She shifted from one foot to the other, her hands flexing in the folds of her dress. If she screamed, he would come. But she had to get to the door first.
With a scrap of promise grasped tightly to her chest, she bolstered her courage, took a deep breath, and pushed away from the bed. She made it two feet before he stood before her, his knife slicing into the fabric of her bodice. She couldn't breathe. The knife pressed too close to her chest.
"Tsk, tsk, Miss Edwards, no need to leave the party early. I've enjoyed your tears and pain. It's so delicious, you see." His smile deepened. "Who're the tears for, I wonder. They couldn't be for that obnoxious, soulless Duke of Caspire could they?" At her startled look, he laughed. "Yes, that is a lost cause, my dear. Better you feel the pain of heartache, than the pain of imperfect love. No?"