“Let go of me,” she gasped, as she struggled against him.
“You will stay and listen to me,” he demanded, his voice commanding.
“No, I won’t,” she protested. “Unhand me this instant.”
The warmth of his alcohol laden breath swept over her but rather than being tantalising, it was abhorrent. He was abhorrent. This was the first time she had seen him up close and his outward appearance was just as hideous as his personality. His pock-marked skin spoke of years of excess. While his features were thin, his eyes were pale blue and devoid of expression. His hollowed out cheeks and slightly sunken eyes gave him the appearance of someone who had long since departed from this mortal coil. He was horrible, and when glaring at her mercilessly, a small smirk of contempt curling his thin lips, appeared completely ruthless.
He looks like a ghoul, she thought desperately as she continued to push ineffectually at his arms.
In spite of his thinness, he was surprisingly strong, and she made no headway in getting him to loosen his grip on her. When his head tipped toward to her, she edged away, turning her face toward the wall in a desperate attempt to avoid the kiss he tried to give her. A shiver swept down her spine. Her skin crawled at the coldness of the cheek he pressed against hers. Bent backwards as she was she could do nothing to break free of him. She was completely at his mercy.
“I have chosen you to be my bride,” he whispered directly into her ear, his voice soft and menacing.
“I-I can’t. I am not-” She continued to push. He wouldn’t budge and instead held her closer. It was horrifying. Marguerite struggled to think of a way to get out of the situation. She couldn’t just surrender to him. She had to fight him, somehow. She just didn’t know how.
“Oh, but you will, my dear. It has already been agreed with your father. He left you here so I could escort you home. He thought it was a good idea for us to spend a bit of time together so we could get to know one another before our marriage.” As he spoke his eyes dropped to the deep v of her cleavage, his lascivious gaze scouring every inch of her bared flesh.
She recoiled in revulsion.
“I am not marrying you,” she protested, more disturbed than she cared to contemplate at the prospect of being at the mercy at such an odious creature. “I don’t care what arrangement you have made with my father. Go to Hell.”
“I am afraid you don’t get any say in the matter,” the Count assured her.
Before she could utter a word, he grabbed a handful of her hair in a painful fist to hold her still while his lips slammed brutally onto hers.
Joe peered through the narrow gap between the door jamb and the door and watched the woman in the cadaver’s arms. Although beautiful, she could only be described as buxom. She was not the kind of woman he would have expected the Count to be interested in. There were far more beautiful women in the recital who were much more slender and had considerably better connections. However, this woman was obviously much more than a mere guest. Her connection to the Count was purely personal if the way he was mauling her was any indication.
Earlier, he had watched her talking to herself when she had been alone but had been too far away to overhear what she had said. He had, however, witnessed an array of emotions on her face as she spoke. There had been enough written on that expressive face for him to realise she had been wrestling with a significant problem, and it brought forward a complex mix of emotions that set her to pacing around the room like a caged tigress. He had to wonder if it had anything to do with the man who was now wrapped around her like a leech on nubile flesh.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he studied the young woman. She was beautiful in a way, and someone he had never seen before. If he had to place her, he certainly wouldn’t have believed she belonged in the music room with the rest of the guests. Her clothing was well cut but certainly not wildly expensive. Nor was she from the docks. She was somewhere in between; somewhere, Joe suspected, the Count inhabited when he wasn’t at these functions. Her rounded curves were certainly not fashionable. Neither was her long, neatly curled yet dark hair. She wasn’t the kind of woman to help the Count’s social aspirations, so what was he up to?
Who was she? Where had she come from? More importantly, was she working for the Count, or was she his whore?
From the look of the way he is mauling her, she is his whore, Joe mused with a rueful sigh. He listened to the clock behind him chime the hour and wondered how long it would be before he could leave the darkened room and follow the wretched man home. Until they both left the room next door, all he could do was watch and wait and hope nobody found him.
CHAPTER TWO
Several painful minutes later, Marguerite eventually managed to push him away enough so she could wrench her head to one side. At the same time, she stomped on his foot but it made little difference to the Count, who didn’t even flinch. He did, however, release her slightly. Enough for her to breathe at least, and scold him for the liberties he had just taken.
“Unhand me this instant or I shall scream and bring all the guests upon us. I will make it clear to them that I have been accosted by you, and your carefully preserved reputation will be impugned,” she seethed through clenched teeth. “I don’t care what arrangements you have made with my father, I refuse to marry you and, as such, you should not consider yourself in a position to behave so appallingly.”
Tears loomed but she daren’t let them fall. She suspected that to betray any sign of her deep distress to this man would hand him an element of control he would use to force her into submission. Instead, she tipped her chin up and pushed hard against him. Her eyes shot daggers at him, daring him to deny her this time. Thankfully, he heeded the warning and seemed to realise he had gone too far. Unfortunately, although he didn’t hold her as tightly anymore, he didn’t release her either.
“I am afraid that it is not up for discussion,” the Count murmured. His gaze slid to the deep v of her cleavage again and lingered. “I always get what I want, Marguerite, and on this occasion that is you.”
“Never,” she snapped.
His gaze was full of lechery when it returned to hers.
“I am not going to be sold off like chattel,” she growled. “Not to you. Not to anybody. Ever.”
“You will if you know what is good for you,” the Count retorted.
There was harshness in his gaze which was simply terrifying. Marguerite knew then that if she wanted to get out of the room with her reputation and her dignity intact, she had to leave now. With as much force as she could muster, she leaned back in his arms and, in doing so, forced him to release his hold.
Once upright again she gritted her teeth, lifted a hand, and slapped Count Vladimir Valentin hard across his cheek.
Joe winced. He felt that loud crack and studied the red welt that appeared on the Count’s face. He didn’t need to look closer to know that the Count was coldly furious. Joe studied the woman again with renewed interest, suddenly doubtful about any connection between them.