Innocence and Carnality

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  “I wouldn’t do that again. I swear.”

  “You certainly can’t go home. There’s no place in Deilia for you anymore. Not with what you’ve witnessed, and done to your father. Which I must say surprised me a great deal. The last man from Deilia I know of who had an inkling of your father’s tastes disappeared some time ago. You may not be safe there anymore. There’s no choice but to stay with me, because there’s nowhere else you can go.”

  “But you knew he’d be here.”

  “Of course. Some bridges need extra kerosene to burn them down.”

  My heartbeat taunted me with its erratic pounding. Rother was up to something and it urged me to continue testing my shackles despite knowing it was useless. He watched the stamp in the dancing flames with a wild fascination bordering on obsession.

  “You’re mine, Nathan, and you always will be. You need to be made to understand this.”

  “I do.” Rother’s tone was so even and unnatural, I would have agreed to anything.

  He sighed and shook his head. “Ah, but you can’t be completely trusted. Even with the help I have to ensure it.” Rother picked up the stamp, regarding the heated end as he stood upright.

  My throat seized, barely allowing the strength of a whisper. “What are you doing?”

  “We need something to make sure everyone else understands as much as you do.”

  Panic seized me. While brandishing the stamp, Rother wrapped his arm around my head, holding it firm. “No, Rother! Please!” I could feel the radiating heat closing in against the side of my neck.

  Rother’s words ghosted against my temple. “You’re my greatest prize, Nathan.”

  I came unhinged, tugging and jerking against my bonds, knowing full well I had nowhere to go. The urge to flee overwhelmed me.

  “No, Rother! Don’t do this!”

  “Shh… this will only take a moment.”

  All at once came the white-hot agony, the smoke, the sizzle and scent of burning meat, and an unnatural, inhuman scream that shredded my throat raw.

  Chapter 13

  SUNLIGHT FILTERED into my consciousness and dragged me to surface, yet it couldn’t burn away the fog. My attempt to roll over stopped at the burning pain in my neck. I hissed as I reached to find the source.

  An enormous hand engulfed my own. “Don’t touch it. It needs to heal.”

  I cracked my eyes open to find Blythe holding me still. My murky thoughts began to clear at the sight of bruises lining both my wrists. When I resisted, he released me without effort. I pulled at the edges of my sleeves, covering the marks despite the fact he’d already seen them.

  “Why am I so groggy?” With a cautious touch, I felt around my neck, finding the wide bandage’s edge. I started buttoning up my collar to my chin, the ache bringing me closer to lucid.

  “Doc fixed you up and gave you some medicine. Said you might sleep hard.”

  I was in my bed, fully dressed, and the clock said it was late afternoon. Blythe sat in a chair at my bedside, his gruff face a mixture of anger and sorrow. Glancing around proved Rother was nowhere nearby.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “No one’s allowed in. And I wanted to be sure you were all right.”

  “Ever the watchful bodyguard.”

  Blythe’s features darkened. “I should have let you run. Looked the other way and pretended I never saw you.”

  “No. As much as I hate to say it, you did the right thing.”

  “How can you say that? Look at you!”

  “If Rother found out, he could use his leverage against you. You said yourself he has all the papers proving your death sentence. Rother knows too many people in authority. If you hung because of me, I’d never forgive myself.”

  Blythe shook his head. “It wouldn’t happen.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “Because you’ve never given him cause.” I narrowed my eyes to make my point. “Last night was all about Rother binding me to him beyond our marriage. It’s what he does. You’re no safer than I am.”

  Blythe didn’t say a word as he mulled it over. It appeared Rother held insurance over everyone he was involved with. Why should I be any different?

  My musing was interrupted by overlapping voices outside my door that were escalating into shouts. Harston’s voice, sharp with concern, came clearly from the hallway.

  “I demand to see Nathan!”

  Rother’s voice, though smoother, was no less audible. “Nathan is seeing no one!”

