Epilogue Part Two
For those of you who love to hate Lady Chesterhill…
Later that night…
Suzannah unfolded the missive and read it for the hundredth time.
My lady,
I have secured my freedom and will be there for you as soon as I can.
Your devoted servant,
L
Huffing, she wrinkled the message into a ball and tossed it into the corner.
She’d received the note over a week ago, and here she was, still locked up in some godforsaken place while her dolt of a husband probably gave away everything that was rightfully hers.
She was the one who’d had to lie with his aged body and pretend to enjoy his overused, old cock probing at her.
She’d had to put up with his daughter and her menagerie of animals.
She’d only tried to kill the silly girl once.
Maybe twice. Who could keep count of such things?
But Charlotte and her golden hair, big blue eyes, and sweet voice were vexing.
As if these tribulations weren’t enough of a burden, she’d dealt with her stepson’s rejections.
He’d chosen a plain pipsqueak of a bluestocking over her. A pox on their house!
And for all of Suzannah’s troubles, the damnable marquess had locked her away in an insane asylum. A woman as beautiful and intelligent as her did not deserve such a fate.
Last week, Hugh Fletcher, her dark-haired, finely muscled nemesis, had descended on the hospital and, with assistance from his goons, had moved her here, wherever here was. And, now obviously, Leon was struggling to find her. The man might be loyal, but he made such a hash of things.
She stood and paced the room, halting to stare out the window. Trees, trees, and more trees, and a winking moon that seemed to mock her. Movement in the distance caught her eye. Squinting, she refocused.
A man in a black cape sat upon a black horse. The wind whipped the edges of the man’s cape about. The horse reared, lifting his front legs off the ground.
Leon was here at last. Perhaps she’d forgive him for taking so long. But only if her rescue was as theatrical as she deserved. He seemed to be off to a good start.
The horse clomped forward until Leon sat beneath her window.
Using only his fingers, Leon waved. She huffed.
If he continued to do such ridiculous things, she might have to cut off his fingers.
Instead of performing silly gestures the fool should be breaking down the door to get to her.
As usual, she’d have to take matters into her own hands.
First things first, she needed the numbskull of a guard standing sentry to open the door.
She’d already attempted to seduce him. Her failure was not her fault.
Firstly, the doctor had taken away her frocks, insisting she dress in a drab gray round dress.
And secondly, the guard must not be attracted to women.
She searched the room for a weapon. Her choices seemed to be a bedsheet, a candle, and a chamber pot.
To smother, burn, or knock out? If she wasn’t pressed for time, she’d wrap the sheet around the guard’s neck and tug until his eyeballs popped out of his head.
Then she would beat on his face with the chamber pot.
Finally, she would toss the candle on his unconscious body and watch him burn.
But since time was of the essence, one weapon would have to do. She picked up the empty chamber pot, then gagged as she carried it across the room. Someone would seriously pay for making her stoop so low as to touch a repulsive item. She wound up, then slammed the toilet against the door.
“I’m thirsty,” she screamed. She continued to slam the pot against the door until the guard opened it.
“What in the blazes do you need?” he asked.
She slammed the bottom of the chamber pot against his face. Blood spattered from his ugly nose.
“You will refer to me as my lady, you deplorable excuse for a man." She hit him again. When he lifted his hands to protect his face, she kicked him in the crotch, tossed the chamber pot at his face, then ran past him.
She raced down the hall, relieved to see a man in a black cape waiting near the stairs. He stood against the wall; his arms crossed over his chest. Leon appeared bigger and more ominous than she remembered.
“It took you long enough,” she said as she tried to pass by him.
He held out an arm, halting her.
“How dare you!” Preparing to hiss, and possibly slap him for his insolence, she lifted her hand. He caught it, then squeezed until her fingers hurt. Conjuring forth her inner beldam, she met his gaze and gasped, because this man was not Leon.
This man wore a devilish mask, and an embroidered KR insignia adorned his cape. His dark sensuality lit a fire in her belly.
She stepped close to him, resting her hands on his massive chest. “You’re not Leon.”
“No. He seems to have gotten lost.” With the speed of a panther, he withdrew a knife from beneath his cape and pressed it to her neck.
His little display of skill did not scare her. Oh, no, ’twas quite the opposite. She wanted him on a deep, visceral level. She lifted her chin and puckered her lips, “Who are you?” she asked in her most sensual voice.
“Your worst nightmare.” Still holding the knife to her neck, he dragged her back the way she’d come.
The spell broken, she tried to slap him. He evaded her as easily as if she were a dying fly.
“You bloody, sodding fool,” she screeched. She bared her teeth with every intention of biting him. However, he managed to thwart her every attack without ever losing his composure.
As they approached the chamber she’d been locked in, the imbecilic guard wiped the crimson blood from his nose.
She hissed at him.
“Your prisoner escaped,” her captor told the guard.
“Damned termagant,” the guard said. “They should send you to hell.”
“I will gleefully carve out your heart,” she told her guard. And she would, Satan was her witness.
The masked man shoved her into her room. “Call me Knight Roamer,” he said with a grin. He slammed the door in her face as if she were nothing.
“After I carve out your heart, dear Knight Roamer, I shall devour every last bite of it.” If only he could hear her satisfying threat.
The door creaked open. Knight Roamer peeked in at her. “Good luck with that because I don’t actually have a heart.” Then, the damnable man had the nerve to smirk.
Her anger and frustration fused, fueling her outburst. She lunged for her new adversary but was too slow. The door slammed in her face for the second time that night.
“I’ll get you, Knight Roamer. Whoever you are, your end is nigh,” she yelled at the door.
Thereupon, she sank onto her lumpy mattress and mentally added another name to her archenemy list. Leon had better damn well find her soon, or she’d add his name, too.
The End