Jennifer Ashley - The Seduction of Elliot McBride

“No!” he shouted again.

He hugged himself, willing himself back into the dream. It was there on the edges of his vision, the candlelight on Juliana’s hair, her eyes so blue, the same color as her gown.

He couldn’t touch it. She wasn’t real, none of it had been. The darkness mocked him, laughed at him for thinking he was well.

“Juliana,” a voice said. He recognized it as belonging to one of his captors, the cruelest of all, who’d sometimes amused himself by stripping off bits of Elliot’s skin with a jagged-edged knife. “The woman you love.” He spoke in his rough Punjabi, in a dialect they both understood.

Not Juliana. They can never take Juliana.

“You love her,” the man said. His knife went to the inside of Elliot’s wrist. “Say it.”

“I love her,” Elliot whispered.

“Shout it. Tell everyone.”

No. She was his secret. If they knew about Juliana, they’d threaten her, mock her, defile her memory, take her away from him. Elliot knew she was safe in Scotland, in her father’s prim house in Edinburgh, with her family, her friends, her miles of lists, her laughter.

They’d force him to talk about her, to tell them every single little secret memory he had of her. They’d describe what they’d do to her, what they wanted to do to her, until any thought of her was mixed with something horrifying.

And then Elliot would have nothing. Nothing between himself and the darkness.

Juliana was light. He couldn’t let them extinguish the light.

“No!”

“Say it.”

“I love her!” Elliot dragged his hands from his face. “Don’t take her away from me. Don’t take her away from me.”

The man grinned, his teeth crooked and brown. “She will never love you. You are broken and ruined, dirt beneath my heel. We broke you. Juliana will never want that.”

The mocking voice, the knife, the smile, her name on his lips, drove Elliot into the frenzy. He’d be beaten for it, he knew, but he couldn’t stop.

“I’ll kill you!” Elliot wrenched himself from his crouch and launched himself at his captor. His hands closed around the man’s throat, fingers knowing what to do. He felt glee when the man scrabbled at his wrists, dark eyes opening wide.

“Sahib!” the man tried to gasp. “Sahib, it is Mahindar.”

Liar. Mahindar was all that was kindness and goodness, and this man was evil incarnate. Elliot would choke Juliana’s name from his throat, so he could never say it again.

“Elliot!”

Her voice came from his dream, which tapped at the back of his mind. The dream wanted him to relax into it, to slumber in its peace, to never wake again.

But Elliot had to stay awake. He had to escape. He had to get home. To her.

Other hands grabbed his, trying to break his grip. Strong hands, as large as his, the slimmer hands of a woman but just as strong, and then the soft touch he knew deep inside his heart.

“Elliot,” she said in her musical voice.

The darkness cracked. Light came rushing at him, spinning in dazzling points, and then faces and voices. The wide, scared blue eyes of a Scottish lad, the dark face of a woman determined, the eyes of the man who’d helped him at every turn, and the sky blue beauty of Juliana’s eyes. Juliana was the only one who didn’t try to loosen Elliot’s grip, who only touched, and asked.

The rest of the real world now crashed into him, and the spinning stopped. Elliot was standing in the dining room of his own house, his manservant Mahindar bent backward over the table, Elliot’s hands around his throat.

Elliot swiftly lifted away from him. Nausea hit him right after that, bile shoving its way into his throat.

Juliana went to him, reaching for him. She closed her arms around Elliot, and he shuddered. He wanted to scoop her to him, to hold her, but he was going to be sick.

“No,” he said hoarsely.

He broke her grasp and pushed her away. Mahindar, coughing, stood up, helped by Channan, who hovered worriedly.

“I am all right, sahib,” Mahindar said, barely able to speak the words. “I will be fine.”

He wouldn’t be. There were bruises on Mahindar’s throat, and he coughed pathetically.

Damn it. Elliot swung away from them all and strode from the room, Hamish scuttling out of his way.

Dear God, he had them terrified, and no wonder. He could have killed Mahindar if they hadn’t been able to break Elliot out of his stupor.

What would have happened if it had been Juliana’s slender throat under his hands? Or Priti’s? What kind of monster had he become?

He heard Juliana calling after him. Elliot didn’t pause but walked on out into the night, into cool twilight and misty rain that had begun to fall.

Juliana started after Elliot. Mahindar, helped by Channan, collapsed heavily onto the chair Elliot had vacated.

“No, memsahib,” Mahindar said. “I told you. When he is like this, it is best to let him go.”

The evening was darker than usual, clouds having gathered, a new rain falling. Juliana saw Elliot outside the open dining room window, his tall form disappearing into the mist.

He walked swiftly, his head bowed. The red setter, Rosie, loped out of the garden and went after him, but Elliot didn’t turn to acknowledge the dog. He pressed on, swallowed by darkness.

“No,” Juliana said. “I won’t let him go. No, don’t stop me, Mahindar. I can’t let him be alone.”

Mahindar’s protests faded as Juliana rushed out the door. She noticed that Channan had not tried to stop her, the look in her wise eyes telling Juliana that she agreed.

Juliana ran out into the rain. She realized halfway down the path that she hadn’t stopped for a wrap or boots, and that she sloshed through mud and wet in her tea gown and slippers.

What did it matter? Juliana gathered up her water-stained satin skirts and ran on.

Rain beaded on her bare head and shoulders, not strong enough to be proper rain, but steady enough to get her sopping wet.

Elliot walked fast. Juliana ran to keep up, panting, her corset stealing her breath.

He was heading not up into the hills as Juliana had expected, but along the narrow, rather precarious road to the river. That way lay the wooden bridge across which Hamish had driven them the first night from the train.

At least, Juliana thought that was where Elliot was going. She soon lost him in the lowering fog, the path and trees swallowed by the thickening mist. Even Elliot’s pale hair and swirling plaid disappeared from sight.

A flash of red came to her, the setter, who rushed back at Juliana, tail waving. Rosie ran in a circle around Juliana then dashed on ahead again.

Juliana’s heart thumped. She could see well enough to keep her feet on the road, but the fog was descending rapidly. Soon, she’d be groping her way through the black, and the edge of this road plunged off into darkness.

The hollow thump of Rosie’s feet on the wooden bridge gave Juliana a burst of vigor. The bridge rode high over the water, the river rushing and roaring below.

Juliana saw the form of Elliot in the mist, facing the rail, his kilt a smudge in the darkness. She hiked her skirts high out of the wet and ran the last few feet.

“Elliot!”

Elliot didn’t appear to hear her. He kept his face turned to the river, hand gripping the rail, as Juliana dashed to him, the boards hard under her thin slippers.

Her dress would be a ruin, Channan would shake her head at it, but Juliana didn’t care. She’d shred the thing—she never wanted to wear this gown again. She wanted no reminder of the moment in the dining room when she’d seen her charming husband overcome with terror so great he’d slipped away from her. Right in front of her, he’d been taken away.

“Elliot,” she panted.

He looked up. His face was so bleak, that Juliana’s heart broke.

She feared he’d walk away from her again, but he hung on to the bridge’s rail while he shook his head. “Juliana, I can’t do this.”

His voice was broken, rasping with despair. Juliana took the last steps to him and closed her hand around his tight wrist.

“You can. I’ll help you.”

“You saw what I did. I’ve done it before. I’m hurting people—innocent people. And I can’t stop it.”