“I didn’t know what a sheik or a harem was. I told Harcrumb I was leaving. That’s when he had me locked up.”
Edward clenched his jaw, trying to remain calm. Like a smoldering fire, anger threatened to burst into flame within him, and if Harcrumb had been within reach, he’d have pounded the man without mercy.
Her voice dropped an octave. “After I’d been imprisoned for a week or ten days, I lost count of time, I was taken to Harcrumb. He said he’d show me what was expected of me when I was delivered to the sheik. He took me to the balcony of a theatre. The stage was below us, but empty. No one else was around.
“He told me a new wench would be brought onto the stage to be broken in. That’s how he put it—broken in—as a horse is broken in, and it was an apt description. He said I must keep my eyes on the stage.”
Her eyes darkened to the hue of a stormy sea.
Silence fell and he feared she wouldn’t go any further, but within a couple of minutes she continued. “A man entered the stage, dragging a woman. I felt her fear. The man carried a whip, though he didn’t strike her. He cracked it, and I jumped with each sound. I couldn’t look, but Harcrumb grabbed me by the hair and forced my head toward the stage. He held a knife to my throat and said I must keep my eyes open.
“I understood then he got some perverted pleasure out of watching me, enjoying the disgust I witnessed.”
Her eyes glazed, and Edward knew she was reliving the horror of the scene she described. Her body trembled as her breath came in gulps. “Then…then…the woman was…tormented. She screamed and…I—”
“Stop, don’t go any further. Look at me, Cassandra.” Now Edward understood. Harcrumb had not ravished her body as he feared but, instead, had ravaged her mind. Edward had to pull her back from that tortured image. “When did Lord Wayte come?”
She blinked a couple of times, as if seeing him for the first time. “It was an accident I was taken to Lord Wayte. I didn’t know it at the time, but he’d come to expose Harcrumb. To find a woman who’d confirm what he suspected.”
Her voice softened. “Lord Wayte reached some agreement with my grandfather and adopted me as his ward. He found Gama to chaperone me, sent me to school, and when I came of age, looked for a suitable match. But none could be found because of where I’d been. That’s why Lord Wayte said we should be married, and though he was an old man—” Tears again filmed her eyes. “—I would want for nothing.”
Edward tried to cobble some words of comfort as she rubbed her forehead and added, “He died because he helped me.”
He gently took the hand that worried her brow and pressed it into both his. “When will you marry me?”
She looked at him aghast. “Edward, have you not heard what I said? Don’t you understand?”
“I understand that I love you—nothing else matters.”
She shuddered and looked away. He felt the tug of her hand but refused to release it. “There’s something more important here, Cassandra. You think God allowed you to be tarnished beyond repair, but it was no accident you were taken to Lord Wayte…nor that you were allowed to see what you did.”
An incredulous look crossed her face. “It’s true, Cassandra. Because you saw what went on within the walls of Harcrumb’s brothel, you know the truth, and you have pity for those women who…enough pity that you’re determined to do something about it.”
A sharp, derisive laugh escaped her lips, the sound out of place, jarring the silence. “Nothing good has come of it, if that’s what you suggest.”
“Something good did come of it. Think of all the titled within the Ton. What are they concerned with? Parties, gossip, impressing this one or that one. They have no thought of what goes on in those buildings they pass on their way to Rotten Row or the fancy shops. They are like the Pharisees who go to the other side to avoid the man taken by robbers.
“But you know, and you’ve helped many escape.”
“And many more have been taken back because I was duped by Jane Vernon.”
“Not all, and so many more will escape because you now know the truth. Besides, Charles Galloway is at this minute meeting with the magistrate regarding Sir Harcrumb’s dealings.”
Astonishment crossed her features as if she’d just considered that possibility. Then her shoulders slumped. “But Edward, even if Harcrumb is arrested…even if he’s hanged, I’ll never be free of those images. I used to think I would be, but I know I won’t.”
He touched her cheek to brush away a tear. “I’m sorry I made you relive that.”
