Page 30 of Cora
She snatched up her waste bucket and threw it at the man’s head. He barked a yelp and toppled backward, his own pail flying upward. She barely raised her arms in time to protect her face before cold water hit her everywhere at once.
Never mind the water. Run!
She scrambled up the wooden stairs, pushing her weakened body as fast as it would move. Six steps between her and freedom.
She made it four.
Her captor grabbed her ankle. Bella toppled forward, landing hard. The imprint of a stair would be imprinted in flowering violet across her thighs. She dug into the wood, screaming, “Aidez-moi! Je vous prie, aidez-moi! Help me!”
Pain exploded in the back of her skull. She sank into merciful unconsciousness, and awoke, alone, in more pain than any human should have to endure.
* * *
Bella lost track of time.She could no longer distinguish between night and day by the subtle warming and cooling of the walls. She was always cold. Tired. Thirsty. All her thoughts were of food. She dreamed of tables laden with roasts and stews, fresh bread and fruit. She awoke feeling sick to her stomach as if she had gorged herself and cast up her accounts, only to realize she was still a captive.
The door creaked open. Gibface’s unmistakable form blocked most of the weak light, still bright enough to burn her eyes.
“Sign this,” he ordered.
“What?” Bella stared at the paper thrust in front of her face. English. It was written in her native language.
“Sign it.”
“Will you let me go if I do?”
He grunted. When she didn’t sign it, Gibface left. Bella was never going to sign that damn paper. It was obvious that she was never getting out of this pit alive. Signing anything would only be a gift to her captors. At least Archie would be able to take over her immense wealth.
Perhaps it would protect him better than it had protected her.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
CORA
Back at Gideon’s mansion—Cora still did not think of the place as home; it was his, not hers—Cora glared at the unwanted piano that mocked her from the corner of her sitting room. Annoyance flashed through her that it yet remained, though she knew, thanks to her brother’s renovations, that moving a piano was no easy feat.
Still. Almost a month of marriage should have been enough time to make arrangements to have it removed.
Titi barked and ran to the interconnecting door, scratching it and whining.
“I doubt he’s home, little fool,” she said affectionately. Poor dog, all wrapped around the axle over yet another tall, handsome, hard-hearted man. She pushed the door open. After all, Gideon hadn’t said anything about keeping Titi out of his room, only locking her out when they made love.
At the rate they were going, it would never happen. One of them had to break. She wanted him to touch her again, but she was determined not to ask. Gideon would only use it against her in some way down the line. He played the long game. She knew that about him, now.
She had given herself away at The House of Virtue today, taken off-guard by her own flare of jealousy.
Titi jumped onto his huge bed with its burgundy down blanket and curled into a tight ball against the pillow. She gave a forlorn sigh.
“Fine. Stay in there until he returns. Be sure to shed. A lot. It’s spring, after all. Get most of it on his pillow while you’re at it. Perhaps he’s allergic.”
She left the door open just enough for the dog to get back into her room if Titi so chose. Cora summoned Miss Marnie and changed into a dinner gown. Although she had spent most of her adult life in wealthy homes, she had rarely bothered to dress for dinner when she lived with her brothers. Only when they had company. One of the few advantages to being shunned socially was the ability to live one’s life as one chose.
Downstairs, Cora waited for Gideon to arrive home from his work, but as the hours passed, she finally ate alone. Again. At last, when the dessert plate had been cleared and she was out of reasons to avoid returning to her chambers where that stupid piano would haunt her wherever she turned, a gust of cold air from the hall told her that her husband had finally returned home.
“I wish to speak to you in private,” Cora said without preamble, surveying the way he moved. Been at his boxing club again, from the looks of things.
“Can it wait, Cora?”
Her questions could, but she could not. “No.”
