by Cheryl Holt
She was so confused! So conflicted! She’d never resided anywhere but Kirkwood, had never traveled or had sophisticated, urbane friends. She was simply a girl from a rural village who needed to support herself now that her world had been destroyed.
She groaned and put her head in her hands. “I hate this.”
“What? The food? I think it’s excellent.”
“No, I hate you.”
“Me! If that’s your attitude, I must inform you that it’s not a very good place for us to start.”
“I don’t hate you. I hate that you’re pressuring me.”
He reached across the table, took her hands away from her face and held them in his own. “There’s no pressure, Sophia.”
“There is!”
“You can refuse. I’m an adult. I’ll survive.”
“But what would become of me then?”
“I don’t know.”
“See? There’s the pressure you’re applying. I have no other option but you—and you won’t allow me to forget it.”
“You could do a lot worse than allying yourself with me. I’m loyal and reliable, and I won’t ever beat you or bankrupt you.”
“How low have my fortunes sunk? The most I can hope for is that I won’t be beaten! It’s so humiliating.”
Looking torn, he studied her, then sighed with what might have been regret. “I have to tell you a secret about your brother. Damian and I decided we wouldn’t, but you should be apprised.”
“Is it ghastly?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“When Miles was gambling with Damian, he kept digging a deeper hole for himself.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Eventually he realized he was doomed and had no assets to continue to bet so he bet you.”
“Me?”
“And Miss Fogarty too.”
“How could he bet over us?”
“He said Damian could have you as his mistress. Damian declined so he offered Miss Fogarty.”
She was so astonished she nearly fell off her chair. Miles was selfish and could be very cruel. He’d mentioned this very issue to her and Georgina, but they’d thought he was joking. What type of man wagered over his sister? What type of man would give her to a stranger? Was Miles insane?
“I would never have agreed,” she firmly declared.
“I’ve sat in gambling halls around the globe, Sophia. I’ve seen these kinds of bets made over and over. They’re very common, and even though a female insists she wouldn’t participate, when the stakes are high and the consequences severe, you’d be surprised by how swiftly a woman will consent.”
“Miles wouldn’t have forced me,” she claimed. “He might have asked me, but he wouldn’t have forced me into it.”
“So you say.”
“I do say. He’s not a monster.”
“Where is he now? How can you be sure he’s not in London, selling you to someone much worse than Damian could ever be?”
She gasped. “You suppose he would?”
“A desperate man will commit any heinous deed.”
He was still holding her hands, and she pulled them away and laid them in her lap. When he was touching her, she couldn’t think clearly.
She’d like to rush to her mother and inform her of Miles’s perfidy, but her mother wouldn’t believe it so she had to find Georgina. Georgina was aware of how malicious Miles could be, but this seemed beyond the pale even for him.
“You’re in trouble, Sophia,” he said. “I can help you.”
“The sort of help you’d like to supply isn’t what I need.”
“You’re wrong. It’s exactly what you need: a home, food, clothes to wear, money to spend. And a man to protect you. It’s quite a list.”
“Marry me then.” It was a suggestion she’d previously raised and he’d rejected.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if I ever wed it will be for love and affection.”
It was a peculiar reply. “Are you a romantic at heart?”
“I guess I am. I had a family when I was a boy, and I miss it. I have every intention of landing myself in a good situation, of being wanted by the people who should want me.”
“It’s a noble goal.”
“I also can’t wed you because it would hurt Damian, and I owe him everything.”
“Why do you owe him so much?”
“He saved my life on a thousand different occasions.”
“What type of life have you lived, Mr. Roxbury, that it was constantly in need of saving?”
“I might confide in you someday—but I’d have to get to know you better. I’d have to be certain I could trust you.”
“Trust me with what? Wicked secrets?”
“Secrets, yes. Not wicked ones though.” He paused, then chuckled. “Actually I’d probably never tell you, no matter how close we were. I like my past to remain in the past, and if I revealed any of it, you wouldn’t like me.”
They stared, an intimacy growing between them. He looked genuinely fond of her, as if he truly liked her and enjoyed her company. It made her wish there was time for him to court her, to woo her. She hadn’t learned a single detail about him, but she thought she might like to.
Who were his kin? What were his roots, his ancestry? How stable were his fiscal affairs? He’d been educated, his speech, mannerisms, and attire indicated culture and breeding. Was he worth having? Might he be?
Yet there was no time for courting. There was only this Thursday evening, then Saturday morning would quickly arrive, and she, her mother, and Georgina would have to depart.
“I don’t love you,” she absurdly said.
“Which is the foremost reason I would never propose.”
“I don’t know if I ever could love you.”
“Who can predict what might happen in the future? I’m quite a grand fellow in my own way, and I’m an optimist. I have steady employment at Kirkwood. I’m skilled and courteous and sensible. Why not take a chance on me?”
“If I did”—gad, was she considering it?—“could marriage become possible later on?”
He pondered forever, then shook his head. “No, Sophia. There’s my bond with Damian. I would never deceive or upset him.”
