Page 98 of My Darling Rogue
“You’re late,” he sneered.
“Only by a few minutes,” Celia replied, rubbing her arm. Even through the cloak and the fabric of her gown, she was sure he left bruises from gripping her so hard. She would need to invent a reasonable excuse to justify the markings when Gabriel discovered them.
“Well? Did you bring what I asked for?”
Celia took a deep, shuddering breath. “I did. And Bryan, once again, I am begging you to take this money and go. Somewhere far away from here. I won’t bring you any more money. This is the last time.”
“Oh, is it now, Marchioness?” Bryan asked softly, his face twisting into a mask of rage so frightening, Celia’s heart began skipping in double time. “You think you get to tell me what to do? Ya do what I say, not the other way around.”
Celia pulled the wad of notes from her pocket and thrust it toward him. When he did not take it from her hand, it scattered over the floor of the loft and mixed in with the hay. “Take it. Please take it. It’s all the pin money I have. Every bit of it. You could live off this for years, if you are careful with its spending. But you cannot stay here and I cannot bring you more.”
A calculating light gleamed in Bryan’s cold blue eyes. “Then I suppose I’ll be telling everyone I fucked the Marquess of Rosenthorne’s new wife. That I had her sweet young cunny long before he tasted her. Do you want them all to know how you begged for me cock and how you cried when I didn’t spill inside ya?”
Celia’s eyes closed. Her hand found its way into her pocket, her fingers caressing the butt of the pistol.
If I should pull this from my pocket, there is no going back. I will kill him.
“You will not say anything, Bryan. I won’t allow it.” Her voice trembled, but the thread of resolute strength in it only sent Bryan into a further rage.
“You know what? I think I’ll have you and the money. I think I’ll take that ring on your finger as well. It’ll bring a pretty penny.” He advanced on her, ignoring her warning. Ignoring the chance she’d given him.
He’d sealed his death warrant with those words, and she would die before she allowed this animal to take Gabriel’s ring from her finger.
The pistol suddenly appeared in her hand, pointed straight at Bryan’s chest. For a moment, he appeared surprised, but then he laughed.
“Milady thinks she can shoot me?” He moved forward, daring her to take a shot. “You don’t have what it takes to kill a man.”
Bryan rushed her then, the shock of his attack freezing Celia in place. The pistol flew out of her hand, skidding across the floor out of reach.
“Knew ya couldn’t do it,” he mocked just before he backhanded her across the face. His knuckles cut her lip open. Celia flew backward from the force of the blow, a haybale breaking her fall. She rolled away, desperate to reach the pistol, but Bryan landed on top of her. He was so heavy, despite his scrawny form.
“Fight me, milady. I like it better when a woman fights back. Come on, then.” He struck her across the face again, laughing when she cried out in pain. “Ya were a lot scrappier back when you were sixteen, ya know that?”
Celia was dazed from the blows, but still, she pushed and shoved at Bryan as he began tearing at her clothes. The rafters above her swirled crazily, but she was able to rake her fingernails down his face.
“You goddamn little bitch. You’ll pay for that,” Bryan grunted, his hands reaching beneath her gown. He grabbed her thighs, wrenching them apart. “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk. Plant my bastard in your belly and stick around long enough to watch you pass it off as your husband’s. A bastard for a bastard, eh?”
Celia sobbed as she fought harder. Kicking, scratching, biting—she was like a wild woman as he tried pinning her down. “I won’t let you do this to me again. I won’t.”
When Bryan fumbled to release his member from his trousers, Celia took that opportunity. Her knee landed in his groin with vicious accuracy and enough strength to drive him backward.
She scrambled out from under him, crawling across the floor to reach the pistol.
Behind her, Bryan wailed in pain. Glancing over her shoulder to see if he followed, Celia saw the way he clutched between his legs.
“I’m gonna kill you when I get my hands on you, ya fuckin’ whore.” Spittle flew from his mouth as he cursed, his face turning a scarlet hue as he checked himself for injuries. His pale cock now hung between his legs, shriveled and limp as a fallen custard.
A renewed sense of victory surged through Celia with the realization of what she’d accomplished during their struggle. She had hurt him.
I hurt him!
She turned, intent on reaching the pistol and shooting him dead, but instead of the weapon, she encountered a pair of gleaming Hussar boots. They were so shiny; even in the watery, grey light of the hay loft, they reflected her face back to her. Her gaze moved up and up until, at last, she was staring into the stormy visage of her husband. The pistol was in his hand and trained on Bryan.
“I’m here, sugarplum.” His voice was soft as he reached down and pulled Celia to her feet with his free hand. He brushed a few pieces of straw from her disheveled hair with a gentle hand. “I’m here now.”
His golden-brown eyes flared at seeing her injuries. The bloody lip. The bruises on her face. The rips and tears to her clothes. A cold rage, an expression like nothing Celia had ever witnessed on another human’s face crossed Gabriel’s features. It was terrifying, and yet, in that moment when her husband might have been the very Devil himself, she was grateful to see him. Even if he learned the truth about her, Celia could not be sorry he had come.
How he’d known she’d be in the stables, Celia did not understand, but he was here now. And that was everything.