She seemed not to have heard him. “I’ve tried so hard to dim those scenes. In my art, I try to bring out the purest, most beautiful elements in my painting. And it helps for awhile, but then when I least expect it, it all comes back.” Fresh tears fell as she bit her lip. “I know you can’t understand that.”
He did understand. He carried his own tortured images. After the smoke had cleared on the fiercest battle of the war, he’d looked out on a battlefield of blood and mangled bodies. He remembered stumbling through the muck to find survivors. The stench, the screams. All he’d seen was blood. Covering the men. Covering the ground. Covering him.
That scene had lived with him—a reoccurring nightmare. Until he’d read a simple passage.
He cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Cassandra, do you believe the blood of Christ covers all sin, all evil?”
A breathless moment passed as she stared into his eyes. “I do.”
“When I recalled the scenes of war, all I could see was blood, but then I imagined Christ’s blood spilling out over all the battlefield. Somehow that thought removed the horror.”
He pulled her into his arms and turned her so her back lay against his chest. Laying a hand on either side of her head, he spoke into her ear. “Let it come back, one final time. Close your eyes and visualize.”
She tried to shake her head, but he held firm. “Harcrumb is sitting beside you, forcing you to look. A young woman is brought onto the stage, remember what happens.”
“Please Edward.” He felt her tremble.
“There’s a curtain overhead, only it isn’t a curtain but the blood of Jesus. It’s flowing down over the stage, blotting out the woman and the man who tortures her. It covers everything you see. If the blood of Christ can cover our sins, can it not cover the image that torments you?”
The room pulsed with a malevolent force. “Visualize it one last time, Cassandra. Nothing remains except red.” Her trembling ceased, and he waited several seconds. “What do you see, Cassandra?”
“I see…red.” She turned to face him, a new light in her eyes. Her lips quivered. “As it happens, that’s my favorite color.” She smiled. “Thank you, Edward. I understand what you mean, really I do. If the blood of Christ is powerful enough to cover my sins, it can cover anything.”
He brushed the golden tendrils from her face and kissed her forehead. “The images may come back, but they’ll be covered if you remember the blood of Christ.” Grazing her cheek with his mouth, he tasted the salt of her tears.
The moment was too fragile to dare touch her lips. “My heart, my mind, is filled with love for you, Cassandra, and I believe you’re the woman God would have me marry.” He cleared his throat. “I shan’t demand an answer now, but tomorrow at this same time, I shall ask again. Until then, you’ll pray?”
“I shall, Edward.” She opened his hand and pressed her lips to his palm.
He had to leave her. Control grew harder by the moment, and Charles would have returned by now. They had to discuss strategy. But he believed he’d read her answer in her eyes.
Chapter 25
Never had the sun appeared so brilliant or the sky so blue. Cassandra hugged her arms to her middle and drank in the clean, brisk air. The garden teemed with life she’d never noticed before.
A chipmunk standing on its hind legs by the hedge, held an acorn and squabbled at her. Sparrows tweeting in the tall elm burst into flight as she walked along the garde
n path. She came to a halt, delighted with the creation in a new way.
She was in love.
Without aim, she strolled across the garden, glancing over the high hedges to the countryside beyond. Duty waited inside the house. She should be helping Gama pack. Instruct the maids on the day’s activities. Long neglected correspondence demanded attention, but love snipped away every excuse. All she wanted to do was find Edward, look into his eyes, feel his touch.
She found Sarah instead, struggling to hold a large, white rabbit. “What have you there?”
Down on her knees, Sarah lifted the squirming animal. “This is Jack. I’d despaired of ever finding him and was sure Cook had put him in the stewpot.”
Cassandra chuckled and kneeled beside her. She stroked the rabbit’s soft fur. “I’m glad to find you so cheery this morning. I feared you might still be desolate since I shocked you with the painting last evening.”
Sarah released the rabbit, and both she and Cassandra rose together. “Oh, but I loved the portrait, Lady Wayte. I cried only because it was so beautiful. I want it hung in my bedroom, but Aunt Chloe said I must ask Edward, as he might wish it to be hung in the gallery.”
