Mischance

by Smith, Carla Susan

  Rian Connor was such a man.

  They met by chance at Lady Charlotte Maitling’s summer ball. Isabel was between lovers and hoping to change that situation, but had not come across a single gentleman worthy of further attention. She had heard all the latest gossip and exchanged pleasantries with anyone worth knowing, and was now finding herself consumed by boredom. There would be no accounting for the change in her mood if she forced herself to listen to yet another round of the inane society prattle that passed for conversation. If she wasn’t careful, someone was going to feel the sharp edge of her tongue, and though she might thumb her nose at society, she was not about to slit her throat. Lady Maitling was well received at court, and Isabel was not so stupid as to risk social suicide by insulting any of her guests.

  She quickly made her excuses, and leaving the small gathering of young women around her, she passed through the crowded ballroom and out into one of the receiving salons. As she scanned the crowd, Isabel felt an odd prickle on the nape of her neck. One that said she was being stared at. Casually she turned her head to see what jaded idiot was trying to attract her attention using such vulgar behavior.

  At first glance she dismissed him without a second thought, but then she caught the flash of white as he grinned at her, making her snap her head back in his direction. He continued to stare, doing nothing whatsoever to disguise his behavior. The “jaded idiot” was, without doubt, the most handsome man in the room, and Isabel wondered how he had escaped her notice. He must have only just arrived, she reasoned, because it was impossible for her to have overlooked him before now.

  He leaned nonchalantly against a pillar near the edge of the room, his arms folded across his chest as he continued to gaze at her with evident admiration. His stare made Isabel feel as if he knew exactly what she looked like wearing only her shift. She glared at him, but instead of being embarrassed at being caught, his smile grew warmer and he nodded at her, issuing a definite invitation.

  Flustered by the man’s insolent behavior, Isabel turned away and opened her fan, waving it vigorously in front of her. The singular intensity of the stranger’s stare was enough to make her pulse quicken and bring a flush to her face. She decided she could not allow the boldness of his behavior to go unchecked. He was an arrogant puppy and would not be the first she had brought to heel with a few well-chosen words.

  Snapping her fan shut, she turned back to face him, only to find his attention now otherwise engaged. Lady Maitling was at his side, and, like all well-mannered guests, he gave their hostess his complete attention. Masking her disappointment, Isabel took advantage of the distraction to surreptitiously observe him. He was tall, standing well over six feet she estimated, and the width of his shoulders was clearly emphasized by the simple, yet elegant, cut of his coat. She watched as he leaned down to murmur something in Lady Maitling’s ear, his words making the older woman glance up and pin Isabel with an iron stare. It was stupid to pretend not to notice, so Isabel moved toward them without further hesitation, ignoring the handsome stranger until good manners demanded an introduction.

  “Lady Isabel Howard, may I present Mr. Rian Connor.” The momentary lift of Lady Maitling’s brow said she was not fooled by Isabel’s show of indifference.

  “At your service.” The man lifted Isabel’s hand to his mouth and lightly brushed his lips across her knuckles, making her skin tingle at the contact.

  There was an accent to the rich timbre of his voice, but Isabel was at a loss to place it. She raised her eyes and looked at him, feeling a pulsing throb deep within her. The open expression of admiration said the physical attraction was mutual.

  Up close she saw that he was older than she had first thought, and she recalculated his age to be closer to mid-thirties. It was, however, difficult to be certain because the rugged handsomeness of his features was a declaration of a life lived in the elements. If his behavior had not been enough to alert her to his lack of drawing room decorum, then his physical appearance sealed it. But she found herself strangely pleased that he did not find it necessary to display himself like a jeweled peacock. The lack of glittering adornments or intricate, fussy embroidery on either his vest or coat was a welcome relief.

