2Rakehell

by Debra Glass

  He consumed the water again and dragged in several lungfuls of air before he was able to form coherent words. “Why have you brought me here? Why do you have me chained like an animal?”

  Her expression remained infuriatingly calm. “How long have you been partaking in the opium dens?”

  He snarled. “What year is it?” he asked snidely.

  Her delicate brows lifted. “1898.”

  “And what year did we marry?” He said the word as if he were referring to a prison sentence instead of a marriage.

  “1893.” She blinked owlishly.

  He burrowed one hand into his hair and squeezed his temples. Wouldn’t anything stop this infernal pounding? “Five years then to be exact,” he said spitefully.

  A muscle in her porcelain-fine cheek twitched. “That’s what I thought,” she said in a clipped voice. “I’ll release you when this…this poison is out of your system. Until then—”

  “You’ll release me this instant. I command it.”

  Her lip dared to tremble in amusement. “No.”

  Venom fired through his veins. The glass shook in his hand and he released it for fear he might fling it instead at her in anger.

  Alarm flashed in her eyes and she jumped back but she made no motion to release him.

  “Do you mean to keep me a prisoner in my own home?”

  At that, her chin lifted. “Your home? Your home? I beg to differ, my lord.”

  He gaped. She was hardly the simpering virgin he’d left behind. But what did she mean she begged to differ? Did she know the truth?

  “You left Scarborough Hall. You left me. You left your father. And whether welcome or not your presence is required here.”

  He wanted to fling barbs at her, to ask if she’d stayed up all night practicing that pointed little sermon. But right now his head felt as if three blacksmiths were beating out horseshoes on it. With a smidgeon of remorse he glanced at the glass he’d thrown to the floor. He sighed. He’d have to reason this out with her later. Right now he only wanted to rid himself of this headache. “More water.”

  Her chin lifted and her knuckles whitened around the handle of the pitcher.

  He growled. “Please. Please may I have some more water…Primrose?”

  At the mention of her name her blue eyes softened and something inside him sparked despite the racking pain in his head. So she could still be seduced. Good to know. He looked up at her piteously. “Please?”

  Heaving a sigh, she seized the glass and refilled it before handing to him. He gazed into her eyes as he slid his fingers over hers in the exchange. Her breathing hitched and she withdrew her hand quickly.

  Oh yes. He offered her a tiny smile of gratitude before drinking the water. “Now. Primrose.” He waited until he saw that light spark in her eyes again. “Let’s be reasonable about this. Take this ridiculous chain off my ankle and we can talk.”

  Indecision flickered in her gaze. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes darting to where the chain linked to the bed and then back. Adam held his breath, waiting. Desperately hoping.

  “I…I can’t.” The softness fled from her features and in spite of those plump, sweet-looking lips and those innocent wide eyes, her hard-edged resolve returned.

  He bit back his anger and stared down into his glass to keep from lashing out at her again.

  She put the pitcher back on the bedside table. “The chamber pot is under the bed. Your…chain…will permit you that much movement.” She gestured toward the bellpull. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ring.”

  “You’re leaving me here? Without telling me why you’ve suddenly figured out that you desire my presence?” In spite of all his efforts he couldn’t hide the sarcasm in his voice. Or the double entendre he full well intended to rattle her to her chaste little core.

  She inhaled and folded her arms over her chest. “I suppose you deserve as much of an answer for being brought here as much as I deserved on the day you left without a word. Our wedding day to be exact.”

  “Wasn’t it obvious why I left?” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You lied to me.”

  She had the decency to flinch. “I was young and naive.”

  He grinned and raked her with a leering gaze. “Most definitely young. Most definitely inexperienced. But I greatly doubt you were all that naive. The earl’s personal physician examined you.”

  “He possibly made a mistake.” She wrung her hands, a gesture that proved to Adam she had something to hide.