  I hissed as I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the door on unsteady feet, Blythe right behind me. I jerked it open, finding Harston squaring off against Rother, who blocked the doorway. Several staff sat in witness in the hall, all refusing to interfere, including Alexandra. Were all of them being held quiet in the same fashion as Blythe and myself?

  A flash of relief washed over Harston as he caught sight of me. “Nathan! They didn’t tell me you were back and kept me busy all yesterday. I never knew. I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s all right, Harston. It’s not your fault.”

  Harston’s stare locked on to my poorly buttoned collar. “What happened to you?”

  “Nathan’s fine.” Rother reached out and placed a hand on my chest, signaling me not to move forward. “He’s become so content here in Marisol and Delaga House, we feel he no longer requires the services of a valet.”

  Shock reduced me to a single word. “What?”

  “You’re welcome to stay at Delaga House of course, but you’ll need to start servicing customers to earn your keep.”

  Harston’s brow creased with defiance. “I will do no such thing.”

  “If you want to stay under my roof, you will. I don’t see what’s so awful. You didn’t mind fucking me when my back was turned. It’s only fitting I give you the chance to experience the same.”

  I couldn’t help but beg. “Rother, please don’t.”

  Rother ignored me, even as his tone became more sadistic and chilling. “You’re young and attractive enough, and your trysts with Blythe show you can take a pounding. You’re the perfect type to fill a special niche I’m missing. I know a number of wealthy gentlemen who will pay me obscene amounts of money to continue indulging themselves no matter how much you beg them to stop. We won’t be needing any safewords for you. If you insist on staying, that is your future in this house.”

  Horror gripped me. This was no posturing for dominance. Rother meant every word, and Harston’s life sat precariously balanced. I couldn’t allow his loyalty to be used against him.

  Standing up tall, I had to force the words out. “Harston, go. Consider yourself fired.”

  “But, Nathan….” His eyes began to well and mine threatened to do the same.

  “This isn’t up for debate. Go. Now.” I sucked in an ugly lungful of air and I nearly stuttered. “Blythe, help Harston gather his things and see him safely out.”

  Rother’s sinister growl drew a cold shiver. “No, Blythe. You will not.”

  With a communal gasp, a hush fell over everyone present. A fresh snarl curled Blythe’s face, and his hands formed into fists. Every muscle drew tight and I could foresee his advance on Rother. His feet shifted, the first portents of violence. I shuddered. Nothing good could come of this. I stepped in front of Rother and placed a hand on his forearm, keeping my voice as submissive as I knew how.

  “Please, Rother. Do this for me….”

  Rother’s gaze turned to me and I held it with wide eyes and broken spirit. His malevolent visage softened as I gave him a gentle squeeze.

  “Very well. Go ahead and clear out. I don’t want to see Harston in my home ever again.”

  My voice shook. “Thank you, Blythe.”

  Blythe didn’t say a word as he led Harston away. At least now I knew Harston would walk out of Delaga House under his own power. Alexandra said nothing, but the glare she threw Rother’s way spoke volumes.

  I tried no
t to cringe as Rother cupped my cheek. “You look tired, Nathan. I think you should get more rest.”

  “You’re probably right.” Nodding hurt too much so I held myself stiff as I shuffled back into the bedroom, closing the door behind me. For the first time since leaving Deilia, I felt truly lost. I crumbled into the bed and drowned in my own tears.

  STANDING AT the basin, I splashed water on my face. I must have cried myself to sleep, and when I woke I couldn’t stand the tightness of my skin across my cheeks from the dried salt. Each little movement made my neck ache, yet I worked fast, trying my best not to look in the mirror. It was proof of my situation I couldn’t face.

  Once dry, I walked back into the bedroom, unable to feel the warmth. No daylight crept between the shutters and no murmurs of conversation or general chaos greeted me. The quiet amplified my isolation.

  At some point, someone had covered me with a blanket and turned on the fireplace. It was the kind of caring gesture I’d expect from Harston.

