Page 30 of Heartbreaker of the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #6)

T he shame that had gripped Etty while she fled from the building and out into the night lessened as she toiled her way through the forest.

Sharp shadows sliced across the path, picking out the shapes of the stones, which glowed in the cold blue moonlight.

What must he think of her? What must they all think of her? A fallen woman with nothing to offer other than her dowry, on the hunt for a man so desperate for cash that he was willing to take on soiled goods with a bastard clinging to her skirts. Rumor had it that such women had to debase themselves in order to secure a husband—parading themselves in gaming hells where such matches were brokered.

She’d been a fool to think that even Bella’s friends would look upon her with anything other than disgust. The ladies might perhaps have been persuaded. But as to their husbands…

Whatever Bella might say, it was men who ruled the world. Men such as Andrew, who, now he’d been elevated to the aristocracy, must have set aside his misgivings about adhering to the traditions of Society. Had he not inherited the viscountcy, he might have deemed her worthy of his notice. But now…

No viscount who didn’t wish to be a pariah among Society would want to associate himself with her, let alone marry her. She would have to watch, from a distance, while he courted some respectable young woman. He would be a happier—and a better—man without her.

And Gabriel…

Her sweet, sweet boy, the innocent soul she had brought into the world through her own sins—her pride, greed, and envy, which had driven her to offer herself like a harlot.

Gabriel was far happier now than he had ever been—surrounded by people who loved him. He would also be a happier boy—and would grow to be a happier and better man—without the ruined woman who’d birthed him.

She slowed her pace, her breath misting in the night air, then glanced through the trees back toward the house. Its occupants would be sitting down to dinner now—dinner and gossip.

And what gossip there was to be had! She, the poor, wanton wastrel, the victim of her own jealousy and spite, whom Lady Arabella had taken in out of charity. How they must be laughing at her out of contempt and pity, reveling in their superiority…

And congratulating the newly anointed viscount on his lucky escape.

Silhouetted against the sky, the building’s dark form rose above the horizon. A row of illuminated windows glared out into the night, almost as if they were eyes—watching her, judging her.

Condemning her.

The lights flickered, and she turned and resumed her flight, taking the path into the forest, where the malevolent lights would soon be out of sight and she would be free of them. The shadows deepened as the path grew narrower, until she could no longer discern the ground.

Then a low snarl filled the air ahead.

She glanced backward again, but the house was no longer visible. The lights had winked out.

The snarl came again, and she froze, her heart hammering at her chest.

What was it?

She paused, but the only sound was the soft hush of the breeze through the trees.

Then the skin on the back of her neck tightened as the sound of a twig snapping cut through the air. Two pinpricks of light appeared in the darkness ahead. A low growl sounded, and the lights blinked, turning a pale green.

She stepped off the path and slipped between the trees. A ghostly white form appeared in the air ahead, and she let out a scream that echoed through the forest. A high-pitched screech answered from behind, and fear coiled inside her body as the call of the night hunters filled the air.

The predators had surrounded her, beasts and otherworldly creatures alike.

Then a deep growl filled the air—low and sorrowful, until she could discern a name.

Juliette…

With a cry of terror, she broke into a run, stumbling through the undergrowth, ignoring the slashes of pain as the brambles tore at her skirts. Her foot caught on something and she tripped forward, reaching out to grasp a low-hanging branch, but she missed and crashed to the ground with a jolt. Tears stinging her eyes, she struggled to her feet, wincing at the spike of pain in her palm as she pushed herself upright.

She took a step forward and cried out at the burst of pain in her ankle. The wind whistled through the trees ahead, swirling into a roar, echoing her cries, mocking her terror.

She must get back to the path. But where was it? She stopped and looked around, but there was no sign of it—only the blurred shapes of the tree trunks fading into the distance with the deep darkness between them.

What lay in the darkness? Retribution, perhaps? Punishment for her sins?

Another howl joined the wind, and she limped forward. Her skirts snagged on the undergrowth, and she struggled to maintain her balance, wincing as the pain in her ankle throbbed with each step.

She tripped again and fell against a tree trunk. She clung to it, seeking comfort in its solidity, shaking with sobs.

What a fool I am!

Then she heard it—a faint rustle, its very quietness sending more terror through her soul than any roar.

It was a footstep. A deliberate footstep, nearby. Something was tracking her.

Her heart thudding against her chest, she straightened her stance and took a step back.

A rush of cold air brushed across her neck in a caress, and she bolted, stumbling through the forest. Then a thick, dark shape rose ahead, blocking her path.

She screamed and jerked back as the shape seemed to float toward her, claw-like fingers reaching out.

Sobbing, she fled, ignoring the slashes against her legs as she tore through the undergrowth, until she caught her ankle and groaned at the burst of pain. She reached forward to break her fall as the ground rushed toward her.

But it never came.

A hand caught her arm and thick, strong fingers curled around her flesh.

“No!”

A pair of arms snaked around her body, tightening their hold.

“Juliette!” a voice howled.

“Leave me be!” she cried, but her assailant was too strong, holding her firm while she sobbed and struggled. But no matter how violently she beat against the arms holding her, they remained still, neither tightening nor letting her go—as if they merely waited for her strength to ebb.

Her limbs aching, she slumped against the body holding her, shaking with sobs, while the roaring subsided.

Then the voice spoke again, cutting through the fog of terror.

“Etty.”

Her heart ached at its gentleness and the memory it evoked—of a tender moment in a remote little cottage when she had opened her body and her heart.

“Etty, my love, be still.”

“A-Andrew?”

“Aye,” the voice said. Soft lips brushed against her neck, and warm breath caressed her skin. “It is I, my love. You’re safe now. None shall hurt you again.”

What must he think of her?

No—she couldn’t face him after what she’d done.

“Please let me go,” she whispered.

“No, my love. I let you go before and have regretted it ever since. I never want to let you go again.”

“B-but you said…”

“Do not speak of what I said, my love,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I said such cruel things, of which I am so ashamed. You have been nothing but kind, caring, and honest.”

She shook her head. “I deceived you—I deceived everyone .”

He turned her to face him, and she lowered her gaze, unable to look into his eyes. A tear splashed onto her cheek, and he placed his palm on her face and brushed her skin with his thumb.

“It pains me to know that I’m the cause of your sorrow, Etty,” he said. “You had every right to secrecy and privacy, given how the world had treated you. And my own behavior after you opened your heart to me showed that your fears were justified—that the weakest of souls would continue to judge you without understanding or kindness.”

“You are not weak, Andrew. I am the one who is undeserving.”

“Undeserving of what?” he asked. “Happiness, love? Or even—life itself?”

She flinched in his arms, and he drew her close, his body vibrating with anger.

“ Never think you are undeserving, Etty,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re angry.”

“Aye, my love,” he said. “I am angry. Angry at the world. Angry that you believe that you always have to flee. When you were ruined…”

She flinched again as shame swelled within her, and he sighed.

“You carry the shame still, and I am sorry for it. You chose to flee then, and you fled a second time after you’d placed your trust in me and I betrayed that trust. And now you’re taking flight once more. But you should never run away from anything, my love. Do you not understand that yet? You must always run toward something—not away.”

Etty shook her head. “I have nothing to run to, Andrew.”

“Oh, my love—you do!” he said. “As do I. I have always had something to run to, though, fool that I was, I did not fully understand it until now.”

“Understand what?”

He took her head in his hands then brushed his mouth against hers. The instinct to reach out was too strong, and she yielded, parting her lips as he slipped his tongue inside to caress her before withdrawing.

“There is only one thing in this world I wish to run to, my beloved Etty,” he whispered. “And that is you.”