“I rather doubt that, Miss Donovan.”
He continued to work his way through the fabric, leaving her breasts exposed. Her skin crawled. Her breath came out in harsh pants. She wanted to scream, needed to release some of the horror building inside her. Above her head, her fingers curled helplessly into fists she had no chance of using.
She thought of Rose, of Lydia, of all the girls who’d endured this same gut-wrenching fear—the knowledge that before death, there would be rape and torture. Was there a worse nightmare for a woman?
As the knife whispered down her body, her earlier thought about using her legs to snap the bastard’s neck came rushing back. If she could scissor her legs up, she might have a chance to incapacitate him. Maybe even make him a paraplegic. The odds were not in her favor, but she couldn’t lay there without at least trying to fight back. She would have only one chance.
But even as she braced herself, Morland suddenly stopped, and cocked his head, his expression intent. Kendra watched, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. After a moment, he shifted his gaze back to her. Her stomach clenched as his eyes ran over her exposed torso. He smiled. “If you will pardon me, my dear, I shall only be a moment . . .”
Stunned, Kendra watched Morland turn and walk out of the room. She had a brief moment of euphoria at the unexpected reprieve. But that vanished quickly. Unless a miracle happened, he’d be coming back. She couldn’t count on a miracle.
Needing a better look at the shackles, she twisted her head. She yelped at a sharp pain at the back of her head. Fucking hairpins!
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her head was already aching from the blow she’d received, and she was waiting for a serial killer to come back to torture her. Now she was being skewered from the damn hairpins, because Molly had insisted on putting her hair up that morning.
Then she felt the thrill of exhilaration all the way down to her toes—the hairpins.
67
Morland watched from the shadows as Gabriel bent down and picked up the gold chalice that he’d accidentally kicked against the cavern wall—that was the noise Morland had heard. He didn’t understand why Gabriel was here, and he didn’t like it. Anger heated his blood at this unexpected complication.
Today had been nothing but goddamn complications, beginning with Thomas abducting the American. That had not been part of his plan. At least, not yet. He’d wanted to watch first, to observe the weeping and wailing over the little maid’s demise.
Thomas’s stupidity infuriated him. He’d known for a while now that he’d have to kill the fool, though he hadn’t planned to kill him so soon. But, in truth, that was the one unexpected development that would work in his favor. Yes, it would work out very well indeed.
In the future, of course, he would have to be more cautious. Sutcliffe or the Duke might even take it upon themselves to keep watch in London. Should whores go missing, it could mean a new investigation. He might consider buying a town house in Bath. Or Edinburgh—no one would care if Scottish whores began vanishing. Unfortunately, that would require him to actually spend time in that barbaric country.
Morland shook his head. That debate was for later. Now, he must take care of his unforeseen visitor.
He announced his presence, stepping out of the corridor into the larger cavern. “Lord Gabriel.” The younger man gave a surprised start, swinging around to face him. Morland smiled, moving forward, closing the space between them. “We have no fête planned. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“I . . . I came to find Miss Donovan.” Gabriel swallowed nervously, his gaze bouncing around the cavern.
Morland laughed. “My dear boy, do you honestly believe I am having an assignation with Lady Rebecca’s companion?”
“I . . . I beg your most humble apology, sir. I was actually hoping to find Thomas . . .” Gabriel’s voice trailed away when his gaze fell on Morland’s hands. He frowned.
Morland followed his gaze and let out a sigh. “Oh, dear. It would appear that I have Thomas’s blood on me.”
Gabriel stared at him in confusion. “Thomas’s blood?”
He smiled. “Yes. But I suppose there really is no point in wiping it off . . .”
In the blink of an eye, Morland had the knife out of his pocket, and was thrusting the blade into Gabriel’s gut, twisting, as he stared down into the younger man’s shocked eyes.
“Really no point at all,” Morland murmured.