Further Than Passion

by Cheryl Holt

  "I must have had too much brandy," he groaned. "For a while there, I didn't think I'd be able to finish."

  "We're ... we're done?"

  "Yes."

  "That's it? That's all there is?"

  He glared at her. "What were you expecting? Candy and bad poetry?"

  "But... but... I thought..."

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  What precisely? That it would be more romantic? More affectionate? Less physical?

  This had to be the secret of the marital bed. What if he insisted on trying it again? What if the behavior was mandatory? What if she had to perform the abominable ritual whenever he requested it?

  Her stomach roiled.

  She stared at his scrawny, withered torso,, at his mussed hair and untrimmed nails. The event was concluded, yet he wasn't paying her any more attention than he had when it was occurring. She'd been naught but a receptacle, a vessel for his manly lust, and the greatest disappointment she would ever experience swept over her.

  "You don't love me, do you?"

  He frowned. "What?"

  "You don't love me. You never will."

  "Of course I don't love you. How ridiculous! Be a good girl, would you?" He nodded toward the dresser. "Fetch me a wet cloth."

  Desirous of being away from him, she scurried off, though her anatomy protested. At her center, she was raw and throbbing, and she stumbled over and dipped a towel in a bowl of water. Gulping down tears of disillusionment, she wrung it out and returned to him.

  He wiped himself, and she dared to peek at his loins, stunned to discern that they were covered with blood. She peered down at her own crotch, finding blood there, too.

  "I'm wounded!" she shrieked. "You tried to kill me!!"

  "Be silent!" he growled. "And lie down."

  She should have hurled an insult, then stormed out,

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  but she was trembling, her knees weak, and she felt as if she might swoon.

  "Lie down!" he barked again, causing her to scramble onto the mattress.

  For an eternity, she was quiet, analyzing the ceiling, the floor, looking anywhere but at him.

  "What now?' she ultimately asked.

  "Now... we wait."

  "For what?"

  "For your mother," he said calmly. "Be sure you're smiling when she walks in. I want her to see how glad you are."

  "She's coming? When?"

  "Very soon."

  She shuddered with dread, incapable of imagining the scene. There was a knitted throw by her feet, and she reached for it, desperate to warm herself, but to shield herself, too.

  "Leave it," he snapped. "From the instant she enters, let's give her an unimpeded view of what we've done."

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  "Where is she?" Marcus demanded, out of patience.

  "I've told you, milord," the prison warden claimed, "there's no record of anyone by that name being brought in."

  "Look again."

  "I've been over the list a dozen times. She's not here."

  "A twenty-five-year-old woman doesn't simply vanish into thin air."

  'That's true, but you're assuming your information is correct, and that mis is—in fact—the institution to which she was transported." He flashed a wan smile at Selena, hoping he hadn't insulted.

  Marcus frowned at Selena. "Where did they say they were taking her?"

  "Newgate Prison," she responded without hesitation.

  "So where is she?" Marcus repeated, and he grabbed the warden by his jacket.

  "Now see here, Lord Stamford," the man blustered. There's no need for violence."

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  "You call this violence?" Marcus lifted him up, the seams on his coat popping as his feet dangled in the air. "I'll show you violence!”

  He slammed the warden into the wall, banging him into the plaster with a loud thud that had his clerk rushing in from the other room.

  "What the devil... ?" the clerk bristled on witnessing his supervisor hanging from Marcus's fist. Christopher stepped forward to prevent any interference.

  "Get out!" Marcus seethed without slackening his grip.

  The clerk scurried away, and as help was summoned, Marcus could hear a commotion in the outer office, but he ignored the uproar. He felt as if he were outside himself, gazing down at a crazed lunatic who was assaulting a public servant, and was stunned by his state of emotion. He—who never cared for others—was angry enough to commit murder, and if anything dastardly had happened to Kate, he just might.

