Powers’s sensual mouth worked, the conflict on his face revealing he was just as much at odds as she. “Because if you two cannot be together, then perhaps . . .”
Without warning, Powers dipped his head down, his scent of erotic spices and leather surrounding her.
Mary froze, unable to believe what he was about to attempt. Just as his lips were about to caress hers, her wits barreled down upon her and she stepped away. With a determined growl, he caught her shoulders, keeping her firmly in place. She jerked her head to the side and his lips smeared across her cheek.
At the failed kiss, Powers hung his head for a moment, resting it against her forehead. Only the sound of his ragged breathing pierced the night’s silence. “The unthinkable is happening to me, Mary.”
It took everything she had not to slap him, for betraying Edward with such ease. “Have you lost what little sense you have?” she hissed.
“I set out to seduce you . . . To prove to Edward it could be done.”
If she’d been a fanciful woman, she’d have sworn she heard her heart breaking. But she wasn’t fanciful and she shouldn’t have been surprised. Yet the pain sliced right to her bone. Still, she hoped . . . Perhaps Powers had done it entirely of his own accord . . . “Did Edward know?”
“Not in words, but I think he wondered.”
She had known that Edward’s soul was strangely bruised, had let her heart open to him in spite of that, but she had never considered he might have doubted her loyalty.
“Mary,” Powers said, his breath teasing across her cheek. “I am coming to care for you.”
She snorted. “That is a ludicrous thing to say especially after your previous declaration.”
He lifted his head, his blond hair flicking over his furrowed brow. Hopelessness shone from his cold eyes. “I thought it would be so easy to defeat you . . . but every moment I spent peeled away my resolve. I found myself feeling not apart from you, but one.”
Not apart, but one. Mary bit back the answer that she understood. “I can never care for you in that way.”
“Let me come with you.” His icy eyes were piercing in their intensity. “I will protect you. I know you. I know you as no one else can. And perhaps out of this, there could be love.”
If she could have staggered away, she would have, but he held her with a fierce need. Now there was nowhere to run. Impossible though it may be, he was offering her what Edward never would. And the pain was enough to nearly break her. Her veins seemed to close, turning her blood to frigid liquid.
How had her life come to this? How had it come to such a painful decision in which, to save herself, she’d have to betray the man she loved? But there it was. Edward would never love her. Without him, she still needed revenge in order to be free and Powers would be a perfect ally for such a thing. She lifted her chin, ready to make the most treacherous deal of her life. “If you take me to my father, I will let you accompany me.”
His grip hardened. “Absolutely not.”
Her resolve tempered to something so hot she was amazed that she could endure the burn of it. “Then I go alone.”
Powers pulled back and drove a hand through his wild hair. “Damn it, Mary.”
“Please do as I ask. The man who helps me in this will always have my gratitude.” She hated herself with every word. She was just as dangerous as Powers. She had become someone who would do anything, say anything to gain her vengeance.
Perhaps she’d been a better student than even Edward could have imagined. But she wouldn’t regret it. Not now.
For the years she’d lost, beaten and broken in the madhouse, and for her mother, bullied and stolen from this world too soon, she’d proclaim words she didn’t mean.
Powers’s face turned grim, but he said nothing as he offered his hand to toss her up onto the saddle.
She slipped her knee into his cupped hands and grabbed the reins and a bit of the gelding’s mane. She was in the air, flying up, and then she landed softly on the polished leather.
“Wait for me,” he said.
Powers headed down the stable yard and chose a russet stallion. It took little time to saddle the horse; then he mounted it. Grim determination lined his eyes and mouth.
He returned to her and said, “Perhaps we are both mad to do this.”
There was something unspoken, though. The word “mad” stung, but Mary couldn’t argue. She was ruled now by something far more powerful than she could ever have imagined. The need to avenge herself and her mother. And for that, she’d leave everyone else behind.
