by Jen YatesNZ
‘At a guess I’d say she doped my ale at dinner then she slipped me a note to say she’d visit my room as soon as her husband left the house. The last thing I remember before waking up gagged and with my wrists bound and secured to the head board, was that I was unconscionably tired. I was already well aroused when I came to but I’m reasonably certain it was pain that woke me. I think she bit my balls. They felt bruised and tender for days after—though that could have been because of what followed.’
‘Hell!’ Bart muttered involuntarily and Rogan smiled grimly into the dark. That kind of pain had that kind of effect on any man.
The horses had long since slowed to a walk and neither of them thought to change the pace. There was no panic to be back in London after all. Neither Lord Hadleigh nor his cousin, Knightsborough who was his immediate superior at the Ministry, was expecting him back in the capital until the end of the week. Both knew he was being married today. He wasn’t the only experienced courier they had to call on.
‘Windermere?’
Bart’s voice had softened, even gone a little wary.
‘Yeah?’
‘You don’t have to tell me any more—if you’d rather not.’
Rogan rode for a time in silence, eyes raised to the star-bright heavens. There was a soft illumination in the east. The moon was about to crest the horizon. That would make travelling easier. He looked back at Bart.
‘Thanks.—But—you know—I think, I do need to tell you a little of it, just so you understand. Maybe it’s just time I told someone instead of trying to hold it all in, hold myself together. I don’t think that’s working anymore.’
‘You’re probably right. Go on then,’ Bart said.
‘She used a small deadly dagger to get me where she wanted me, threatened to castrate me. She used stuff on me which at that point I had no experience of. A cock ring, nipple clamps, a butt plug and a flogger.’
Bart’s face had taken on a strange green tinge in the moonlight.
‘It’s a wonder I didn’t tear the headboard from the bed. But the beds in all our rooms were very sturdy and I guess that was the reason why. In my still fuzzy opium-induced state, I reasoned that maybe if I just let her have her way she’d set me free—and then I’d make her sorry she’d messed with me.—You ever used a cock ring?’
‘Couple of times,’ Bart admitted with an embarrassed grin.
Rogan found he couldn’t respond in kind. There was nothing remotely funny about what that bitch had put him through.
‘She then set about arousing me in every deviant way known to woman! It could have been torturing. Bloody bitch! She knew that there is something—addictive—about that kind of sexual animalism; she showed me the guilty pleasure of extreme pain; she showed me that no matter how such acts disgust a man he has to admit in his deepest secret mind that he enjoys them on some level; and she showed me a side of myself I’ve never been able to reconcile with.
‘Eventually I was able to turn the tables on her. Treated her in every foul way I could imagine. I actually thought I’d succeeded in humiliating her at least as much as she’d humiliated me. She’d finally slumped, silent and inert so I removed the gag. The first words out of her mouth were, ‘God, Wyldefell, you were magnificent!’ Before I could digest the fact she’d loved every damned minute of it, had in fact got everything from me she’d originally wanted, she offered to bring Carlisle in to fuck my arse while it was so stretched and sensitive. Said I’d love that too. I—’
His whole body shuddered and his head dropped to his chest, lost in the horror of that moment.
‘She’d corrupted Carlisle too?’
‘So it would seem. The ugly truth of that was that I was consumed with a terrifying mixture of excitement and revulsion at the thought of what she’d suggested. I learned to hate myself that day.—So I gagged her again and flogged her until there were welts on her arse and then—aahh, never mind.—Finally I shoved her out of my room, and threatened her with death if she came anywhere near me again.’
When he drifted off into a silent pensiveness, Bart asked, ‘Did you ever talk to Carlisle about it?’
Rogan shook his head.
‘God no! I was too bloody ashamed. And if she’d put him through anything like what she put me through he likely didn’t want to talk about it either. But I left that house as soon as I was able to make other arrangements and Philip readily agreed to come with me. Guess that said enough.’
‘I have a little understanding of what you mean by feeling ashamed. I’ve been bloody uncomfortable in my breeches the whole time you’ve been talking. Makes me as sick as you think you are.—I can see why that all might have given you a taste for bondage and punishment.’
