by Cheryl Holt
"You have the gall to show your face among your betters?" Regina chastised. "How dare you!"
"Enough!" Christopher roared, approaching, too, and he positioned himself in front of the whore, shielding her from Regina's wrath. "Mother—for once—you will guard your caustic tongue, or I will gag you."
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"Shut your mouth, Christopher. You will speak to me with respect, or you'll not speak to me, at all."
"Selena is my fiancee."
Regina laughed, raking Bella with a contemptuous sneer. "Don't be ridiculous. I would never agree."
"The decision shan't be up to you," Christopher contended.
She ignored his bluster and scowled at Bella, waving dismissively. "My permission is denied. Now, why don't you scurry back to that hovel where you reside? Don't darken our doorstep again."
"Donna brutta!" Bella hissed, and she lunged as if to pummel Regina with her fists. Christopher grabbed her and stopped her.
At the rabid display, Stamford said nothing but skirted the desk to tower over her. He was attempting to awe and frighten, but she wouldn't be cowed. Who did he think he was, blustering and trying to scare her? He didn't know with whom he was dealing.
"Sit down," he commanded, looking as if he were about to commit murder. Her own!
"I prefer to stand."
"Sit! Down!" he bellowed with such vehemence that the force of his shout had her tumbling into the chair. She'd never encountered anyone who was quite so irate. Had she misjudged him?
By all accounts, he was a drunkard, laggard, and ne'er-do-well who flitted about with no concerns or passions. His bother over Kate was something Regina hadn't calculated. Not that she'd imagined Kate would ever be located. Who would have cared enough to search?
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"Don't raise your voice to me!" she warned, though without as much bombast as she'd previously exhibited. He was in a frenetic mood, capable of lashing out, and the slightest error on her part could result in a sound thrashing.
"You'll be lucky if my voice is all I raise." He bent over her, trapping her in her seat. "Here are the terms. You have no other options."
"What... what terms? You'll make no demands on me. I won't tolerate it."
She tried to rise, and he yelled again. "Sit down! And by God, if you get up before I'm through, I'll beat you to a bloody pulp."
She bristled with humiliation. No one had whipped her since she was twelve and had grown big enough to defend herself, but regardless of her girth, she was no match for him.
"What are your conditions?" she derided, hot with ire.
"My marriage to Melanie is off."
"No!"
As if she hadn't spoken, he continued. 'To avoid a scandal for your children, I shall be designated as their guardian."
"No," she repeated, but he kept on.
"Chris and Selena will marry, and you will not object. Nor will you attend the wedding."
"How will you prevent me?"
"The financial affairs at Doncaster will be placed under my control until Chris reaches his majority at age twenty-one."
"I forbid it!" She couldn't lose Doncaster! Despite what others believed, she'd never intended to surrender
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the reins of power to her son. She wouldn't relinquish the affluence or clout the property had provided.
Stamford smiled, a wily, conniving smile that chilled her. "Mr. Thumberton is already drafting the papers."
"I won't sign them!"
"Your signature won't be required." He smirked. "Investigators are on the trail of the money you've pocketed. What they don't manage to find you will refund of your own accord."
"Sod off, Stamford," she crudely snapped. "You have no proof I've stolen anything."
Christopher chimed in. "Give over, Mother. You were too meticulous at recording your crimes. We have all the evidence we need."
Stamford resumed. "You shall retire to Cornwall, quickly and quietly. You will withdraw to the town from which you were allowed to slither so many years ago. We will use estate funds to purchase a modest house for you, and you'll be furnished with a small stipend, but that is all."
Cornwall! The very name had her shuddering. She thought of the poverty, the coarse, downtrodden people, the toil that had been necessary to survive. She'd escaped from the dreary, gloomy spot, and she wouldn't go back. They couldn't make her!
"I'll not return to Cornwall. Not for any reason."
He persisted with his tirade. "You are to depart at dawn. If you refuse, the full force of the law will fall upon you."