In Powers’s haunted gaze there dwelled a broken hunger, and if she were a better woman she would have pursued it. But right now all she cared about was driving a wedge between herself and Edward so permanent that he would let her rot before coming for her again. For if he came for her, she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to deny him again.
No matter that he wished to own her.
She let herself take one look back. Candlelight glowed forth from the windows of the house, beacons in a sad, cold world. Though Edward would never love her, he would always be with her. As long as he was alive. As long as she knew he was out there somewhere, standing upon the same earth as she, she would be content.
She sat silent, her back rigid while she snapped the reins. The gelding raced out under the low black sky full with the promise of slashing rain. As she cracked the reins again, the gelding beneath her surged faster, eating up the earth beneath its hooves. Riding away from her heart and its master in the house behind them.
Chapter 23
The torchlight outside the coaching inn sputtered under the torrential downpour, its glowing fire barely penetrating the ebony night. Barely lighting the road that led back to Edward. Arms limply at her sides, Mary glared out onto the soaked moor bordering Yorkshire. Loss pressed at her throat so crushingly she could barely swallow.
Powers’s Northumberland estate was far enough from London that it would take a significant journey to reach their destination. They’d only made it to the Durham county line.
With a sigh of resignation, she turned away from the mud-slogged yard and entered into the long, tunnellike passage that led past the courtyard and through to the inn beyond.
Powers was negotiating accommodations somewhere within.
Frankly, she would have preferred to keep riding. If they’d thought the horses could have traversed the roads, she would have pushed forward.
Now that she knew what she wished to do, anything that stood in her way was infuriating. She’d waited long enough to confront her father. It seemed unreasonable that rain should hold her back now.
The dreary light and the rushes beneath her feet gave the small passage a closed-in feel. She shivered. On such a night, the inn was most likely packed, but given the lateness of the hour, most of the occupants had turned to their beds. The stillness, punctured only by the drumming rain, was disconcerting.
Boot steps entered the passageway behind her. She was tempted to glance back, but she kept her gaze ahead, even as her skin prickled with an intense awareness and her own breath suddenly boomed to the volume of thunder in her ears.
Increasing her pace, she attempted to ignore her follower, but once the dull thud of footsteps continued down the passage, she could not. Rapidly, she assessed her options. She could run or scream for Powers, but he might not hear in this storm.
There was but one choice. Mary whipped around, confronting her follower. Despite the fear brewing within her, she forced herself to stand strong and throw her shoulders back.
A gentleman, his russet hair glinting copper, stood in the amber glow of torchlight. His long riding coat dripped with rain and he inclined his head slightly.
She didn’t return the gesture. A deep foreboding slid through her. She turned back to the inn and increased her pace. His steps matched hers. Fear gripped her heart in its brutal fist.
Mary slipped her fingers around the ivory knife hilt at her waist.
“You di
dn’t truly think you could run, did you?” the voice called behind her.
Anger . . . Anger so intense she could barely see wrapped her up and spun her around.
His eyes flared in surprise.
“I’m not running,” she hissed.
“That will make this so much easier,” he said nonchalantly. With one gloved hand, he slid a folded white handkerchief from his pocket.
Mary sucked in a slow breath, commanding herself to wait for him to draw closer. “Hardgrave?”
He inclined his head again. “You and I were always going to meet, Mary.”
“Yes.” She would keep still. She would not bolt or act too soon.
“Now come with me.” Hardgrave smiled, a private joke in his own twisted head. “And all will be well.”
“Well?” she mocked, shifting slightly, moving her weight to the balls of her toes. “Have you ever lived in an asylum?”
“I lived in St. Giles. Not much difference, I should think.” Without warning, Hardgrave darted toward her, the handkerchief fluttering in his hand.
Mary countered his movement as she yanked out the knife Powers had given her. She didn’t allow herself to think of anything but freedom as she took a balanced step and arced the knife up across his open chest. As she brought the knife back in the swinging figure eight pattern, she changed the balance of her feet, moving away from him with the ease of water pouring over stone.
