Her life had just grown more complicated. Had someone really meant to kill her tonight? Or had it been a case of mistaken identity? Lockwood had seemed so certain…
At home she tied her light wrapper around her, slipped the pins from her coiffeur, sat at her dressing table and began brushing her hair. Her gaze flicked over the bruises on her arms and throat. She could not look closely because her reflection had become a reproach. To look in the mirror every day and see what she’d become— Barrett’s scapegoat—was more painful than it had been before she’d left him years ago. She hadn’t tasted freedom then, or self-respect or dignity. Despite that, she was willing—nay, eager—to forfeit those things for William’s safety.
She glanced at her bed in the mirror and noted that the covers had been turned down for the night. Anne, for all that she was Barrett’s spy, took her job as Elise’s maid seriously. Rather than finding that thought comforting, Elise was annoyed that she wouldn’t be able to depend upon Anne in a conflict with Barrett.
She dropped her brush and stood again, longing for the cool sheets and warm blanket, and for the chance to escape into dreams where there was no Barrett. Only Lockwood. Only William.
The sound of a knob turning drew her attention. She spun to the door and saw it give slightly. She froze and held her breath. The chair was not snugly wedged beneath the knob and began to slide on the wood floor. Barefoot, she padded to the door and held the chair in place.
Barrett’s voice was muffled, as if he did not want anyone to hear. “Let me in, Elise. ’Tis your duty, damn you.”
Evasion, recriminations or simple denial would only enflame his temper, so she said nothing. Perhaps he would believe she had already gone to bed and leave her alone.
“Do not force my hand, woman,” he said, his words whispered against the crack he’d forced.
She shuddered, the fear rising in her breast to form a bubble in her throat. He pushed one last time, and then the pressure eased. Footsteps marked his passage down the hallway. She released her breath and let the tension drain from her muscles. She sat on the edge of her bed and rolled her shoulders.
The footsteps became slightly more distinct again. It sounded as though they came from a different direction. She frowned, cocking her head to one side to hear better.
Oh, dear God! He was coming through the nursery! Had she remembered to secure the dressing room door between the two rooms? She ran to the dressing room, but the door burst open before she could secure it.
And there was Barrett, leering and triumphant. She backed away as he advanced, wildly thinking of how to stop him. “I… I…it is the wrong time of the month, Barrett. I—”
“You lie, madam. Anne knows all your womanly secrets.”
Please, God, no! She had thought she could do it, thought she could give him what he wanted, but she couldn’t. Face to face with him now, just the thought of him touching her, of him forcing himself inside her body, caused a choking sensation. Her chest squeezed with fear and she could barely breathe.
“You think Lockwood is enough to protect you? I shall have him brought up on charges if he so much as touches me. I have witnesses to his temper. The man is unbalanced! But why not? He took you as a lover.”
“Leave Lockwood out of this, Barrett. He is not unbalanced, only misguided.”
“Come, madam, do not be naive. You know me well enough to know that I will use anyone or anything to achieve my aims. Lockwood. The brat you have been putting before me from the day he was born. They matter nothing to me. I want what I want. And tonight, madam, I want you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she despised herself for that weakness. But she wouldn’t be weak this time. For William. For Lockwood. She could bear it. Surely she could bear it. She halted her retreat and clenched her hands into tight fists at her sides.
Barrett recognized her surrender to the inevitable and grinned. “That’s better, madam. Wish I could say it will be over before you know it, but it won’t. I plan to take my time. It has been a long while, m’dear. A very long while. We have much to make up for.”
She could stand still. She could remain expressionless. But she couldn’t stop her tears. They rolled down her cheeks and dampened the front of her nightclothes as Barrett reached her, circled her, undid her sash and pulled her wrapper down her shoulders.
When it bunched around her feet, leaving her exposed in her thin nightgown, Barrett, still standing behind her, laughed. His breath was hot and foul in her ear. “Such a little puritan? Come, I know you’ve acted the slut for Lockwood. Show me what has so entranced him. For the life of me, madam, I cannot see it. Unless…”
He was baiting her. Trying to make her angry or hurt her. She ignored him until his next words caused a shudder to run through her. “Unless you do tricks, madam. Do you do tricks? Like Alice? Do all whores have the same tricks? Or do you know something special? Something that makes Lockwood come back for more? Show me that. Come, do your tricks for me, Elise. If you’re good enough, I might let you see William.”
His demand pulled her out of her self-imposed silence. “Bring William home. Bring him to me, Barrett, and I will do anything you ask.”
“You will anyway, madam. Has it not occurred to you yet that you cannot say no to me? You will have what I choose to give you—nothing more, nothing less. And, my dear, how much I choose to give you depends entirely upon you.”
A myriad of thoughts swept through her—the death of hope, the revelation that she’d never be able to bargain William’s freedom, the knowledge that Barrett would eventually kill her outright, not just her spirit and soul. And worse—the startling realization that she’d been a victim her entire life. She’d been an undemanding daughter, a dutiful sister, an obedient wife—until she’d struck Barrett that long-ago night. And even then, she hadn’t meant to put an end to her victimization, only to delay it. She had thought her strength was in submitting to Barrett. Oh, but that self-deceit was the real weakness.
