Trimmed in Blue

by Sandra Sookoo

  “Louisa.” As the waltz ended, Cecil drew them to a halt on the crowded floor. “Look at me.” When she tilted her chin, he held her gaze with his. Amusement mixed with affection in his stormy eyes. “One is not tied to another. Each of us has many aspects that make up our whole, and what I see in you, what I’ve learned of you makes me wish to continue to dig deep and explore. I won’t stop until I know everything about you, both of a personal nature and in a mentorship role.”

  “Oh, that is a relief. I was afraid that after... things you would lose interest.” Couples drifted past them as they exited the floor.

  His laughter was unexpected, and the rich sound wrapped around her like a cocoon. “Sweeting, that is the last thing I want.” He took her gloved hands in his and brought them to his lips. “Let me ply you with champagne. Then I’ll pay you compliments until you start believing them as truth.”

  She was at sixes and sevens from his use of the endearment, but the knots of worry intruded on what had been the most magical night she’d passed in some time. “I’ve lived in a different world all too long; I’m afraid I have a difficult time believing anything is truthful.”

  “We are changing that, remember.” Cecil drew her hand through his crooked arm and led her away from the dance floor. “You decide your future.”

  Her heartbeat kicked into a faster rhythm. “Where did this new optimism come from? I can scarcely grasp the difference in you.” Too bad this night couldn’t last forever.

  “Perhaps I’ve seen a glimpse of a new dream,” When he glanced at her, an invitation glimmered in his eyes. But for what? “One that I’m anxious to pursue.”

  “Oh!” Louisa’s mind spun with sudden and new possibilities, but the castles she’d barely begun to build in the clouds of her imagination crumbled when her gaze randomly fell on a couple at the far side of the ballroom. Every muscle in her body stiffened and her steps faltered.

  “What is it?” Concern wove through Cecil’s voice. Immediately, he was on alert, ready to defend, a boxer waiting with the exception of raised fists.

  “Look, over there.” She could hardly force the words out from a tight throat, for the baron stared at her with his unblinking gaze. “My stepfather and mother. I knew they’d been invited but didn’t truly expect to see him here, for such a happy occasion.” Her stomach plummeted and a wave of nausea hit. “That means Wrycroft is lurking too, and Mother seems quite fatigued.” Indeed, her mother leaned heavily on the baron’s arm.

  Realty insisted on intruding, destroying everything else.

  “That’s the trouble with ton events. You’re sure to see someone foul.” Cecil continued to propel her toward the refreshment table, where other couples congregated.

  “I should go.” Every step she took meant she was farther from the door and escape, but with Cecil there was safety. Her mind and body were completely at odds. “I don’t trust him by half. He means me harm tonight; I can feel it.”

  “He wouldn’t dare try something here.” Cecil shoved a flute of champagne into her hand. “Drink. It will steady your nerves.” When he lifted his own glass to his lips and took a sip, she obliged, but seeing the baron had put a damper on her enthusiasm.

  “Will I never be free of him?” Louisa whispered as she risked a glance at where he stood, but the baron was no longer there. Fear twisted its knife into her side. Where had he gone?

  Beside her, Cecil cursed. He downed the remainder of his drink, took her glass, and set them both on a passing footman’s tray. “You have as much right to exist in this world as he does.” As he pulled her a little away from the crowded table, he put his lips to her ear. Anxiety wouldn’t let her enjoy that closeness. “You don’t have to accept what he’s decreed as law, Louisa. He is merely a bully, and men like that continue to be such if no one stands up to them.”

  “In my head, I know this.” But my heart is deathly afraid he’ll ruin everything. She focused on Cecil, found his gaze, and held it. “I cannot fully change my situation without removing myself from beneath his roof. My father left no fortune when he died, so without a vocation or being independently wealthy, I’m trapped.”

  Never had the magnitude of her straits been driven home quite so hard.

  “No, you’re on the verge of a transformation.” The delicate skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  “Thank you.”

