The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War), Eva Devon [e textbook reader .TXT] 📗

It was not to be borne. She would be doing a service to this world if she drove the letter opener into his heart, if she could find that organ.

“Now, girl, you’re going to come with me,” he all but ordered, taking a step towards her. “We will quietly exit this house, and you will follow me without complaint.”

A slow, anticipatory smile tilted his lips. “And then Grey shall come to me. On my terms.”

“Why do you think I will go with you?” she whispered, barely able to speak.

“Because,” he said quite simply. . . And then he slipped the pistol from the waistband of his breeches under his dark coat. “I will kill you if you do not.”

She stared at the pistol.

The first thing that struck her was how sleek and beautifully made it was.

As he took his hand and pulled back the hammer, cocking it, terror coursed through her and a second thought slithered through her mind.

She was going to die in this room, bleeding her life out of a horrific wound, if she was not very careful with him.

“You made your case most eloquently, sir,” she managed to reply, never taking her gaze from the mouth of her potential death.

“I agree,” he replied coolly. “So, no more prevaricating. Off, we go.” He gestured with his free hand to the door. “Now, my girl, don’t make a peep, or I shall have to bloody His Grace’s carpet.”

She sucked in a breath, transfixed by the cocked pistol. “Would you truly be willing to kill someone innocent?”

“To restore my honor?” he queried as if she were the one that was mad. “Of course.” He raked her with a ruthless stare. “Besides, you are not innocent. You are his whore, are you not? No doubt you are staying here, making the beast with two backs with him at night.”

The words coated her with his disgusting meaning. His sheer contempt for her and all females, who he no doubt saw as mere vehicles for men’s lust or bodies to carry their heirs.

It was tempting to gasp, but she would not give him the satisfaction of her horror at his words. He truly was a duplicitous, horrible piece of humanity.

Her heart began to pound against her ribs.

There was no indication that Grey or Merrill or Clara were going to save her.

Clara shouldn’t; she hadn’t the skills, and Phillipa didn’t like the idea of one of the servants being shot by Adams either, in coming to her rescue.

So, she was in a particularly difficult situation. She thought of her father and how brutal he could be, how cruel, how manipulative.

She wondered if she could actually stand up to Adams, just as she had stood up to her father. Only, her father had never threatened her with a pistol.

This was an entirely different affair than any she’d faced, even when her father had been in his cups.

But, she did know one thing: Adams was not going to leave any of them alone unless something was done.

No, He was not going to leave Grey alone, and thus, anyone he cared about, until the ultimate damage had been inflicted.

A man like Adams would never take responsibility for his actions. He needed to hate Grey, to blame Grey, and to harm Grey to preserve his own good opinion of himself.

Still, she couldn’t outright confront Captain Adams.

She wasn’t strong enough, nor capable enough in regards to arms.

She didn’t know enough about the art of combat.

The only thing she could do at present was to go along with him, to assuage him, to allow him to think he was winning.

Even if he was winning at this moment, she knew the tables could turn in an instant.

She nodded at him and forced herself to modulate her tone into one of acquiescence and obedience. “Of course, I shall do as you say.” She nodded towards the pistol. “As you point out, you do hold the upper hand.”

“Good,” he said, pleased, though from his stance, he was growing more tense. More wary that they were going to be interfered with.

“I’m glad you have some sense,” he stated. “Now walk ahead but stay close because I do not wish anyone to see what we are about. Do not think of running.”

She nodded, even as her insides roiled and her brain rioted.

Could she be brave? Could she risk it? Did she dare?

She walked slowly, allowing Adams to come up behind her as he wished.

Much to her shock, he pressed the mouth of the pistol into her back.

The feel of that cold, hard barrel against her lower back made her shudder. But instead of just terror, it filled her with rage. Rage that he should make her such a pawn in this game of life. That he thought so little of her. That her life mattered so little to him. That she was so entirely insignificant but as a means to hurt Anthony.

She wouldn’t have it.

“Walk forward,” he instructed, “and open the door.”

She did as he wished, her entire body starting to shake as she made her way to the door. She drew in a deep breath to keep herself calm, and suddenly, she knew exactly what she had to do.

She knew pistols of this day were not particularly perfect things. She knew it was not easy to fire one. She knew they weren’t terribly accurate and were sometimes given to difficulties.

With him so very close to her, she might actually have an advantage.

Willing herself to draw on every bit of strength and resolve she had, she took a few more steps forward, put her hand on the doorknob, and turned it.

She couldn’t go with him. . . If she did, the variables would be too hard to control.

As she opened the panel, she angled her body to slip through the opening.

He grumbled, having to shove the door open. “Do not go so fast-”

With that, she spun around, grabbed his wrist, and pushed it to the side. With her other hand, she whipped her letter opener