On the Way to the Wedding (Bridgertons 8)

“Let’s go,” he grunted.

“Back to the party?”

He let out a grim chuckle. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Panic began to rise in her chest. “Where are you taking me?”

He yanked her to her feet, one of his arms wrapped viselike around her. “To your husband.”

She managed to twist just far enough to look at his face. “My—Lord Haselby?”

“Have you another husband?”

“But isn’t he at the party?”

“Stop asking so many questions.”

She looked frantically about. “But where are you taking me?”

“You are not going to ruin this for me,” he hissed. “Do you understand?”

“No,” she pleaded. Because she didn’t. She no longer understood anything.

He yanked her hard against him. “I want you to listen to me, because I will say this only once.”

She nodded. She wasn’t facing him, but she knew he could feel her head move against his chest.

“This marriage will go forward,” he said, his voice deadly and low. “And I will personally see to it that it is consummated tonight.”

“What?”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“But—” She dug her heels in as he started to drag her to the door.

“For God’s sake, don’t fight me,” he muttered. “It’s nothing that you wouldn’t have had to do, anyway. The only difference is that you will have an audience.”

“An audience?”

“Indelicate, but I will have my proof.”

She began to struggle in earnest, managing to free one arm long enough to swing wildly through the air. He quickly restrained her, but his momentary shift in posture allowed her to kick him hard in the shins.

“God damn it,” he muttered, wrenching her close. “Cease!”

She kicked out again, knocking over an empty chamber pot.

“Stop it!” He jammed something against her ribs. “Now!”

Lucy stilled instantly. “Is that a knife?” she whispered.

“Remember this,” he said, his words hot and ugly against her ear. “I cannot kill you, but I can cause you great pain.”

She swallowed a sob. “I am your niece.”

“I don’t care.”

She swallowed and asked, her voice quiet, “Did you ever?”