“The portrait is yours, Sarah. I’m certain Edward would have no objection.”
“I tried to ask him earlier, but he was in a great hurry. He came downstairs with his hair still wet from his bath, and Aunt Chloe huffing after him, scolding that he’d catch his death if he went out with a wet head.” Sarah grinned and added in a mischievous tone, “Sometimes, I think Aunt Chloe forgets Edward has grown up.”
Cassandra laughed. How she loved this family—even bossy Aunt Chloe. Joy bubbled over and she embraced Sarah in a tight hug.
“Are you feeling all right, Lady Wayte?”
“I’m feeling wonderful, but would you do me the honor of calling me Cassandra? I consider you my little sister, you must know.”
Sarah smiled. “I should like that. I already think of you as Cassandra in my mind.” The girl gave her a searching glance. “But you are behaving rather silly this morning…like Edward.”
Cassandra lifted her brows. “Oh, how was Edward behaving?”
“He hugged me too—for no reason and rushed off before I could say a word.”
Confirmation that love had Edward behaving silly sent warmth flushing Cassandra’s cheeks. “I think we’re just both very…happy.”
“I am too. Lady Ashford has returned to London. Everyone is leaving, it would seem. Aunt Chloe and Lady Hayes will take their leave tomorrow, I think. But I hope you’re not leaving. Are you?”
Would she? She’d not given a thought beyond today when she’d meet with Edward. “I don’t know yet. It will depend on Edward.”
Sarah grinned. “He won’t want you to leave.” When she looked past Cassandra a little scowl touched her face.
Cassandra turned to find a boy tearing across the yard toward them. He wore the garb of a tenant’s child with one hand holding his wide brimmed straw hat in place.
He skidded to a stop, removed his hat, and bowed. “I have a message for Lady Wayte.”
“I’m Lady Wayte.” Worried thoughts already crowded in. The residents of Langsdale would have sent a livered servant, not this boy.
“Mrs. Larkins sent me to tell yer ladyship they’s an actress come all the way from London to see you. She’s at the theatre and waiting.”
“Would you know this actress’s name?”
The boy grinned broadly, showing two large, rather bucked, teeth. “I do. She appears at the Coventry, so they say. Jane Vernon.”
Only through the grace of God could Cassandra retain her composure, but she managed and smiled to the boy as she opened the tiny pouch tied to her wrist. She kept it with her at all times to keep coins for tipping the servants. “Tell Jane Vernon I’ll come immediately. Stop by our stables and tell them to saddle Snowfire for me.” With a practiced flick, she tossed a coin to the boy.
He caught the coin and bowed deeply. When he’d scampered away, Sarah grabbed Cassandra’s arm. “May I go with you?”
No. Words might be said not fit for Sarah’s ears. “I think not this time, but I promise you shall help me with a new play for Christmas.” Cassandra bit her bottom lip. Would she be here at Christmas?
How presumptuous of her. She’s was already behaving like the duchess, making plans for the estate. To her surprise, Sarah offered no argument, so Cassandra patted her on the shoulder. “If you see Edward, tell him where I’ve gone.”
Tension rose as she waited for Snowfire to be brought out. So Jane wished to see her. Doubtless, she wanted more money for pretending to rescue another poor wench she’d located.
Finding wenches was no great feat. They abounded, and none needed to be persuaded to leave. But Jane had orchestrated this little play for Cassandra to perform.
All the while, Jane was the puppeteer, pulling the strings of both the villains and the victims, with Cassandra as the foil. How would she react when Cassandra snatched those strings from her? When the curtains fell?
She didn’t remember climbing into Snowfire’s saddle and hardly noticed the countryside flying past as the horse ate up the ground to Langsdale’s little theatre.
Trepidation pinned her to the saddle for several minutes after she reined in the mare at the quaint, white-washed building. It was this very place Jane had enticed Hilda Garth to leave and had entrapped her in— No, Cassandra couldn’t think of the horrors she and Hilda shared. That was over, thank God.
