She screeched, flying at him, nails raking down his face before he could shove her from him. He pressed his sleeve to his cheek and saw the crimson, stark against the white linen. "You goddamned bitch! You doona ken what you're provoking."

He headed for the door, but she beat on his back, screaming, "Do you know what I could have done to you?"

When Ethan whirled around, her face was streaming with tears, her eyes alight with fury. "Touch me again, and I'll break my rule about no' slapping crazed bitches who canna take no for an answer."

"Do it, then!" Had her expression flashed with excitement?

To scare her so she'd leave him be, he made as if to backhand her—

The door crashed open.

There stood a gray-haired, enraged man.Must be the aging husband , Ethan thought with a tired exhalation as he lowered his hand.Pistols at dawn and another death on my hands.

"He tried to force himself on me!" the wife shrieked, tears still streaming.

Ethan swung his gaze on her. "Are you mad, woman? You invited me here!"

More men filled the doorway, hardened ones—henchmen. A blond giant flanked the old husband, looking almost more enraged.

"Never!" she cried. "He must have followed me home from the inn tonight."

The husband narrowed his eyes on Ethan's face. Ethan swiped a hand over his cheek. "Oh, bloody hell," he said wearily. "She scratched me when I wanted to leave." Though Ethan was still drunk, even he recognized how ridiculous that sounded.

"Sylvie, are you injured?"The husband's grasping for this like a lifeline.

"You canna be serious. Can you no' see she's lying?" Ethan made a disgusted sound. "The witch asked me here, I vow it—"

"No," she wailed loud enough to crack glass. "He tried to rape me, but I fought him. Do you see his face?"

Ethan gave her a look of pure fury, staring at her while telling the man, "Ask at the inn, ask anyone there. She invited me." But she had been circumspect. Would any of the patrons have seen them together in that hallway for the brief moments when she'd approached him?

The woman shook her head fiercely. "My maid was with me at the inn and when we came home. Ask Flora! Ask her!" Touching the back of her hand against her forehead, she sank to the edge of the bed. "Oh, God," she whispered, "I was so afraid."

Ethan gaped in amazement.Christ, she's good —

With a bellow, the old man charged for Ethan. Habit took over. Ethan threw a fist, breaking his nose—blood spurted.

"I'll see you in Newgate for this!" the husband roared, cupping his face.

It was important for Ethan to remember something. What was it? "Goddamn it, I did nothing to this woman…and she instigated it all."

"Get him!" the old man thickly commanded his men.

At that instant, the answer Ethan sought came to him, and he lunged for his jacket.

A blow crashed against the back of his skull. His face pounded the floor. Fists rained down again and again, kicks to the gut…. He fought the blackness for as long as he could; he had to explain, had to defend himself.

He dimly heard the bitch crying to her husband, worrying about the scandal if this were to go to trial…their reputations, their standing…other husbands with his power would take care of this themselves.

Ethan knew that in this isolated part of the country the lords were their own entities, laws unto themselves if they chose, always with henchmen willing to do black deeds. And they hated strangers, much less foreigners.

The note, his deliverance, was stowed in his jacket pocket just feet from him. He tried to speak but could only grunt in pain. An attempt to reach for it earned him a booted kick to the chest.

Forcing his eyes open, he saw that she was crying hysterically, seeming to believe her own lies. "With you and Brymer gone, I was an easy target."

The cuckold was soothing her, wrapping her in his coat. "I should never have left you—"

"Th-that fiend was in the house with me, withMaddy !" she added significantly. Whoever this Maddy was, the mere mention of her in this context made the old man swing his gaze on Ethan. Seeming dumb with rage, eyes glazed over with it, he assured her they'd take care of this on their own—no one would have to know. Ethan felt true fear rippling through him.

They'd make sure the Scottish bastard never raped another woman as long as he lived.

Castration.Cold sweat broke out over Ethan's body; they were going to take a knife to him.

The old man hesitated, then gave a nod. "Brymer, take him out back. See it done."

This Brymer was the giant with the killing look in his eyes. "It will be a pleasure." He hauled Ethan up, dealing a punishing blow to his jaw. Ethan tried to shake it off, but blackness consumed him….

He woke to the bite of a rope cinched around his wrists. A bone-deep ache radiated from his shoulders up to his clenched fingers. He tried to open his eyes—only one swollen lid would crack enough for him to see—and found himself strung up to the rafter of some type of stable. A blood-soaked gag filled his mouth.

Ethan saw a tall, burly man sitting on the edge of a stool that was about to buckle under his great weight. His meaty leg bounced with nervous energy as he cast Ethan furtive, guilty glances. The man knew. He knew Ethan was being wronged. Of course, the wife would have done things like this before. Ethan yelled behind his gag and grappled against his bonds, frenzied to tell him about the note.

From behind him, he heard a door creak open. Brymer asked, "Is he awake yet, Tully?"

"Only just," Tully said, heaving his big frame to his feet. "I was thinking…m-maybe one of us should ride to the inn, and just ask a few questions."

"Van Rowen wants us to do a job on him," Brymer said. "So that's what we're going to do." Brymer was eager for it.

Van Rowen. Why did the name sound familiar? When Ethan got out of this, he would kill Van Rowen, ripping him apart with his bare hands. The man had no idea what he'd just brought down on himself and his entire family—

Ethan heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being unsheathed, and he fought to free his hands.

"But, Brymer, what would it hurt to ride—"

"I just returned from the inn. No one saw anything untoward." Brymer moved into Ethan's field of vision. "They just saw Mrs. Van Rowen eating a meal with Flora for about an hour before they left." He picked his teeth with the knifepoint. "Coachman swears he saw no one else and drove them home alone, as does Flora."

"But sometimes…it seems Mrs. Van Rowen might—"

"On the other hand," Brymer continued, ignoring Tully's words, "this one here's aforeigner , swilling spirits. The barmaid said he's a mean drunk and a Scottish brute."

That spiteful bitch…just because I passed her over…

"His die is cast, Tully. But as for you, you'll either follow your orders—or you'll take yourself off Van Rowen lands tonight."

No, no.Ethan could pay him a fortunenot to do this.

Tully's shoulders slumped.

No, goddamn it, no!

"Hold his head," Brymer ordered.

Tully did as he was told, taking Ethan's head in his thick arms. Ethan fought against the grip, spitting curses behind the gag.

"Wh-what do you plan to do?"

"First off, I'm going to finish what Mrs. Van Rowen started," Brymer said with a nod at the marks on Ethan's face. "I bet the ladies fancy his looks. They won't ever again after tonight. Of course, that'll be the least of his worries."

When Ethan felt the cold blade against the heated skin on his right cheek, he twisted, using all his remaining strength to break free. Nothing.

The knife sliced cleanly; Ethan roared in pain.

"Hold him still!" Brymer snapped.

"I'm trying!" Tully clenched harder. "He's a big bastard!"

Brymer cut and cut until blood coated Ethan's neck. Soon Ethan was numb all over, barely conscious.