  “No one is that inept.” He snorted. “You tricked me. I don’t know if you paid the good doctor or promised him sex or money but you ultimately got what you wanted didn’t you? A title? Position?”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits. Her fists clenched at her sides. “I am not a fortune hunter.”

  “Oh most certainly not! No American debutante comes to England to secure a titled husband does she?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Tell me, darling wife. Why did you resort to chicanery to wed me?”

  She trembled. “You want to know why I brought you here?” A sardonic smirk pulled at her lips. “I want a child. An heir.” Her cheeks colored a very pleasing pink, accentuating the line of delicate moles in the shape of Orion’s Belt along her jawline.

  Adam’s cock tightened at the images her declaration brought to mind. He laughed heartily. “A child? Is that all?”

  “Is that all?” she asked, obviously outraged. “A child is everything, my lord.”

  An heir. Primrose still had no clue. An heir wouldn’t solve anything for her. He sighed. “You might as well unfetter me, my dear. You’ve married the wrong man if you want an heir to all this.” He gestured at the room.

  “Are you not capable? Did one of those fallen women who were mollycoddling you give you the pox?” She obviously missed his point.

  He chuckled. In spite of this devil of a headache and the fact that he was chained to his own bed, he had to admit that he admired this feistier side of his wife. “Oh I assure you, my dear, I’m quite capable. Am I willing? That’s the question.”

  She didn’t seem to know how to respond. Her foot tapped the carpet and she cocked her head slightly. “As long as I have you captive it doesn’t matter who fathers the child, now does it?”

  Anger flared in Adam’s chest as if someone had put a bellows to it. “You’d give a bastard my name?”

  “If I’m forced to do so.”

  He glared. “You will not!” The chain rattled as he struggled against it.

  “Then behave as a husband should,” she spat back, fists balled at her sides. She fumed for a moment and then huffed out of the room.

  Alarm fired through his veins, consuming him in a cloud of dread. He couldn’t let her leave without releasing him. “Wait! Primrose!” he called in vain.

  But the door closed with finality behind her. Blowing out a harsh breath he fell heavily back on the pillows.

  He’d vowed to never set foot in this godforsaken place again. And for what? Because she wanted a baby?

  Adam snorted. He’d assumed she wouldn’t want a damn thing to do with him after their farce of a wedding night. He’d flown into a rage when he’d seen the bloodstain on his cock.

  At the time he’d been hurt by betrayal, wounded by deception. Not now. He’d shut off feeling anything the first time he’d been lied to.

  He spat out a laugh.

  His whole life was a damned lie.

  They’d all lied to him including his mother, God rest her black soul.

  He shook as old memories came creeping back like ghosts stealing down the chimney. His mother’s deathbed confession pierced his heart and he brushed it away as he would a spider’s web.

  He’d never expected deceit from Primrose—his innocent little bride who’d led him to believe he’d behaved abominably. That in itself hadn’t taken too much convincing. He fully deserved his reputation as a debauched rake who seized every chance to sink his cock into lovely willing women—willing being the linchpin word.

>   Not once had he claimed a woman’s maidenhead. Until that night.

  Nausea roiled at the remembrance of how he’d so carelessly plunged into his bride. Remorse swamped him even now because had she been a willing conspirator in Thorley’s scheme she still hadn’t deserved to be taken as if she were the prisoner of a Viking marauder.

  Ashamed and shocked that not only his wife but the man who’d raised him as his own had betrayed him, he’d left Scarborough Hall and its duplicitous inhabitants behind to rot.

  After all by blood, none of it truly belonged to him anyway.

  Tenuous memories slipped back over him. In the den, she’d mentioned something about the earl. Was the old man dying? Something malignant and dark seized hold of his heart and squeezed it in its claws. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to consider the possibilities.

  Not now. Not with this riotous pounding in his head.

  He closed his eyes. He’d sort this out later. Right now he just wanted to sleep.

  * * * * *

  When Primrose walked into the kitchen, the servants who sat round their table shot to their feet. The males inclined their heads and the maids curtsied. “Lady Black,” she was greeted somewhat in unison.