Had Jane come to find new girls, some fresh-scrubbed farmers’ daughters to lure into her trap? Harcrumb was at Waytefield. Had she come to get money from him? They had to be working together.
Silence met her as she entered the auditorium—as if the building itself waited for her, holding its breath. She ambled along the aisle, darting a glance to every corner.
“Jane.” The word echoed around the room.
She climbed the steps to the stage. Maybe Jane waited behind the curtains.
As she approached the center, a hand jutted out from where the curtains parted and clamped her arm.
She gasped as Sir Harcrumb came into view. “Jane isn’t here, Cassandra.”
Her heart hammered, and she grappled for calm. He couldn’t get away with harming her here on the duke’s estate. Surely he must know that. He was only trying to frighten her. “Unhand me. The duke will be here any moment.” She struggled to put distance between them, even as he pulled her nearer.
“I’m not afraid of the duke. I’m prepared for him.” His foul breath blew into her ear. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you Cassandra. You belong to me.”
He dragged her to the center of the stage. With all her might she punched with her fingers in an attempt to stab him in the eyes, but he was too quick, catching her other arm and twisting it around her back until she screamed.
“Scream all you like, Cassandra. You know what is coming. What you must do. The more screams, the better. You remember what happens on the stage. This is our stage. And the play begins.”
***
After his obligatory inspection of a new cistern, Edward rode to the manor with new purpose. His mind fixed on finding Cassandra and discussing new plans with her.
As he passed the courtyard, he spied Sarah trying to roll a barrel hoop. She might be twelve now, but there was still plenty of child left in her.
He brought Hercules to a halt in front of her and slid out of the saddle. “Here, let me show you how it’s done.”
But Sarah held the hoop back. “No, you must go after Cassandra.”
Fear shot through him. “Where is Cassandra?”
“She’s at the theatre. An actress came from London and wanted to see her.”
“Was that actress Jane Vernon?”
“Yes, I think so, Jane something.”
Warning signals flashed through his mind. “When did Cassandra go?”
Sarah scrunched her brows. She’d never been good with time. “Not above a quart
er of an hour, I should think.”
Could have been any time between five minutes to an hour. He took her by the shoulders. “Sarah, this is important. I want you to find Charles Galloway. He should be in my study, but find him in any event, and tell him to come to the theatre post haste.”
Sarah’s eyes grew large. “Is Cassandra in danger?”
He didn’t want to frighten Sarah, but she must understand the seriousness. “She may be. Tell Charles to bring a couple of men with him.” He might be overreacting but better not take a chance. Harcrumb was in the area.
Like a coiled spring, Sarah shot across the courtyard.
Edward swung into the saddle, hunkered down, and squeezed Hercules’s flanks with enough force to make the stallion rear and lunge forward.
The rushing air cooled Edward’s face, but anger boiled within him.
***
Harcrumb allowed her to fall to the floor, and Cassandra whimpered. This is how he wanted her, on the floor. Crawling. Begging. She glanced up at his satisfied, smirking face. “The duke will be here any minute. You’ll never get away with—”
His boot caught her in the chest, knocking her flat on her back. “My quivive will take care of the duke…or anyone else. No one’s coming to rescue you, Cassandra. As I’ve said before, you belong to me, and I’ll do with you as I please. Just hope your precious duke doesn’t come. My quivive is armed. In fact, she has the duke’s own dueling pistols. That’s a nice touch, don’t you think. Rest assured, she knows how to use them.”
His quivive? His lookout. Jane? “She?”
“That’s right. She’s already killed once.”
“Lord Wayte? You paid her to kill Lord Wayte.”
“We don’t have much time to quibble over the past.” He hunched over her and pulled her into a kneeling position. “Not another word from you. I want you subdued. You can start by licking my boots.” He grasped her head, pulling her by the hair, and shoving her face into his boot.
But Cassandra was ready to die. She would not be subdued.
Even as Harcrumb tightened his grip on her hair, the front door slammed open, and Edward burst through. He ran toward them so fast she had no time to react.
The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2) Page 25
