by Mari Carr
“I don’t believe you,” Wilshire said, but his eyes flashed doubt. She was sure he would never risk raising Jack’s son, as there was too much hatred between them. If he was so violently opposed to Jack as his heir, surely the same would hold true for Jack’s child.
“Rawlings,” Wilshire said with a threatening grin. “Confirm Miss Garland’s lie.” Hayley glanced at the large man with alarm. How could he confirm her story? Then, as he approached the bed with a malicious smile, she realized and began to struggle in earnest.
Rawlings grabbed the edge of her skirt and lifted it to her waist. “Wait,” she said quickly as Rawlings reached toward her most private area.
“Yes, my dear?” Wilshire said. “You wish to say something.”
Hayley paused, wondering what to do. She didn’t want to give up her story in case it deterred Wilshire’s intent toward rape. However, his baboon bodyguard mauling her in such a demeaning way was even less desirable since he was sure to prove her words false.
“I lied,” she whispered.
“I am sorry, dearest, I didn’t hear you,” Wilshire said with a malevolent grin, leaning closer.
“I lied.” Her lungs constricted and she found it increasingly difficult to breathe.
“Yes, I thought as much. Proceed, Rawlings.” Wilshire stepped away from the bed.
“What?”
“I’m afraid I cannot trust you. You will not play me for a fool. If you have lied, this will be your first lesson. Do not lie to me. If you are telling the truth, the lessons are complete and I will take great pleasure in killing you slowly.” With that, he gestured to Rawlings.
Rawlings roughly grabbed her thighs, parting them easily despite her efforts to press them together as much as the ropes would allow. He tore open her drawers and two fat fingers prodded around her opening.
“Carefully,” Wilshire said to Rawlings, his face lit with excitement. “If she really is lying, then I want to be the one to break her maidenhead.”
He found the proof he sought. “No man’s been there before.” Finally, the fingers left her and her mind began to float away. Desperate to separate herself from the men in the room, their cruel words and touches, she sought to disappear into herself. Her helplessness was almost as unbearable as their torture. A hard slap across her face brought her back to reality.
“Don’t plan on escaping this.” Wilshire’s vile face was inches from hers. “You will be cognizant of everything I’m going to do to you. I am the master of your pain and I’ll take great pleasure in hearing your cries.” Then, he brought his lips to hers in a cruel, hard kiss.
Something in Hayley snapped. Her fear turned to anger. She wouldn’t give him what he wanted. She wouldn’t show him fear or succumb to the pain. She was a fighter. She could defeat this bastard. The earl forced her lips open and she tried not to be sick as his repulsive tongue invaded her mouth.
Furious, she brought her teeth down on it and bit—hard. She watched the earl’s eyes open wide with alarm and pain as she tasted his blood, yet she kept her teeth clenched. He grabbed fistfuls of her hair and shook her head in an attempt to get loose. She held on as long as she could, wondering briefly if she could actually bite his tongue off. The earl’s hands moved from her head to her throat, choking her, cutting off all air until she was forced to release his tongue in an attempt to breathe again. Once free, Wilshire’s hands left her neck and he stumbled away from the bed. Turning her head, she spit several times between gasping breaths, then prepared herself for the blows she knew would come.
Wilshire moved off to the side of the room and landed heavily into one of the armchairs. Rawlings rushed to his side, clearly alarmed and confused by the amount of blood on Wilshire’s face. Evidently, the groomsman thought the grappling between she and the earl was part of the earl’s torture. Quickly, he placed a towel on the earl’s mouth and glanced back at her on the bed. His penetrating look proved he wasn’t sure what she had done.
The earl attempted to speak, but the damage done to his tongue prevented him from doing so clearly. His eyes flashed murder. Most of his intimidation came from verbal threats. He’d lost a powerful weapon. Slowly, he staggered back to the bed. Hayley attempted to hold his gaze, refusing to look away, but the eyes looking at her were those of a lunatic. Her foolish actions had sealed her fate.
Wilshire grabbed the knife from the bedside table and advanced toward her.
He’s going to kill me.
Fine.
Death was preferable to rape or a wretched marriage or even giving birth to this monster’s child. The pain and humiliation of the night were about to end. She took a deep breath as she prepared for the final blow.
The calmness in her eyes must have betrayed her thoughts because Wilshire slowed his approach. Then, he used the knife to cut away the rest of her clothing. Like a cat with a ball of string, he wasn’t finished playing with her yet. He wouldn’t give her the peace she so desperately sought.
Once she was completely naked, Wilshire let his eyes roam up and down her body before he reached out and grabbed her breasts tightly. He squeezed and twisted them before bringing his mouth to them. He bit her, hard enough to bruise and break the skin. Blood trickled down her sides. Clenching her teeth, she fought the urge to cry out. There was no end to the agony and no way to stop him. Once again, she closed her eyes to escape and again, reality surfaced with a slap to her face, harder than the rest. Bright lights flashed behind her eyes and she groaned. When her gaze focused again, he was smirking at her. Even without words, he was powerful.
No longer content with just her breasts, he moved his hands lower. With a terrible grin, he began to prod at the opening to her body. His fingers were cruel and hard as they pressed into her. Unable to speak, his vicious, victorious smile did the talking. He was delighted to be causing her such pain.
