Page 29 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place (The Honeywells #1)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
V iolet's breath came in ragged gasps as she staggered toward the very edge of the dense forest, her body aching and her mind swirling with fear and exhaustion. The last slivers of dusk turned the sky a cacophony of colors, but darkness was coming. It would be upon her at any time. No sooner had she thought that than she finally cleared the last of the trees. Just ahead of her lay the looming structure of Wellston Hall, like a specter from the mist.
Panic tightened its grip on her heart. Wellston Hall—the last place she wanted to be. Disoriented as she’d been, she’d gone the wrong way through the woods. Now, there she was, looking at her childhood home with a sense of dread. It was almost as if she’d been drawn to it by some cruel twist of fate. Memories of her relatives’ betrayal and the cold calculations they’d been carrying out against her flashed through her mind. She couldn't, she wouldn't enter that house again. The woods, as dark and uncertain as they were, offered a better sanctuary than the walls that had once conspired in her ruin.
With a shuddering breath, Violet turned to retreat back into the relative safety of the trees, to hide herself until dawn when she could make her way to Alstead Manor, to Max. But as she pivoted on her heel, a figure emerged from the shadows of the woods, a sinister silhouette materialized as if conjured by her fears.
Eddington stood there, his expression unreadable in the dim light, a knife in his hand gleaming with a dark, viscous liquid. Blood. Her heart plummeted into despair.
"Violet," Eddington called out, his voice eerily calm. "I'm afraid Max will no longer be offering you sanctuary."
Her breath caught in her throat. "What have you done?" she whispered a dreadful realization dawning on her.
"I've ensured he won't interfere with our plans," Eddington replied smoothly, stepping closer. "He's gone, Violet. I'm sorry it had to come to this."
Violet's mind raced, terror and disbelief warring within her. She didn't—couldn't—believe Max was dead. Something inside her, some tether of connection that she felt with Max, pulsed still with life. It had to be a lie. It must be.
Then, through the stillness of the night, a voice called out, piercing the veil of her fear. "Violet! Where are you?"
It was Max. Alive. Relief flooded through her, followed swiftly by a surge of urgent fear. He was close, so terribly close, and Eddington was between them with a knife still wet with blood.
Without thinking, she acted. "Eddington is here! He’s armed!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping her voice would carry through the trees to Max.
Eddington cursed under his breath, his eyes narrowing into slits of fury. "Foolish girl," he hissed, and lunged toward her.
Violet turned to run, her legs pumping as fast as they could carry her, but she was weak, disoriented, and slow. Eddington was quicker, fueled by rage and desperation. He crashed into her from behind, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Violet hit the hard-packed earth with terrible force, the impact driving the air from her lungs.
As she struggled to catch her breath, the cold, hard ground beneath her, and Eddington's looming figure above, Violet knew she had to survive, had to escape. She needed to warn Max, to save him, as he had come to save her.
But as Eddington raised his knife, all Violet could see was the glint of moonlight on the blade, and all she could hope for was a miracle.
The forest was eerily silent as Max emerged from the dense thicket, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. The last rays of the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows that stretched like dark fingers across the ground. His eyes scanned the clearing ahead, and his breath caught at the sight before him.
Violet lay on the ground, her body tense and struggling beneath the weight of Eddington, who knelt over her with a knife raised high. The blade, slick with blood, caught the dying light, creating a sinister glint that sent a chill down Max's spine.
Without a moment's hesitation, Max pulled a brace of pistols from his coat pockets. His hands were steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins—a testament to his skill and calm under pressure. He aimed quickly, knowing that Violet's life hung in the balance and that his shot needed to count.
The pistol cracked loudly in the quiet of the evening, a sound that echoed off the trees like a promise of retribution. The ball struck Eddington in the shoulder, causing him to falter but not fall. Violet seized the momentary lapse to wriggle beneath him, trying desperately to escape his grasp.
Eddington, grimacing from the pain, raised the knife once more, his intentions clear and deadly. Max's heart raced as he pulled the hammer back on his second pistol. There was no room for error, no second chances. He aimed and fired again, the second shot ringing out with a finality that seemed inevitable.
This time, the bullet found its mark with deadly precision. It pierced Eddington's skull, and the man's body jerked once before collapsing heavily atop Violet, who let out a muffled cry of distress.
Max rushed forward, his boots thudding against the soft earth as he reached them. He pulled Eddington's lifeless body off Violet and threw it to the side with more force than necessary. It wasn’t even anger. Eddington was no longer a threat—merely an obstacle keeping him from her. From touching her, from hearing the sweet sound of her breath and the beating of her heart. Things, he’d thought, he would surely never hear again. He then knelt beside Violet, his hands gently checking her for injuries.
“Violet, where are you injured?”
“Only my head,” she said, clinging to him. “But as you’ve often said, it’s hard enough to withstand almost anything.”
The laugh caught him off guard. “Do not jest. Not at a time like this.”
She glanced over to where Eddington lay on the ground, blood oozing from his shattered skull. A shudder wracked her.
“Violet, it’s over. He's gone," Max said softly, trying to calm the tremor in his voice. His eyes searched hers for any sign of serious harm, his relief palpable when he found none that were immediately visible. “He will never harm you again.”
Violet's breaths were shaky, her body trembling from the shock and exertion. But as she looked up at Max, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and relief, a tear tracked down her cheek, cleansing some of the dirt and blood smeared there.
Max helped her to sit up, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace. The sun had set completely now, leaving them in the soft embrace of twilight. Around them, the forest seemed to sigh, the tension of the moment dissipating as the immediate danger had passed.
They remained there for a few moments, holding onto each other, the reality of their ordeal settling in. Max whispered words of comfort to Violet, promising safety and vowing never to let harm come her way again.
As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Max and Violet slowly made their way back to Alstead Manor, leaving the dark memories of the forest and the fallen adversary behind them. The path ahead was uncertain, but they were together, and for now, that was all that mattered.