Toward Love's Horizon

by Michele du Barry

  Scott had changed from the gentleman he always was into a beast with no control over himself. His powerful body heaved against hers and Angela cried out against the attack, struggling to free herself from the hardness searing her insides. Her protesting muscles tried to forcibly eject him but he only lunged at her faster, hurting her, until he collapsed in a shuddering convulsion that burst with sharp agony deep in her belly.

  She screamed once, tears gushing from her eyes and into her hair. Then they were still. They were both drenched with his sweat and her tears and Angela shook beneath him with silent weeping.

  Scott looked down at her tightly closed eyes, tears squeezing out of the corners and swore silently at himself. She had offered herself so willingly at first, how could he have known it would end like this? He should have stopped himself at her first adverse reaction. It wouldn’t happen again.

  “Oh, my love! I’m so sorry!” he whispered, kissing her cheek but she turned her face away. “Please, Angel, say you forgive me!”

  “Let me go!”

  As soon as Scott released her she sprang from the bed and raced for her room.

  “Angel, I love you!” Scott called after her.

  The door slammed and he half rose wondering if he should go after Angela. He could hear her crying, the sounds muffled in her pillows. Falling back on the bed Scott punched his own pillow with all the violence he felt for himself. Swearing he put his hands over his ears so he couldn’t hear her sobs.

  He would give anything for just one hour alone with the old Angela. She had been a tempestuous wildcat, a little wanton no matter what he did to her. Even when violence crept into their lovemaking, as it often had, her body had responded, many times against her will, giving him exquisite memories with which to torture himself.

  Angela, angry; Angela, melting with submission to his outrageous demands; Angela, shooting him, stabbing him; Angela, meeting and exceeding his own passions, her body sweetly demanding—but never a cold Angela. Even her first defeat when he had claimed her virginity had been a fiery battle and the times when she had feigned indifference he had known the coals were glowing, just beneath the surface, ready to burst into flames with the right handling. She had been passion personified, now she was a frigid ice maiden.

  Scott had to break through the barrier she was encased in, but how? Would his true love ever return to taunt and tempt him beyond thinking? Somehow he had to hope she would or else everything was in vain.

  She woke screaming in the night and Scott heard Maggie go to her. The soft-spoken Irish girl was the only one that could calm her down. He had had a devil of a time convincing Governor Macquarie to pardon the Murrays and had finally won their freedom by endowing the governor’s newest pet project—a hospital. Any amount would have been worth it and Scott never regretted his decision. The sobs quieted and he heard only hushed movements from the other side of the door.

  “Where is your nightgown, milady?” Maggie inquired, drawing the covers over Angela’s shivering shoulders.

  It had been real! Her humiliation came back to Angela in a flash and she wanted only to be alone.

  “I want a hot bath!”

  “But—but it’s the middle of the night,” Maggie said, confused.

  “Now!”

  The sleepy girl left the room to do as she ordered. If the duchess wanted a bath at three in the morning, who was she to gainsay her?

  Angela lay in the hot scented water before the fireplace and let herself relax. Warmth crept slowly into her shivering limbs and the crackle of the flames soothed her into a state of drowsiness. She had disgraced herself, just as she had known she would. There was no way she could blame her husband for taking what she had so enticingly offered. He was only a man and she realized now that he had been very gentle and considerate. It was only her own fears and the fact that she had been tense and unreceptive that had made Scott hurt her. But then why, understanding the situation as she did, couldn’t she relax and let herself respond? Had too much happened between them to ever make that possible?

  Behind closed eyelids images flashed of herself and Scott in different situations. Had they happened in her dark past or were they merely wild imaginings? Had she ever loved him and wanted him in the way he had wanted her tonight? She thought she had and that made her irrational behavior even harder to understand. If only she could reciprocate, match the passion that she ignited in him.