  “In fact, I want to ask—”

  “No.” Though her heart leaped at what he might say, Louisa shook her head. She refused to have him sacrifice himself merely to remove her from something unpleasant. “I don’t need to be rescued and sacrificed on the altar of your freedom.” If he wished to ask for her hand, she wanted that motivation to be spurred from love, not from charity.

  It broke her heart to know he’d asked out of compassion or a sense of honor.

  “Louisa, please.” Genuine pain reflected in his eyes. “Let me do this for you.”

  “Oh, Cecil, I’m not a cause or an obligation you’ll grow to resent later. I fight my own battles. If I’m not strong enough to win, then I don’t deserve you.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t let fear always be a specter haunting the happiness I might find in the future. Do you understand?”

  “I believe I do, but damn, I don’t like it.” Annoyance hung on the words. Anger flashed in his blue-gray eyes, much like the rainstorm that raged outside.

  “Neither do I, which is why it’s part of growth.” Her chin wobbled as she gave him a sad smile. “Will you escort me home? The joy from this evening has fizzled.”

  “Of course.” Shock reflected in his face. He moved like a man who’d been given a mortal blow but didn’t realize he’s supposed to fall, and she hated herself for doing that to him. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  The two-block ride in the carriage was accomplished in silence. Louisa didn’t feel like talking. Apparently, neither did he. At no time did he attempt to touch her or hold her hand. That was telling enough, and it brought tears crowding into her throat.

  When the vehicle lurched to a stop in front of her house, she turned to him. “Thank—”

  Cecil held her face between his palms and kissed her soundly, cutting off her words. “You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” He brushed his lips over hers and then pulled back. “Remember being strong doesn’t mean being alone. I’m here in whatever capacity you want, and I will never abandon you.”

  That tender concern broke through her stubbornness. Louisa threw herself into his arms. Oh, how she wished to let him protect her, tell her everything would come out right in the end. “I appreciate that, but I must do this for me. For a possible future between us, I need to fight my own demons,” she said into his cravat, the fabric muffling the words.

  “Louisa...”

  She raised her head. “Hmm?”

  His eyes lit briefly. “You said ‘a possible future,’ which means you’re thinking about it?”

  “If I were free of my tormentor, perhaps.” Nothing could be decided until she’d conquered that for her own self-worth, but he was so incredibly dear.

  “I’m not giving up.” Yet there was desolation in his eyes.

  “I know.” She looked past his shoulder and out the window. “The house is dark. They probably won’t come home until much later.”

  “Be safe.” Cecil pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.”

  At least there was the promise of that. She nodded as she let herself out of the carriage. “Please give your mother my regrets for leaving early.”

  “I will.” It cost her everything to walk away from him, for there was every possibility they would never return to those glorious moments they’d shared at the ball when life had been... perfect.

  An hour later, after a good cry, Louisa dressed for bed in her usual plain ivory lawn nightgown and matching robe. The house was eerily quiet except for the driving rain.
Perhaps the servants had retired thinking the baron and her mother would be out late. Even her brother slept, for she’d checked on him before retiring. No matter. She took her usual precautions of locking the door, and this time she wedged a pretty, delicate chair from her secretary beneath the knob as added protection.

  The sonorous chiming for the longcase clock in the parlor down the hall proclaimed it three in the morning, but something else had woken Louisa from her fitful doze. She stilled, listening, for the misplaced sound. Yes, there it was, the inevitable scratch and scape of an object being pushed across the hardwood floor.

  As her eyes adjusted to the gloom and shadows, she darted a glance to her bedroom door, that now gaped open, the chair pushed aside as if it had belonged in a doll’s house. Fear streaked down her spine, and for a moment she couldn’t discern anyone else in the room, but that door hadn’t opened itself. Then she saw him, like a ghost in the night, his white evening shirt a stark contrast to the murky darkness. The baron stood there sans evening jacket and waistcoat, his shirttails untucked, with the odor of brandy heavy on the air.