  And he wore no wig. Dark, glossy hair, though neatly secured by a length of ribbon at the nape of his neck, fell well past his shoulders. Isabel wondered how it would feel to have its silky heaviness brush over her naked breast. The sudden gleam in Rian Connor’s eye said he had read her mind and was wondering the same thing. Her cheeks warmed again, and she quickly looked away. He possessed a roguish charm that was undeniable, and she had to admit she liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when something amused him, as their introduction appeared to be doing. Whatever else her feelings, Isabel realized this was no arrogant puppy she was dealing with. It was going to take considerably more than a sharp tap on the nose to bring him to heel.

  “Mr. Connor has recently returned from the Americas,” Lady Maitling said, regaining Isabel’s attention. “Where was it you said again?” The older woman playfully tapped Rian on the arm with her own folded fan.

  “The Carolinas,” he replied.

  That would explain the strange accent Isabel thought as she turned back to smile politely at him. “And what brings you to England, Mr. Connor?” Her manner indicated she couldn’t care less why he was here. She was only asking to be polite.

  Another grin lifted the corners of his mouth, but before he could answer, Charlotte Maitling interrupted him, delighted to be in possession of facts Isabel was not. With all her connections at court, it was an occurrence that did not happen often.

  “Why, Isabel!” she exclaimed. “You did not know Mr. Connor has returned home to attend his brother’s wedding?” She paused, raising an eyebrow. “I was certain you could count Liam Connor as one of your many conquests.” Turning her attention back to Rian, Charlotte Maitling opened her fan, pretending to use it as a shield to speak behind. “A great many men have lost their”—the pause was just long enough—“hearts to our beautiful Lady Isabel,” she told him, apparently not caring that the implication included his brother.

  Isabel stiffened. The innuendo, magnified by the hesitation, was crystal clear and she wondered if Rian would understand what was really being said. From the undisguised amusement that lifted the corners of his mouth, his understanding was perfect as he looked at both women.

  “Oh, Charlotte dear, you know as well as I that Mr. Connor does not come to town as often as many ladies might like, and he is quite ferocious regarding claims on his time. The opportunity has been limited,” Isabel retorted with a lift of her chin.

  “Ah well, I suppose that would explain how he has managed to avoid your attentions.” Lady Maitling laughed as she patted Isabel on the arm. Though her words and attitude gave the appearance of affection, there was a malicious undertone that could not be missed. “But it is a shame we now have to strike his name from our list of eligible young men, don’t you agree, Isabel?”

  “Yes,” she concurred, “a great loss, indeed.”

  “Of course the addition of a wife is not considered an impediment to some women,” Charlotte added slyly.

  Rian could feel the undercurrent change as their hostess’s remark took a darker turn, and he decided to step in before something regrettable was exchanged. Leaning down, he whispered once more in Lady Maitling’s ear, making her laugh out loud while flashing Isabel a triumphant look.

  “You really are incorrigible!” Charlotte said, giving Rian the back of her hand, which he kissed with all the grace of a practiced courtier. “Just try not to ruin him, dear,” she admonished, turning away with a silky swish of her skirts and treating Isabel’s curtsey with complete indifference.

  “What did you say to her?” Isabel asked as she resumed an upright position.

  “A gentleman never tells,” Rian answered gallantly.

  “Is that what you are, a gen
tleman?”

  “What do you think?” The grin appeared again.

  “Dear God, I hope not!”

  Rian burst out laughing. Offering Isabel his arm, he allowed her to steer him through the decorated arch and into the salon she had recently vacated. She was acutely aware that every pair of feminine eyes was now watching them, along with a few masculine ones as well, and she sighed with satisfaction. Perhaps the evening wasn’t going to be a total loss after all.

  “So tell me, how well acquainted are you with my brother?” Rian asked.

  She could hear the laughter behind the question. Did he find everything amusing?

  “Truthfully, not as much as I once might have wished to be, which is a pity, as he is most pleasing to the eye.”

  “But my brother is spoken for, and has been for some time.”