  She had to try! Surely nothing could be as bad as the scene a few hours ago. Jane had said it would get better and she must know. Her friend had a happy marriage and doting husband, was there some secret? Angela steeled herself, determined to try again. What did it matter if Scott hurt her for a few minutes as long as it drew him closer to her? She could endure it for his sake, and because she wanted another baby. She would be a proper wife yet!

  Not able to sleep Angela was dressed warmly and striding toward the stables just before dawn. A pale light lit the eastern sky and big floppy snowflakes swirled down gently to the ground. She saddled Apollo herself, gentling the big white Arabian that Scott had given her on their return to England. He blew gently through his nostrils as she rubbed his soft nose with her fingers and whispered to him in the semi-darkness.

  As she rode out into the freezing dawn not a servant or groom was stirring and Angela was glad to go alone. Riding, more than any other activity, soothed her nerves and she was badly in need of that. She headed toward the ocean and pulled up just short of the cliff. Hadn’t she done that before? The overcast clouds glowed pale pink over the sea, turning the sand below the same color. But the waves tossed heavy and gray making her shiver.

  Across that endless sea was a golden tree where it was now summer and beneath that tree was a grass-covered mound with a black marble stone. She could see it even with her eyes open and as the tears froze on her cheeks some of the ice melted in her heart. Pressing on her stomach with both hands she willed Scott’s seed to take root, to make her another daughter.

  Suddenly last night lost its terror. She would go and beg Scott’s pardon for being such a failure. He would understand—he must! And then she would ask him to love her again and she would try harder this time.

  Wheeling Apollo around she dashed through the snow giving the horse his head. They raced on and on through a morning that turned to a dull gray. But to Angela the day was still as rosy as the dawn had been and at the stable she jumped down and threw the reins to a sleepy, surprised stable boy.

  She walked through the long curving colonnade though she wanted to run. After all the boy’s eyes were still on her and she must behave. But as soon as she was out of sight she broke into a run, arriving breathless in the house. As Angela darted up the stairs the frozen tears melted and impatiently she wiped the moisture away. This was a new day and she would make a new beginning—a new life.

  Very quietly she opened the door to Scott’s room only to find it empty. Her heart plunged to the tips of her boots. So he had gone already, unable to face her after the way she had disappointed him. Suppose he had gone to another woman because she had failed so miserably? She stamped her foot in a rage at the thought. She would scratch his eyes out if he even looked at someone else.

  The bed was rumpled and across it was her nightgown. Snatching it up Angela went into her own room and threw it angrily on a chair. Why wasn’t he there when she wanted to talk to him? Where was he? She hadn’t passed him on her way home.

  Scott was gone all day and the snow came down harder, blanketing everything, thudding softly against the windows until it was impossible to see out. Angela made a mess of her needlework and threw it down disgusted. She couldn’t concentrate on any book in the library. Even the children didn’t want to be with their short-tempered mother.

  She dined with Ezra and her eyes flashed a dangerous warning every time he tried to hide his secret amusement. “What’s so damn funny?” Angela asked annoyed and totally put out over his attitude.

  “Now you sound more like yourself when you shout a
nd your eyes sparkle like that! I remember a time when the boldest pirate in the Caribbean would have cringed before your anger. No wonder your husband has absented himself from the house today. That veneer of being a gentleman would surely crack if he saw you like this!”

  Her cheeks flushed bright red and Ezra laughed uproariously, ducking as she threw her buttered roll at his head. It missed the mark and only incensed her further, sending the big man into gales of fresh laughter.

  “What are you so angry about today, Duchess?” Ezra’s amber eyes danced with merriment as she flounced from the room.

  She wasn’t sure why she was angry, only that she felt hot and jittery inside, as skittish as a horse with a new owner. Instead of going to her room she wandered through the huge castle, unable to keep still. It was so big and elegant and Angela felt that it was totally alien. She didn’t like Brightling Castle, with all its modern accoutrements and every luxury. She longed for some place smaller, more lived in but couldn’t think of where that place could be.

