In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter Four

It was at times like these where Charlie cursed the whole of the ton. They seemed to have gone blind entirely as they continued their dances and conversations. For a society that valued a woman's unblemished reputation,  they were awfully lax when they wanted to be.

Thank heavens, Charlie thought, she was not another such person. She could, and had, been caring for herself all along.

She waited until Lord Simpton had secluded them in the far right corner,  another large shrubbery shielding them in deep shadows before she twisted on her heel. Charlie made to skirt around him, ready to outmaneuver him. His arm shot out, gripping her around the waist. Charlie felt like a doll on a carousel, her body twisted this way and that, disorienting her.

"You're quick, my dear," Simpton laughed, his body backing her steadily towards the wall of the townhome. "But you don't have the strength that I do."

"No, I don't," Charlie muttered, her eyes judging the distance to the doorway. Simpton smiled, a look of satisfaction pulling his lips back from his teeth. She leaned in, as if she had had a change of heart. Her lips spoke close to his ear. "But I do have the element of surprise."

Her arm pulled back, and Charlie thrust the heel of her hand upwards.
A crack sounded. He bent over, a moan of pain leaking past his thin lips.

He looked up in shock, blood pouring from between his fingers. The shot of red against his pale skin in the low light of the moon filled her with satisfaction.

Lord Simpton's eyes came up, crashing against hers. The wind whistled in her ears, tickling the hair on her neck. A tinkle of laughter broke over them, the ballroom oblivious to the splotches of blood staining the merriment.

That was when he lunged.

The meager sliver of distance evaporated quickly.  She found herself shoved back, the hard coolness of the stones digging into her bare shoulder blades.

A hand landed on her thigh, clenching tightly to her skirts.  She heard the rip at the same moment a breeze brushed her ankle. The contrast of it against the hot, heavy breath on her neck, the weight of Lord Simpton's body pressing against hers from the waist had her gaping in shock. The truth of his intentions caused her body to jolt, her struggles increasing.

She heard her whispered,  "no," the panic in her voice followed by a surge of anger.

That same helpless feeling her uncle had inspired in her the day before struck her, but she refused to give in to it. Charlie shoved him back. Hard. The strength of her anger causing him to stumble back, loosening his grip.

It was the opening she had been hoping for. Bringing up her knee, Charlie threw her entire weight into the movement, prepared to rid this man of his balls. Sophie will be so proud, she thought silently, triumphantly.

She never got the chance.

Her knee met air, and she stumbled, her split skirts twisting around her right calf. Lord Simpton had been thrown off her, him and the mysterious newcomer with broad shoulders being swallowed in darkness on the far side of the balcony.

Charlie heard the scuffle. Rough grunts, the scraping of cloth. A crack. A soft thud.

Then silence.

Charlie looked to where the two bodies had gone, wondering if she would meet friend or foe.

What if she had escaped one pursuer only to find herself under attack by another?

Her uncle, she didn't doubt, was capable of anything. She had seen and heard for herself what lengths he was willing to go to for her inheritance, his delight in her future being under his command, like the rest of the ton who he kept within his pockets.