Barrett released her shoulders and came around to face her. “So how much will you earn tonight, madam? Another brief visit? Perhaps half an hour? Down on your knees and perhaps you will earn an entire hour.”
In that instant, she was finished with being a victim. She was done with Barrett’s threats, false promises and lies. The sudden clarity was like the sun shining light into dark and forbidden corners. She had thought she was protecting William, but she’d only been prolonging his misery. And now she cared nothing for the scandal she would cause in making Barrett’s cruelty public. Let him squirm, and let the ton look down their long aristocratic noses at her. Barrett would not dare harm William with all eyes upon him.
With great satisfaction and no thought to the consequence, she drew her hand back and slapped Barrett full across the face.
Stunned, he widened his eyes. Then an ugly sneer curled his upper lip. “Ah, you like it rough. As you know, I can manage that, m’dear.” He seized a handful of her hair and forced her to her knees. Holding her there, he began to unfasten his breeches.
She raked her fingernails down his arm. He recoiled and she staggered to her feet. “I warned you, Barrett,” she gasped as she backed toward the fireplace. She thought him mad to laugh until she found the poker had been removed. Oh, Anne. How could you?
Barrett seized her again, slammed her against the wall, held her by the throat and ripped her nightgown from neck to hem in one long pull. Her head spun and she groped for the mantel, seeking anything she could use as a weapon. And now she laughed, too—at the irony of ending back where she’d begun. Of being forced to defend herself.
Her hand found the miniature portrait of William, encased in a chased silver frame. She brought it down on his head, heedless of the sharp corner. He released her with a shocked expression, blood from a wound on his forehead spurting outward and spraying across her face before it slowed to a narrow stream. She flattened her hands against his chest and pushed as hard as she could.
Barrett staggered backward, his ar
ms flailing, and knocked against her bedpost. He seemed suspended there for a moment, and then sank to the floor. She went to bend over him, careful to keep out of arm’s reach. He was breathing. She could see the rise and fall of his chest and smell the alcohol on his breath.
Finish it this time, a demon voice whispered in her head. Her fingers twitched as they tightened on the frame again. She raised her arm. But she couldn’t do it. She did not need to. Whatever power he’d had over her was gone. She’d taken it back.
She dropped the frame where she stood and went to her closet. She chose the first thing that came to hand and dressed quickly, giving more attention to speed than appearance. She did not bother to brush her hair or make herself presentable. Where she was going, it would not matter. It might never matter again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hunt poured himself a glass of sherry while he waited for Ethan’s valet to rouse his brother-in-law from his bed. He had thought the night could not have degenerated any further. From his confrontation with Barrett at Thackery’s to his chase of Doyle through the warehouses and thieves rookeries along the Thames, to the street rat who’d tried to knife him, he’d had one crisis after another. Then he’d gone to his office and found the runner’s report on Doyle, and the evening had gotten worse.
He was beginning to regret his insistence on seeing his brother-in-law without delay when the library door opened and Ethan appeared in a loosely belted robe. From the sight of the bare chest beneath, Hunt gathered his sister would not be pleased by his late visit.
“This had better be urgent,” Ethan muttered as he sat at his desk.
Hunt suppressed his smile. “I thought it was, but now that I’ve had time to cool my anger, and a glass of your excellent sherry, it does not seem quite so imperative.”
“Spill it, Hunt. I’ll be damned if you got me down here for nothing.”
“Doyle.”
“What about him?”
“He may be the leak in the Foreign Office.”
“Why?”
“I went to the office tonight and found the report on him on my desk. Did you read it?”
“No. Why don’t you tell me what has you in a lather? And give it to me in order, please.”
“Doyle was born in Southampton to a poor family. He was clever enough to ingratiate himself with a widowed aunt who had married well and who paid for his schooling. He was known for his charm and wit more than his grades. Early on, he demonstrated sudden bad tempers, which he learned to control—or at least to hide. He went on to Cambridge and played on a cricket team. His fellows thought well of him until he showed himself to have a ruthless streak. It was not beyond him to deliberately injure another player to win, they say.”
“Interesting, but not necessarily devious.”
Hunt took another drink and nodded. “True, but that is not what drove his friends away. It was his complete lack of remorse.”
“Unapologetic?”
“No, quite apologetic, and all the while laughing up his sleeve. He knows what he ought to feel, but he is incapable of actually feeling it.
“And then there is the rumor of him being a deuced bad gambler. He was always owing his fellow students until they refused to lend him more. It was about this time that his aunt died suddenly, leaving him the bulk of her fortune. After that, he pulled himself up by his bootstraps and took a job in the diplomatic corps. Made himself indispensable. Worked his way up.”
“So the past is behind him?”
“To all appearances. He has been assigned to India, but something he said the other day makes me wonder if he is going to turn the assignment down.”
“That would spell the end of his career, would it not? To refuse an appointment?”
Hunt nodded. “He hinted that something else might be in the wind for him. If so, Eastman has not mentioned it.”
They were silent for a few moments and Hunt wondered if Ethan was thinking what he was thinking.