  Never had Louisa moved so fast. Terror propelled her from the bed. She took up her sketch pad that rested on the bedside table and hurled it at him. “Get out. I have warned you for the last time.”

  The book fell harmlessly to the floor, missing him by a foot.

  “This is my house. I’ll do what I please.” The baron came closer, the leer on his face even more ghastly in the dim light. “I believe I’ve told you that before.”

  Her muscles tensed. Everything in her body screamed to run, to get away. She darted across the room, took up the water pitcher from the basin and then hurled it at him. “Mother! Jonas!” Porcelain smashed against the wall when he dodged the latest missile.

  “Don’t bother screaming.” His triumphant laugh grated against her nerves, and he advanced another step. “They, as well as the servants, were given doses of laudanum in their water and wine this evening. The whole lot of them will sleep soundly until well after dawn.” He licked his thin lips. “There is no one to help you.”

  The man was insane to do this with such cold calculation. “Then I’ll help myself.” She looked between the wall, the bed, the door. There was nowhere to run, for the baron stood in the exact center of the triangle of escape.

  “Wrycroft will arrive shortly. He was delayed in coming to the event earlier, but this works out well.” His dark gaze swept over her person. He groaned and touched a hand to the front of his trousers. “We have nothing but time, and now that I’ve seen the real you, what I’ve planned for tonight will be even more entertaining.”

  Though she gagged at the picture he presented, his words gave her pause. “What the devil does that mean?”

  The baron took another step toward her. She retreated and silently cursed when her back hit the wall, preventing further flight. “I witnessed what you let that low-class boxer do to you tonight.”

  “What?” Surely, she’d heard him wrong.

  “Oh yes,” He nodded, his eyes glittering like a reptile. “You should give me the same rights.”

  Dear God. Sour bile crept up the back of her throat as she watched him. Fear kept her feet rooted to the floor. He’d somehow managed to follow her and Cecil to that private parlor, had watched with in that intimate moment when they were alone. Revulsion crawled over her skin. “You bastard.”

  “I’ve never denied being that.” Again, he rubbed a hand along the front of his trousers were a growing bulge rested. “I got off handily afterward while picturing you naked in my bed, and now I want my turn.”

  Before she could prevent it, Louisa retched, casting up the little contents of her stomach. Thank goodness she hadn’t eaten dinner last night. “You’re insane if you think I’d ever willingly lie with you.” She slid along the wall, waiting for an opportunity to escape.

  He shrugged. “Willing or unwilling matters not to me, but have you I will before you marry Wrycroft. I want to sample the goods before he gets at you. Rumor has it he’s a particularly violent lover.”

  “This is complete madness.” She dry-heaved then wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. Terror throbbed through her veins with every heartbeat. I must get away from this mad man.

  “You’ve hidden your secret well, Louisa.” The sound of her name on his lips turned her stomach. “After everything, you’re nothing but a whore.” His chuckle took on an evil edge, and he advanced another step. “I’ll be certain to treat you as such.” Before she could run, the baron lunged. He latched onto her wrist, his hated fingers closing around it like a manacle, and he wrenched her toward him.

  “No!” She twisted away, but he was quick for all the drink he’d undoubtedly had, and he pounced again, this time catching her about the waist and dragging her toward the bed. “Leave me alone.” Clawing at his arm did nothing except make him more incensed, so she took hold of that arm and sank her teeth into his sleeve—hard—and so deep she bit into his flesh.

  The baron roared in outrage. He reared back and slapped her across the face. “Enough.”

  Temporarily stunned, Louisa relaxed her grip on his arm. “I won’t allow you to continue.” Her cheek stung with heat. Once more she eyed the distance between him and the door. I have to try.

  “Everything will be finished tonight, or so help me, I will make certain no man touches you again.” The baron threw his full weight against her. She stumbled backward and fell onto the bed. He came with her, his leer in place.

