that? The color's splendid. I shall have my tailor make me a waistcoat in just that shade." He ignored her resistance and pulled her closer, pretending to inspect her eyes.
Her heart pounding with rising fear, Emily did her best to hide her distaste. "Thank you, sir, but I have to get back to the house."
"Stay." He paused, holding her in a frank stare. "I'll make it worth your while."
Her eyes widened in confusion.
"Come, little country maiden, let me teach you a few of the pleasures we know in Town."
"Let go of me!"
"Spirited filly!" He laughed when she tried to knee him in the groin. "Easy now. Just relax," he ordered as he yanked her against his body. "Don't be coy. I won't do anything you don't like. I'm told I'm quite good at this, actually--"
"If you do not let go of me this instant, I shall tell Lord Seaton that you attacked me." Drake had been known by that courtesy title while his father was alive. "He'll put a bullet in you if you touch me!"
"And why is that?" A flicker of uncertainty passed behind his leering eyes, but a mocking half smile curved his thin lips. "Has Seaton already broken you in to the saddle? Good, then I'm sure he won't mind sharing. We both know he's in Town at the moment."
"He'll be here in a trice if I call for him," she warned.
"Oh, really? And what are you? Whatever he's promised you, I assure you, it was a lie. He's got even more women in London than I do. Oh, you didn't know that? Well, you might as well take my offer. I'm afraid you're nothing to him but a little country sport."
Emily hit him on the head with her basket and pulled away with all her strength, then ran.
"Come back here, girl! I did not dismiss you!"
Terrified, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him chasing her. Her heart in her throat, she fled him, bewildered by his lewd actions and hurt by his spiteful words. She was not as familiar with this section of the property, however, and as she pounded through the woods, perhaps she was distracted by the pang of knowing that what he had said was at least partly true.
Drake was always in London; he seemed to have forgotten all about her. But this was no time to pout over how her childhood friend seemed to have abandoned her.
All of a sudden, she stepped on something that crunched.
Her foot smashed through the layer of loose dirt and scattered leaves, and the next thing she knew her body followed; she screamed as she fell through the rotting boards concealing an old, abandoned well.
She seemed to fall for ages down the pitch-black shaft, but landed with a jolt, crying out on impact as she slammed down to the bottom. Her right foot touched down first, instantly breaking her ankle; she was hurled against the packed-earthen wall, banging the back of her head, jamming her elbow and biting the inside of her lip so hard it bled.
Then she fell silent, her breath coming in short, terrified gasps. For one woozy-headed moment, she struggled to make sure she was alive, that nothing had impaled her. Her ribs felt bruised, but she could move her hands and arms; she wiped the blood off the corner of her lips, and concluded that her ankle had got the worst of it.
The blinding pain made her eyes smart with tears. But she was more furious than scared.
She gritted her teeth against the pain and looked up slowly to where Mr. Lamont had come to stand at the edge of the well. His face was as white as a sheet.
"Go and get my father," Emily ordered in as forceful a tone as she could muster. "I'm hurt. Tell him to bring rope. And a doctor."
She heard Mr. Lamont curse to himself. He backed away from the edge of the abandoned well.
"Mr. Lamont? Mr. Lamont!"
He did not reappear.
To Emily's horror, it dawned on her that this coward was willing to leave her to die out here, merely to hide the fact of what he had done.
If she was dead--disappeared--then she'd never be able to tell anyone that he had tried to rape her.
She had nothing to eat or even to drink with her; there was no
Her heart pounding with rising fear, Emily did her best to hide her distaste. "Thank you, sir, but I have to get back to the house."
"Stay." He paused, holding her in a frank stare. "I'll make it worth your while."
Her eyes widened in confusion.
"Come, little country maiden, let me teach you a few of the pleasures we know in Town."
"Let go of me!"
"Spirited filly!" He laughed when she tried to knee him in the groin. "Easy now. Just relax," he ordered as he yanked her against his body. "Don't be coy. I won't do anything you don't like. I'm told I'm quite good at this, actually--"
"If you do not let go of me this instant, I shall tell Lord Seaton that you attacked me." Drake had been known by that courtesy title while his father was alive. "He'll put a bullet in you if you touch me!"
"And why is that?" A flicker of uncertainty passed behind his leering eyes, but a mocking half smile curved his thin lips. "Has Seaton already broken you in to the saddle? Good, then I'm sure he won't mind sharing. We both know he's in Town at the moment."
"He'll be here in a trice if I call for him," she warned.
"Oh, really? And what are you? Whatever he's promised you, I assure you, it was a lie. He's got even more women in London than I do. Oh, you didn't know that? Well, you might as well take my offer. I'm afraid you're nothing to him but a little country sport."
Emily hit him on the head with her basket and pulled away with all her strength, then ran.
"Come back here, girl! I did not dismiss you!"
Terrified, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him chasing her. Her heart in her throat, she fled him, bewildered by his lewd actions and hurt by his spiteful words. She was not as familiar with this section of the property, however, and as she pounded through the woods, perhaps she was distracted by the pang of knowing that what he had said was at least partly true.
Drake was always in London; he seemed to have forgotten all about her. But this was no time to pout over how her childhood friend seemed to have abandoned her.
All of a sudden, she stepped on something that crunched.
Her foot smashed through the layer of loose dirt and scattered leaves, and the next thing she knew her body followed; she screamed as she fell through the rotting boards concealing an old, abandoned well.
She seemed to fall for ages down the pitch-black shaft, but landed with a jolt, crying out on impact as she slammed down to the bottom. Her right foot touched down first, instantly breaking her ankle; she was hurled against the packed-earthen wall, banging the back of her head, jamming her elbow and biting the inside of her lip so hard it bled.
Then she fell silent, her breath coming in short, terrified gasps. For one woozy-headed moment, she struggled to make sure she was alive, that nothing had impaled her. Her ribs felt bruised, but she could move her hands and arms; she wiped the blood off the corner of her lips, and concluded that her ankle had got the worst of it.
The blinding pain made her eyes smart with tears. But she was more furious than scared.
She gritted her teeth against the pain and looked up slowly to where Mr. Lamont had come to stand at the edge of the well. His face was as white as a sheet.
"Go and get my father," Emily ordered in as forceful a tone as she could muster. "I'm hurt. Tell him to bring rope. And a doctor."
She heard Mr. Lamont curse to himself. He backed away from the edge of the abandoned well.
"Mr. Lamont? Mr. Lamont!"
He did not reappear.
To Emily's horror, it dawned on her that this coward was willing to leave her to die out here, merely to hide the fact of what he had done.
If she was dead--disappeared--then she'd never be able to tell anyone that he had tried to rape her.
She had nothing to eat or even to drink with her; there was no
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