“But later, after you left, I came under the command of a captain who liked to harass and indeed sometimes even molest and abuse the young, powerless girls we came across in taverns and villages and at farms. Servants who dared not speak out. Whores who no one cared if they suffered rough treatment. Do these people count for less? I came to the point of sickness of spirit that I could not bear. When he was deep in his cups, I killed him in his bed with his own pillow.
“I was careless then, I thought myself to be thorough but I had not been trained in such matters. There would be no way for me to know all the ways I could give myself away as the agent of that justice. And I had also betrayed my own disgust at his behaviour; I had tried to report him to the higher command.”
“What happened?” she asked breathlessly.
“I was held as a prisoner for several weeks without any explanation. I was actually treated well, I ate better than I had as an enlisted man and I was provided my choice of reading materials. Really, anything I dared ask for was provided to me.”
“That must have seemed odd.”
“Most peculiar, yes. When they finally came to question me, it was not anyone from my command. They were men I had never seen before. Men who radiated power and an utter, cold confidence. They told me not to worry, that they knew what I had done and they admired how I had gone about it. They explained the barest bit about the secret branch of the Home Office and they said I could hang or I could join them and fight evil in the name of the Crown.”
“My God. What a choice!”
“I was delighted to join them. I was sick unto death of seeing the powerful allowed to enact evil on the powerless.”
“But why would they know of some enlisted man from the Dragoons?”
“They told me they had known about my murder of my uncle. They had watched me since then and waited to see if I would be triggered to act again. They finally had arranged for me to be assigned to that captain’s regiment for just that reason.”
That image alone sent a renewed gale of shudders down her spine.
“That’s how it all happened,” he said, then he arose from the bed.
She watched as he strode across the chamber and threw open the curtains. His weight loss made his body appear lean and supple and hard, wickedly so, like a whipcord. She studied his face as he stared out the window at the sea.
His expression was foreboding. There was a…oh, how to put it? A dark sort of energy that seemed to radiate from him. He did not seem himself.
Maybe he couldn’t be himself when he was being this—how did he put it? Agent of justice.
He splashed his face with water at the washstand, then pulled on his dressing gown and went to the kitchen. She arose from the bed and quickly donned her wrapper. But then she stopped and paused at the window, gazing out without seeing.
Uncle Frederick had said she must ferret out Stephen’s secrets. She must find out if there was any reason why he would disdain himself and wish for death. She had to find out what guilt might be eating him alive.
But if she pushed too hard or in the wrong way, she might force him back into that impenetrable shell.
How alone he must have felt all this time, alone in his silence. Her heart panged with compassion for him. She rubbed her hands over her face then went to follow Stephen.
He was crumbling day old bread into a bowl of what was left of the milk when she entered the kitchen. She sat at the table, watching silently as he poured a generous amount of honey into the mixture.
“Maple syrup would be better,” she said.
“We’ll go to New England and gorge ourselves on maple syrup and johnnycakes.” He flashed her a brief smile. But the coldness was still there in his eyes. It was like being with Stephen and yet being with a stranger.
She waited whilst he ate and then she began, “Stephen, do you ever…” Her voice faltered. Oh God, let her do this right. She fisted her hands on her lap beneath the table.
“Do I ever what, my love?” His voice was tender and his expression was maybe a bit less distant.
Just that gradual easing gave her courage to continue. “Do you ever feel guilt for your…” She took a deep breath. “For being an agent of justice.”
His expression froze. He dropped his spoon to his bowl. “No, never.”
His hard, cold tone made her catch her breath.
Love for him, a desperate desire to save his life however she could, was the only thing that gave her the bravery to press him further. “But surely you must have some feelings about killing a fellow human being, no matter how much their evil deeds make them deserve it.”
“No, evil people are not deserving of compassion. If I were to regret my role in their deaths, deaths sanctioned by the agents of the crown, I would be saying that they were less evil. That they did not deserve the end they met.”
“Oh, but Stephen, it would not be like that at all. It would just be recognising your own humanity. Your own sense of compassion and ability to be merciful and forgiving.”
His gaze was formidable.
She quailed and wished she’d never raised this whole matter. But what choice had she had? She was the only one who could get beneath his shell and uncover any reason that he might be unknowingly wishing for death.
She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I think you could be making yourself sick.”
Again he froze. This time a look of perplexed shock followed. “Making myself sick? How?”
“I think you deny your feelings about the work you do. It’s not healthy for you. And admitting a sense of regret or guilt for the need for the acts, just to yourself, well, that wouldn’t make a whit of difference as to the evilness of your targets.”
He stared at her, his expression enigmatic. Then softness entered his eyes. He reached and took her hand. “You’re a kind-hearted woman. You could never understand these things.”
He grasped his bowl and then scooted his chair, the legs loudly scraping the wood floor as he moved close to her. He leant towards her and kissed her cheek. “I shall have to become accustomed to being worried over. It is a woman’s way, eh?”
