Their Harlot Bride (Bridgewater Brides #7) - Golden Angel Page 0,1

glint in his eyes told me I would regret it either way.

Still, I hesitated. The table between us was no real shield. If I ran to the door, I could not undo the lock before he caught me. I was trapped. Should I not at least try to placate him? And perhaps I could escape later…

He took advantage of my hesitation, and I screamed as he practically vaulted over the table. I turned, trying to flee, but his hand caught my long black hair, and I fell to the ground as he jerked me back, my scalp burning from the cruel pull. My hands went to my head to try to relieve the pain as tears spilled over onto my cheeks.

“Stupid cunt,” he growled, his hand wrapping around my throat as he pulled me up and back against him, cutting off my air. I tried to scream, but no sound emerged. My fingers scrabbled against his, nails digging into his flesh, but his grip did not loosen. “I’m going to fuck all your holes bloody, then I’m going to take you back to my home and use you until I’ve had my fill. Then I’ll turn you over to my men and let them have you.”

Panic, already beating against my chest, turned me utterly frantic. He let go of my throat to spin me around and shove me into the table I’d been hiding behind. The edge slammed into my stomach, knocking my breath from me, my upper body flopping down across its hard surface.

Behind me, I heard fabric shift, giving me a rush of energy.

Run, run, run, run…

The word echoed in my head. I had to run. I had to get out of there. I would not meet that awful end he’d described. I would not. And I could not risk waiting to escape.

Spinning, I rolled off the table onto all fours next to the fireplace, wincing as he shouted. A hand grabbed my ankle, and I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the first thing they found—the hot poker in the fire.

He spun me around, and my arm arced in front of me, wielding the poker like a club, and he screamed when it connected with his face. Skin sizzled, and he fell back, hands to his face. The smell… God, the smell… I nearly choked on it.

Run, run, run…

A lord… I’d just attacked a lord. I would hang for sure if they caught me—if he didn’t get to me first.

Run, run, run, run, Sassy, run, and never look back.

I scrambled to my feet, leaving the poker beside him. He was lying on his back, moaning faintly. I could see the blistered skin of his face between his fingers. Gulping, I forced myself to look away.

I had to run. But where? Anywhere I went, I would need money…

His purse.

It was by the bed, along with his coat, which he’d taken off when he first came into the room. Rushing over, I picked it up. A sick feeling roiled in my stomach. Assaulting a lord, stealing from him… I had no choice, but if I was caught…

I could not think about it.

I stuffed his purse down the front of my low-cut dress and ran to the door, hurriedly unlocking it as Lord Carmichael’s groans began to grow louder. Dashing into the hall, it was blessedly empty, so I ran.

I ran down the stairs, past the startled expressions of my fellow whores and the men they were entertaining in the common room, and out the front door into the night. The shouts that followed me spurred me to run faster, and for some reason, I began to laugh, the sound slightly hysterical.

I was free.

1

William

* * *

“I can’t believe someone answered the ad,” Clive muttered under his breath as he climbed onto the bench of their wagon and picked up the reins. I was already waiting, a small bouquet of wildflowers for our new wife on my lap. I bit my tongue against snapping back at him because I knew he didn’t mean it personally. He wasn’t insulting me, even though it felt that way.

I was the one who had written the ad.

I was the one who had told him someone would answer.

I was right.

Clive didn’t like it when things didn’t go his way. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a wife, we both wanted a woman in our lives, but he didn’t like that my way had worked when he’d told me it wouldn’t.

As much as my fingers itched to