The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,9
mean that, Wes—no, you cannot.”
His lips pulled back, vicious. “Face the truth, Laney. You are nothing. Nothing to me.”
She twisted her body, snapping her fingers away from her death grip on him. Stumbling, one foot, two through the hay and her hand hit the wall of the stable.
She should have known. Should have known something was wrong when he sent word for her to meet him in here.
Slivers jabbed into her skin from the rough wood. Tiny pricks of pain barely registering through the numbness that had swallowed her.
Step, step, step. Her feet had to keep moving, shuffling through the dusty ground.
A coarse chuckle rang in her ear and Wes grabbed her arm. “Where are you going to go, Laney?”
Somewhere in the depths of numbness that had devoured her, indignant fury sparked to life. She jerked her arm, trying to free herself. “Anywhere—anywhere to be far, far away from you—London—America—whatever it takes.”
A sneer lifted his lip as his grip on her upper arm tightened and he looked her body down and up. “No, not to London, not to other suitors. You think even one of those London fops would look twice at your lanky limbs? At the size of you? Maybe America—maybe America will take you. They’ve taken the rest of our rubbish.” He threw her arm away from him. “Just get out of my sight, you witch. Get out.”
She stood, frozen at his words, at the venom in his voice.
Her heart crumbled from the top down. Slowly, crinkled vellum lighting to flames, turning to ash. Burning until there was nothing left in her chest. In her insides.
He never wanted her.
Never even liked her.
Laney jerked awake, her eyes wide open and staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling above her. Through the thin curtains just enough light flickered up from the lanterns hanging adjacent to the front door of the coaching inn to see the crooked shadow of the main crack.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
She hadn’t had that dream in months. Maybe even a year.
No. No, she’d had it when Morton had written her and mentioned Wes had reappeared in his life. She had it two nights in a row after that.
But not since.
Not even when Wes had appeared at Gruggin Manor.
Not until this moment, when everything in her life had been upended.
Breathe.
Breathe away the fire under her skin. Breathe away the pain.
Attempting to swallow, Laney realized her tongue was so dry she could have been chewing on a swatch of cotton in her sleep.
Rolling onto her side, she leaned over from the bed to pick up the pot of tea on the side table and tipped it toward the tumbler. It would be cold, but at least it was wet.
One drip fell from the spout, nothing more. Empty.
Blast.
Her dry tongue would have to wait until morning. She fell back onto the bed, her eyes refusing to close. Couldn’t for how hard her heart was thundering in her chest.
She couldn’t get to London fast enough. Couldn’t find that bloody box fast enough.
Damn Wes for being here. In front of her. Inserting himself into her life. Maddeningly so. And she couldn’t rid herself of him no matter how she’d tried.
That the odious man had insisted on accompanying her to London was just cruel.
Small grace that she’d made him so unwelcome in the carriage that he’d chosen to ride alongside the coach. Of course, he’d always been like that. His size swallowed the interior of a carriage and he’d always been deuced uncomfortable in them.
Even with the barrier of the carriage wall, Laney had been acutely aware of his overbearing presence outside the coach the entire time. Plotting on how to make her life more miserable than it already was. Losing her brother—her last living relative—and fretting over the estate and the last of the funds was more than enough to worry upon. But Wes was determined to add unbearable weight to her shoulders.
It didn’t help that the hatred she was spewing at him was exhausting.
If only she could ignore him—pretend he didn’t exist and hadn’t ripped out her heart long ago, tearing it to such fine shreds she’d never had an inkling to go near another man after him.
Her tongue twitched in her mouth, more parched than it had been a moment ago. Dawn was still hours away. She couldn’t wait till morning.
With a heave, she swung her bare feet from the bed to the floor and stood. Her eyes bleary, she found her dress in the scant light shining in from the