In it, Olivia was once again trapped. Pinned beneath the weight of Wyatt’s body. His hands were rough and bruising as they moved over her. She couldn’t free herself. Then his face, a face filled with evil, loomed in front of her. She looked into eyes as hard, as cold as ice and his lips twisted into a grotesque smile. She thrashed about, desperate to escape his clutches. She tried to scream but found it impossible to make a sound. She sat bolt upright in her bed. The room was dark except for the coals in the fireplace gleaming red-hot. Her night shift was damp with sweat. Her heart was beating wildly, and her breathing was ragged. She took several deep shuddering breaths, then tossed aside the covers and climbed from her bed. Crossing the room she began to pace. She hated that Wyatt still had the ability to hurt her. Even though he was far away in London, thoughts of him crept into her dreams, rendering her as terrified, as helpless as she had been at their first encounter. Was this what had happened to Bennett?