  “Please sit. I only stepped in to inquire if Lord Black has rung.”

  “No my lady. He has not,” said a maid.

  She pressed a finger to her lips. It had been hours since their rather terse confrontation. “You don’t suppose he’s…gone?” Escaped was the word she wanted to use.

  “No ma’am. One of us would have surely seen him had he come down the servants’ stairwell.”

  “Very well. Thank you,” she said. Something wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t have at least rung for food. Besides, she’d given the servants explicit instructions that she was to be called if Adam rang.

  After all it wouldn’t do for the servants to be gossiping about the heir to the earldom being chained to his bed.

  “Good evening,” she murmured to the staff as she crossed the kitchen and took the back stairs up to Adam’s chambers.

  She quietly pushed open the door. The fire had dwindled to nothing more than glowing embers. Squinting, she peered into the murky darkness. Where was he? “My lord?” she whispered.

  A low moan came from the middle of the room.

  Panic seized her and she raced to the bed. It was empty. She skirted the side and found him crumpled in the floor. He’d managed to drag half the covers down onto his naked form.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked, kneeling beside him and running her fingers over his mussed hair. His forehead was hot to the touch and clammy with perspiration.

  He moaned.

  “You’re burning up,” she said.

  His fingers curled into her arm and he squeezed with a strength that surprised her given his febrile state. “Help…me…”

  “Can you stand?” she asked, cradling his head in her lap.

  A violent spasm of shivers racked him and she leaned over him, holding him tightly as if she could stop his pain. “Adam…let me help you back into bed.”

  Somehow she managed to guide him off the floor. He fell over the side of the bed. Primrose heaved one heavy leg onto the mattress and then with great effort dragged up the other one. As quickly as she could she gathered the covers around him, tucking them in around his shoulders. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?” she asked.

  “Need…laudanum,” he mumbled. “Whiskey.”

  Realization crept over her. She’d heard of men and women losing their minds over want of a drug, but she’d never before seen it with her own eyes. “I’ll be back momentarily. I’m going to fetch the physician.”

  Again his hand grabbed hold of her arm and he squeezed, preventing her from leaving. “No. No doctor. Stay…don’t go. So…cold …”

  Common sense railed at her to wrest free and run to ring for Thorley’s physician. Her compassion wouldn’t allow her to leave Adam’s side for an instant.

  She climbed onto the bed and gathered him against her, drawing his head to her shoulder. His arms twined around her. His knee pushed between hers until they were in an embrace that threatened Primrose’s determination.

  He clung, shivering so hard his teeth chattered. She held him close and stroked his hair. He’d brought this on himself. She should let him suffer. On a rational level she wanted to punish him for deserting her, for embarrassing her in front of her peers. Instead she stroked his head and his back and cooed to him that everything would be all right—even though she feared that might be a lie.

  His hair stuck to his head in clammy wet strands and though his skin scorched her palms, at the same time he was drenched in a cold sweat. A groan tore from his throat and he clutched at his stomach.

  “Adam,” she whispered. “What can I do for you? What can I get you?” Guilt possessed her like a ravenous demon that she’d caused this misery in him.

  His head thrashed from side to side. “No,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Promise…me.”

  “What, Adam? What?”

  His eyes opened and for that instant, he looked clear and focused. Determined. “I want free of it. Help me be free.”

  His strength wavered and he wilted into her arms once more. Though he hadn’t been specific, Primrose knew what he’d meant. He wanted free of the drug. Not the chain. Not her. Opium.

  Her breath hitched and she pulled the covers higher trying to warm him but to no avail. His shivering was so terrible, the entire bed shook. “Adam…let me go and I’ll stoke the fire. It’ll make you warmer.”

  “No…” He clutched her tighter, burrowing his head against her breasts and drawing his knees up to tangle his legs with hers. “Promise. No doctor. No one…but you.”

