Page 137 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“I can’t say it was all for you, my dear, although it would sound a great deal more chivalrous, wouldn’t it? Does anyone care about chivalry anymore?”
“What did you do?”
“I was tired of Lawrence,” he said. “He was ruining all of you.”
Her muscles stiffened and her breath caught. Her gaze fastened on him and she couldn’t look away.
She shook her head. “No,” she said in a halting voice. “You couldn’t have.”
“Kill him?” He smiled. “It wasn’t a difficult feat to simply place a pillow over his face,” he said, unfastening the cuffs of his shirt. “With his weak heart, he didn’t have any strength at all.”
She was dizzy and nauseous but it wasn’t the chloroform.
“But you’ve been unfaithful to me,” he said, pulling off his jacket then starting to unbutton his shirt. “We need to rid you of the taste of Sinclair, I think, as soon as possible.”
“So you’ll rape me all the way to America? Even if I don’t want you?”
“You wanted me once,” he said. “I’ll just remind you.”
“I don’t want to go to America,” she said, trying to move away. He had her trapped, one knee on either side of her legs.
“I can still talk while I undress, Virginia,” he said, removing his shirt collar. “Don’t think to distract me with words.” He tossed the collar to the floor. “America is your home. Don’t you want to see your homeland again?”
“There’s nothing there for me,” she said.
“No friends? No family?”
“No.”
“We shall have to make our own, then.”
“I won’t marry you,” she said. “Nothing will make me marry you.”
“Very well. I’ll continue to plant my seed in you. I don’t care if our children are bastards. The world will never know. I’ll simply say we were married on the voyage. Who’s to say we weren’t?”
“I would.”
He smiled. “You’re a very good mother, Virginia. I shall have to train you to be a good wife.”
She fought him, becoming a frenetic ball of arms and legs. She connected with him more than once, feeling a vicious surge of joy at his grunts of pain. She didn’t care if she broke her arms or legs.
Paul Henderson was not going to rape her.
Her hand fumbled for something to strike him. At first she thought the ledge above the bunk was empty.
Metal, she felt cold metal with her fingertips. She reached up and grabbed the neck of a lantern as he lowered himself to her. She struck him with the lantern, but the blow hit his shoulder, not his head as she’d aimed, and fell to the floor.
He slapped her hard with his open hand.
“Don’t make me punish you, Virginia. Don’t make me do this.”
She screamed. He clamped his hand down over her mouth, grinding her lips against her teeth.
He kneed her legs open. She arched upward, trying to dislodge him. He ground one knee against her pubis. When she cried out in pain, he slapped her again, his eyes dark, his face contorted with a frightening smile.
She tasted blood and it galvanized her, pushed her to scream again and bite at his hand.
He grabbed her hair, loosened from the struggle, and jerked on it until she cried out in pain. His fingers scraped at her shift, tearing it, exposing her breasts. His hand grabbed a nipple and twisted it.
