Page 42 of Miss Hawthorne’s Unlikely Husband (The Troublemakers Trilogy #3)

What on earth was he playing at? “This room is occupied, sir.” She shifted to stand behind the sofa as he ambled forward, his hands in his pockets.

“This was my late brother’s house. I do not need your permission to be anywhere in it,” he replied with an arrogant sneer.

She moved towards the door but he shifted as well.

She gauged the distance. There was no way she would get to the door in time, not in this dress.

She needed to find a way to slow him down.

How? How had she ended up here? Twenty minutes with her father, barely five minutes in which she was alone and this ingrate had managed to corner her.

“I cannot decide whether you are bold or stupid to attempt this,” she said.

“Attempt what?” he asked.

“Are you trying to imply that your intentions are innocent?”

He nodded in consideration. “Noble perhaps. I cannot allow this marriage to take place.”

She couldn’t stop the derisive laugh that escaped her. “And you imagine you can stop it? How amusing.”

“It wouldn’t take much. I will keep you here, an unmarried woman alone with a gentleman. When you are missed, people will come looking and find us. There are enough witnesses to spread the gossip all the way to Wales.”

“And you think that will stop me from marrying Richard?”

“He still has a business to run, my dear. A union with a daughter of the nobility is one thing, but an alliance with a slut is something else.”

She glanced at the door again. “No one will believe that I would choose to frolic with you, an old, ugly, stupid man, when I am a fortnight away from having your nephew as my husband.”

“Your kind is capable of anything.” He started towards her and she moved behind the sofa. It was a matter of time now. She just needed to keep him far enough away and she could escape unscathed.

“I’m sure you’d like to believe that,” she said.

“Believe me, I will not enjoy it. It is sickening to think the person who will finally link my family to the nobility is something like you.”

“Like me?”

“A half-breed,”

“Better that than a fool,” she snapped.

“What is it about you that draws them?” he mused out loud. The disgust was mixing with something else. Fascination.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My brother, Basil Thompson, even your father… they all strayed and became mired in whatever trickery you all played. Ruining otherwise pure and correct bloodlines. And now my family’s line will be even further polluted with your addition, producing even more unnatural looking offspring.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Mr. Thornfield. Based on the look of you, I could hardly do worse.”

He darted forward, hideously fast despite his size.

She jumped back and started to run but her dress was caught fast. A glance backwards showed what it was.

He had grabbed the fabric of her skirts in his fist. He pulled her forward and her arms came out to brace against his shoulders, struggling to break his hold on her.

“Perhaps there is some skill you all have,”

“Get away from me,” she hissed before stomping her heel on his foot.

He cried out in pain but his hold didn’t lessen.

Instead, he pinned her roughly to the wall, and she went still.

This man wasn’t going to take anything from her.

All her life, her governess had told her that her lack of a figure would protect her from exactly this sort of attention.

But something darker than desire was driving Simon Thornfield.

“I’m only curious.”

“Ellie?”

She heard Richard on the other side of the door. She only needed to get to him.

“There he is.” Simon’s eyes gleamed in triumph. “Not much longer now.”

The doorknob rattled and Richard knocked again. “Ellie?”

Had he locked it as well?

“Ellie!”

“Richard!” She kicked away from the wall, trying to gain enough space to wriggle free but instead he leaned into her, pressing revoltingly closer.

“Oh no, you don’t, you little harlot.”

She brought up her leg between his as hard as she could and watched with grim satisfaction as he doubled over, howling in pain.

She wriggled away but his grip on her wrist remained.

There was a loud thudding sound, as if something heavy was ramming against the painted door over and over. Richard. She needed to get free.

“You fucking bitch!” he screamed, rounding on her. His hand closed around her throat, holding her in place. She cast her eye around for something, anything to use and saw the vase of flowers on the side table. That was it.

She worked her fingers under his until she could grab hold of his thumb.

With as much force as she could manage, she wrenched it back.

He howled again but his grip on her neck was broken.

She darted to the side just as he grabbed for her gown, ripping the delicate bodice.

She didn’t have time to worry about that, however.

She took hold of the obliging vase with both hands and swung it up at his head with all her strength.

