Free Her Forbidden Gunslinger by Harper St. George Page A

her throat and threatened to cut off her air. In fact, she couldn’t move at all until Martine reached out to gently take her hand. She squeezed in reassurance and pulled her into the hallway and toward the stairs. Sophie followed on wooden legs, barely aware of their progress until they reached the bottom and Jean stood there smiling.
    But as he looked her over, his smile faded to a sneer of disappointment. No, this was not the painted doll-bride he had ordered. “Didn’t you have enough time to get ready?” His hard gaze looked around the wide hallway to make sure they were alone.
    No one was there except Martine behind her and Sinclair standing sentry at the closed double doors of the parlor. He refrained from meeting her gaze as she looked at him. She looked past him to the doors, the voices coming from inside telling her it was filled with guests awaiting her arrival. Her stomach rolled and it was only the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything that kept it from revolting.
    “Go back upstairs and finish.” His voice snapped against her like a whip.
    “So you think the lamb should go to the slaughter peacefully?” Her voice was raw as it scraped past the lump in her throat.
    “Martine, get the flowers.” His fingers bit into her arm as he pulled her toward the closed doors. His voice lowered, but she felt its venom near her ear. “If you do anything to embarrass me, I promise you will regret it.”
    She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of all the things she had done recently that would cause him embarrassment. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her lost virtue but, despite his betrayal, she wouldn’t endanger Gray needlessly. Jean could kill him.
    “Here!” The bouquet of white roses was pushed callously into her hands.
    She gripped them instinctively to keep them from falling. Before she could respond, the front door opened. Her breath stopped and she thought, now, surely now her knight would come. But it was an older man she recognized from the Nelsons’ ball. Jean left her to greet him and she heard his explanation of a late train, but then all sound stopped, at least for her, because Gray appeared behind the new arrival. He consumed her, leaving room for nothing else.
    He walked past Jean and the guest, toward her, and she took in a slow, shallow breath, afraid to hope, afraid to think that maybe now. Maybe now he had come to save her. He was close enough that his scent assailed her, the leather and spice that clung to him, but also that scent she knew as his alone because she’d pressed her face against his naked flesh and breathed it in.
    He walked by, close enough to touch, but then just as quickly he was past her, standing in front of Sinclair, his back to her. He’d walked by without even looking at her or acknowledging her in any way. Her gaze took in the breadth of his back, the dark hair that fell past his shoulders and she remembered the solid strength of him beneath her hands, the silk of him between her fingers.
    It couldn’t have meant nothing to him.
    Whatever he was saying to Sinclair was too low for her to hear, but she seriously doubted her ability to understand language at this point, anyway. She was all sensation and emotion. He turned toward the doors and she knew an insane need to talk to him just once. To remind him that she was there.
    “Gray,” the word escaped her lips in a faint, aching whisper.
    She almost thought he wouldn’t hear, but then his hand stopped on the crystal doorknob. He’d heard. Her heart leaped with joy but then his fingers turned the knob and he disappeared into the room. Words could never have conveyed what his actions had so eloquently accomplished.
    She was alone.

Chapter Eight
    Whatever might have been said after that door closed, Sophie wasn’t aware of it. She existed there in a fog of her own misery, reeling from Gray’s rejection, her mind turning in on itself as it attempted to insulate her from the pain. All she knew was