Author's note - Trigger warning, assault.
This story is canon up until the ball in Season 2 Episode 5, with two changes - Declan and Alison are having their dance as the event of chapter 1 occurs, and the incident with Lady Babington does not occur. Story is AU after that.
How dare she!
How dare she!
He was a Colonel in His Majesty's army! A decorated war hero! He had faced Napoleon on the battlefield of Waterloo and she was refusing his offer of marriage!
It was absolutely insulting! She was a farmer's daughter, and a governess now, a servant! She was living a lowly, squalid existence that he was graciously offering to change. He would elevate her status beyond anything she might imagine. And she was rejecting him! It was not to be borne!
His eyes narrowed, his thin lips curled in a sneer.
This public ball did not afford him the time or privacy to fully engage in his unsavory proclivities, but he could still teach her a lesson before his company left Sanditon for good in the early hours of the morning. And as a war hero, he would not be touchable by the law. He knew this to be true, as this was not the first time he had to punish a woman who disrespected him.
"You will be sensible of my rank! You are nothing more than a lowly servant," he growled.
Gripping her arm as hard as he could, he yanked her back from the balcony and into the alcove, where no one could see them.
She tried to cry out but he used his free hand to wrap tightly around her pretty, slender, white throat. He squeezed hard and saw the fear in her eyes as she struggled to breathe.
He always enjoyed the fear in their eyes.
She struggled with him, kicking at him. He threw her to the floor, hard. He heard her gasp in pain as she fell heavily on her side. If she had dislocated her shoulder, or fractured her ribs, so much the better.
It was ironic to hear the beautiful music playing as he straddled her, repeatedly hitting the face of the most beautiful woman at the ball.
Her soft, perfect pink lips split under his fists.
A loud crunch told him he'd broken her nose. He exulted in the sound.
The blood trickling down her lips and chin to her neck was a wonderful contrast to her soft, milky skin.
She moaned in pain and pleaded with him to stop. It was music to his ears. She did not yet know that begging only spurred him on.
Taking a knife out of his pocket, he cut open the bodice of her dress, nicking her breasts in the process. Flecks of blood adorned the fabric. He noted that bright red was not a compliment to light green and pale pink. No matter. The punishment must continue.
His head jerked up, startling him from his play. There was a voice coming closer – his voice!
Oh, how he wished to have Alexander Colbourne come upon him now, to have the tortured man see what he was doing to the woman Colbourne wanted! It would be so satisfying! The glorious vanquishment of an enemy! How he longed to see the look of anguish that would certainly be clear upon his face!
But he would not. It was unwise to linger any longer. He had never been caught in the act before, but if he was, it could be problematic. He might not be able to talk his way out of a demotion. That was a risk he could not, would not take. His position, his hard earned rank, was far more important to him than satisfying any personal desires.
He stood, brushed himself off, and pocketed his knife. A hard kick to her ribs was the last gift he gave her before he strode to the servant's stairs he had noted the night of the mess dinner, and made his escape into the night.