She was dumbstruck. She’d never envisioned being caught, and she'd always presumed that if she was, she would be able to talk her way out of any trouble.
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She hadn't reckoned on Stamford, on his ill will and malice, on his determination to have her brought low. Who could have predicted his attachment to Kate?
"What can you do to me? I am Countess of Don-caster, and if you suppose that you'll prevail, then you underestimate me at your peril."
"If you decline, you will be publicly prosecuted for your crimes. Embezzlement. Battery. Fraud. Kidnapping. Attempted murder. Pick your felony, Regina. For which would you like to be incarcerated?"
"My son is your peer, and he will never let you mistreat me!" She glanced at Christopher and was shocked to see him staring at her with no emotion. He and Bella were holding hands, united in their condemnation of her.
Would he abandon her? Would he side with Stamford against his own mother? How could he?
Oh, the treachery! The betrayal! He was so lacking in loyalty!
She would get even with him! She would get even with all of them!
"What is your response?" Stamford goaded.
She was frantic to wiggle out of his trap, and she had to buy herself some time. "I'll never agree!"
"Then I shall personally attend your hanging."
"My... my hanging!" Instinctively, her fingers stroked her throat, caressing her neck as if she could feel the noose tightening.
"And I plan to enjoy it. I'll bring refreshments and guests, and I will sit in the front row. I'll even ask the executioner if I may pull the rope."
She was cornered, ensnared in a conundrum of her own creation, and nervously, she gnawed on her bottom lip. "I'll need a few days to consider."
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"No. This offer is good for the next minute."
He studied the clock on the mantle. The atmosphere in the room was oppressive, the air beating down on her until she couldn't breathe. She began to perspire, her heart palpitating, as she endeavored to figure out an advantageous argument, but she was disordered by his threats.
Too rapidly, the interval was concluded, and he assessed her. "What is your reply?"
"Bastard!"
"I take that as a yes." He stepped away so that she could stand.
"I'll kill you for this," she vowed.
"You'll never have the chance."
She looked at Christopher, hoping for a softening, some hint of compassion or pity, but she couldn't detect a flicker of sympathy.
"You shouldn't have hurt Kate," Christopher nagged. “I’ll never forgive you."
How dare he castigate! How dare he condescend! Her rage spiraled till she was quaking. "I cast you out! You are no longer my child!"
She wasn't sure what reaction she'd expected, but Christopher merely shrugged. "So be it, Regina."
Stamford gestured to the door. "Proceed directly to my house and start packing. I want you gone before I arrive."
Without another word, she fled into the hall, her fury billowing out like a wave of locusts.
******************
Pamela loitered in the corridor, curious as to the parley in the library. Marcus had roared, and Regina had complained, but Pamela couldn't decipher their actual
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comments. She wished they'd hurry! Regina had an appointment in Elliot's bedchamber.
Suddenly, Regina stormed out. She appeared positively homicidal, and Pamela could barely stifle a giggle of glee. In view of what was about to transpire, she couldn't have arranged for a more perfect mood.
Regina spied her and yapped, "I'm leaving. Have you seen Melanie?"
"Why, yes, I have," Pamela slyly remarked. "She was sneaking upstairs. With Elliot Featherstone."
"What?" Regina gasped, and those nearby snickered at the delicious innuendo.
"I'll show you where they went," Pamela suggested, more than eager to deliver Regina to her fate.
Regina charged off, as Christopher emerged from the library, and Pamela was momentarily distracted. There was a slender beauty walking beside him, but Pamela ignored his companion, to rush forward and hug him.
"Christopher, darling. I've been searching everywhere for you."
"Pamela, please. You're making another scene."
He peeled her away and held her at arm's length, while she struggled in vain to mold herself to him. "But Chris, we have to talk."
"Not here," he said. "And especially not now."
The girl edged closer, as if to situate herself between them. Pamela glared at her. "Who are you?"