Then, he stepped away from the bed and began to undress, removing his waistcoat. She could see a hard bulge pushing against the material of his breeches. The idea of his vulgar body on top of her caused her stomach to lurch. Shaking herself for her silence and with nothing left to lose, she launched into her last line of defense—words. Wilshire may have lost the use of his voice, but she hadn’t.
“Well, well, well,” she said hoarsely. The effects of his earlier strangling were evident, but she forged on. “Looks like you’ve certainly let yourself go in old age. No wonder you can’t get a wife without resorting to abduction and rape. What sane woman would choose to look at that flabby body for the rest of her life?”
Wilshire tensed as he flashed a furious look at her. He had removed his shirt, but paused as he unbuttoned his breeches. His mouth contorted awkwardly as he struggled to respond. Obviously, his tongue was causing him great pain and he found it impossible to speak. Her taunts were having the desired effect, as she could no longer detect any evidence of his previous hardness. She took a deep breath.
Keep going.
“Well, let’s see what you have in those pants there. I understand men of your advanced years have trouble achieving, well, you know. How about you?”
The earl suddenly was having trouble in that regard and seemed less anxious to undress.
“Well,” Hayley said impatiently. “You were so anxious a moment ago, let’s see it.”
In a furor, Wilshire refastened his pants. He stepped closer to the bed, punched Hayley hard in the stomach, then stalked away.
Gasping for breath, Hayley fought back nausea. The punch had caught her unaware.
The earl disappeared into the shadows. Hayley was apprehensive about what he would do next. His unrestrained fury was no longer contained. She had pushed the last button. He was back in an instant with a whip in his hand. Her whole body lurched at the thought of him using the whip on her. She had expected the knife, but not this. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly as Wilshire raised it above his head, clearly intent on bringing it down on her. She tensed, waiting for the blow that never came.
A thunderous crash came from
the side of the room, followed by loud footsteps and scuffling sounds. Hayley opened her eyes just in time to see Jack land a devastating punch on Wilshire’s face. The earl’s eyes rolled back in his head and she heard a sharp snap, as his head hit the corner of the bedside table.
Behind Jack, she saw Ben and Alex holding a gun on Rawlings, whose nose was bleeding profusely. Without another glance at his uncle, Jack grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the bed and covered her shaking, naked body. Using the earl’s knife, he cut the ropes at her wrists and ankles.
“Jack,” she whispered, her throat raspy from the throttling. “I k-knew you would c-come.” Her body betrayed her as strong tremors ran through her.
Teeth chattering, she tried to say more, but Jack stopped her with a soft, “Shhh, I’m here. You don’t need to talk.”
With strong arms, Jack lifted her from the bed and carried her toward the door. Glancing down, she saw the earl’s body, his neck bent in an unnatural position.
“He’s dead,” she whispered.
Jack didn’t respond, but clutched her tighter, quickly retreating from the inert body of Lord Wilshire.
He paused at the doorway, looking at Alex and Ben, but before he could speak, Ben nodded. “We’ll take care of this,” he said, gesturing toward the lifeless earl. “You take care of her.”
Jack continued out the door. Hayley tried to lift her arms, but felt too weak.
Jack sensed her efforts. “Don’t move. I have you. I won’t let you go.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. She was vaguely aware of leaving the house and Jack holding her firmly in his lap in a carriage. She groaned softly at the pain the rocky travel caused her head.
“Try to rest.” Jack tightened his hold on her. She looked up and found him studying her face intensely. He was struggling with some powerful emotions and she wanted to console him, but her mind finally won its long battle to escape. She passed out.
Chapter 27
Hayley awoke on a soft bed in a dark room. Jack was speaking to someone in hushed tones in the hallway. After a moment, he closed the door quietly and he came to the bed where she lay.
“Where are we?” she asked disoriented.
“My bedchamber.” Jack tucked the soft blanket around her more securely, and then sat on the edge of the bed.
“My head hurts.”
“I’m sure it does.” He leaned over and lit a candle by the bed. She winced at the brightness of the light. “I’m sorry, but I need to check your injuries.” His cool, detached tone hurt her.
“Jack,” she whispered. “Are you still angry with me?”
His face crumbled as he gently placed his hands on each side of her head and leaned close. “Dear God, no. Hayley, I died a thousand deaths tonight trying to find you. I was afraid that when I did—” He paused as if recalling all the terrible things he had imagined over the course of the evening. “And then when I did…” His voice broke on the words. “When I did, my uncle, that whip.” Jack, always composed and cool, struggled to find the words. “Tell me, Hayley. Did he rape you?”
“No,” she said softly. “No, he didn’t.”
“Thank God for that.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes. He fought to compose himself. They clung to each other for several silent moments, and then Jack pulled away.
When he looked at her again, his eyes were kinder, softer. He moved his hands through her tangled hair, gently massaging her scalp, finding the bump left by the handle of the earl’s knife that had rendered her unconscious. Then, he leaned closer and looked at the bruises on her face.
“There’s dried blood around your mouth, but I can’t see a cut.”
