Page 38 of The Marquess of Temptation
"It was you," Hestia stated, her mind whirring with the shock of it all, "You killed my father."
The Viscount gave a bitter laugh and threw the empty bottle he held in his hand onto the grass.
"A bullet in the brain was no more than that swine deserved, for the suffering he inflicted upon my sister." Havisham growled, advancing slowly toward her. "And yet, the man has driven me demented, ever since that night. I see him in my sleep. His face, before I pulled the trigger...I see him everywhere."
Her Uncle had gone mad from guilt, Hestia realised. The Viscount ran an agitated hand through his thinning blonde hair, glancing contemptuously at his niece.
"He deserved to die; Georgina would have lived a full and prosperous life, had he not taken her away. He left her with nothing," Havisham spat.
"That's not true," tears were in Hestia's eyes, as she protested against his cruel barbs. "Nobody deserves to die that way. You will hang for what you did Uncle."
Her words seemed to cause something inside the Viscount to snap, for he lunged at her, knocking her backward into the rockery. His large hands closed around her neck and he began to squeeze, his eyes wild with anger.
"I will not hang for Stockbow," he roared, spittle at the corner of his mouth. He was no longer human, but like a daemon or a rabid animal, as his fingers clung to her neck in a vice-like grip.
Panic seized Hestia, as her Uncle's grip on her windpipe prevented any air from entering her lungs. With the last of her strength she grappled for something, anything, to fight him off with. Her hand touched a stone from the rockery and with an enormous effort, she lifted it and brought it crashing against the Viscount's long, thin, aristocratic nose, praying that it would be enough to save her.