‘I don’t have a taste for it,’ Rogan snarled. ‘Whatever it was she unleashed in me that night takes over. It’s like some other bastard moves into my skin and I’m compelled to—somehow—succeed in punishing the bitch. She forever ruined me for the beautiful lady-like loving Jassie should’ve been able to look forward to. Bondage and punishment have become my modus operandi. My satisfaction now must be taken within brothels or under the secrecy of certain fringe groups of society.’
Like the Matrix Club, but he didn’t mention that. It was the kind of place a man found on his own if he had the need. And he was pretty certain Bart was as straight in that way as he was in every other.
Bart waited for several moments in silence, allowing Rogan time to find some inner peace before asking, ‘What will you do now? Might I suggest you ride back to the Abbey and tell Jassie what you’ve just told me? If there is anyone who can help you in this mess, I’d say Jassie Carlisle—Lady Windermere—is it.’
Rogan slowly turned his head and stared at Bart.
‘Have you lost your fucking mind?’ he whispered at last. ‘I-will-never-return-to-Windermere. Jassie now has the protection of my name—whether she carries my child or not. And I will ride to London, take the most hazardous assignment Hadleigh can offer me and hope I do the honorable thing and get myself killed in the line of duty. That way Jassie will be safe from me. Because now that I’ve finally had the love that is Jassie, regardless that I’ve defiled it beyond redemption, I-want-it-again. If I’m anywhere in her vicinity she won’t be safe from me.’
‘Have you asked her whether she wants to be safe from you? Have you told her any of what you’ve just told me? Or have you made an arbitrary decision about how your two lives are to be played out regardless of what she might wish? At least return and talk to her—’
‘Have you heard anything I just said?’ Rogan yelled, finally once again as deeply out of control as he’d been with Jassie.
‘Nothing that made sense—’ Bart began.
‘Damn you to hell!’ Rogan tightened his grip on the reins, dug his heels into Raven’s belly with a suddenness that startled the horse into rearing in surprise, then man and horse settled and started for London at a crazy breakneck speed, leaving Bart to mutter and curse in their wake.
Dear God! Jassie lay staring at the door in glassy-eyed horror, her trembling fingers fumbling desperately at the knot of the gag. She wanted to yell after Rogan, demand that he stay, ask him to explain, tell him again that she loved him—enough—for both of them. Her mouth was as dry as parchment and her throat, strained from the stifled screaming, seemed swollen shut. As she finally ripped the spittal-soaked linen from her mouth, the distant slam of a door downstairs was followed by the kind of silence that was thick enough to taste—and it tasted of acid and horror.
Who was that man who’d bound, thrashed and—taken her—as if he held her in the deepest hatred? That man was not her Rogan. What would she become if she ever lost faith in that truth? Slowly she rolled her aching body into a ball, wrapped her arms tightly about her midriff and let her tears soak silently into the pillows—because in some twisted place deep inside her she knew if that was the only way Rogan could make love to her she still wanted it, still wanted him.
It seemed she’d been lying staring into the
darkness for hours, her body aching and trembling, when she heard the eerie echo of horse hooves in the stillness of the night and crawled off the bed. Dragging the quilt with her and wrapping it round her shoulders, she knelt in the window seat and watched as two horses and their riders, ghostly figures in the night shadows, moved away from the Abbey and were swallowed up by the black maw of the Elm Drive. Her hand reached for the window to shove it wide and yell for Windermere to come back to her, but again she saw the silvery horror searing her from his eyes and her hand dropped. She had to think.
And she had to give him time to think. For surely, when he did, he’d know they couldn’t leave their marriage like this. With fists pressed to her mouth to quiet her sobbing she stared longingly at the spot where her husband of a few hours had disappeared into utter darkness. It wasn’t until exhaustion claimed her and she fell off the window seat to land on her already bruised backside on the hard floor that she finally crawled back into her bed and tried to find the oblivion of sleep.