  Louisa screamed. She scrambled away, but he knotted a hand in the skirting of her nightdress and tugged. The sound of fabric tearing was overly loud in her ears. With a mighty shove, she pushed him off her enough that she slithered away. “I said no!” As her pulse pounded through her veins and fear froze her spine, she sprang from the bed and sprinted over the cold hardwood floor.

  The damned man was too fast. He caught her braid, yanking her toward him. “I’ve grown tired of your protests.”

  Pain prickled along her scalp. She turned about as she’d seen Cecil do during his last match, and she brought up her right fist in a powerful uppercut that connected with the baron’s jaw. The pain in her hand was welcome, for it meant her punch had gone true.

  While he staggered back, she ran out the door. The sound of her footsteps marked her passage down the corridor. A mighty swear told her the baron followed.

  Fear kept her company as she continued her flight through the darkened house. Her first instinct was to go directly to the kitchen and find some place to hide. She shook her head. “This can’t be allowed to happen,” she whispered as she took the stairs more quickly than caution demanded.

  You’re the strongest woman I know.

  Cecil’s last words to her rang loud in her brain.

  Take back your power.

  Just as he had throughout their friendship, he encouraged her every step of the way. He was the voice in her head, telling her not to give up when it really mattered.

  Louisa pelted into the drawing room. A flash of lightning accompanied her arrival, and she snorted at the Gothic irony. She paused near a grouping of furniture, unsure. What now? That proved to be a mistake, for the baron roared into the room behind her.

  “You won’t get away from me again.” He shoved her hard enough that she tripped over her hem and crashed into the back of a low sofa. The wooden frame jammed into her hip. Tears sprang to her eyes from the discomfort.

  But she kept her footing and assumed a boxer’s stance like she’d been taught. “Funny how you think you’ve been wronged. That’s what men like you do, intimidate by fear. Any man who lays a hand on me without my permission will find himself beaten and bloody.” She glared at her attacker. “That’s a promise.” A shiver moved down her spine. This was what she’d trained for the last few weeks. If she could find an opening and manage to get behind him, she’d try the chokehold maneuver.

  Never again will I let you bully me.

  “I should have ended your association
with that boxer days ago, but I couldn’t be sure why you were seeing him.” He snarled, baring his teeth as if he were an animal, and then he came at her.

  Though she’d braced herself, he had more weight on his side, but she threw a punch that landed in his midsection. The baron grunted, his face a twisted mask of hate. He took hold of her clothing. Louisa wrenched away and left her robe hanging in his fingers. Then she swung her fist again and did what she’d always dreamed of doing. She punched him squarely in the nose. The sickening crunch of cartilage filled her ears. Blood gushed from the broken appendage.

  Victory was short lived. The baron threw down her robe. His glare of outrage was made more grotesque by the blood, and he flew at her, slammed a shoulder into her chest and propelled her over the floor. They crashed into the French-paneled terrace doors. Glass shattered, wood splintered and they both erupted outside into the rain.

  Pain shot through Louisa’s body as she fell to the flagstones. Her elbows smarted. The back of her head ached, and her braid unraveled, but she wasn’t safe, and this fight wasn’t ended. If she wanted her freedom, she had to stare into her fear and fight anyway. Just as Cecil had advised. The unrelenting rain quickly soaked her thin nightclothes as she pushed to her feet.

  The baron struggled into a standing position, anger fairly radiating off him. He wiped at the copious amounts of blood, succeeding in making more of a mess on his face and shirt. “Sooner or later I’ll have what I want.” He had the advantage in that he wore boots while she navigated the terrace in bare feet. “Give up now and it’ll go easier for you.”

  Louisa spat at him. “I rather think I’ll pass.” She retreated a step and then another one while her mind reeled in the attempt to find the answer to her predicament.

  “You might enjoy my style.” His leer was even more macabre in the occasional flashes of lightning. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “I’ll initiate you in the glories of pain and pleasure, so you’ll be more ready to receive Viscount Wrycroft.”