  Here in Delaga House it felt out of place and Harston was gone, possibly forever.

  A glass of water sat on my bedside table next to an apothecary vial. The handwritten label’s instructions called for five drops in water as needed for pain. I recognized the drug from my mother’s endless assortment of medicinal tonics. I wanted nothing to do with it. The solution could stay on the table until it dried to dust. I didn’t want it to haze my thoughts, and I needed this pain to remind me of where I stood.

  And it wasn’t a particularly sought-after location.

  Rother had played his part well. Some part of me had wanted to erase his indiscretions and find a common ground, but I had discounted the lifelong talent of a man whose profession revolved around satisfying the fantasies of others, no doubt through the use of convincing lies. I always believed myself to be clever and difficult to deceive. I suppose in Deilian circles it was true, but Rother could charm a vicar into serving his clients.

  He masked the knowledge of the secrets he held as some kind of honor rather than the blackmail fodder it truly was, and I’d listened to every word without an inkling of reality. Topping it off with the unmasking of my father was brilliant on his part. I fell into my role better than he’d expected and cemented myself here.

  I had nowhere to go.

  Deilia and Marisol were all I knew, and I couldn’t go home after the beating I gave my father. I doubted either of us would survive a new encounter. Plus, the truth about Delaga House would make me a pariah in all the social circles. There was nothing in Deilia left for me, and I didn’t know enough about Marisol to hide away from the powerful men Rother vowed to send after me. If Rother kept such hold on everyone around him, there would be no one I could enlist to help me flee. Even if they would, I couldn’t bring myself to put anyone else at risk.

  Harston was gone.

  The opened crates my father had shipped still cluttered the floor, only partway emptied. Thanks to Vivian’s interference, I’d left in the middle of unpacking, and afterward I had been far too distracted to continue.

  Sifting through the contents left me with less nostalgia than my earlier attempt. Whether I suffered from a melancholy derived from all the chaos, or my life in Deilia lacked importance in my current state, I couldn’t tell. There was sufficient ache and recrimination within me to vote for either option.

  Inside I found my copy of A Nobleman’s Guide to Etiquette. The leather spine was cracked and the pages worn and soiled from endless study at my hands. So determined to somehow earn my father’s respect, I had devoted countless hours to its reading, absorbing the primer’s every word and idea. What a colossal waste of time. Referring, of course, to gaining my father’s respect. The social etiquette was useful in the right setting, but the Deilian life standards we were expected to uphold were based on hypocrisy. My father was a prime example. Human beings would explore their desires regardless of the obstacles placed before them. If not, places like Delaga House wouldn’t exist and Deilian gentlemen wouldn’t be so easily seduced by its pleasures.

  Having the real world crash in and dismantle my juvenile illusions left a fair number of invisible scars. My neck twinged as I stepped forward, reminding me of the visible wounds I’d earned as well.

  I knelt before the fireplace, where remnants of my destroyed chastity belt could still be found. Throwing it into the fire had marked a moment of freedom for me, a casting away of unpleasant thoughts. Little did I know what would come next. A new cage of threats, implied and real, held me here.

  With a flick of my wrist, the book opened, landing on a random page discussing the family hierarchy and public decorum procedures. I scoffed. The sound of the page tearing free was satisfying. Even more when I spun the paper into the flames. The edges blackened at once, curling the parchment as the heat consumed it. Pieces of charred embers broke free, drawn up the chimney on the wings of updraft.

  It was sad to find myself envious of ashes.

  I fed another series of pages to the pyre as sacrifice. Rother expected me to be the man from these pages. He enjoyed my willfulness, but ultimately wanted my innocence.

  That was gone now, much like Harston.

  Another chapter versed in posture and formal attire vanished in smoke, as one by one, I watched the book pages burn.

  My chaotic dreams of burnt paper and squealing pigs were interrupted by a knock on my door. It was unwanted, yet continued in spite of my refusal to acknowledge it. For some reason I pulled myself from the bed and opened the door a small gap to see Alexandra on the other side.