That she’d eventually succeeded was proved by the fact that when next she opened her eyes the sun was high in the sky and the bracket clock on the side table showed it was almost twelve. For a moment Jassie stared blankly at the timepiece wondering why it had stopped just before midnight and then the musical chimes rang out and she realized it hadn’t stopped at all.
Why hadn’t Ruby woken her? The answer to that question flooded her brain with the whole kaleidoscopic mess of yesterday’s events: Windermere arriving late for their marriage and having no time to change from his dusty riding attire or to tidy himself in any way and thus he’d stayed through the entire ceremony and interminable meal afterwards; his rather rude disposal of their guests and the crazy excitement that had exploded in her stomach because she’d thought he was finally as impatient as she was for them to be alone together; his terrible pronouncement that he intended to leave immediately for London and the awful scene that had followed her rabid protest.
Falling back onto her pillows she tried to block the memories from her mind. All she could seem to think about was what everyone would say when they realized Windermere had gone back to London. That he was not, as they were obviously all fondly thinking, lost to the world in the arms of his brand new bride. Slowly she sat up and hid her face in her hands, feeling like nothing so much as abandoning herself to her misery and hiding under the bedclothes for the rest of her life.
I never knew you for a coward, Jassie Carlisle, she berated herself. You’ve achieved a dream you’ve carried in your heart for years. You are now Lady Windermere, Rogan’s wife. If the dream doesn’t look like the picture you’ve carried with you for so long, are you going to accept that? Let the dream die? There is no one who can fix this but yourself. And surely Rogan cares deeply enough about you to want to change it. You have to believe in that.
So, Jassie Wyldefell, Lady Windermere, are you going to lie here and wallow in your cowardly misery or get up and face the world and slay the dragons that so clearly have Rogan by the throat—or some other body part entirely?
She flung herself out of bed, pulled on a russet colored silk peignoir, tugged the bell to summon Ruby and slumped on the chair before her duchess and stared critically at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a—loose woman—after a night of utter debauchery. Wild color spotted her pale cheeks beneath puffy, bloodshot eyes and her hair was a tangle of loose pins and pearl rope, having no resemblance to the beautiful arrangement Ruby had wrought for her yesterday.
There was a light tap on the door but instead of entering with a blithe good morning as she’d always done, Ruby waited for Jassie to bid her enter, clearly thinking it possible the Earl would still be with her.
When she entered in response to Jassie’s call, Ruby’s eyes darted quickly round the room before flickering back to scan Jassie’s mirrored face with obvious concern.
‘Would you like me to order your bath, Miss Jassi—my Lady?’ Ruby asked, unable to mask her confusion at the absence of the Earl—or any sign he’d even shared the bridal bed with his new wife.
‘Yes Ruby—and a cup of tea please.’
The maid left again, her face deeply troubled. So it starts, Jassie thought. By the time she returns with my tea the whole staff will probably know that the bridegroom is conspicuously absent.
Ruby returned a few minutes later with a tea tray and closely followed by the footmen with the bath and buckets of water. As soon as they were gone she turned, her face a mask of rigid forbearance and began removing pins and pearls from her mistress’s hair. As she helped Jassie out of her peignoir and into the bath, as she had on countless occasions over the years, she gasped in horror.
Startled, Jassie stopped with one foot balanced at the edge of the bath.
‘What?’
‘You—your—I knew something wasn’t right! Your buttocks are bruised, Miss—my Lady! And I’ll swear that’s the imprint of a man’s hand!’ The maid’s voice ended on a trembling note. Then she rallied herself, to ask almost fearfully, ‘Are you all right, M—my Lady?’
Jassie turned her naked backside to the mirror and stared in silent fascination at the dark bruises, one in particular definitely in the shape of Windermere’s hand. No use trying to claim she’d fallen on the steps then. She dragged in a shuddering breath.
‘What do you think, Ruby? Do you think I’m all right? And please stop with the ‘my Lady’ stuff! I know I’ll have to get used to it in public, but when it’s just us can you please call me Miss Jassie like you always have?’