“It is a way of loving someone, yes,” she said, watching him eat. She breathed deeply, resisting the urge to sigh aloud. She had done what she could. Maybe the seed planted today would reap his healing.
Or maybe it wouldn’t.
A sick sensation wound through the pit of her stomach.
* * * *
Rebecca hesitated. Her heart’s pounding had increased with each step she’d taken down the cellar stairs. She felt a touch ill. She put her hand to her collarbone.
No, she mustn’t give way to fear. This cellar had once been a place of refuge for her. She recalled those safe, solitary moments and found a way to put one foot in front of the other and descend the stairs.
She’d been fourteen, the last time she’d hidden in the cellar. Father had found her here, his eyes wide with shock. He had berated her.
I had a headache, and you were not there to massage my temples.
Even now, guilt sliced her through. She had tried to be a good daughter. She had tried to anticipate his every need.
You’re mine, completely mine. I have claimed you just as you are.
Stephen’s words came back to her. What a relief it was to know that someone loved her who did not expect her to be perfection.
If she could conquer a fear borne of something so heinous as what Gerard and the Earl of Barnet had done to her, surely she could overcome her fear and hurt in regard to the man who sired her.
Yes, but that was a more tangled ball of yarn, wasn’t it?
She had never loved Gerard or the Earl of Barnet. Nor had they loved her. She knew Father did love her, in his self-focused way. Of course he did. She leant against the cool stone wall and sighed.
Easy answers did not always come, did they?
Perhaps she would never completely heal from that unique hurt, she would simply begin to move past it even whilst feeli
ng the gaping wound. Maybe that was the way most people lived?
But some were more wounded than others. Stephen carried a load of guilt—and something else, she couldn’t be certain what it might be—that was killing him, bit by bit.
She had to put her own difficulties aside and find a way to uncover his deeper, more serious wounds. To do so, she had to overcome her own fears, to face her own demons.
Stephen had helped her to be brave for herself.
Now she would be brave for him.
* * * *
Later that day, bundled against the chill, Rebecca walked the length of the shoreline with Stephen. Uncle Frederick had stressed the importance of Stephen’s getting sunlight and exercise. Unfortunately, heavy clouds blanketed the sky. But they certainly were getting some exercise.
Stephen held her hand, but he had been silent the whole way.
The salt-kissed sea wind had increased since they had started out and it blew her hair against her face. She stopped to pull it out of the way. He stopped as well, then he turned to her with a serious expression. He touched her face, studying her so intently that she felt flutters in her belly.
“What?” she said.
“Thank you for loving me.” He bent forward and kissed her, brief and hard. Then he studied her again.
She bit her lip, her heart bursting and yet her tongue failing her. Then she stood on tiptoes and placed a kiss on his lips. “How could I help but love you? You are good for me.”
They stood there, embracing and saying all the silly things that lovers say. His mood lightened by the moment, she felt the easing of his tension in her own muscles. Felt it in her very bones.
He lifted her off her feet and spun her about.
She gasped and giggled as though she were decades younger.
And he kept on swinging her, lifting her higher and higher and tipping her back.
She shrieked. “Don’t drop me, oh please be careful—Stephen!”
He had tipped her back further and he was laughing. Deep, rich, full-throated laughter. She had never heard him laugh like that, he sounded carefree and young. She looked up into his face and he stared down at her, his eyes as brilliant as sapphires.
She stopped in mid-shriek, catching her breath as his masculine beauty stunned her senseless.
He pulled her up and slung her over his shoulder. She couldn’t stop laughing as he walked a quick pace back to the cottage and she bounced along.
As soon as the door was shut, they began removing each other’s clothing. But then he stopped and was staring at her with such a grave and almost mournful expression, just as he had on the shoreline. A chill passed through her. Suddenly they had lost the teasing fun of the moment.
“What?” she asked, feeling stricken by the crash to earth.
“I fear I am a monster, Rebecca.”
His voice rang with such sorrow that she felt an answering pang in her heart. She took his hand. “Stephen?”
He collapsed into the nearby wingchair that stood before the fire, then held out his hands for her.
Rebecca sat in Stephen’s lap, wearing only her corset and an underskirt. Stephen was stripped down to his trousers and she touched his bare chest. He put his hand over hers.
“I fear that I am just like my uncle,” he said.
“No, never, you mustn’t think that way.”
“Look at all that I have done. Look at what I am capable of doing.”
“You said you feel no guilt, that you were justified.”
“I may have been justified, but there is some creature inside of me that allows me to do it. That part of me is like my uncle.”
“It is not the same, Stephen.”
“You don’t know how I really am. I have hidden it from you. I hide it from myself.”
“Tell me your secrets. Share yourself with me.”
He was quiet for a time.
“Tell me, you must tell me.” Yes, he must cast out all the poison that was killing his soul. She would help him to reframe his opinions of himself, his actions. But first he had to admit his feelings. To her yes, but most of all to himself.