“A piece of good luck, was it not, that his widowed aunt died just in time to save him from social ruin?”
“Just what I was thinking.” Hunt laughed without mirth. “You realize, of course, that this is just speculation?”
“For the moment,” Ethan agreed.
Elise hardly knew where to begin. “I am so sorry, Sarah, to have dragged you from your sleep. I would have waited until morning, but…well, that wouldn’t have been prudent.”
Sarah tightened her dressing gown and sat beside her. “I had not gone to sleep yet. But what has happened? Are you all right?”
“Tea, my lady?” the stern man who had let her in asked.
Sarah turned to Elise with a critical eye. “No. Brandy, I think, unless we have something stronger. And could you wake Mrs. Grant and ask her to ready a guest room? And heat some water so that Lady Barrett can wash up.”
Elise prayed that Sarah would still want to offer her hospitality when she knew what had happened. “Thank you,” she said, trying to organize her thoughts to tell Sarah why she’d come.
“Do not mention it, Elise. Now, take a deep breath and tell me what has happened.”
“I have come to beg you to help me find my son. I have done something that may put him at risk, and I must find him as quickly as possible.”
“I see. Well, of course we shall press forward with all due speed. Shall I assume that you no longer want William left in place until you can make arrangements for him?”
“Yes. I must have him at once. I fear he may be in greater danger where he is, now that…now that I have left Barrett.”
“Left?” Sarah nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. “Then you will need someone to deal with him on your behalf. I believe Ethan knows a good solicitor, and—”
“Good God!”
Lockwood appeared in the doorway, followed by Ethan, and Elise cringed. She had never thought to find him here at three o’clock in the morning. She wouldn’t have come if she had. She looked down to the reticule in her lap as he and Ethan came to her side.
Lockwood knelt in front of her and took her hand. “Tell me you are all right, Elise.”
“Y-yes. I am well.” And then she remembered that she had come out without fixing her hair or so much as checking her appearance in the mirror.
“What has happened?”
His voice was more intense than she’d ever heard it. “Barrett and I had an argument. I have left him.”
“Argument…” he repeated. He tilted her chin upward so that she was forced to look in his eyes. “Whose blood is this, Elise?”
Blood? She had a vague recollection of striking Barrett and feeling the fine spray of blood across her face and chest. She looked down at the skin exposed in the high V of her neckline. Droplets of blood were clearly visible. “Barrett’s,” she answered.
He sighed with relief and squeezed her hands as Ethan took a tray with two glasses and a bottle from the man who’d answered the door. Lockwood put a glass of something that did not look like brandy in her hand and ordered her to drink. The fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. She coughed and her eyes watered.
“Whiskey,” Lockwood told her. “Let it settle, and then tell me what happened.”
A sly heat seeped through her, relaxing her all the way to her toes and she began to breathe again. But Lockwood’s eyes held her, wouldn’t let her go, and his strength reached her. Whatever was wrong, Lockwood would fix it.
“Barrett,” she began, but she glanced at Sarah and Ethan. What in the world would they think of her? “Barrett forced his way into my room. He was angry and made…threats. I realized he would never let me go. Never release William. I cannot remember exactly how it happened, but we struggled. I… I hit him with a picture. Then I came here.”
Lockwood nodded. “Did the servants come? Did anyone hear you or see you?”
“I do not think so. The servants know better than to come in the middle of the night. And Barrett was stealthy tonight. He made little noise, and that is how he surprised me.
”
She was aware of Ethan and Sarah exchanging glances, but it was Hunt’s face she watched. He nodded and gave her another glass of whiskey along with a reassuring smile.
“Go with Sarah, my dear. You will want to clean up. If you cannot sleep, have another whiskey. I shall come to you in the morning. For now, just know that we will work this out.”
“But William—”
“Leave it to me, Elise.”
Hunt pushed the front door open with one finger. Not only had Elise forgotten to lock it, she had not even bothered to close it. The utter silence of the house was unnerving and an uneasy feeling raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He did not call out. He did not want to raise an alarm to the servants or give himself away.
He followed a narrow wedge of light and found the library. Barrett was not there, but a half-finished glass of port was sitting on his desk, testament to his brooding and working up the courage to attack Elise.
Papers were strewn on the floor, as if he had been looking for something and simply dropped what he had not wanted. Or perhaps Elise had searched for the jewels before leaving the house. She’d done so once before.
Barrett, that maggot, had probably staggered off to bed—as if that would deter Hunt. He climbed the stairs and followed a dim light spilling into the corridor from a door left ajar.
He found Elise’s room, not Barrett’s. He knew that by the purely feminine touch of lace and the scent of perfume. He looked around, not surprised to find the place in a shambles. As he moved farther into the room, he noted a nightgown in shreds on the floor. His stomach turned to think of Elise at Barrett’s mercy and he wondered how she had found the strength to fight him off.
With a sinking feeling, he noted a booted leg extending beyond the far side of the bed. He went closer. And there, with the corner of a silver picture frame embedded in his forehead, was Barrett. Hunt did not have to feel for a pulse to know the man was dead. Glazed eyes stared upward, steady and fixed.
Indiscretions Page 22
