She loved him so obsessively that the thought of ever being parted was unbearable. But he didn’t know that. No, it wouldn’t do for him to know how much he meant to her, for then he would have the power to hurt her and he already had too much authority over her as it was. So Celeste played the game coolly and now it was paying off, for he was a man who didn’t like being crowded.
“Who is it?” asked Celeste as the nervous convict girl tentatively interrupted the meal.
“A Captain Macdonald and a lady. They wished to see you, Mrs. Carew.”
“Very well, show them in.”
“But—but,” squeaked the girl in despair, “they are dripping wet and would ruin the carpets. I left them standing in the foyer.”
“I wonder what they want—”
“Go see,” suggested Scott, more interested in his goblet of wine than the untimely visitors.
“I suppose I’ll have to.”
Angela stood dejectedly, aware of the sight she must present, and exchanged a mournful look with Clyde. Their clothing dripped onto the parquet floor as steadily as the rain outside. She didn’t blame the servant for making them wait by the door for they must both look like thoroughly disreputable characters.
A tall, elegantly gowned woman emerged from one of the doors leading off the foyer and Angela fell back a step in surprise. It was her! The hated woman of the governor’s ball. No wonder she had felt such instant dislike—this was Scott’s mistress! She must be in a terrible state because Mrs. Carew didn’t even recognize her but concentrated her attention fully on Clyde.
“Captain Macdonald, what may I do for you? Have you come on official business?”
“Yes, and no,” hedged Clyde. “Actually we wanted to see your overseer. Governor Macquarie assigned me the task of finding him.”
“Surely he hasn’t done anything wrong—”
“No, Mrs. Carew. It’s purely a personal matter that requires his attention.”
Celeste breathed a silent sigh of relief. For a moment she had thought Scott was in trouble and that usually meant the dreaded Van Diemen’s Land. “Please forgive my rudeness. You and your companion must stay the night. I will have rooms prepared immediately. Terrible weather, isn’t it?”
She was instructing the hovering servant to prepare rooms when Scott ventured in. “Scott, Captain Macdonald has come all the way from Sydney to see you.”
Angela felt like hiding behind Clyde, anything but face the disdainful look of her estranged husband. But instead, as his insolent stare took her in from plastered hair to muddy boots she lifted her chin in the defiant way he knew only too well and stared right back at him.
He began laughing. She looked like a street urchin, and the fact that she had come seeking him out only to get caught in a cloudburst became more amusing by the second. Scott knew exactly why she was here; she had come to seduce him into dropping the divorce. And now she looked anything but tempting and knew it and her eyes blazed angrily at him. That only made him laugh harder because of the irony of her situation.
“Shut up!” Angela snapped, knowing she was starting out on the wrong foot and cursing her bad luck. She could have stood anything but his amusement.
Celeste looked at her aghast, this time studying her carefully. Those aqua eyes—she had seen them before. A wave of revulsion shuddered through her. The ball! The haughty, too beautiful creature who had stared her down. The celebrated duchess on a wild goose chase, and the search it seemed was ending here. She glanced in confusion at Scott. No, it couldn’t be!
“Celeste, my dear,” he said drawing her arm through his, barely conquering the laughter that threatened to erupt again. “Have you invited these people to spend the night?”
“Of course,” she answered, wanting only to show them the door.
“Then let me introduce them to you. This,” he said disparagingly, with a gesture toward Angela, “is the Duchess of Brightling, my wayward wife. And this is Clyde Macdonald, whom I last met upon the occasion of his elopement with Angela. A pity the incident didn’t succeed. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.
“Angela,” Scott pulled Celeste closer to his side smiling insolently, “let me introduce Celeste Carew, my fiancée!”
She flinched beneath his attack but drew herself up immediately. Now it was her turn to laugh and she did so derisively. “You are in no position to have a fiancée. Have you told her about the children?”
“Children?” repeated Celeste.