“What if I talked to him for you?”
“It’s not a good idea. He wouldn’t be polite.”
“I imagine not.”
She pushed back her chair. She’d barely touched the meal, and though she was starving, she’d lost her appetite.
“I should go,” she murmured.
“You haven’t eaten anything.”
“I wasn’t hungry after all.”
“What will I tell Cook? She’ll assume she failed to please you. You’ll hurt her feelings. And if you leave so soon, you’ll hurt mine too.”
“I will not,” she scoffed.
“I’ve been on pins and needles all day, hoping you’d dare to visit.”
“You liar. You haven’t thought about me at all.”
“I have.” He patted his thigh. “Come here.”
She scowled. “Where? Onto your lap?”
“Yes.”
The most annoying thrill swept through her, yet she primly replied, “I don’t believe I ought.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too confused.”
“What has you confused?”
“You. My situation. What should I do? I don’t have anyone to ask.”
“Why ask anyone? Who is there to advise you? Your mother? Your brother? Your ex-fiancé? I wouldn’t count on any of them to have your best interests at heart.”
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
“Of what? Of me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not scary. I am the least of your problems.”
“What problem is bigger?”
“Try living without a home. Try surviving without a roof over your head or food in your belly or a coat in the winter. T
hat’s some real trouble, not my paltry proposal.”
She gaped at him, disturbed by his vehemence. Had those tragedies plagued him? Had he been a homeless waif without a coat or food? She couldn’t bear to envision it.
“Were you imperiled like that when you were a boy?”
“I don’t want to talk about me,” he curtly said. “This is about you and your choices. You’re an adult. Pick what sounds logical to you.”
“In your opinion that would be an affair?”
“Yes.” He patted his thigh again. “Come. I hate that you’re so far away, that we have an entire table between us.”
She was on the edge of her seat, every bone, muscle, and pore begging her to walk over and nestle her bottom onto his lap. But she simply couldn’t do it.
“I can’t, Kit. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t sit on my lap? Or you can’t have an affair?”
“I have no idea what I mean.”
“You only have tomorrow to figure it out.”
“I know.”
“You’re not a coward.”
“Maybe I am,” she morosely muttered.
“And you’re not stupid.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You shouldn’t put yourself in jeopardy when there’s such an easy solution to your dilemma.”
“It’s not easy!” she insisted.
“It seems easy enough to me.”
She stared at him, and he was calm and relaxed, leaned back in his chair as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“What will you do after I leave?” she asked, wondering why it would matter.
“I’ll finish all this great food and empty the wine decanter.”
She was certain he wouldn’t miss her, that it made no difference to him if she stayed or departed, which frustrated her very much. She was in a complete state of panic and perplexity, while he appeared as if he propositioned innocent females every day.
Perhaps he did. Perhaps he’d done this dozens—nay, hundreds!—of times in the past. The notion had her furious, and she realized she was jealous over all those women who might have tantalized him.
“Goodnight,” she said, and she started for the door.
“I’ll get it for you.”
He slipped in front of her, and to her dismay—or was it her delight?—he didn’t open it. He slid an arm around her waist and drew her to him. He was going to kiss her again, and she couldn’t decide if she’d like it to occur or not.
He’d kissed her once previous, and it had been breathtaking and exciting. As his lips captured hers, she dived in and kissed him back with all the confidence and passion she could muster.
He lifted her, her skirt bunched up so her legs were wrapped around his hips. To her stunned surprise, he flexed his loins to hers in a rhythm her body definitely recognized.
She was jolted, as if she’d been struck by lightning. All the while, he hadn’t stopped kissing her. He kept on and on until she was dizzy, until she couldn’t predict what sins she might commit next.
She couldn’t guess how long they continued, but it was long enough that she changed her mind about what she wanted. He’d turned her into some sort of physical creature who only sought physical pleasure. Nothing else appealed, and when he gradually slowed, when the embrace ended, she moaned with disappointment.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said as he set her on her feet.
“No.”
“Then there’s no reason to hurry off so soon, is there?”
“No,” she said again.
“Let me show you something.”
“I’d like it if you would.”
“You have to come into my bedchamber though. We have to do it in there. I won’t dally with you up against a door.” He grinned. “At least not the first time.”
Nervously she licked her bottom lip. “Yes, I suppose I could go into your bedchamber.”
“Are you sure? It has to be your choice. Not mine.”
“I think it’s my choice.” She paused, pondered, then nodded. “Yes, I absolutely think it’s my choice.”
“No regrets later.”
“Oh, I imagine I’ll have dozens of them, but I’ll keep them to myself.”
He clasped her hand and linked their fingers, tugging for her to follow him. For the briefest second, she was frozen in place, curious as to who had spoken, who had agreed.
Could she have consented to such a wicked suggestion? As he’d said, she was an adult and could make her own decisions. Evidently she wanted Kit Roxbury. Was she mad?
Very likely so.
When he tugged again, she went after him like a trained puppy on a leash.
