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Captured by the Viscount
In the act of restoring the viscount’s stolen certificates to the top desk drawer, a barely audible sound drew Isabel’s attention. A quiet sigh of the door swinging open alerted her to the threatening man’s presence, a dark shadow filling the threshold. From the corridor, a candle flame in the wall sconce flickered and glinted off the in-laid silver on the stock of the menacing gun, deadly, unwavering. Mesmerized by the pistol pointed directly at her heart, she caught her breath unable to move or even swallow.
Why oh, why had she scooped up the jewelry first? Frantic to recover her jewels, she’d made a thorough search of the office. After locating her mother’s wedding ring and the other pieces, she bundled the precious items into her satchel. Now, disaster—caught with the documents still in her possession.
The drapes billowed on a sharp breeze before settling back to the floor with a barely discernable swoosh. She shivered as her drenched cloak swung against her skirts shifting the layers of her under-petticoats with a chilling heaviness. The damp cloth clung to her ankles while moisture trickled down her forehead into her eyes.
Deeply aware of her peril, she scarce blinked, her gaze captured by the gun, her heart beating at an alarming rate. The longcase clock in the hall chimed once echoing down the empty passageway. Despite the lateness of the hour, the sound of a carriage rumbling over the roadbed in front of the mansion reached inside the room. Even at the outskirts of London, she could still smell the heavily rain-washed streets. The distinct odor of the town drifted into the open window, cleansed yet dominated by the stench of horses, foot traffic, and smoldering coal.
The man holding the pistol, tall, broad-shouldered, his very stillness a threat, stood inside the threshold with the candlelight silhouetting his form. The moon peeked around the clouds casting a pale light into the room merging with the candle’s meager flame.
|Wareeze Woodson, Author|