  “So?” It was Isabel’s turn to be amused. “An engagement is not the same as being wed, and, as her ladyship has just remarked, even that is of little consequence if one is so inclined.”

  “Do you not believe in the sanctity of marriage then?”

  “Sanctity of—” She snorted delightfully. “Absolutely not! In my experience, if a man’s character is such that he is disposed to constantly seek the company of the opposite sex, then the addition of a wife will not dissuade him from following his nature. I imagine it must be quite liberating to enjoy such freedom,” she added with a sly grin of her own.

  “Your husband must be a most forward-thinking man,” Rian noted as he relieved a passing waiter of two glasses of champagne, “to allow you to voice your opinion so openly.”

  “I no longer have the bother of that particular inconvenience,” Isabel laughed.

  “That explains much,” he told her.

  Unsure whether the comment was one of admiration or disapproval, Isabel decided to change the subject. “I do hope you will not follow your brother’s example and seclude yourself in the countryside.” Placing her hand on his arm she looked up at him. “To do so would be a terrible waste.”

  “Perhaps you could suggest some diversion that would require my continued presence in the city.”

  “Perhaps I could,” she murmured.

  For the rest of the evening, Isabel made certain to introduce Rian to only the most influential, and affluent, guests in attendance, sharing the most scandalous tales once the danger of being overheard had passed. Some of the stories were true, but most were just fanciful hearsay. Still, Isabel had a quick wit and she sensed that Rian delighted in her company. She also flirted so outrageously with him that he had no other choice but to respond in kind, and at the end of the evening she invited him to her bed.

  For Isabel, it was a night of revelation. She had never been so totally and completely satisfied until this moment. With Rian she had found a man whose appetite matched her own, but whose skill was far superior. Dawn was breaking when she finally begged him to stop. His stamina and prowess were beyond all her expectations. Leaning her head against his smooth chest, Isabel heard the gentle, deep rumble as he laughed softly before wrapping his arms about her and holding her to him. Her last thought before she succumbed to sleep was that Rian Connor was surely the most remarkable of men.

  Chapter 4

  The face Leticia Davenport showed to the outside world was one of calm, untroubled serenity. The truth, however, was far different. Leticia, or Lettie as she was more commonly known, lived in her own particular circle of hell and had done so for the past ten years. Lacking either the resources or courage to change her circumstances, she wore the mask to hide her wretched desperation.

  But it had not always been this way.

  Once, centuries ago it seemed, she had been filled with virginal fantasies of romance. Dreaming of being wooed and won by a knight in shining armor. The burning, tempestuous passion she longed for was as real to her as the air she breathed even though, in the cold light of day, she knew her hopes of fulfillment were slender. The genetic pool from which Lettie had sprung had not been kind. A plain girl, she had grown into an equally plain and forgettable woman. Eyes set too close together, long nose and thin lips. She looked as if she was being pinched, an image not improved by dull, mousy brown hair that no amount of brushing could make glossy. It was, therefore, a startling shock to all concerned when Phillip Davenport asked for her hand. Startling and, to her parents, most welcome.

  Her father, despairing his only child would never find a husband, had been willing to overlook certain proprieties. Discreet inquiries into the affairs of his prospective son-in-law returned assurances that nothing was amiss. Assurances that a more thorough, less hurried investigation would have revealed as being worthless. The result of coin changing hands. But with his own health failing, Lettie’s papa was anxious to see his daughter settled and her future secure, so when Phillip formally asked for her hand, her father readily gave his consent.

  Generous with his daughter’s dowry, Lettie’s father had settled not only a sizeable annual income on her, but also gave the newlyweds a townhouse situated in a fashionable neighborhood where they could begin their married life together. It was a beginning the shy girl was ill-prepared to handle.

  On their wedding night, Phillip staggered up the stairs and made his way drunkenly to the bedchamber where his nervous bride waited. It wasn’t such a bad match, he told himself. His wife was ignorant in the ways of the world and bending her to his will would be a simple matter of course. Moreover her father was ill. Why, the old fool could barely make it through the ceremony, and with any luck he would succumb soon enough. Then Lettie would be very wealthy. Or rather, her husband would be.