“It’s his blood, not mine. I bit his tongue.” Her voice regained some of its strength, though it still sounded scratchy.
Jack shook his head. “My firebrand.”
Then, he looked at her seriously as if suddenly suspecting the reason for her hoarse voice. His hands tilted her chin up and he leaned closer inspecting her throat. Jack murmured a strong curse, then gruffly apologized. “He strangled you.”
She bit her lip, not bothering to refute what he could obviously see for himself.
He moved back slightly and looked into her eyes. “I need to check all of your injuries.”
Realizing what he meant, she took a deep breath and then nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.
Gently, Jack drew the blanket to her waist. He inspected every inch of her, delicately touching the red marks on her shoulders. Tenderly he lifted her arms to inspect the cuts left on her wrists by the rope. With light fingers, he touched the bites and bruises on her breasts, then ran his hands over her ribs, prodding gently.
“Does this hurt?” He pressed lightly.
“No.”
A mask fell over his face and Hayley watched him attempt to subdue the powerful anger coursing through him. His jaw was set, his eyes cold. “Death was too good for him.”
The image of the earl’s head flying back and his lifeless body hitting the floor came back to her. She shuddered. Jack pulled the blanket back up, thinking her chilled.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
He wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew everything. Her throat burned, but she felt compelled to talk about it. Sleep wouldn’t come easily for her either. The fear and pain of the evening gnawed at her insides. She needed to get it out, to share it with this man who had scaled the walls around her heart and shown her how good it felt to trust someone.
“I went to the balcony for some air.” She didn’t mention the argument on the beach or how hurt she had been when he’d ignored her at the ball. She didn’t want him to feel any guilt for what had happened. “Wilshire was there with a knife. He dragged me down a secluded path in the garden. I tried to fight him, but he knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to the bed where you found me. Where was I? The Homestead?”
Jack nodded.
“But how did you know I would be there?”
“Templeton saw Rawlings. He came to tell me about it at the same time we discovered you missing.”
“Oh.” A tear slid down her cheek and quickly fought back the sob that was building in her chest.
Jack clasped one of her hands and lifted it to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles. “Can you talk about it?”
She took a deep breath. “He planned to rape me. He said I was going to give him an heir since it was my fault Julia escaped. I thought I could dissuade him.”
“How?”
“I lied to him. I told him you and I had—that we had made love and there was a possibility I was pregnant with your child.”
“What a cool head you have.” He bent forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead.
“Well, it wasn’t such a good plan, actually. He…”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You said he didn’t rape you.”
“He didn’t. He didn’t believe me. He told Rawlings to ch-check.” She stopped again as her eyes filled with tears. She closed them in an attempt to fight them back.
“Check? That bastard touched you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Her body betrayed her words as she began to shake again at the memory of Rawlings’ harsh treatment. Jack lifted her, pulling her into a comforting embrace.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to talk about it. It’s too soon,” he murmured as he rocked her.
“No.” His chest muffled Hayley’s voice. “I need to tell you. I need…” Again, tears threatened to fall and she fought them back. “I just feel so dirty and tired.”
He continued to rock her until she nearly fell asleep, then he gently laid her onto the pillows. He rose from the bed and started to walk away.
“No, don’t go.” She reached out for him.
“Shhh. I’m not leaving.” He walked to the fire and picked up a basin of water and a cloth. “Tomorrow, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep and some time to heal,
you can have a bath, but for tonight, this will have to do.”
He dipped the cloth in the warm water and gently washed her face, neck, shoulders, then moved down her arms. He continued his ministrations, dipping the cloth in the water repeatedly. Then, he pulled down the sheet. Hayley shivered slightly at the cool air on her bare skin.
Using the warm cloth and slow movements, Jack washed her breasts and stomach, and then moved farther down, cleansing her legs, ankles, and feet. She lay perfectly still, her entire body relaxing with his soothing sponge bath. She should be embarrassed, lying naked in front of him, but something about his careful washing made her feel adored and cherished. He ran the cloth along the inside of her thighs, and then paused.
“Hayley, open your legs,” he said softly. “Please.”
Slowly, she spread her legs apart. Jack gently washed her there. His eyes never left hers as he worked. Finished, he covered her again with the blanket.
Placing the wet cloth back in the water, he sat down on the edge of the mattress, removing his boots and stockings. Walking around the bed, he climbed in, still wearing his clothes. He wrapped his arm around her and settled her head upon his shoulder. “I can wash the outside, Hayley, but only you can clean the inside.”
“What?”
“Dammit, I’ve watched you swallow your tears all night and every single day since you stepped through that bloody tree. It’s time to let them go.”
Without a thought, the tears began to flow. The horrors of the night came out in quiet sobs that wracked her entire body. She cried as she recalled the pain and fear. She cried about the long years waking up alone and frightened by nightmares caused by her father. She cried about the year she’d lost Erin—afraid and worried for her friend. She cried for Marian and Tori, who were now suffering the same agony over her disappearance. She cried for Helena and her young lover and all they’d lost at the hands of an evil earl, and she cried for Jack—for the years he’d suffered the cruelty and abuse of his uncle.