  "You have five seconds to explain how a hurt, frightened gentlewoman could be wrongly incarcerated in this jail without anyone knowing."

  "Well.... well..." the warden stammered.

  "Have you any idea of how powerful I am?" Marcus asked. "Can you begin to comprehend what I will do to you? To your family? I'm sure you value your employment. If you don't tell me where she is, how long will you hold on to it?"

  "There are so many prisoners," the warden squeaked. 'Terhaps we missed having her identity recorded."

  Marcus's heart sank. If she'd been tossed into the

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  teeming throng, how would they find her among the thousands of people? The place was packed to the gills with the most wretched souls in London. She could be tried, convicted, and hanged before they located her.

  A brief meeting with solicitor Thumberton had proved that Regina had presented fake documents in her scheme to have Kate arrested. Over an extended period of years, she'd gone to great lengths to conceal her theft, of not only Selena's money but Kate's inheritances as well. If Regina was capable of such unmitigated duplicity and deceit, what else might she perpetrate? Had Kate actually been delivered to Newgate? Or had Regina engineered a more dire fate?

  Regina had much to lose, so she couldn't allow Kate to surface, couldn't give Kate the opportunity to defend herself.

  It was entirely possible that Kate's abductors had mentioned Newgate as a ruse, so that those raising questions would presume that the law had been involved, that Kate had been appropriately seized and confined.

  Had Kate ever made it to Newgate? Or had she disappeared en route? In a few days, would a body be discovered, floating in the Thames?

  He shuddered and tightened his grasp on the warden's neck, shutting off his air so that he was turning blue and prying at Marcus's fingers.

  "Please ..." the warden begged. "I don't... I can't..."

  "If you haven't found her in the next ten minutes, I'll kill you."

  Behind him, footsteps pounded, and several burly

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  guards raced in, intent on effecting a rescue. Marcus spun to confront them, dropping the warden in the process, and he crumpled to a heap, panting and rubbing his throat.

  They milled around, perplexed as to what their role should be. They couldn't manhandle a lord, but they couldn't have him pummeling the warden, either. One was more brave than the rest, and as he advanced, Selena gasped.

  "It's him," she insisted, pointing. "He took Kate from my house."

  "You're positive?" Marcus queried as Chris positioned himself to block an escape.

  "I've never seen the lady before," the oaf contended, shifting uncomfortably. "She's daft."

  The warden wobbled to his feet and reasserted control by shooing the others out. "Let's discuss this privately."

  "By all means," Marcus agreed, quiet and composed until the warden closed the door; then Marcus hit the guard, lashing out so quickly and so firmly that the man fell like a stone.

  He attempted to rise, and Marcus punched him again and kicked him in the ribs.

  "What have you done with her?"

  The incoherent fellow didn't answer. Blood poured from his face, his nose was probably broken, and Marcus gripped him by his shirt. 'This is your last chance."

  "I don't know who—"

  Marcus struck him a third time, the blow smashing the bones in his cheek. He was a wailing, defeated lump, and Marcus bent ov
er and clutched him by the neck. "Is she here?"

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  "Yeth..." he muttered, pushed beyond the spot where he could lie.

  "Where is she, Jimmy?" the warden inquired.

  "Itho ... itho ..." With his injuries, he couldn't pronounce the word, and Marcus glared at the warden.

  "What is he trying to say?"

  "I believe he's informing us that she's in an isolation cell."

  Marcus straightened, a hundred hideous thoughts careening past. "Why would she be?"

  "Well, she might have been deemed a danger to herself or others."

  "Or?" Marcus prodded, a niggling suspicion dawning.

  "I suppose someone could have ... could have purchased a more serious detention."

  Marcus leaned down and clasped the guard's hair, tipping his head back. "Who paid you?"

  "A woman," the man managed to spit out.

  "Was she very obese?"

  "Yeth...."

