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“Poor soul?” I scoffed. “You call him a poor soul, and yet would see me hang, and suffer, and die? You hate me that much?”

He frowned, and shook his head. “Heavens no. Beloved, you misunderstand me.” He shuffled to the edge of his seat, and reached out to take my hand, holding fast as I tried to yank it away. “I do not do this to hurt you, Evie. Merely to motivate you.”

“Motivate me? To be your whore?”

His eyes dropped to my lips. “I told you. To be my wife.”

“Even if I could be convinced to take a man like you as my husband, I am not permitted to marry, you fool.” I laughedharshly. “Your plan, your idiotic plan and your false accusations will lead you nowhere. I am a widow, as you damned well know.”

He launched himself at me, his hands slamming into the carriage wall either side of me and caging me in, his eyes wild.

“If you think anything would keep me from possessing you, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Get away from me.” I shrunk in on myself, but he seized my jaw in his hand.

“Society, God, the church, whatever force you think will keep us apart, I will tear them all to the fucking ground, do you hear me?”

“Let go of me!” I tried to shove him away, but he pressed himself harder against me, his mouth far too close to mine. I tried desperately to turn my head, crying out as his teeth raked against my jawline.

“You’re mine, Evie,” he growled.

“I’m not yours!” I slapped at his face, hardly landing a blow. “I would rather hang!”

He grabbed my hair in his other hand, forcing my head back painfully, leering down at me. “Would you, Evie? Because it can be arranged.”

“You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you, you filthy, vile monster!”

“Enjoy it?” He pressed his open mouth to my cheek. “Oh no, I can think of much better uses for this perfect body of yours than a corpse dangling at the end of a rope.”

I cried out, writhing under him and trying to buck him off as he ground himself against me.

But as suddenly as he had thrown himself at me, he backed away, panting as he settled back into his side of the carriage. He laughed, rubbing his chin and looking me up and down.

“I was right about you, that spark inside you.”

“You ratbag bastard,” I spat at him, frantically trying to arrange my clothes and my hair. “How dare you touch me like this.”

“I think you rather like it, beloved.” He smirked, rolling the cane back and forth between his fingers. “I think a woman like you would love to be pinned down and used. The very thought of it has that cunt of yours dripping for me, doesn’t it?”

I covered my face with my hands and gasped. “My god, you are a degenerate.”

“I know you don’t want to hang, Evie, no matter how easily those words passed your lips just now. I know you want to live.”

My hands dropped from my face, and I regarded him through a mist of humiliated tears.

“And I know that will to live is what will drive you to me.”

“That’s what you think,” I hissed, and the carriage came to a stop. “I will never be convinced to be your wife.”

He got to his feet, leaning into my face. “Then make ready your prayers, stepmother.” He moved past me, jumping down from the carriage and striding towards the house, leaving the footman to help me down.

8

SUCH A SMALL BLADE

The house was quiet. I stared at the canopy of my bed, imagining endless scenes playing out before me. Every time I closed my eyes, it became worse. Hendridge’s execution repeated itself in my mind, on a loop, over and over, until his face was replaced with mine. Until the crowd was jeering at me. It was so vivid I was sure I was going to be sick.

I was trapped.