Damian at 14…
A loaf of bread is missing.”
Damian stood in a line of shivering, weary boys who were so fatigued they could barely focus on Lt. Butler’s remark. He must have noticed they weren’t paying attention, for he repeated it.
“A loaf of bread is missing from the kitchen. Who will admit to stealing it?”
Two dozen pairs of eyes gaped at him, all of them aware that they couldn’t confess. Punishment at the compound was swift and vile and could be deadly if Lt. Butler had been drinking to excess or if he was hung over. He had a dangerous temper, a strong arm, and a wicked cat-o’-nine tails that could inflict significant damage.
Butler surveyed the pathetic group. They were skin and bones, their clothes ragged, their hair long and shaggy. In London, they had been branded worst-of-the-worst, labeled incorrigible and, once they’d arrived in Australia, given to Lt. Butler so he could mold them into model citizens with brutality and back-breaking labor.
Exactly how that was supposed to occur, Damian had never quite figured out.
“Gentlemen,” Butler said, “we will stand here all night if need be. Who is the culprit?” He paced before the boys who were frozen with terror. “Turn him in. When you know the identity of the guilty party, why put yourself through such misery?”
Butler examined the boys, his feral gaze landing on each one individually, making them squirm and shudder with dread, which he enjoyed very much.
He wasn’t that tall, but he was very fat, having found numerous ways to hoard supplies and take more than his portion of the colony’s food stuffs. He was a tyrant, a corrupt, amoral fiend who felt entitled to whatever he wrongly amassed.
Rumor had it that he’d been sent to Australia in disgrace, that he’d committed an unpardonable blunder in the army. Or perhaps it was simply his extreme love of whiskey that had been his downfall. But he was very angry about the demotion, about being banished to the penal colonies, and he vented his rage on those who were weaker and smaller so a collection of half-starved boys suited his purposes.
No one had spoken up, and Butler hissed, “Tell me! Whoever does will receive a helping of beef at supper.”
It was an enormous bribe, and Damian imagined someone would eventually tattle. Not in front of the others, but they would privately slip a name to a guard. Damian didn’t blame them for their trivial betrayals. Theirs was an incredibly difficult existence, and an extra serving of food often seemed like it might literally be the difference between life and death.
Under ordinary circumstances, he’d have ignored the petty drama, but he thought Kit might have stolen the bread. Normally Kit wouldn’t consider such a dastardly deed, but a younger boy was very ill, and Kit had a soft spot for the less fortunate. If Kit was caught, he’d be severely beaten by Lt. Butler so Damian couldn’t risk that the true offender would be revealed.
He inhaled a deep breath, then stepped forward. It wouldn’t be the first thrashing he’d endured, and it wouldn’t be the last. He might be tossed in the hole for a week though, which he hated. It was an actual hole in the ground that was so narrow a fellow had to lie on his side with his knees curled up. A lid was placed on the top so it was very much like being in a coffin, but he’d survived it before and he’d survive it again.
“I took the bread,” he announced, and t
he other boys gasped.
Lt. Butler’s irate glower drilled into Damian. “As I suspected, Mr. Drummond.”
“Damian, no!” Kit said from down the line. “Don’t do this.”
“Be silent, Mr. Roxbury!” Lt. Butler bellowed without glancing at Kit. He asked Damian, “Who shared in your feast?”
“No one. I ate the whole thing myself.”
“I’m not surprised to hear it. You’re gluttonous, lazy, and impertinent, but we’ll fix that attitude of yours.” He gestured to an underling. “Fetch me my whip, then tie Mr. Drummond to the pole.”
The soldier went into Butler’s office to retrieve his weapon. Once he returned, two others grabbed Damian and led him to the flogging pole. He didn’t struggle, and they were almost disappointed that he didn’t fight them.
They were bullies too and would have relished the excuse to land a few punches with their fists before the leather of the whip cut into his skin.
Butler came up behind Damian, and he hovered there, wanting Damian to tremble or cry or evince some sign of submission. But he simply gazed out at the blue water of the ocean. He pictured himself wading into the cool waves, swimming out much farther than was safe, then letting himself sink down to the dark bottom, never to rise again.
There was such peaceful solace in that vision.
“Remove his shirt,” Butler ordered, but Damian didn’t like anyone touching him. He pulled off the garment himself.
“Bind his hands,” Butler commanded.
Damian leaned into the pole and wrapped his arms around it, barely feeling the rough rope as it secured his wrists. As the initial lash was applied, he was such a distance away in his mind, he might have been strolling through a fairy glen. He was invisible, out of his physical body.
Nothing and no one could hurt him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hello, Georgina.”
Damian laughed as she jumped a foot and whipped around, struggling to see who’d spoken. It was very dark, and for ages he’d been sitting in the corner of her bedchamber in Drummond Cottage, waiting for her to arrive.
She scowled. “Mr. Drummond?”
“Who else would it be? Have you other male callers stopping by?”
She marched over to the dresser and lit a candle. “You can’t be in here.”
