Page 117 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
Marianne’s stomach churned with disgust from the coarse words. She did resume writing, though, this time making the letters more legible.
Once she was finished with the letter, Linpool snatched it from her. Then, he folded it and shoved it into his coat pocket. She wondered if there would ever be a possibility he’d lose it at some point. She was so tired and distressed to think about what to do next.
The Viscount then grabbed her arm and pulled her up. Her legs were shaky and could barely cooperate, but he dragged her back through the narrow passage. Soon, they were out near the carriage again.
It was a silent night. Too silent. Marianne wished that there was more noise and more people to see her being manhandled by a man who was not only about to kill her but also destroy who she was all about.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Marianne was losing hope. Not only was the night quiet but it was also cloaked in dense fog. The moon might be up, but its pale glow could not fully illuminate what was happening on the grounds.
“You’re hurting me!” she protested as Linpool continued to drag her.
While it was true that he was hurting her already bruised wrists, she was also dragging her feet. Her sandals could not provide her feet with enough friction to keep her in place, but she would try anything to remain in the estate.
His grip was unyielding, though, rough and tight and unafraid to hurt her. She’d called Dominic a hunter, but she could tell that Linpool was more like a scavenger. It knew where it could get its feed easily, and it would never apologize for it.
Gravel crunched beneath their feet, burning through her sandals. Everything hurt at that moment. Worse, she knew that she might not feel anything forever.
“Stop complaining! Do you want me to take something else and shove it into your mouth?” he barked at her.
They made noise on the gravel despite Linpool’s best efforts not to. However, Marianne knew it would not be enough for anyone to notice that something was amiss.
It was past midnight already, and everyone was sound asleep. Those who labored during the day would be sleeping far more deeply than the rest.
Suddenly, her ears caught something. Was it her imagination? Was she finally going insane? There was something, a fast-approaching sound like the clip-clop of horses’ hooves as a carriage rattled on. The earth beneath them seemed to tremble ever so slightly.
Yes, it was still subtle, but she knew someone was coming.
Unless the hunger, pain, and distress had finally won over.
“Do you hear that?” she managed to ask, to give herself hope and also to spook her captor.
“Stay quiet,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing at the direction of the growing rumble.
He must have heard it, too. His ears must have caught a sound because he pulled her closer, like a shield.
The following moments were surreal. The horses neighed their protests for having to pound the streets at midnight. The wheels of a carriage she was not quite familiar with rattled on.
Who is it?
The carriage was not Dominic’s, but the silhouette that emerged from it was certainly his. He was illuminated at the back by moonlight, looking like an avenging angel. His face was contorted with anger. They had argued before, but she had not seen him like this.
As he drew closer, she could see purplish bruises on his face and even a hint of blood.
“Oh, Dominic,” she whispered, even as Linpool held something cold against her temple.
It registered too late that he had pressed his pistol against her. He did promise that he would kill her tonight, but how much had Dominic’s arrival ruined the rest of his plans?
Bounding from the carriage were Dominic’s loyal hounds, Achilles and Beowulf. Their eyes glittered in the semi-darkness as they growled their warnings, their canines bared and ready to tear through flesh.
“Let her go, Linpool,” Dominic commanded in a soft but commanding voice. There was a coldness in it that belied his blazing eyes. “You know it’s over.”
“Over? Perhaps it’s over foryou,” the Viscount said.
Marianne didn’t know if he was bluffing. All she knew was the cold pistol dug harder into her skin.
“One step closer and she dies.”