  It wasn’t New South Wales, and that was the only other place she could remember, so it must be a place she had forgotten. All at once it was of the upmost importance to think of that place where she had been happy. If she could find it Angela was sure she could recapture that former contentedness and perhaps her memory.

  Closing her eyes she tried to conjure up an image but saw only white driving flakes like those blasting against the windows. Why couldn’t she remember? Why couldn’t things be different?

  Going to her room Angela collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in a turmoil of confusion. Emotions she couldn’t even recognize rioted in her trying to break free. If only she could talk to Scott he might understand—explain away the tumultuous feelings battling within her. But he was gone and suddenly she felt abandoned and utterly desolate.

  “Scott, Scott!” she murmured not even knowing why she needed him. “Where are you? Please don’t leave me! I can’t bear to be alone!”

  It was pitch black in her room, only a ribbon of yellow showing under the door from Scott’s room. Angela sat up abruptly aware of the silence in the rest of the house. It must be very late.

  She was still wearing her clothes and they were all wrinkled from being slept in. Getting up Angela quickly started unbuttoning her dress and when it went too slow for her liking she ripped at the bodice, hearing the soft thuds of buttons on the carpet. Her fingers shook with impatience as she lit a candle and hastily chose a nightgown from the closet.

  He was back! Thank goodness! She couldn’t have stood it if he had gone away. Quickly she washed her face, donned the nightgown and ran a brush over her loose hair. Then with unseemly haste Angela rushed to the door on silent bare feet.

  Scott was sprawled limply in a big chair before the fire drinking brandy. His back was to her and he didn’t hear or see her until she hesitantly touched his shoulder. Slowly his head turned and his brown eyes darkened as he saw Angela in a clinging nightgown of virgin white.

  His clothes were rumpled and his shirt was parted to his waist. Dark hair and gleaming browned skin were revealed and she shivered, thinking of that hard chest pressing her down into the bed.

  “Wh—what do you want?” Scott slurred his words together and only then did she realize that he was drunk.

  “I—I wanted to apologize—for last night,” she whispered, her eyes on the Oriental carpet beneath her feet. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

  “For what? I’m the one that should apologize, I was wrong! I am always the one at fault, always!”

  “No!” Angela knelt in the deep pile beside him. She touched his hand but he jerked it away. “It was my fault. I disappointed you, I led you to believe I was willing to give something of myself that is beyond my power to give.”

  She hesitated, looking at his flushed face, the way his eyes roamed over her body leaving a trail of warmth over her tightening breasts. “I want to be your wife, Scott! Please, can’t we try again? I can’t make any promises that this time will be different or the time after that. But we must at least make the effort.”

  “Why?” Scott’s angry eyes were piercing to her very soul. “Do you love me?”

  “I’m your wife!”

  “So you don’t love me. Do you hate me?”

  “No!”

  “Not even that!” he shouted throwing the glass into the fireplace.

  The crystal shattered and blue flame erupted into the chimney. Angela sat back on her heels startled. He had never lost his temper before, perhaps she should have waited until tomorrow. But it was too late. Scott grabbed her wrist and wouldn’t let her go.

  “You loathed what happened between us last night! Don’t you think I knew? You didn’t even try to pretend, Angela!” His eyes closed with momentary pain, then he shook her angrily. “Don’t worry, Duchess, it will never happen again!”

  “But—but—don’t you want more children?” She was baffled by his anger and hurt that he didn’t seem to want her.

  “So that’s it,” Scott said in a dangerously understated tone. “You want me to be at stud to sire another baby. Then what happens when you’re pregnant? Will I have to wait a few more years until you want another one?”

  “Stop it! It isn’t that way at all! Why do you twist everything I’m saying?” Angela struggled to get away, needing the safety of her room but his grip tightened.

  She shook with trepidation. What would happen next? His face was hard and dark, very close to hers and she wanted to close her eyes against the flames leaping in his eyes, but couldn’t. She should have known better than to try and talk to him in such a mood, but she hadn’t noticed it until it was too late.

