"If you don't get away from me I'll scream."

"Of course you won't, my pet. And that's what you are, you know -- a little pet, my little pet. I can caress you and fondle you and you will stretch and moan with delight beneath my hand."

The portrait gallery was dim and shadowy and cold in the early-afternoon winter light. "Yes," he said, smiling at her as he walked slowly toward her, one graceful white hand outstretched, the emerald on his index finger glittering, "you will enjoy what I will do to you, Sabrina. I've known from the beginning that you're eager for me. I had to wait until I had wed Elizabeth. You understand. Now, that's done and I'm here. Now we can be together."

Sabrina watched his fingers curl as if touching her flesh. She backed up until the corner of a huge gilded frame dug into her back.

Suddenly the memory of the portrait gallery faded into blinding white. Trevor was gone. She was alone.

She doubled over with the cough that gripped her so deeply. The pain continued even after the spasms subsided, making her feel as if her ribs were caving inward, grinding and shifting. She was shuddering with the pain. She managed to get hold of herself. She forced herself to straighten. She looked around. The whiteness of the snow was blinding. She had no idea where she was. She remembered reading that in Dante's inferno the deepest circle in hell was cold, not hot. She was ready to accept it without question. She knew now this was what hell was like -- a colorless cold, so cold, so intense, that her breath froze into nothingness in the frigid blank air. She clutched the palm of her gloved hand against her breast for warmth and drew to a stumbling halt against a large gnarled elm tree. She hugged its trunk and let the rough bark dig into her cheek. It hurt. At least she could still feel her face. She felt the bark through her cloak, digging deeper, through her gown, through her chemise. She savored for the moment the illusion of shelter it offered. The wind swirled about her, making her cloak billow at her ankles, making the naked branches overhead whip back and forth, tangling with other branches, rending and tearing, like fingernails pulling at flesh.

She gazed up. The snow wasn't too terribly heavy yet. But the full fury of the storm would soon be upon her, and she knew that unless she found her way out of the forest, she would die. She forced herself to look about again. Was the snow coming down harder?

She pushed herself away from the tree and forced her feet to move forward, in what she prayed was a southerly direction. She had been so certain of herself, even after her mare had gone lame, sure that she would find her way through Eppingham Forest. After all, she'd lived here all her eighteen years and knew the forest well. She wondered now if she would ever find her way before the thickening snow blanketed any landmarks she might recognize.

The thorn of a bramble tore into her beautiful crimson velvet cloak, a present from her grandfather the previous Christmas. She bent to pull the cloak free. The pain in her chest gripped her again, and she doubled over with the cough that had become harsh so very quickly, and tears fell, cold and slick down her cheeks. She dashed her hand across her eyes, but when her vision cleared, it was Trevor's face she saw again, a pretty face, indeed, its finely chiseled features almost too pretty for a man. She saw his hooded pale green eyes were darker now as he stalked her. His lashes were too long and thick for a man, her sister Elizabeth had told her, but perhaps if she birthed a daughter, she would have her father's beautiful eyes and lashes.

Trevor had followed her to the portrait gallery in the east wing of Monmouth Abbey, where she painted when the weather was fine. That day she'd wanted to copy a portrait of Isolde, the sixteenth-century countess who'd once caught the eye of Henry VIII. Sabrina forgot about her work quickly enough when Trevor had shown himself.

She could clearly hear him say again, "Don't fight me, my little Sabrina. You've led me a merry chase and I'm not a particularly patient man. But you were different. You have teased me, made me want to shatter the illusion of innocence you've cloaked yourself in. But the chase is now over. No more of your clever games. I know why you came to this isolated gallery. Your plan is perfect. Come to me now, tell me how much you want me."

She was pressed hard against her great-grandfather's picture frame. She could retreat no farther. Reason, she had to try to make him see reason. "You have mistaken me, Trevor. I am your sister-in-law. You are newly married to Elizabeth. She is your wife. I have not tried to attract you. I have not wanted you to chase me. I don't want you and never have. I'm not lying or playing games. Please, leave me alone. I came here only to study a portrait that I wish to paint."

He smiled at her, saying nothing.

She wasn't blind. There was raw hunger in his eyes, but also something else. Determination. He wouldn't listen to reason, not Trevor. He heard only what he wanted to hear, saw only what he wanted to see. There were always servants about, but she'd neither seen nor heard a single one since Trevor had come. She allowed the contempt she felt for him to come out. "Listen to me, Trevor, Elizabeth is your wife. She trusts you. My grandfather trusts you. I haven't trusted you, but that doesn't matter."

He laughed, his head tilted to one side. His light green eyes were filled with more hunger than just the moment before. "You look lovely in that dark gray gown. I would have thought it would make you pale, but it doesn't. It must be that beautiful auburn hair of yours. You do have beautiful hair, you know, Sabrina. I've watched you shake your head, making that glorious hair of yours fall around your shoulders when you knew I was looking at you. As sinful as a woman's red lips, your hair."

He was not a large man, but he was still considerably larger and stronger than she was. What to do? She was very angry now and shook her fist at him. "Listen to me, Trevor, stop it! I have done nothing to attract you. The truth is I don't even like you. That's right. I wish you had never come, but there was no choice, was there? There was no direct male heir, so Grandfather was forced to recognize you, his brother's grandson.

"Leave me alone, Trevor. Go away." When she tried to walk by him because he hadn't moved an inch, he just stood there smiling at her.

"Oh yes, you're right, Sabrina," he said, his voice lower, softer, slippery as her satin sash. She shuddered. "But everything will be mine once that damned old relic has shucked off his mortal coil. It shouldn't be much longer now. Soon all this will be mine. Elizabeth will soon call me her lord, her master, as will you, Sabrina. I like those words from a soft mouth when I reach my pleasure. Ah yes, and a warm woman's breath on my flesh, it heightens the experience.

"You know I would have preferred to wed you, but it was not to be. The old earl forced me on Elizabeth. Elizabeth was older, she must wed first, it was only fair, he said. The old fool didn't want me to have you, truth be told. No, I couldn't have you as my wife, but you are still here, and we can be together."

As he leaned toward her, she pressed her palms against his chest, shoving as hard as she could. "Get away from me, Trevor, get away. I shall scream. The servants will obey me, not you."

He laughed, now so close to her face that she could smell on his breath the turtle soup he'd eaten for luncheon. "Yell yourself hoarse, Sabrina. No one is about to hear you, but you already knew that, didn't you? Ah, I feel you trembling, my pet."

"I'm not your damned pet, you bastard!" His fingertips brushed lightly over her cheek. She rammed her fist as hard as she could into his belly. As she felt the soft flesh give, she jerked away, almost free of him.

His hand grabbed her upper arm, pulling her back. Then his hands were around her neck. Her fingers clutched about his, her nails digging into him, but she could not get free.

His fingers tightened about her neck and his face blurred above her. He suddenly released her and she gulped in air. Then she felt his mouth slam against hers. His tongue probed at her lips to force them apart. She opened her mouth to yell at him and felt his tongue go deep. She gagged and bit down hard.

He jerked back and she released him. "You little bitch!" He was panting with rage and pain as he drew back and slapped her hard on one cheek and then the other.

The force of the blows sent her reeling back against the portrait. She flailed the air with her arms trying to keep her balance. She was beyond herself then, screaming at him. "You bastard! I'll kill you for this, you filthy bastard!"

Copyright © 1997 by Catherine Coulter