Sarah hesitated, but only for a moment. She moved toward the head of the bed and got to work on the knot at his right wrist. “Do you think he’s right outside the door?” she whispered.
“Undoubtedly.”
Her face twisted with disgust. “That’s . . .”
“Sick?” he finished for her. “Welcome to my childhood.”
He regretted the words the moment he said them. Her eyes filled with pity, and he felt bile rising up his throat. He didn’t want her pity, not for his leg, or his childhood, or any of the sodding ways he could not hope to protect her. He just wanted to be a man, and he wanted her to know that, to feel it. He wanted to hover over her in bed, nothing between them but heat, and he wanted her to know that she had been claimed, that she was his, and no other man would ever know the warm silk of her skin.
But he was a fool. She deserved someone who could protect her, not a cripple who had been so easily bested. Kicked, drugged, and tied to a bed—how could she possibly respect him after this?
“I think I’ve got this one,” she said, yanking hard at the rope. “Hold on, hold on . . . There!”
“One quarter of the way,” he said, trying to sound jolly and failing wretchedly.
“Hugh,” she said, and he could not tell if this was the precursor to a statement or a question.
And he never found out. There was a terrific commotion in the hall, followed by a grunt of pain and a loud string of expletives.
“Daniel,” Sarah said, wincing slightly.
And here I am, Hugh thought miserably, still tied to the damned bed.
Chapter Twenty
Sarah barely had time to look up before the door flew open and the air was rent by the sound of wood ripping and splintering around the useless lock. “Daniel!” she shrieked, and for the life of her, she did not know why she sounded surprised.
“What the hell—”
But Daniel’s shout was cut off by the Marquess of Ramsgate, who ran in from the hall, hurling himself through the doorway and onto Daniel’s back.
“Get off me, you bloody—”
Sarah tried to jump into the fray, but Hugh yanked her back with the hand she had so recently freed. She shook him loose and ran toward her cousin, only to be knocked down by Lord Ramsgate’s shoulder as Daniel spun him around, trying to dislodge him from his back.
“Sarah!” Hugh cried out. He was pulling so hard at his remaining bindings that the bed started scooting across the floor.
Sarah scrambled to her feet, but Hugh swung his arm out in a wild arc and caught a fistful of her sodden skirt.
“Let go of me,” she ground out, tumbling back onto the bed.
He wrapped his arm around her, his fingers still holding her skirt in a death grip. “Not on your bloody life.”
Daniel, meanwhile, had been unable to get Lord Ramsgate off his back and was now slamming him into the wall. “You bloody madman,” he grunted. “Get off me.”
Sarah grabbed a chunk of her skirt and started pulling in the opposite direction. “He’s going to kill your father.”
Hugh’s eyes met hers with steely disdain. “Let him.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? He’d be hanged!”
“Not with only us as witnesses,” Hugh shot back.
Sarah gasped and gave her skirt another yank, but Hugh had her in an astonishingly firm grip. She tried to twist out of his grasp, and that was when she saw Daniel’s face going terrifyingly periwinkle. “He’s choking him!” she screamed, and Hugh must have looked up, because he let go of her skirt so abruptly that Sarah went skidding across the room, barely able to maintain her balance.
“Get off him!” she yelled, grabbing at Lord Ramsgate’s shirt. She looked around for something—anything—with which to bash him over the head. The only chair was far too heavy to lift, so with a quick prayer, she balled her hand into a fist and swung hard.
“Ow!” She howled in pain and shook out her fist. No one had told her that punching a man in the face hurt.
“Jesus Christ, Sarah!” It was Daniel, gasping for breath and clutching his eye.
She’d punched the wrong man.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” she yelped. But at least she’d set the human tower off balance. Lord Ramsgate had been forced to let go of Daniel’s neck as both men tumbled to the floor.
“I’ll kill you,” Lord Ramsgate growled, scrambling back over to Daniel, who was in no condition to defend himself.
“Stop it,” Sarah snapped, stepping hard on Lord Ramsgate’s hand. “If you kill him, you kill Hugh.”
Lord Ramsgate looked up at her, and she couldn’t tell if he was confused or furious.
“I lied,” came Hugh’s voice from over on the bed. “I did tell her about our bargain.”
“Did you stop to think about that?” Sarah demanded. Because she had had it with these men. “Did you?” she fairly screamed.
Lord Ramsgate held up his hand—the one that she was not crunching under her boot—in supplication. Slowly, Sarah lifted her weight, not taking her eyes off him until he’d scooted several feet away from Daniel.
“Are you all right?” she asked Daniel perfunctorily. The skin under his eye was turning purple. He was not going to look pretty for his wedding.
He grunted in response.
“Good,” she said, deciding that his grunt had sounded healthy enough. And then it occurred to her. “Where are Marcus and Honoria?”
“Somewhere behind me in a carriage,” he said furiously. “I rode.”