“Oh, you brute, you brute! Let me go!”
“When you have given me your answer, sweetheart.”
“It is no!” she cried. “A thousand times no!”
“Think. …”
“I have thought! I would rather die than wed you!”
“Very possibly. But death will not be your lot, my pretty one,” purred the sinister voice in her ear. “Think carefully before you answer; were it not better to marry me with all honour than to———”
“You devil!” she panted, and looked wildly round for some means of escape. The long window was open, she knew, for the curtain blew out into the room. But his Grace was between it and her.
“You begin to think better of it, child? Remember, to-morrow will be too late. This is your chance, now. In truth,” he took a pinch of snuff, “in truth, it matters not to me whether you will be a bride or no.”
With a sudden movement she wrenched herself free and darted to the window. In a flash he was up and had caught her as she reached it, swinging her round to face him.
“Not so fast, my dear. You do not escape me so.”
His arm was about her waist, drawing her irresistibly towards him. Sick with fear, she struck madly at the face bent close to hers.
“Let me go! How dare you insult me so? Oh, for God’s sake let me go!”
He was pressing her against him, one hand holding her wrists behind her in a grip of iron, his other arm about her shoulders.
“For my own sake I will keep you,” he smiled, and looked gloatingly down at her beautiful, agonised countenance, with its wonderful eyes gazing imploringly at him, and the sensitive mouth a-quiver. For one instant he held her so, and then swiftly bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.
She could neither struggle nor cry out. A deadly faintness assailed her, and she could scarcely breathe.