  “Do you think I want you? You!” Scott stood up abruptly and released her so that she tumbled onto the floor.

  She could see her round eyes reflected in his black polished boots and looked up at him towering over her with a scowl on his face. Angela’s heart slammed frantically against her ribs, he looked as if he could kill her and enjoy it!

  “You,” he said with a mocking laugh, “are a poor imitation of the woman I love. You’re a changeling, an imposter! Oh, you have her face and body, you talk like her and even have the same name, but it’s only an illusion.

  “Angela was a woman with blood in her veins. She could make me want her with a glance, a smile. You have ice-water inside you, freezing a man until he is never the same again. I don’t want you and never have! It took last night to prove it to me.”

  “No!” she cried. “I am Angela; I am your wife!”

  “You are another person masquerading in Angela’s body, an insipid, unlovable iceberg. You don’t even know what you want. She knew what she wanted and went after it! She wanted money, she married my father; Angela felt mad enough to shoot me, so she did it; she wanted me to make love to her, she threw my mistress out and made me forget there was anyone else in the world!

  “Angela was my wife, not you! She was everything to me—friend, enemy, bitch, lover. But no matter how much we loved or hated or hurt each other, both of us knew there could never be anyone else. She could send me to heaven and hell in the space of one minute but she was never indifferent. And in spite of everything, I always wanted her!”

  She stood unsteadily before him, her eyes blurred with unshed tears so that when she brushed past him to run to her room the ribbons caught on his buttons. It was a tangled mess and in a frenzy Angela jerked away, hearing the thin material tear, feeling the cool air upon her breasts. Two steps away from Scott brought her up short for his boot was planted firmly on the hem of her nightgown and she tried to free herself.

  His mind reeled from the brandy and his anger. In the flickering golden light he saw the pink crests of her breasts peeking through her fingers as she tried to shield her nakedness; those huge, sad, mysterious eyes; the trembling of her full lips; the slow flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. Reaching out he twined his fingers in that silken hair that was hers and Angela’s, and the two women wavered, merged.
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  “Let go of me, beast!”

  Scott laughed as she struck him. This was Angela—his little spitfire!

  “I told you once that I would give you anything within my power, so if it’s a child you want I will give you that!”

  He raped her on the carpet without even removing his boots.

  Angela locked herself in her room all day before she learned that Scott had left for London. Maggie gave her a note with the dinner tray and with shaking hands she opened it:

  Angela, I'm sorry. Scott.

  Nothing else—and it was then that the tears gushed from her eyes. He had hurt her more by leaving her than he had during last night’s rape.

  She couldn’t eat and angrily threw the crumpled note in the fire watching it blacken and disintegrate in flames. Now she knew better than to try and reason with a drunken man. But he had revealed a part of himself always carefully hidden away before and his bitter words still echoed, cutting into her heart.

  Why did she care so much? Why did he have the power to wound her unless. . . . No! It was impossible.

  It was gray and snowy the whole time Scott was gone. For three weeks Angela dragged around the house alternating between damning him and praying he would come back. She was bored, completely at loose ends, just drifting toward she knew not what.

  Then one dark frozen night she woke from a sound sleep. A candle flickered in her room and the bed moved beneath a heavier weight than her own.

  “Angela.” Scott was leaning over her dressed only in a black velvet robe and she reached out to touch him and he was real. He shivered as if her fingers trailing across his chest were icicles. “Are you pregnant, Angela?”

  “No.”

  He pressed her into the bed, his lips silencing hers, swiftly joining his body to hers. It was over before she was even awake and then she was all alone. The only reminder that he had been there was the ache between her legs and a single candle on the mantel.

  She couldn’t believe that he had done it, like a distasteful duty to be finished quickly so he could go on to more important matters. Angela lay there stunned. She would rather be raped again than have him perform like it was a mechanical necessity, as if they were strangers. At least the act of violence had been tinged with passion. But this—this had left him as cold and unmoved as he always accused her of being. She couldn’t even cry.