  The door to the bedroom crashed open and Lettie felt her stomach churn as the strong odor of brandy rolled off her new husband in waves. He wasn’t just drunk, she realized. There was something else wrong with him. An intangible that she had no words to describe. Seeing glazed cruelty glint in his eyes, she was suddenly filled with an inexplicable fear that made her mouth go dry. She pulled the bed coverings tightly up around her neck, and in doing so made her husband laugh. It was an ugly sound.

  Staggering to the edge of the bed, Phillip sat down heavily and then proceeded to tell his bride, in no small detail, how the only thing he found attractive about her was the wealth that would someday be his. The cruelty of his words cut like a knife and tears sprang from her eyes as Phillip wounded her with every syllable he uttered. Lettie had long ago abandoned any romantic notion of true love, but during their courtship, Phillip had led her to believe he held her in some affection, and promised to treat her with respect. Now she knew it was all lies. Her life was to be lived in complete and total subjugation to his every whim. Nothing else would be acceptable. She existed solely to satisfy his appetites and was granted no voice, no opinions, and no life of her own. With her hopes and dreams shattered irrevocably, Lettie took the first step on her descent into hell.

  Attempting to stand, Phillip grabbed the wooden bedpost for support and stared at his wife. “Come here,” he slurred drunkenly.

  Paralyzed with fear, and unable to move, Lettie watched as Phillip lurched forward and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of bed until she stood before him, quaking in terror.

  “Undress me,” Phillip commanded.

  Lettie stared at him uncomprehendingly. What on earth did he mean, undress him? Surely he didn’t expect her to remove his clothes? Like a small animal caught in a trap, she stared at him, her eyes wide and unblinking.

  “Undress me!” Phillip snapped again, and this time the tone in his voice told Lettie this was exactly what her new husband expected her to do.

  With shaking hands she tugged at the heavy brocade coat and then removed the matching waistcoat. Unbuttoning the fine linen shirt, she hesitantly pulled it down his arms, trying not to look at the dark nipples standing out in stark contrast to the pale, almost ghostly white of his skin. He gave a low, vicious laugh as she fumbled wit
h the fastenings on his breeches, keeping her head bent and her eyes fixed on the floor.

  The air was filled with an unpleasant odor. The stench of Phillip’s unwashed body. His liberal use of cologne could not disguise the rancid smell now he was naked. Lettie felt her stomach roll, and she fought the urge to vomit, suspecting the situation would get much worse if she did so. Closing her eyes, she prayed Phillip would not notice the slight wrinkling of her nose. Pulling her roughly to him, Phillip gripped the neckline of her nightgown and tore it from her body. Her breath left her in a rush of horror. She tried covering herself, but her hands were slapped away as Phillip threw her down on the bed and proceeded to rape her.

  It was a night that Lettie would remember in agonizing detail to her dying day. She knew nothing about sex or what to expect from a man, and was totally unprepared. But, as naïve as she was, Lettie knew that what Phillip demanded of her was not normal. It couldn’t be. The physical torture and emotional humiliation he forced her to endure was beyond her comprehension. How one person could gain any pleasure from inflicting pain on another was a perversity she had no concept of.

  As drunk as he was, Phillip took her three times that night. The last with such violence Lettie prayed to die as he thrust himself inside her broken body, tearing the delicate flesh with each violent lunge. Eventually it was over, and Phillip rolled off her, lay on his back, and fell quickly into a drunken sleep. Lettie shook uncontrollably as she lay next to the man she was now legally bound to. Her body ached all over, and she prayed with all her heart for God to release her from this nightmare. But God didn’t hear Lettie’s prayers or, if he did, he chose to ignore her. And so she spent night after night in cowering, abject fear as her husband systematically abused her.