She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t! But Ruby couldn’t contain her outrage for her young mistress and snatched up the peignoir from the chair where she’d only just placed it, wrapped it around Jassie’s shoulders and pulled her into her plump arms.
‘Oh, Miss Jassie,’ she whispered, pressing Jassie’s face against her neck. ‘I never would’ve believed that of Lord Windermere if I hadn’t seen it for myself! Why, if I could get my hands on him—’
‘Hush Ruby,’ Jassie murmured, slipping her arms round her horrified maid and letting the tears fall down her cheeks. ‘He didn’t know what he was doing. There is something dreadfully wrong with Windermere and I mean to get to the bottom of it. You know he’s resisted asking me for marriage all these years and wouldn’t have now if I hadn’t forced the issue. I’ve only myself to blame. But I love him so much and somehow I have to believe that love is enough to heal whatever ails my husband.’
‘But Miss Jassie—’
Jassie pulled away from the maid’s comforting arms, dropped the robe and stepped into the bath.
‘You are not to say a word of this to anyone, Ruby.’
‘But—’
‘Not a word!’ Jassie said fiercely. ‘I’ll not have one whisper of this going beyond this room! I’ll most likely discuss it with Lady O—for she’s not unaware that something ails her son. But do not mention anything to any member of the staff or anyone else. This is something for Windermere and myself to resolve—or not.’
The last two words slipped past her lips in little more than a whisper. She couldn’t bear to think Windermere would deny them any chance to at least discuss what lay between them. He was her dearest friend, her deepest confidant. Always had been. There was nothing they’d not been able to discuss with one another in the past. Why should this be any different?
She laid her head back against the tub, closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply through her nose.
‘Miss Jassie, where is the Earl?’
‘In London by now I would imagine, Ruby, judging by the way he stormed out of here last night.’
‘Oh Miss,’ the maid whispered sadly.
‘It’s all right, Ruby. Just hand me the soap. I’ll be done here in a few minutes and you can come back and help me dress.’
‘Shall I put out the primrose morning dress for you, Miss Jassie?’
‘I rather fancy the deeper color of the marigold gown today. I think it says more about how I’m feeling.
Primrose represents eternal love and that feels somewhat uncertain this morning. Marigold on the other hand represents pain and grief, which is much more in tune with my feelings.’
With the gown in place, Ruby handed her a light spencer to cover her shoulders against the cool spring air. Jassie tugged it into place then asked, ‘Ruby? Would you mind folding my gown away?’
She waved a hand to where the beautiful wedding gown lay in a sordid heap against the wall.
‘Maybe someday we’ll be able to create something from all the material in it.’
As Ruby lifted the pile of cloth, the under-gown, corset and chemise fell away and the maid instantly realized how they’d been removed. Her eyes were almost bulging from their sockets and words she was struggling not to speak trembled on her lips.
Jassie just shook her head.
‘Don’t say anything, Ruby. Just take it out of my sight, please.—And remember, not a word to anyone. Much as I’d miss you, I’ll let you go in a heartbeat if I find you’ve not obeyed me in this.’
The maid’s dark head bobbed then she said, ‘Of course you have my word, Miss Jassie. None shall hear aught about any of this from me. You can be sure of that.’
She turned to the door of the dressing room, her mouth pinched tight and a deep frown on her brow.
‘Thanks Ruby,’ Jassie murmured after her. ‘And please would you ask Mrs. Lyndon to attend me here?’
Ruby bobbed her head and hurried from the room and when she returned, Fran arrived soon after, waiting silently until Jassie dismissed the maid. Once they were alone, Jassie allowed her eyes to meet Fran’s in the mirror. Suddenly Fran was at her side.
‘Jassie? What’s wrong? Where’s Windermere?’
Slowly Jassie rose from the stool and turned to face her friend.
‘Oh Fran, what am I going to do?’ She started to lower her face to her hands, then threw her head back and gritted her teeth. She would not cry again. ‘I—I think I should go and talk with Lady O. Come with me please. I’ll tell you everything when we get there.’