Hardgrave winced and recoiled. He gaped at the twice-sliced material across his chest, his face broad with dismay. His head snapped back up and rain droplets sprayed into the air.
Panting now, Mary feinted right, then struck, intent on gutting the man who’d come for her.
Now aware of the skills of his opponent, Hardgrave slid back fast, then dropped to one knee and barreled his fist with an abrupt swing to the small of her back.
A scream tore from her throat as pain erupted in her kidneys. The blow knocked her facedown. As she flew toward the floor, she thrust the knife out so she wouldn’t fall on it. Her knees slammed into the rush-covered stones. Her bones seemed to crack as her teeth clattered together. The world swung on its hideous axis as vomit teased the back of her throat.
“Mary?!” Powers’s shout thundered through the passage.
She tried to twist around, but her skirts were caught about her ankles. “Kill him!” she screamed.
A shot cracked through the small space, accompanied by the acrid scent of gunpowder. Horror raked her with its merciless talons. Who had fired that shot? Disoriented, her blood pounding so hard she couldn’t hear anything but its wild rush, Mary scrambled to get up. Her knees wobbled and she staggered as she stepped on the hem of her gown.
Before she could establish her footing, a gloved hand padded with a handkerchief slammed down over her mouth and nose. Another arm wrapped around her middle, dragging her back against a broad chest.
She struggled against the hold, arching wildly away. But that hand held down tighter over her face, and as she gasped for air, the strangest scent filled her nostrils. She gasped it in, her mind whirring with light and shadow as she tried to recoil and see Powers.
Tears stung her eyes as the flickering torchlight guttered away.
Where was Powers?
Her vision dimmed in rapid degrees. She struck out slowly, futilely. Her body moved with the aptitude of one swimming through seaweed-strewn waters. Even the panic that had so wholly gripped her faded away and her body relaxed. She began to float. A sensation she knew all too well.
She was being drugged.
Hardgrave picked her up off her feet as he fought for control. As he shunted her, she spotted Powers. His white-blond hair glowed golden against the dull rushes and his black riding coat lay flung about him like a broken angel’s wings. There was no movement to his massive body.
She refused to let it register. That he was dead. Instead, even though her fingers were numb around the knife, she turned it in her palm, aiming the blade back. With one solid jab, she drove it into Hardgrave’s flesh.
A grunt echoed behind her and then her wrist was in his grip. Her pale hand flew forward. She watched as it crashed against the wall, her fingers opening and releasing the knife. She didn’t feel the pain of mashing flesh or grinding bone. She didn’t feel anything except . . . at last, regret. She’d killed Powers and she would never see Edward again.
Chapter 24
“My dearest Mary, we are so relieved to have you back in our keeping.”
Mary longed to cower against the dripping stone walls of her cell and lose herself in the shadowy light of the windowless room. It was what she would have done when she’d been a prisoner here weeks before. But she was no longer the girl Mrs. Palmer had tried to destroy.
It didn’t matter that they’d left her in isolation for almost a week with no company but the contemplation of what Mrs. Palmer was planning for her. And thoughts of the loss of Edward. She’d learned to pretend that she had never had a rending conversation with Edward. The illusion gave her a solace that allowed her to control her fear, honing it to a sharp steel edge. So now she squared her chin and replied, “Not as relieved as I.”
Mrs. Palmer’s brows rose slightly, creasing her usually implacable brow. “Indeed?”
Mary slid her bare foot across the damp stones, taking the step with a sort of swaggering confidence only the deadliest creatures displayed. “For now I need not travel to kill you.”
A laugh rippled from Mrs. Palmer’s throat. “Your delusions were always most amusing.” She glanced back over her shoulder, the folds of her simple skirts swaying. “Matthew?” she called.
