I stand frozen. A dozen terrible scenarios play out before me. Rahk will hand me over to Agatha, and she will make me marry Lord Boreham. I’ll be forced to wed a man I cannot respect and give him my fortune. Or Rahk won’t hand me over—he’ll chop me to pieces for deceiving him.

Rahk’s hand comes toward me—most likely to take my elbow—and I panic. My panic mobilizes my feet, and I turn on my heel and bolt down the hallway as fast as I can.

There is no room for rational thought in my head. All I know is that I am the prey, and everyone in that room is a predator.

I careen down the hallway, shoving past Matthew and Viola in the kitchen, and fly out the backdoor. Escaping through the front lawn and into the city isn’t likely to work, so I throw myself toward the hedge in the back. Every step, my wound pounds with agony.

Heavy footsteps pursue me. It’s Rahk.

I shove myself faster.

“Kat!” he shouts. “Kat!”

His use of my nickname only makes me run harder. I approach the hedge, hoping that at least will slow Rahk down. There’s the hole I use to crawl through for my raids. I dive for it now.

My wound jars with impact when I slam my knee into the ground and haul myself through the hedge. My shirt gets caught, held fast. I yank as hard as I can and hear a rip. I pull harder, determined to make it through the hedge and on to freedom.

A large hand catches the ankle of my good leg. The shriek that leaves my mouth isn’t at all dignified. I kick hard, but Rahk is stronger. Vastly stronger. He drags me back through the hedge, no matter how hard I struggle.

And then, suddenly, I’m lying on my back in the lawn, staring up at Rahk as he pins me.

“What are you doing?” he demands. His gaze falls to my chest and quickly looks away, the muscles of his throat jerking.

Several of the buttons of my shirt ripped, and I look down to find that much of my chest binding is visible through the gaps in my shirt. Mortification overcomes me. I sag, looking anywhere but Rahk’s penetrating gaze as he studies my face. To my horror, tears gather behind my eyelids, pressure building in my throat. He’s got my arms pinned above my head with one hand, the other planted firmly on my hip to keep me from rolling to my feet and running.

More running footsteps pound behind us. Agatha’s voice, turned unusually shrill, calls out, “Oh I’m so glad you found my daughter! I’ve been so worried about her! Katherine Vandermore, what has gotten into you?”

Rahk twists toward my stepfamily who hurries across the lawn. Then his gaze returns to me. I watch, helplessly, as full realization sinks into his face. Grimness overtakes everything else. His face shutters, and I watch the exact moment he closes me out—just like he did with my stepfamily. I can almost feel the fury rolling off his shoulders, though who it is directed at, I cannot know.

My leg throbs from the exertion, and out of a desperate need for relief from his gaze, I twist my face into his arm and swallow obsessively to keep from weeping.

It’s Agatha’s voice calling my name that brings sense back into my muddled brain. Rahk is about to turn me over to them, isn’t he? He cannot just keep me as his servant now that he knows who I am.

I cannot marry Lord Boreham. I cannot have endured everything of these past several weeks for nothing. If Agatha punished me for refusing his initial advances by selling Bartholomew, what will she do to me now?

“Please,” I gasp, pleading, clenching my fingers in his grip. “Please don’t give me back to them.”

His black eyes devour me, like a pit I have fallen into where only death awaits me. I want to remind him of Fool’s Circle, of our dip in the creek, all the long conversations. But there is nothing I can do but wait.

Rahk releases my wrists abruptly, getting to his feet. His movements are brisk but careful when he pulls me to mine. He doesn’t look at me now. Not as he removes his coat and sweeps it around me. Covering what my shirt doesn’t.

Then, he takes me very firmly by the shoulders and, despite how much I try to resist, pushes me toward my approaching stepfamily. When he speaks, his voice reminds me at once of that cold, icy tone he used in the Nothril Court. “This is Lady Vandermore.”

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