“Don’t bring them into this, Angela!” Scott warned. “I won’t have them involved in this sordid mess!”
“You see,” Angela explained sweetly to Celeste, “how protective he is of our children. They mean a great deal to Scott.”
“Angela, I think we should go.” Clyde stepped in no longer able to bear the sparring between them, wanting only to be quit of the whole scene.
“No!” Scott challenged, looking at Clyde as if he was some insignificant species of insect life. “The rooms are ready. You will spend the night.”
Angela lay in a comfortable bed staring at the ceiling. The room was dark and in spite of the hot bath and the degree of tiredness she felt, she couldn’t sleep. Everything had gone wrong from the moment it had started raining. And Scott knew exactly why she had come, she had seen it in his eyes. What could she do now?
She turned over and punched her pillow in frustration. Where was he now? Probably in Celeste Carew’s bed just as she had imagined on the long ride here. The thought made her squirm like a butterfly impaled on a pin and she buried her hot face in the pillow. Things never went smoothly for her. Why couldn’t she be one of those people that skimmed placidly through life in a perpetual haze of happiness? Certainly she deserved some peace soon.
Just as she was dozing off a sound caught her attention and Angela’s eyes flickered open in surprise. It couldn’t be—yet she heard it again! Celeste’s room was right across the hall from hers and the unmistakable sounds of violent lovemaking crept through her closed door.
“No—no!” she cried putting her hands over her ears to block out the noise. Scott couldn’t be so cruel! Shouldn’t she have realized from past experience what extremes he could go to when enraged? It wasn’t enough that he had flaunted Celeste as his fiancée beneath her nose, he must drive home the point by his obvious betrayal.
He was proving his disdain for her, purposely trying to drive her away, out of his life forever. What better way to prove his hate than let her hear their noisy combat, while she his rightful wife lay helpless and alone writhing in the dark?
A few more minutes and she could stand it no longer. What did he expect—that she would just stand calmly by and let them humble her into fleeing? Scott should know better! With her temper threatening to explode from the confines of her room Angela whipped back the covers and sprang out of bed.
The gall of Scott! She would show him and that hussy a thing or two. Fumbling in her saddlebag her fingers touched what she sought, cold hard metal hidden in the recesses of her bag. With no thought for anything else she dashed across the hall dressed in the filmy, beribboned silk nightgown designed only to distract and entrance a man.
Angela stood just outside the door pressing her forehead against the wood with a shaking hand upon the doorknob. She could hear Celeste’s moans and Scott laughing, cajoling her into new acts of rashness. The fact that this show was put on expressly for her benefit only incensed Angela further. She had told Clyde that she would make Celeste wish she was dead and her fingers itched to scratch her eyes out and ruin her looks for good.
The door was locked! She was stupid to have thought otherwise, so in a frantic attempt to stem the sounds of passion she began pounding on the door with her fist, not stopping even when the sounds ceased.
“Who the hell is it?" But Scott’s voice sent her speechless and she grasped the now warm metal in one hand, continuing to pound with the other.
The door jerked open and he stood there as magnificently naked as a bronze statue bar
ring her way with one hand upon the door jamb.
“Well?” he taunted raking her scanty costume with knowing, amused eyes. “Did you come to join the orgy?”
Angela suddenly found herself in the room with the door firmly closed. Celeste looked at her with glazed, unbelieving eyes from the big bed recently vacated by her lover.
“What do you say, Celeste? Wouldn’t a brief ménage a trois be a diversion?”
“Get her out of here!” The covers slipped down to her waist, baring voluptuous breasts heaving with resentment. “Now!”
“She is your guest. You throw her out!” Scott stood back vastly entertained and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
Celeste slid off the bed and stormed across the room entirely put out by the whole series of events that had occurred since Angela’s arrival. Scott wasn’t helping matters at all, in fact he was baiting her for his own reasons, which she didn’t have the time to fathom at the moment. Getting the slut out of her bedroom was of paramount importance right now.
