Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 270 - Two Hundred And Seventy

The darkness inside the carriage was absolute. Delia was tossed back and forth with the rough, jolting motion of the wheels on the uneven country road. The air was hot and stuffy, thick with the smell of dust and the foul, clothy taste of the handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. Pain throbbed in a dull, nauseating rhythm at the side of her head, and the rough rope bit into the skin of her wrists, which were bound tightly behind her back.

"Where is he taking me?" she wondered, her mind fighting through the fog of pain and fear. She had to know. She had to see where they were going.

With a grunt of effort, she began to struggle, shifting her weight and using the wall of the carriage for leverage. Her body ached in protest, and her head spun with a dizzying feeling, but she ignored it.

Using her core muscles, she managed to push herself into a sitting position. She shuffled on the hard floor until her back was against the seat, allowing her to brace herself and look out the carriage window.

The scenery that rushed by was a blur of green and brown, but it was horrifyingly familiar. The dense woods, the narrow, winding path… her blood ran cold. He was getting closer to the crash site. The place where her second life had ended. The place where hers and Eric's carriage collided leading to their deaths.

"Will I die again?"

The thought was a shard of ice in her heart. "Here? In the same place? Is this a fate I can never escape?"

A wave of despair threatened to drown her. It would be so easy to give up, to let the darkness take her. But then, a fierce, protective instinct rose up from the depths of her soul, hot and powerful. She thought of Eric, he must have noticed what was wrong, he would be so worried.

She thought of her mother, her father , of Amber, of Owen, and all her family and people she held dear. And she thought of the tiny, precious new life nestled safely inside her.

"No." The word was a silent scream in her mind. " I will not die here. Not again. I need to look for a way to escape."

Her mind began to work. She couldn't scream for help. She couldn't break down the door. But she could create a commotion. She could be a problem he couldn't ignore. An idea, desperate but brilliant, began to form.

She carefully lay down on the hard, splintery floor of the carriage, positioning herself near the door. Then, with all the strength she could muster, she began to kick her bound feet against the wooden panel.

THUD…

THUD…

THUD…

The sound was loud and rhythmic, a desperate drumbeat that would surely be heard by anyone or any carriage who might be passing. It was the sound that would demand attention. At the same time, she began to work her hands, twisting and pulling against the ropes. She ignored the searing pain as the rough fibers scraped her skin raw, focusing only on creating the tiniest bit of slack.

The commotion got Philip angry. From the driver's box, he heard the incessant, disruptive banging. This defiant little wretch was ruining his perfectly orchestrated plan. The noise could attract unwanted attention. He had to silence her.

The carriage screeched to a halt, throwing Delia against the far wall. The sudden silence was more terrifying than the noise had been. She heard his heavy footsteps on the ground outside. The door handle rattled, and then the door was flung open with a crash, flooding the interior of the carriage with blinding sunlight. Philip stood there, his face a mask of pure, cold fury.

"Why you—" he started to snarl.

It was the opening she needed. In the seconds he had taken to stop the carriage and open the door, she had managed to wiggle one hand free from the ropes. She lunged forward from the floor. She ripped the gag from her mouth and, with a guttural cry, wrapped the rope around his neck, pulling him down into the carriage with her.

It was a tough, desperate fight. She clung to him like a wildcat, the ropes digging into the muscles of his neck, trying to find a hold, to cut off his air. For a glorious second, she felt him choke, a look of surprise on his face. But the advantage was short-lived. He was too strong. His supposed weakness had been a lie, and his true, unhindered strength was terrifying.

He grabbed her arms, his powerful hands easily prying her fingers from his throat. With a roar of rage, he slammed her backward. The back of her head hit the hard wooden frame of the carriage with a sickening crack. Stars exploded behind her eyes, and the world went grey.

She fell back onto the seat, dazed and weakened. Before she could recover, he was on her. He wrapped his own large, hands around her throat, his thumbs pressing down on her windpipe.

Air. She needed air.

The world began to tunnel, the edges of her vision turning black. She clawed at his hands, her nails scraping uselessly against his skin. Her lungs burned, desperate for oxygen.

He leaned in close, his face a demonic mask of triumph, his voice a low, sadistic whisper in her ear. "You want to die before seeing your husband's face, is that it?"

She struggled, her body convulsing, her vision fading completely. The last thing she was aware of was his cruel laughter as she lost consciousness, the world dissolving into a silent, suffocating darkness.

Philip watched her go limp, a look of contempt on his face. He released her throat, letting her slump against the seat. He took the rope and tied her hands back together, this time pulling the knots so tight they were sure to cut off her circulation. He put the handkerchief back in her mouth. Her brief, spirited defiance was over. She was his property again.

He slammed the carriage door shut, climbed back into the driver's box, and with a sharp crack of the whip, rode on towards his final destination.