A Scandal By Any Other Name

Delaney looked up at his face. She felt a sudden, sharp sting on the side of her head. A warm, thick liquid was trailing slowly down her pale temple, sliding past her ear, and dropping onto the white lace collar of her dress.

It was her blood.

She remembered hitting her head hard on a sharp rock when they tumbled violently out of the moving carriage. The warm blood felt strange against the biting cold of the wind. It dripped down her neck, a bright red stain spreading across her white wedding silk.

Lucas squeezed his hand. His long fingers dug deeply into her skin, cutting off the air to her lungs. His dark eyes were wide, wild, and filled with a sick, victorious joy. He was finally doing what he had wanted to do for years.

Delaney thrashed her legs, kicking the heavy skirts of her dress, trying to dislodge his weight. She raised her hands and scratched desperately at his thick wrist. But Lucas did not care about the scratches. He smiled, his teeth bared like a hungry wolf. He loved her struggle. He loved to see the absolute terror in her hazel eyes. Her panic fed the dark, manic state of his mind.

Delaney realized this truth with a sudden, crystal-clear sharpness.

Fighting his physical strength was completely useless. He was a man, he was heavier, and he was driven by pure, insane rage. Every time she scratched him, his smile grew wider. Every time she gasped for air, his grip grew tighter. If she continued to fight him like a trapped animal, she would die in the dirt.

She had to starve him of the one thing he wanted most: her fear.

Delaney made a choice. She stopped fighting.

She let out a small, quiet breath. She opened her hands. She left his arms entirely alone. She let her hands fall heavily to her sides, resting them in the cold dirt right next to the thick folds of her white silk skirt. She forced all the tension out of her shoulders. She went completely limp beneath him.

Lucas frowned. His cruel smile faltered for a fraction of a second. This was not what he expected. He expected her to beg for her life. He expected her to keep trashing.

Delaney looked directly into his dark, angry eyes. She forced her bruised lips to curve upward.

She smiled at him.

It was not a sweet smile. It was a cold, knowing, entirely fearless smile. It was a smile that told him he had no true power over her soul.

She spoke. Her voice was incredibly strained, a harsh, scratching whisper pushing past the heavy pressure of his hand on her windpipe.

"Do you think I am afraid of death?" Delaney asked.

Lucas stared at her, completely baffled. His thick eyebrows drew together in deep confusion. The hand around her throat loosened just a tiny bit, allowing a small, sharp sip of cold air into her burning lungs.

Delaney kept her cold smile firmly in place. She looked at him as if he were nothing more than a foolish, angry child playing a game he did not understand.

"I have had many encounters with death in my life, Lucas. In the streets of London, in your house," Delaney whispered, her words slow and deliberate. "I have starved in the dark. I have frozen in the attic. I have lost my mother and my father. I have lived with monsters for twenty years."

She paused, letting the truth of her words sink into his confused mind.

"I am not afraid anymore," Delaney stated simply, her hazel eyes shining with a fierce, unbreakable light.

Then, her smile vanished. Her expression turned entirely hard and deadly.

"But are you?" Delaney asked him.

Before he could process the question, Delaney gathered all the remaining air in her lungs. She pushed the words out with a sudden, violent burst of raw energy.

"Go ahead, Lucas!" Delaney shouted, her voice breaking into a harsh, ragged scream. "KILL ME OR I WILL KILL YOU!!!"

The sudden, fierce defiance completely shattered his confusion.

Lucas was instantly driven by a massive, blinding rage. How dare she mock him? How dare she look at him without fear, even when she was lying in the dirt at the very face of death? His pride could not handle her bravery.

With a loud, angry snarl, Lucas threw his entire body weight forward. He tightened his grip on her throat with absolute, murderous intent, determined to crush her windpipe and end her life right then and there.

Delaney’s vision instantly began to blur. Dark, gray spots danced around the edges of her sight. Her lungs burned like a hot fire in her chest. The blood pounded loudly in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the wind and the fighting men nearby.

She was running out of time.

But her distraction had worked perfectly. By dropping her hands to her sides, they were now resting exactly where they needed to be.

While Lucas was completely blinded by his furious, manic rage, focusing all his attention on her face and her throat, Delaney moved her hand.

She moved her fingers slowly, smoothly, hiding the motion beneath the large, puffy layers of her white silk skirt. Her vision was turning black, but she knew exactly where to reach. She slid her hand up her own leg. She felt the delicate lace of her stocking.

And then, her fingers touched the cold, hard silver metal of the two dueling pistols strapped tightly in her garter.

Her lungs screamed for air. Her head spun wildly. She felt as though she was drowning in a dark, silent ocean.

Finally, with the very last ounce of strength she possessed, she closed her fingers around the carved handle of the pistols.

She pulled them out from the lace.

She brought her arm up quickly from the dirt. She moved the weapon between their bodies, hiding it between the thick folds of his wool coat and her white dress.

She pressed the cold, round metal barrel of the pistol firmly against the center of his stomach.

Lucas felt the hard pressure against his gut.

He froze completely. The angry snarl died on his lips. His dark, wild eyes widened in sudden, absolute, freezing shock. He looked down, and then he looked back at her face. He suddenly realized exactly what she had done. He realized the fatal mistake he had made by underestimating her.

But it was far too late.