Sick little fingers wound their way into Mary’s heart and she froze, relentlessly still in her thin, scratchy shift. He was dead. She’d killed the keeper. She’d plunged the rusty metal into his corpulent flesh. He’d fallen at her feet.
Mrs. Palmer cocked her head to the side as she folded her slim fingers before her, ladylike as ever. “You do recall Matthew?”
The wood door swung open on its creaking black iron hinges and Matthew lumbered through. With his size and girth, a slow lumber was all the lout could manage. The hate in his dim eyes promised retribution.
Mary found herself swaying backward as if she could somehow escape him, but all that was behind her was a stone wall at least two feet thick. And if she took a step back, it would be the first of many steps back to that broken girl she’d been before. She would never do that.
She dug her toes into the frigid stone floor, willing herself not to give away any of her hard-won self. But ’twas not easy as the stench of animal fat and unwashed flesh wafted toward her.
Matthew had not altered in the last weeks, nor had he likely bathed. His dirty brown hair lay in greasy tracks over his thick forehead and his dull brown eyes glared down at her with promise. A promise to exact revenge for her temerity in wounding him.
Mary gave a wry, mocking bob of a curtsy. “Matthew. It would seem the devil didn’t want you quite yet.”
The flesh under Matthew’s eye twitched and he took a menacing step toward her, his black boot clomping. “Nah, Mary. He wanted me to fuck you for him.”
Mary squared her shoulders, then slowly lifted her hand and summoned Matthew farther forward with a determined wave. “Come on, then. Let’s see you make the attempt.”
His animal eyes sparked with surprise. His wards normally trembled in his presence. They never challenged him. His confused gaze shifted to Mrs. Palmer. Something about Mary had changed. Even he, beast that he was, could see that.
“Mary, now that you’ve had time to contemplate your position”—Mrs. Palmer reached into the deep pocket of her skirts and pulled out a small tubular device—“we have a gift for you.”
Mary shifted on her feet and focused on the little thing. “A gift?”
“Mmm.” As Mrs. Palmer lifted the device, she flicked her finger against the tube, then pushed against a small handle at its base. “It is something new. Something that will help you accept your
place in this world.”
“I know my place,” she snapped, her body pulsing with growing fury. “It isn’t here.”
A burst of liquid bubbled from the needlelike top. “Of course it is here. And we shall help you recall that. Very slowly.”
Mrs. Palmer stroked the cylinder. “You’ve embarrassed me, Mary.”
“You’ll understand if I don’t apologize,” Mary mocked in a tone that resembled Powers at his most cutting.
Mrs. Palmer’s nostrils flared slightly. “You’ve gained an impertinence in your time away from us. A pity, then, that you shall be spending the rest of your miserable life—short though it may be—in this little room.”
Even though the walls seemed to close in around her, Mary cocked her chin up and refused to utter another word.
“I’ve written to your father, making him aware of your untimely death. This news no doubt cheers him and it frees me to make you an example to the other girls at my own leisure.”
Mary eyed the “gift” wondering how it would be used to make her such an “example.”
“What is that?” she asked.
“It is the newest invention in medicine. Perfect for someone of your temperament. It is a syringe. You see, it delivers the most remarkable of medicines. Morphine.” Mrs. Palmer advanced slowly. “Far better than laudanum.”
“Better?” Mary hissed. She wished she could lay the woman down and force-feed her laudanum until she choked.
“Let me simply say”—Mrs. Palmer gave an ingratiating smile—“that once I inject you with this, Matthew here could ride you like a May Day pony and you’d not complain.”
Rising images of Matthew’s merciless degradation of her body spun in her head. In the past, she’d have slipped away into terror, but now those sickening thoughts gave weight to her spine and determination to her desire to thwart them.
But there was something else. Something very serious. If this new medicine was related to laudanum, and they put that poison into her, she would never be free of the demon that screamed and clawed for escape. No one—not even Edward—would be able to help her then.
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