Читать книгу A Dangerous Seduction - Patricia Rowell Frances - Страница 8

London, England, 1808

P ain. Gripping, grinding, paralyzing pain. He lay on the grass in the pool of blood that leaked through his fingers. But how could he…?

Five, six, seven—three more steps and he would kill the bastard. But there had been no more steps. Eight… A flash of light, a blast, and he was falling. Falling forward, propelled by a blow that knocked him off his feet and onto his face.

Laughter. Shouts. Running feet. Shots. The blood stained his coat and dripped over the hand he pressed in vain against his chest.

The scurvy dog shot before the count! Shot you in the back.

And he laughed.

The laughter echoed through the darkness that was closing around him.

The bastard laughed!

Hoofbeats. The laughter trailing away.

He had thought he hated the man. Now he knew better.

In that moment was conceived a hatred as deep as his soul.

He tried to raise himself on one elbow, tried to lift the pistol still clutched in his hand. Too heavy. Too dark. Hands taking the pistol. Voices calling his name. The darkness wrapping around him in a smothering cloud. Gasping. Choking.

Breathe, damn you, breathe. A breath. Another breath. One more. Another. You can’t die. Not now. The dog must pay.

He will pay. He will pay with everything.

Everything.