"I am Miss Selena Bella. Who are you?"
"I am Chris's friend."
"Not anymore," Miss Bella snidely stated. "Come, Christopher."
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"Be gone, you impertinent waif." Pamela had moved to shove her away when Chris intervened.
"Pamela, Selena is my fiancée. We're to be married."
The pronouncement had her sizing up Bella, taking her measure, and Pamela seethed, hating her confidence, her poise and dignity, her gracefulness, her ... her youth!
She couldn't have heard him correctly, and she scoffed. "You're joking."
"No, I'm not, and you will display the courtesy that is her due."
He was serious! Her heart pounded with alarm. This couldn't be! Chris was hers. She was enamored, obsessed, smitten beyond any sensible limit. She needed him, needed his protection and position, and she had to be alone with him so that they could sort everything out.
She glanced up the stairs, and Regina was almost at the top, and Pamela was frantic to observe her expression when she witnessed Melanie's downfall. Pamela couldn't miss it.
"But Chris, it's your sister." She clutched at his jacket. "You must help her. I can't predict what your mother might do!"
He was out of patience. "What gibberish are you spreading?"
Out of nowhere, Marcus materialized, stepping between them. "For God's sake, Pamela. What is happening to, you? Are you completely mad?"
"Marcus—"
He cut her off. "Whatever it is, Pamela, I don't care."
"But you have to see this," she insisted. "You have to
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learn how your precious Melanie has betrayed you. Your pride will never recover."
She spun away, not giving them a chance to question her, not wanting to forego the excitement. Certain both men would pursue her, she hastened after Regina, passing her and guiding her to the end of the hall.
"They're in here," Pamela claimed, praying that Elliot had been successful. If he wasn't naked on the bed with Melanie, she'd strangle him. "What must they have been thinking?"
Regina frowned, and she prepared to knock, but Pamela reached in front of her, and turned the knob.
"Let's go in, shall we?"
The door swung open and .... there they were, arrayed on the mattress. They were a strange couple. Elliot was so much older, his body shaky and wasted from years of dissipation, while Melanie was so pretty and plump, rounded with her blossoming womanhood. She was shivering, with fear and cold, her pert nipples contracted into pointy buds.
It was disgusting; it was debauched; it was too scandalous for words. If they'd posed themselves, it couldn't have been any worse.
Regina shrieked and burst in. "What is the meaning of this outrage?"
Elliot laughed and, in false modesty, made a feeble attempt to conceal his privates. "Regina, dear girl, what can I tell you? We were overwhelmed by passion."
"Are you mad?" Regina howled. "She's engaged to Stamford!"
"She's what?" Elliot gulped and paled, his cock-stand withering to a tiny stump, and he lurched away
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from Melanie as if she had the pox. He scanned the floor for his clothes, obviously trying to figure out how he could slip into them with the least amount of humiliation.
Melanie was trembling in terror, yet she had the temerity to respond, "Elliot and I are in love."
"Love, bah!" Regina screeched, and she raced to the door, desperate to shut it before anyone followed her in, but Christopher and Marcus were already entering.
"I'll be damned," Marcus chuckled, as Christopher muttered, "Oh my lord!"
Christopher's adoring strumpet had wandered in behind him, and he shoved her into the corridor so that she couldn't view the sordid spectacle.
Elliot leapt off the bed, his flaccid breasts drooping, bis phallus a limp worm. "I didn't know, Marcus. I swear to God!"
"For pity's sake, Elliot," Marcus retorted. "Cover yourself!"
"Don't murder me!" Elliot whined.
"As if I'd expend that much energy. Just get dressed. Please!"
"I will; I will." He scurried about, scooping up his trousers and tugging them on.
Regina whipped around and screamed at her daughter. "You pathetic fool! Don't you realize what he is? What he's after? Have you any understanding of the enormity of your folly?"