But he seemed not to have heard her. She stroked his chest again.
He started and then began to speak, “When we started this time, that first night in the private chamber at the inn and in the carriage, I was acting in a manner that I knew would appeal to you. I wanted to seduce you, yes, very much. But I also wanted control over you. I wanted you to be obedient to me for the sake of keeping you safe.”
She didn’t know what to say. It was rather disconcerting to hear that he had been merely playing a role because he knew her carnal tastes.
“I had used methods of domination to seduce and enthral others before. I had done so and yet remained emotionally disconnected. It had been a duty, nothing more. A means to an end.”
She caught and held her breath, a dull pain spreading through her chest. Had he felt that way about her? She dropped her hands to her lap, feeling slightly sick.
“But you, I quickly found I enjoyed employing those methods. I enjoyed your every reaction and I enjoyed the sense of controlling you. It made me feel…I cannot put it into words. Omnipotent? God, I don’t know the right way to say it. But it was an elation like nothing I’d ever known.”
Relief burst within her and she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged the corners of her mouth upwards.
“By the sea today, when I was spinning you and you were scared I would drop you onto the shale, that excited me. Madly.”
She suppressed a small laugh. What would he say if he knew she had mostly let herself suspend disbelief and pretend to be frightened for the sheer pleasure of it? That they could do that for each other, he could provide situations for her to be afraid in and she could be afraid to her heart’s content whilst still trusting him completely. He could control her and allow her the freedom to be vulnerable.
She wasn’t sure he was ready to hear those things, so she held her tongue and let him speak.
“The night I first gave you some training, I did not take you afterwards.” He paused, as though having second thoughts about revealing himself. “I wanted to. Very much.”
“Then why didn’t you? You had earned my submission. I am yours to have as you please.”
“Your tears aroused me.”
He sounded as though he expected her to be shocked. Disgusted.
She touched his face. “Oh Stephen, you should not torture yourself over something like that. We cannot help our little caprices, it is just the way we are made.”
“It seems so monstrous to feel that way.”
“We don’t always like our own fancies. But we must accept them or we cannot accept all of ourselves. It only matters how we act on such things.”
“Sometimes I think I would like to do something to make you cry. Not in valid punishment or training, just for my own gratification. ” He went rigid. “I would never, ever harm you. It is such a disturbing juxtaposition.”
She realized that in just this moment, they had reached the reason for his internal conflicts that could be tearing him apart, keeping him ill. It was partly his denial of his guilt over being an assassin, his attempt to be something more or less than human in his view of his deeds. But now she could see that he was denying his true carnal self.
Excitement, desire and longing pressed on her. She couldn’t hold back any longer. “If you caned me, I would cry for you.”
“Rebecca…”
“I would.” She held her hand out, so she could pretend to study her nails.
“What pleasure would there be in that for you?” He slid his hand beneath hers.
“The pleasure of submission. The satisfaction of serving your needs.”
She watched their hands as he rubbed his palm against hers.
“I won’t harm—”
“You don’t have to.” She couldn’t help a small smile, remembering her own confusion, years ago. “You are taking your daydreams too seriously. Th
ose are always more extreme than one would really act them out.”
“I am afraid of myself. I have tortured people.”
“Did you gain pleasure from that?”
“No, it was a duty, a job. Inside I was colder than December.”
“But with your other lovers, you said you’d been trained to dominate those who desired to be dominated. Did you use a crop on them? Did you ever use a cane?”
“Yes, I am quite skilled at that sort of thing. But it was a duty. Having carnal relations with those people, how can I explain? Well, if a man can attain an erection and enough stimulation is applied, he will spill his seed. But the sensations were nothing like I experience with you. It simply a release of manufactured tension.”
She wrinkled her forehead in sympathy. “Oh Stephen, how dreadful for you.”
He shook his head. “I am not deserving of sympathy for manufacturing sex for people I wished to become closer to in order to spy upon them.”
“But you had no true carnal life.”
“I sometimes visited harlots. And those encounters were more natural, more pleasurable. But they were also quite basic.”
“You needn’t fear yourself. You may play with me but you won’t lose control and torture me.”
“You sound certain.”
“I am. I trust you.”
He laced his fingers with hers. His hands were so much larger and longer than hers. “Explain to me what you would expect from me,” he said.
Heat flooded her face. “Stephen.”
Goodness. It wasn’t easy to speak of specifics. Especially when she was offering something she was a little afraid of even if she wanted it.
“Whisper it in my ear,” he said.
She took a deep breath then leant close to him and in halting, breathy words, told him. He listened and did not interrupt her or become impatient. By the time she had finished, she could feel the heat of his arousal against her buttocks and she was getting wet, so wet. She had forgotten how thrillingly vulnerable it felt to reveal herself wholly with a lover. To tell him her deepest fancies and trust that he would know how to use such knowledge to increase her pleasure and not to take advantage or to press her too far.
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