  Although he'd never given the stories any credence, rumors abounded as to such atrocities. A wealthy person could enjoy an easier internment, so why couldn't it be arranged that a poorer person suffer a worse fate? Felons were occasionally thrown into the judicial system, then vanished.

  Were their records lost? Or had something more sinister transpired? What had been Regina's objective for Kate? Very likely, Kate was to have been murdered and disposed of by the knave lying at Marcus's feet.

  After all, who would have checked on Kate? Who would have missed her?

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  Too bad for Regina that she'd miscalculated. She had no idea that people loved Kate, that Selena and Christopher, and he—mostly he himself—would search to the ends of the earth to find her.

  Within seconds, they were marching down the hall, and Marcus ignored the smells and moans of human agony. They paraded through the main sections of the prison, across sweltering courtyards, through dank, filthy tunnels; then they descended into the bowels, the stairs slippery and dark, the light dimming behind them, the cries of despair fading.

  They stopped at the last door. The warden had escorted them, and he rotated the key in the lock, though he wasn't strong enough to pull it open. One of his lackeys tugged it aside, and Marcus stared into the forbidding chasm, sickened that this was where they'd hidden her.

  Would they have starved her? Tortured her? Left her to rot? His rage surged anew.

  The warden entered first, holding up a lamp. Brave, determined Selena squeezed in after him. Marcus tried to enter, too, but there was so little space that he and Chris were forced to tarry in the corridor.

  "Kate?" Selena called softly. "Kate, it's me."

  There was a rustling and murmurs, Selena fussing and cooing, but no reply from Kate, and Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, praying that she would respond.

  'This was all a mistake," Selena whispered. "You're to be released."

  "Selena?"

  When he heard Kate, his relief was so great that his knees buckled, and lest he sink to the floor, Chris steadied him.

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  "Yes, mia cara. It's really me." Selena's voice was wobbly, and Marcus could tell she was on the verge of tears. "Everything will be all right now."

  Kate said something Marcus couldn't decipher, and Selena explained, "I went to Christopher. He and Lord Stamford helped me. They're just outside."

  "Lord Stamford helped you?" Kate sounded confused. "Why would he?"

  Marcus was crushed, hating himself for being such an ass, for putting her through hell, and he gazed at Chris, feeling petty and small under the younger man's scrutiny.

  "He accompanied us because he was so worried," Selena told her. "We were all so worried. Can you walk?"

  "I think so."

  There was another rustle and shifting about, and the warden emerged, then Selena, who was leading Kate. Even though there was scant illumination, Marcus could detect a gash on her cheek, blood from it splashed on her clothes. Her movements were stiff and faltering, the severity of her beating obvious.

  On viewing her, Christopher gasped and rushed forward. "Oh, Kate, oh! I'm so sorry. So terribly sorry."

  Marcus approached, too, considering himself more impotent than he'd ever been. He was desperate to sweep her into his arms, to profess how much he loved her, how much he'd always loved her. He'd carry her up the stairs and out to his carriage; then he'd whisk her away from this awful place, would keep her safe forevermore.

  He had to let her know, had to make her understand, and he reached out to her, meaning to speak, to confide

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  his churning emotions, but the words swelled in his throat, choking him with how much he cared.

  "Kate ..." He murmured her name, unable to say anything else, and his hand wavered before her, but she didn't grab for it.

  She assessed him as if she wasn't sure who he was, as if she was afraid of him. He could see the hurt and betrayal, the disappointment and sorrow. Any fondness she might have felt for him had been shattered.

  He could have had her for his own, but folly had steered him to the wrong choices. How many times in his life had he destroyed what he cherished, what he valued? He hadn't believed her, hadn't trusted her, and his lack of faith had condemned her to this horrifying end.

  With a nauseating conviction, he comprehended that he didn't deserve her continuing affection, wasn't worthy of her friendship, or even her courteous regard.

  She turned to Christopher and fell toward him. "Get me out of here, Chris."

  "Yes, Kate. At once. We're leaving immediately."