But as she neared Angela, the duchess pulled a knife on her and Celeste jumped back just in time to avoid the slicing arc of the blade. “Scott!” she cried backing away from the vicious little gypsy who seemed to know exactly what she was doing. “Scott, she’s going to kill me!” But he just watched through suddenly narrowed eyes.
He had never seen two ladies fight before, and that they were fighting over him like a couple of cats interested him. She was as unpredictable as ever, more so, because she actually looked as if she could kill Celeste. And in a vivid flash Scott thought, she really does love me, and he wondered how far he would allow the battle to go.
“Yes,” shouted Angela advancing menacingly on Celeste. “I am going to kill you, you lily-livered bitch! But before I do I’m going to mark you up good! Do you think I’ll let you take my husband away from me without a fight? If you want him, Celeste, you had better fight, because I’m willing to die for what I want!”
Angela slashed again at the retreating woman. Soon she would be backed into a corner and would be at her mercy. Celeste hurled a footstool at her and although she moved quickly it caught her painfully in the shin causing her to pause, tears starting in her eyes.
“Whore!” Celeste threw the wrong word at Angela and she closed in for the kill.
Scott couldn’t believe his eyes. It was an uneven battle. Angela was much shorter and Celeste outweighed her considerably but Angela had the knife—and the daring. He watched as his wife kicked Celeste in the stomach and when she doubled over Angela punched her in the nose with her left hand.
The blow glanced off but left his mistress with a bloody nose and Angela grasped the taller woman’s hair throwing her to the floor. Then the two of them were wrestling on the floor, Angela straddling the stunned redhead. She twisted her fingers in her hair banging her rival’s head savagely against the floor.
Celeste caught Angela’s wrist as the knife flashed close to her eyes and held her off with her greater strength. But with black hair flying she bore down banging Celeste’s head against the leg of a chair and scoring her cheek with long sharp nails. The red drops of blood sent Angela wild and lowering her head she bit through the skin of Celeste’s wrist until her fingers unclenched and she let out a loud scream.
Scott started across the room but before he could put an end to the combat Angela sliced a long oozing trail of blood between Celeste’s breasts all the way down over her cringing stomach. She shrieked like a madwoman even though the cut was only superficial for the knife was lowering to her cheek.
Angela was hauled unceremoniously off her opponent and Scott held her firmly with one arm about her waist and the other squeezing all the feeling out of her wrist. She cursed at him, kicking back at him with bare feet but the knife fell to the carpet with a dull thud and Scott kicked it out of reach.
The fight, the untamed, bloodthirsty tigress Angela had turned into and most of all her unrestrained wiggling attempts to free herself incited Scott’s lust beyond the point of control. He threw her to the floor not six feet away from a stunned Celeste, who lay very still as if she was in shock.
As Angela tried to crawl away from him he caught her around the waist, kneeling behind her, lifting the diaphanous whisper of material that separated his burning flesh from hers.
“No, Scott! Don’t!” she cried as he bared her flesh, sliding one hot hand up her thigh. She struggled and pleaded and cursed him all to no avail.
He mounted her like a mare brought to stud and with as little consideration. As he pulled her hard against him she hung her head in shame, her long curls screening her flaming face from the incredulous, astounded gaze of Celeste. Angela was powerless before the frenzy of his attack and she cried out each time he jolted his body against her buttocks, ravaging her femininity in an excess of passion.
Scott bent over her cupping one breast and playing with it with brutal fingers. He whispered obscene things in her ear all the while with his arm clamped like an iron band around her waist, preventing escape.
“Angel, Angel, you drive me beyond the point of human endurance! Am I hurting you? I can tell I am, and you deserve it you little wildcat! You tear me to pieces with words, make me reckless with a glance, send me to heaven with your body.”
