Free Corey McFadden by Deception at Midnight

dribbling blood down his face, draining into the white of his lacy neckcloth. He stared at her, stunned for the space of a heartbeat, then slipped slowly, insensible, to the floor.
    Maude felt as if she were dreaming, as if everything were happening too slowly. She became aware that she was whimpering, jagged little gasps of pain and fear that seemed to be coming from someone far away. She sat up carefully, her hands mechanically grasping the torn material at her breast in a futile effort to cover herself. John lay motionless, bleeding into the Aubusson carpet. She had a vague, distant sense of urgency, but she sat quietly, staring at John, her mind a blank.
    Very gradually, her consciousness returned, intruding sharply, painfully on her detachment. There he lay, her attacker, her tormentor, her stepcousin, in a pool of blood, his light brown curly hair drenched in brandy. She must have been mad to sit here with him, to listen to his proposal, even to consider that what he was saying was logical.
    What was it he had been saying? Something about money. That she did not have any. That Aunt Claire had been subsidizing her all these years. She shook her head, as if to clear it. It still did not make sense. That she was not wealthy she knew, but a debtor, on the brink of penury?
    She had a vague recollection of a conversation from long ago; it was her parents discussing something to do with what John had been talking about. What was it? Something about Aunt Claire and money. Yes, that was it. She did not have any. Maude could remember her father telling her mother about this Claire, penniless, he had said, an obvious fortune hunter who had trapped poor, hapless James. “Hush!” Mama had said. “Little pitchers....” No, something was not right and she would have to find out what it was.
    She looked again at John, who had not moved. Had she killed him? She knew a new stab of fear as she waited to see if his chest rose and fell. It did.
    As her haze of terror lifted, it was replaced by a slow and steady fear. She was trapped in this house by a lecherous cousin and a vicious aunt. She must get away, now, tonight, or God alone knew what they would do to her. But where could she go? She had no real friends in the immediate neighborhood, no one whom she could count on to take her part. It would be far worse to confide in an indifferent neighbor, and then be turned over to the tender mercies of Aunt Claire.
    No, what she needed now was real help, formal help. She would flee to London to see her solicitors. It was high time she took interest in her own affairs. God help her if there was no money left. But one thing she knew for certain and that was she would starve in the streets before she let this vile pervert lay a hand on her again.
    Maude stood slowly, surprised that her legs still shook from the stress of the attack. She was groggy but made herself move for the door. She had no idea how long John would remain unconscious but she knew she could not risk his waking and finding her there. She made her way slowly into the hall and up the stairs. She ached all over but she could not stop to worry about that now.
    What to do? How to get away? The practicalities were almost overwhelming. She pushed open the door to her room, then quickly closed it behind her. She slammed home the bolt she had had Joe install after that day when John...No! She would not think of that now! She had never been able to forget the look in his eyes....
    Joe! Where was Joe? Ah, yes, gone to drive the carriage. There would be no help for her there. Maude lowered herself into her small wing chair. I must not rest, she thought frantically. There is no time! But I do not know what to do. She was conscious of an overwhelming sense of defeat, a wish that she could just die and have it all go away.
    From deep within her heart came an answering spark of courage. Well, it’s not going to go away, and you are not going to die! Not unless you sit here and let him kill