Page 57 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

He raised his hand. She screamed as she flinched and backed away.

He grabbed her arms and shook her violently. “You will speak to no-one of this. Do you understand?”

She screamed again, tilting her face away from his, trying to twist from his ferocious grip, but he was too strong.

“I will speak to whom I like,” she managed.

He released one arm and grabbed her by the throat.

His grip was tight. Fierce.

She couldn’t breathe.

She clawed at his hand, desperately trying to draw in air. There was something terrifying in his eyes as he brushed aside her other arm and laid both hands on her neck.

Of all his reactions, she never really thought he might kill her, but now it seemed he would. Her head pounded, her eyes hurt, and she simply couldn’t breathe. He really was going to kill her. She was going to die without ever seeing Jemie again. Without seeing her beloved children.

She twisted and tried to kick him, landing a blow on his shin. She grabbed at his face and clawed at it.

The door flew open.

It was Lizzie, with three footmen and the butler.

Her eyes fluttered closed as Lizzie shrieked and launched herself at Frederick.

The men grabbed his arms and tried to pull him off.

They were shouting and berating him, but Frederick hung on tight.

The determination in his eyes told her all she needed to know: that he was a monster capable of worse than she’d imagined.

She was losing all sense of her surroundings as her vision blurred and her head felt as though it might explode. She heard rather than saw William and Freddie shouting, and then she was free.

Edith and Lizzie held her up as she struggled to drag air into her lungs.

Her legs gave way, but they held her firm.

She coughed and wheezed as she tried to breathe, but even doubled over she saw Freddie land a fist on Frederick’s face again, then Alastair twisted her husband’s arm up his back, crashing his face onto his desk as he held the back of his head.

They only let him go when Frances was safely moved away from him. He staggered to his feet and stared at the people ranged in front of him, sweeping his hair back off his bruised and scratched face, panting. He swiped at the blood that trickled from his nose with the back of his hand.

“Did you tell him, love?” Lizzie asked loudly.

Frances nodded.

Her sister turned to Frederick. “So, you can add all of us as witnesses to this violent assault, nay attempted murder , upon your person when you go to Bibby and to the newspapers.” She said it loud enough for Frederick to hear.

Frances was shaking. Partly with relief that she could breathe, partly with fear about what her husband might do next.

“I suggest you leave, Leyland,” William ordered Frederick.

“You think you can throw me out of my own house?” Frederick snarled. “You think you can come in here and put yourself between a man and his wife?”

“When that man is trying to murder his wife, yes. I damned well can,” William insisted. Frances had never seen him so angry.

“Murder, don’t be ridiculous,” Frederick scoffed.

Freddie stood before his father, shaking. Face red, hands still balled into fists. “Yes. Murder. You had your hands around her throat. She could not breathe and was on the verge of collapse when we came in here. Look at her, man. Look! ”

Frederick shook off William and looked at her.

Her throat was raw and throbbing. It was still difficult to breathe. Her eyes hurt, and her vision swam. She wondered if perhaps there were bruises forming. Perhaps that was why her husband was now watching her with dawning horror.

“Frances?” he said, hand outstretched.

She shied away, ducking into Lizzie’s protective embrace.

“That’s far enough,” William said.

“If you won’t leave, Leyland, we will take your family with us,” William continued. “They are not safe with you.” He observed Freddie’s bruised face.

“No,” Frederick said. “No, I… I should… I will leave.” He swallowed, dazed. “I…”

Frances peered out from Lizzie’s embrace, surprised at his sudden capitulation.

“I…” He shook his head as he saw her. “You have my apology. I will leave,” he said quietly.

He hesitated, studied his hands, then swallowed. He squared his shoulders.

“I… will also consider your request.”

With that, he bowed and left.

She heard his footsteps retreat, and her legs finally gave way. Edith and Lizzie guided her to a nearby chair as tears flowed in earnest. She sobbed until there was nothing left.

Edith was barking instructions at the staff, who were standing about in stunned silence.

“Can you speak, darling?” Lizzie asked when the storm had passed.

Frances tried and found she could, but her voice was weak and raspy.

“Let me see,” she croaked and Lizzie, after an initial hesitation, allowed her a glimpse in the looking glass.

Livid red and purple bruises were developing around her neck, and little red spots of what appeared to be blood dotted the white of one of her eyes. It was easy to see why Frederick looked so appalled. For once, he’d been faced with the consequences of his temper.