  “May I come in?”

  I hesitated, resistant to defile my illusion of sanctuary. When I woke enough to understand how much of an illusion it was, I let her in. Alexandra walked a wide circle, noticing the charred book binding in the hearth and the uneaten meal on the table. She didn’t say a word as she closed in on me, cupping my cheek. I knew how wretched I must have looked even if I continued to ignore my reflection. I could feel the deadening circles under my eyes. Her usual edge softened and I welcomed it.

  “I’m sorry for what happened.”

  “You mean the history of my father’s indulgences?”

  “No. I’m not sorry for servicing a client. For the way you were brought into it.”

  Some small amount of defiance lived inside me, but I couldn’t summon it for long at Alexandra. Of all people, she’d been the most concerned with my welfare from the first day.

  “I won’t say I understand your work, but I’m not angry with you. Only him.”

  “Your father? Or Rother?”

  I refused to answer. I wasn’t sure how.

  “Nathan, you need to eat.”

  The thought of cooked meat held little appeal. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You haven’t touched the food I brought in yesterday.”

  “Thank you for bringing it, but I wasn’t hungry then either.”

  Alexandra brushed her fingers through my hair, as if the unruly mess could be tamed so easy. “I don’t want to argue, but come to breakfast. Please.”

  I wanted to say no. The word perched on my tongue, waiting to fly forward. But this domineering woman, the one always in control, pleaded for me to accept her offer. No demand, just soft request. I couldn’t ignore the quiet entreaty so I nodded, wincing at the painful movement. The pleasant sigh she released at my acceptance was comforting somehow.

  Alexandra noticed the clothes I still wore and had slept in since the night of the viewing room with a tiny frown. “Let’s make you presentable, shall we?”

  “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

  “I’ve never known a Deilian lord to be seen dressed so poorly.”

  I huffed. “Haven’t you heard? I’m not a Deilian lord anymore.”

  “And I’d rather not be seen walking the halls with a street urchin. There might be talk.” Alexandra crossed her arms across her ample bosom. “I’ll wait. Take your time.”

  Again, I complied. Not wanting to disappoint her, I wet my
hair and cleaned up in the en suite, still refusing to look in the mirror. In the room, I chose a fresh outfit from the wardrobe. When I motioned for her to turn around while I changed, she did so without comment or attitude. The woman who shackled and brought naked men to her knees through discipline and cruelty honored my simple need for modesty.

  She only turned around once I was almost done, struggling to finish the fasteners on my cuffs. Silent again, she helped, clearly unhappy at the sight of fading bruises on my wrists as she fixed my sleeves. Neither one of us mentioned how this should have been Harston’s job.

  “Will Rother be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he send you?”

  “I would have come regardless.”

  I couldn’t hold back my sarcasm. “Well since it’s an order, how can I say no?”

  “You’re not a prisoner, Nathan.”

  “It may be a little outside of my experience”—I tugged my collar open to show off my bandage—“but being branded like chattel doesn’t exactly mark me as a free man.”

  To her credit, Alexandra averted her eyes. “I can’t say enough how sorry I am for that.”

  “Not to be rude, but you surprise me. I may be oversimplifying, but you abuse people for a living.”

  “With, and only with, their consent. That is everything, even inside my profession. What happened to you has left its mark on Delaga House.”

  “How?”

  Alexandra sighed as she buttoned up my collar to better hide my bandage. “Last night, two staff members packed and left. Rumors fly about. There could be more.”

  “They know what happened?” I started to retreat at the horrible idea, but she held me tight and continued prepping my attire.

  “There’s no way to keep that kind of secret in such a small place. Rother is starting to learn a new word: consequences. He’s worried about what could come from it all. For the first time, I could see the end of Delaga House.” Her gentle exhale betrayed her worry. “This is my home. I don’t know where else I would go.”