Your Darkest Dream (Blackwood & Friends #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

He began to pummel against the door immediately, the force jarring and rattling the frame.

Blanche was trapped.

She had effectively bought herself mere moments before her doom and she wanted to sob. A tremulous breath escaped her and her throat constricted painfully. She blinked away her furious tears and steeled her shoulders.

Another resounding shudder from behind her and this time she swore she heard the wood splinter.

She had precious moments before he would break through the locking mechanism.

The parlour room was favoured by Diana on quieter days in Rothford House. It wasn't ostentatiously huge- that was reserved for the room that Rawdon was currently in while he attempted to break down the adjoining door to this one. This one was smaller with two windows that overlooked the side street and gardens to one side of the house. There was a dark escritoire against the wall that the two windows flanked- Diana used for her correspondence. Little else in sensible furnishings for hideaway places save for a chaise lounge, which she could probably hide behind for the sum total of two seconds before she was detected.

Indeed, the furnishings were decidedly feminine and petite, leaving Blanche to consider the windows. Outside, there was at least a fifteen-foot drop and that was an estimation. If she could push open a window, she could probably shimmy down the half-column that was placed for design appeal outside the window box. Would she break a limb and face Rawdon in a manicured rose garden below? Probably.

She was frustrated and losing hope- fast. Behind her, Edwin was gradually ensuring the door would give way to his considerable bulk and strength.

And she was defenceless. She didn't have a weapon. She didn't have size or height or weight on her side either.

Blanche clenched her fists and scoured the chamber for a something she could use as protection. She would even accept a log or piece of coal from the hearth at this point- unfortunately there was none, having been obviously freshly scraped and cleaned earlier. She moved quickly to Diana's escritoire by the windows and began to yank open the drawers.

There were six of them in total, descending to the carpeted floor, and she hurled each one open in turn. Her movements were furiously hasty, her hands grabbing materials and tossing them out as quick as she could open the drawers.

Diana collected a lot of rubbish apparently and clearly did not believe in throwing anything out. Much of what Blanche latched onto was paper- vellums and parchments and various bits of correspondence, ink bottles and goose quills, society papers and handkerchiefs.

Then, in the third drawer, her fingers closed on the cool, thin metal of a letter opener. She wanted to shout in triumph but she latched onto it tightly, continuing her search. The utensil, although rather blunt and short, had potential to inflict enough harm if she were able to apply sufficient force. She tucked it against her side while she continued to scratch through the other drawers. Possibly, considering the trite inessentials Diana collected, there would lurk another in the drawers. Two weapons were better than one, after all.

The fourth and fifth drawers produced little else of use and the sixth was locked. She snarled incoherently and lurched straight, opening the small pockets of the escritoire that sat atop the desk. She scratched briefly until she located a tiny metal key that had to open the sixth and final drawer.

More loud thuds were ricocheting around her and there was definitely wood splintering now. Blanche's fingers were trembling as she fumbled to insert the key into the tiny keyhole, but she did and twisted, half expecting to meet resistance and find out that it in fact was not the correct key for the locked drawer.