  "Take me home. Please. Take me to Doncaster."

  "I will, Kate. I will straightaway."

  Her remaining strength gave out, and Chris caught her as she collapsed. He swooped her up and started off, Selena and the warden fast on his heels. Marcus dawdled, following slowly, watching the touching tableau from a distance.

  His heart breaking, his spirits dashed, he recognized that he didn't belong with them, wasn't part of them, and shouldn't interject himself into their private family tragedy. When his assistance was neither wanted nor needed, he shouldn't interfere.

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  He was someone separate and distinct, and nothing about the ghastly event had changed that fact. Yet as he trudged after them, he felt more alone, and more lonely, than he'd ever been.

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  Her temper flaring, Regina dawdled in Elliot Feather-stone's parlor. Christopher still hadn't arrived, and Melanie had vanished.

  Though Regina hadn't meant to spoil her children, they had been. They didn't remember the past, didn't realize how lucky they were, but they were about to be reminded of who was in charge, who gave the orders. Like it or no, they were accountable to Regina.

  A flurry erupted in the foyer, with people straining to see what was occurring, and suddenly, Stamford and Christopher burst in together, an exotic brunette trailing after them. The men weren't dressed in their formal wear, but in casual clothes, with both attired as they'd been earlier in the day.

  They were an impressive sight, her son and future son-in-law. One dark and the other golden blond, they were tall, confident, determined, and they instantly dominated the room.

  Stamford honed in on her, and as they stomped over, she could discern that they were livid. Stamford

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  in particular was incensed, and as he neared, his anger was so blatant that she actually flinched, worrying that he might assault her. In Featherstone's entryway! With all of fashionable London looking on!

  Only Christopher's calming hand on his arm prevented Stamford from initiating an attack.

  "Madam," Stamford tersely bit out, "I would have a word with you in private."

  She wasn't about to have him bossing her. "Melanie and I were just leaving. Whatever it is, it will have to wait till tomorrow."

  "Mother," Christopher cut in, "I have your satchel. We've turned the contents over to Mr. Thu
mberton."

  The news was gravely dismaying, but she cautiously shielded any reaction. She'd been so distracted with Kate that she'd forgotten about the portfolio. It was the first time in years that she'd failed to secure it. What was to be done?

  It contained mountains of evidence that could convict her, and she sifted through possible excuses, even as she was crafting an offense. She wasn't about to sit idly by and allow the two of them to bully her. If they supposed they could, they were fools.

  "The jig is up, Regina," Stamford gloated. "Shall we debate it here, with everyone watching?"

  Several guests tittered at the prospect, and she spun and glared at a footman. "Escort me to the library."

  She led the way, refusing to have them presume they were in control. Inside, she moved behind the desk, using the imposing piece of furniture to bolster her air of authority as she whipped around to challenge Stamford.

  "Have you no manners?" she barked. "I won't have

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  you badgering me, nor will you spoil my plans for the rest of the night. Get on with it!"

  "How much did you pay them?" he snarled.

  "You're babbling in riddles. To what are you referring?"

  "How much did you pay them to have Kate disappear?"

  They'd found her? And so fast, too!

  The discovery presented another set of problems, but she'd work them out. She merely needed a few minutes to assess her alternatives, yet as she stared into his eyes, she'd never observed such banked fury, and she was uneasy.

  Perhaps he'd had genuine feelings for the little strumpet, so she had to tread lightly. Heightened sentiment would make him a more vicious adversary.

  "I have no idea about what you're talking," she claimed. Christopher stumbled in, the willowy brunette clinging to him, and Regina frowned. "Who are you to come in with us? This is a family discussion. Be gone!"

  The girl had the audacity to advance on the desk. "Who am I?" she mimicked. "Who am I? / am Selena Bella, daughter of Caroline Duncan, the former Countess of Doncaster, and sister to Kate Duncan, daughter of the late earl. I will see you hanged for this atrocity. I swear it on my life!"