"It's what / wanted," Melanie contended. "Me! It was my choice."
"Oh... oh..." Regina was moaning, wringing her hands in dismay. "How could you do this to me? How could you?"
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"Well, Regina"—Pamela grinned and clucked her tongue in faux sympathy—"I guess there'll be a wedding, but Marcus won't be the lucky groom. And you had so many wonderful plans for him as your son-in-law."
Regina went still as a statue. Then, a strange rumbling sound started, and it seemed to emanate from inside her, as if her wrath had been brought to a boil and was about to foment out of the pot.
“You!" she smoldered. "This is your fault."
"You're blaming me?" Pamela reproached. "I'm not the one in bed with Elliot. I'd say the wanton trollop ruined herself."
"You ... you ... you..." She advanced on Pamela until they were toe-to-toe, but apparently, she'd been goaded beyond thought, beyond speech.
Pamela preened. "Betray me, will you, you wretched hag?"
Regina looked wild, a furious pulse hammering at her neck, angry spittle on her lips. Awareness swept over her—that she'd been tricked, that she'd been bested, that she'd been outdone—and Pamela chortled with malice.
"Next time," Pamela counseled, "maybe you'll mink twice before stabbing your partner in the back."
She saw Regina's arm rise and flex, saw her fist clench, but it took a moment for the deed to register. Regina's intent was so shocking, and so unanticipated, that Pamela had no opportunity to react or move away. After all, women of her class didn't brawl like tavern whores.
Her last conscious memory was her surprise at how
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fast a human punch could fly, at how ferociously it could land.
A bone cracked, blood surged, the room went black, and she dropped like a stone.
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A soft knock sounded on the door, and Selena's heart raced.
"Are you ready for me?" Christopher called.
By stretching up off the pillows, she was able to see herself in the mirror. Her brunette tresses were combed out and flowing free, her negligee clinging to her shapely form. She tugged at the bodice, lowering it so that more of her cleavage was exposed.
She looked like her mother, like Kate, too, but different from them. She was a woman in her own right. A woman desperately in love.
A blushing bride.
&
nbsp; "Yes, Chris, I'm ready."
He slipped inside, dressed solely in his robe, the belt loosely cinched at the waist, and as she watched him approach, she shimmered with joy that he was her husband.
How lucky she was! How blessed!
Out of all the females in the world, he'd chosen her,
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and she vowed to herself that she would always make him happy, that she would always make him proud. She would be a worthy wife, a cherished confidante, a loyal friend, an admirable countess.
Suddenly shy and uncertain, he paused. At a loss for words, he smiled, as nervous and jumpy as she was herself.
Though they'd been alone on many occasions, had trifled and embraced as if there were no tomorrow, they'd restrained themselves, had stopped before taking the final step in their relationship.
Embarrassing as it was to admit, Christopher was the one who'd insisted they delay till their wedding night. During their frequent trysts, she'd repeatedly begged him to progress further, but he wouldn't dishonor her.
She patted the mattress, and he eased himself down, a hip balanced on the edge, a palm braced on either side of her. Tenderly, lovingly, he caressed her hair, her arm, her thigh, and he brushed a kiss across her lips.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured.
"So are you." She reached inside his robe. His skin was warm and silky, and she couldn't wait to feel it pressed to her own.
"What gorgeous babies we'll make."
"Yes, we will."
"I hope we have a dozen."
She prayed that they'd all be sons who resembled him. "Then we'd better get started."
"Are you afraid?"
"No!" she bravely claimed, then frowned. "Yes," and she groaned. "Oh, I don't know!"
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He chuckled. "It will be wonderful."
"I'm sure it will be." How she loathed being a virgin! She was anxious to be relieved of her chastity.
"We'll go slow."
"Don't you dare! If I'm not deflowered in the next five minutes, I can't predict what I might do."
He laughed again, then sobered, and he studied her, his devotion and affection shining through. "Any regrets?"