  “All right, all right,” she soothed. “I promise.”

  After an hour or so of tremors—Primrose lost track of time—he fell into a fitful sleep. She pried herself loose, eased from the bed, rolled up her sleeves and rekindled the fire. Once it blazed up she straightened and wiped the back of her wrist across her damp forehead.

  She glanced at her husband, curled like a kitten under a mound of covers. What had she done? Hopelessness pervaded her and sank to her toes. She debated ringing for the physician regardless of what she’d told Adam. She wasn’t sure she could do this.

  God forbid she accidentally killed him!

  She reached for the bell but Adam’s pained gaze on her prevented her from ringing it.

  “Don’t,” he rasped.

  Her hand hovered. Indecision gnawed at her but ultimately she didn’t ring the bell.

  His expression twisted, betraying his pain. “I’ll give you what you desire.”

  “A child?” she asked. But even he didn’t deserve to be blackmailed when he was obviously so ravaged by the drugs he’d grown dependent upon. “Adam, we can talk about this later when you’re of sound mind.”

  With a slight nod, he closed his eyes and drifted back into a fitful sleep.

  * * * * *

  When Adam’s eyes opened he couldn’t remember where he was for a few hazy seconds. His entire body ached. His muscles trembled.

  He blinked as slowly his memory washed back over him, entreating and receding like the tide on the seashore.

  A wad of sheets lay in a pile on the floor. On the nightstand sat a bowl he vaguely remembered retching into. A damp cloth had been draped over the side of the washbasin. Images of Primrose holding his head in her lap and bathing his forehead with cool water came back to him. He pushed himself up and leaned back against the pillows.

  Somehow, she’d managed to get him into a nightshirt that was now soggy and clung to his skin like a cobweb.

  He stank. Hell, the entire room stank. Rubbing his temples he recalled how his wife had cared for him throughout the ordeal. Remorse plagued him. She’d seen him through the very pits of hell. She’d shown him more compassion than he deserved.

  He shifted and noticed the chain had been r
emoved from his ankle. The impulse to flee down the servants’ stairs seized him and he flung back the covers intent on doing just that.

  A promise…

  Clapping a hand to his forehead, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn.” Another voice intruded.

  He’d never kept a promise before. Why start now? What did it matter what she thought?

  Her soothing voice played in his thoughts. Adam, you’ll get through this. Don’t give up.

  He hissed a breath as he slid out of the bed. His knees shook and he cursed. He hated feeling weak. He hated that she’d seen him weak. Blast it all!

  Gripping the bedpost, he stood with as little confidence as a newborn foal, fearing his legs would give and he’d collapse.

  His stomach grumbled and he debated ringing for a servant to bring him something to eat. What time was it anyway? He ambled toward the window and looked out at a view so familiar, yet it seemed so long ago that he’d gazed upon it favorably. The well-manicured gardens and fields stretched over the rolling hills. Horses grazed on the meadow and sheep trotted in a line in front of a farmer and a black-and-white dog. A distant rooftop peeping through the trees was the only evidence of a nearby neighbor.

  He’d once looked at these lands with pride. He’d once assumed all this was to be his.

  He couldn’t think about that now or he’d turn to a bottle, or worse, descend back into the mean alleyways and opium dens of East London. He thought he’d hoped to die until he’d come face to face with a criminal’s shiv. Rage had driven him to wrench the knife away from the would-be thief and turn it on him. And as the man’s life bled out on the cobblestones Adam realized he’d wanted to live.

  No. He’d come too far to surrender to the dragon.

  The indistinct memory that Primrose had mentioned the earl being in poor health flitted in Adam’s thoughts. Although he’d vowed to himself never to set eyes on Thorley again he couldn’t just leave again without seeing after the man who’d raised him as if he were his own.

  Adam swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Did the earl know what Adam knew? That he wasn’t the rightful heir? That instead, he, Adam, was the son of some lowly portrait painter?