The porcelain shattered, sending water and florals everywhere.

Then she turned and raced to the door, not bothering to look back to see where Simon was. As she neared the wall beside it, the door burst open, sending shards of wood skittering across the floor and Richard was there along with her father and Lady Tremaine.

“Ellie.” Richard entered first, his head swinging back and forth looking for her. She rushed towards him, throwing herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest as he hugged her tightly.

“Thornfield, what on earth do you mean by this?”

She lifted her head and Richard took her face into her hands.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded. Now that he was here, now that he had his arms around her, she was perfect.

“Did he hurt you?”

“I didn’t let him.”

“What happened?” he demanded.

“He came in after Papa left me. He wouldn’t let me leave the room.”

His dark eyes swept over her, lingering on her ripped bodice, then he looked over to where his uncle stood, half drenched and still clutching his head.

He eased her away from him, and his hand slid down her arms to her wrists.

She flinched, even under his light touch.

His uncle’s grip on her had been merciless, and there was sure to be a bruise.

At the sight of her flinch, his face went flat, his body almost impossibly still.

“Richard.” She had never seen such an expression on his face before. If she thought his harshness was frightening, he was utterly terrifying now. With steady, even strides, he started across the room.

“Thornfield,” her father called out, but if Richard heard him, he didn’t respond.

“You would dare,” Richard growled, taking his uncle by the jacket.

Elodia winced at the first punch, the sound of bone hitting bone echoing throughout the room.

The force of that first strike drove Simon to his knees, and had him spitting blood, but Richard didn’t stop there.

He dragged his uncle up to his feet, ready to strike him again.

Simon grabbed his arm, alarm in his face.

“She’s lying,” he cried. There was a low growl and then he was in the air before Richard slammed him down onto the side table, shattering it in the process. The speed of it was shocking, the cacophony of noise alarming.

“Oh, Christ,” Basil murmured. Elodia glanced over to see him arrive with Ada and Isolde close behind.

Ada took Elodia’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” She turned back to Richard who had followed his uncle down to the floor and was now straddling his waist, his left hand pinning his uncle down by his neck and his right swinging down in a repetitive, steady cadence that never seemed to lose any of its vigor.

“Gēgē,” Ada murmured sadly, one hand covering her mouth.

Ellie watched in horrified fascination as a lifetime of pain and hatred was brought to bear. She couldn’t see what damage he was inflicting behind the couch, but the garbled cries from her former attacker and the wet crunch of what she assumed was a shattered jaw was enough.

“He’s going to kill him,” her father murmured before starting forward.

“That man has had it coming,” Leo replied, holding out an arm to stop him.

“He cannot kill him,” her father snapped. “He’s meant to be marrying my daughter within a week.”

“True,” Leo rolled his eyes and started forward.

“Thornfield, that’s enough.” He grabbed Richard’s arm mid swing, then went flying backwards when Richard turned to shove him away.

She caught sight of the enraged expression on his face, the wide eyes, flared nostrils, the sneer of his soft mouth, baring his teeth.

He was terrifying but he had never seemed more magnificent to her than in that moment.

Basil followed Leo into the room. “Don’t kill him, Richard. He’s not worth the trouble it would bring.”

His wild, irate eyes fell on her for a moment, ensnaring her from across the room in his blood splattered face. She didn’t know what her expression was, but he turned back to his uncle and rose to his feet slowly. She saw his bloody fists at his sides, the measured rise and fall of his chest.

“Get him out of here,” he growled before walking back over to her. She ran into his arms and flung her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest as she shivered. He held her tightly, his heart hammering in his chest, his body hot with his exertion.

“Goodness, what an exhibition.” Lady Tremaine commented.

“Elodia, what happened?” Isolde asked.

“He was trying to ruin me so Richard wouldn’t marry me.”

“What a moronic idea,” Lady Tremaine commented.

“I’m sorry,” Elodia said.

“Don’t,” Richard grumbled, glaring down at her, his dark hair falling every which way. “Don’t you dare apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

She nodded.

“What do you mean to do with him?” Basil asked.

“Surely we must call the constabulary,” her father remarked.

“No,” Richard said, his voice gruff and menacing. “I have a better plan for him.”