She was crying with hurt and humiliation and he bit her shoulder, shuddering under the spell of this enchantress. “You make me want to die laying you; you confuse and contradict yourself. Even after the children and your leagues of lovers you’re as tight as a virgin but as hot as a bitch in heat! Come, my little whore, don’t fight it, give in! Let me make you feel the ecstasy you give me.”
His hand brushed against her belly, grazed the satin flesh between her thighs and sent an unwelcome thrill through her. And in spite of her mortification, the discomfort, and the subjugation of the posture he forced a response from her.
“You bastard!” she screamed unable to stop crying, beyond stemming the tide of ardor that was buffeting her toward completion. “I hate you! I hate you!”
And then her debasement was accomplished as he vanquished her completely. She convulsed like a wanton, taking Scott with her to total forgetfulness.
Freeing herself, Angela sprang to her feet pushing her nightgown back down over her nakedness, covering the breast Scott had revealed. She was shaking with the ignominy of the act, horrified that her body had disgraced her. As she started for the door a gleam of candlelight glancing off the discarded knife caught her eye and she scooped it up from the carpet.
She wasn’t thinking rationally, she wasn’t thinking at all! Scott had degraded her before his mistress, proved once and for all that she really was a whore, to his satisfaction and hers.
As he stumbled to his feet Celeste’s scream alerted Scott and he turned as Angela struck out at him and the blade sliced flesh and muscle. He took the full force in the back and he staggered as a pain seared across his shoulder blade. The knife fell from Angela’s numb fingers and she stared at it stupidly.
He looked at her in amazement, at the bloodied knife on the floor and began laughing. “I should have known better than to turn my back on you!”
Celeste got up and then toppled over in a dead faint as she saw the blood covering his whole back, dripping down his arm and leg.
Once Angela had watched his pain with pleasure, taunted him as he lay half bleeding to death and reveled in it, but not now. “Scott! Oh, what have I done?” cried Angela her face as white as his was rapidly becoming.
His left arm hung limply, dripping scarlet but the other shot out, grabbed her wrist and pulled her up against him. Scott held her tightly against his chest and she could feel his heart pounding against her cheek. His blood, warm and sticky drenched them both and he tangled his fingers in her hair wrenching her head back till he could look into her eyes.
“Savage!” he said before his lips crushed hers, reclaiming the territory he had just staked out.
Clyde chose that moment to investigate the unus
ual sounds that had wakened him from a deep sleep. The room was utter chaos, a gruesome scene from a horror story, and Clyde dashed his hand over his eyes wondering if he was sleepwalking. Scott and Angela stained with blood embraced in the middle of the room, and he didn’t know which one of them was injured. Celeste looked like a naked corpse and a knife lay on the floor.
In a panic, thinking that Scott had murdered Celeste and fatally wounded Angela, Clyde strode to the bellpull and jerked it wildly. Angela and Scott looked at him as if they were awakening from a dream and before any of them knew what had happened half a dozen servants were swarming into the room.
Angela sat on the floor beside Scott’s bed and he lay on his stomach, his face turned toward her. His hand clutched hers as it rested in her lap and in his brown eyes was pain but not from the wound she had inflicted on him. They were alone in his cabin, a small one room place she had not known existed until last night.
She and Clyde had tended the long ugly gash on his shoulder. At his insistence he spent the night in his own bed with Angela hovering anxiously. Now she could hardly believe that the events of last night had occurred. They were both subdued as her voice hesitated and he urged her on.
He was dragging the whole ugly story from her, all the horrid things that had happened during her long separation. Angela explained about Keith’s cruel plot and deception, the death of their unborn child and her parents and the episodes with the Vaughns. Her lips trembled as she spoke almost incoherently of his bogus death and her marriage to Keith.
She told him how she found out the truth and burst out, “I challenged Keith to a duel and I killed him the next morning!”
“Oh, love! My poor lost Angel.”
Toward Love's Horizon Page 11
