“Am I not master in this house?” He growled, turning her around and pushing her face down across the settee’s low back.
Lifting her dress and petticoats, he flung them over her head. She offered no protest. To do so would only prolong her humiliation, but she could not stay the silent tears coursing down her cheeks as her husband forced her legs apart. He entered her from behind, making Lettie gasp with each agonizing thrust. She pressed a clenched fist against her mouth, stifling her cries until she heard her husband groan, and a shuddering spasm of his body against hers told her he was done. With his need gratified, Phillip had no more use for his wife. After wiping himself on her petticoat, he readjusted his clothing and left the room.
Lettie silently counted to ten, wanting to be sure Phillip did not return, before pulling down her clothing. The passing years had not diminished the shame she felt, but she hastily wiped away the tears with the back of her hand before settling the mask back into place. The question that had planted itself in her mind the first night Phillip had taken her now crashed inside her head.
What had happened to make her husband the monster he was?
* * * *
The bath water was rapidly cooling so Phillip quickly sluiced himself off and, after toweling dry, lay on his bed to think. Having a hip bath was a luxury few of his peers indulged in, but it had been the first extravagance Phillip had bought with Lettie’s money. He couldn’t say why such a convenience had caught his fancy, but it set him apart from others. And he enjoyed the distinction, even though he rarely used it more than once a month. Like everyone else, he simply hand washed himself when necessary. Bathing was an indulgence meant more for restoring his humor than cleansing his body. It helped to clear his mind, soothe his temper, and allow him to think.
His focus was now on his newly found cousin. Whatever conflict had resulted in his father being disowned by his family was of little consequence. The man was dead, and his cousin a stranger. As the only living Davenport male, he could have claimed The Hall, but an inheritance so heavily mortgaged was a liability. So he abandoned any claim and decided to let Catherine’s home become someone else’s headache, especially as he did not possess the means to satisfy the creditors. But even though he had relinquished his rights to bricks and mortar, the damned attorney still had the effrontery to suggest he provide a home for an impoverished girl with no means of support.
He cared nothing for Catherine or her situation, and the idea of giving her shelter filled him with cold indifference. Why should he be expected to support her? It was as if he was being punished because she was not wed. The only reason she even knew of his existence was because she was now destitute. Would she have been so eager to search for his whereabouts had this not been the case? Phillip’s derisive snort was answer enough.
It made absolutely no difference that Catherine was equally as ignorant about him. That she knew nothing about the circumstances of his birth or wretched childhood. Or that, even if she had known, she was in no position to change those circumstances. All that mattered to Phillip was knowing she had grown up in a big house with servants, and would, most likely, still be welcome in circles where he would be turned away. Seething at the perceived injustice, he let the bitter taste of revenge coat his tongue and flood his mouth.
When he’d first received Jacob Whitney’s letter, he was tempted to burn it, unread, but instead of setting it alight, he opened it. The start of the letter repeated information he’d already been told, but then Jacob made an unexpected suggestion. Perhaps Phillip might fulfill his duty to his cousin by helping to arrange a suitable match for her. He frowned and read the letter again, to be certain he understood. The attorney seemed confidant Catherine would have no difficulty in securing a husband, and there was only one thing that would prompt a man to ask for a hand that came with no dowry. His cousin must be very beautiful indeed.
“Marriage?” he asked Jacob’s representative at their next meeting.
The small mousy man, fully apprised of the situation, nodded. “Mr. Whitney assures me that Miss Davenport is most accomplished.”
“I care nothing for her accomplishments. Is she so comely that she could tempt a man with no dowry to offer?” He smiled sourly, recalling his own path to connubial bliss.
“I am told she is fair,” the other attorney stated. “Very fair indeed.”
Phillip gave him a disdainful stare. “All women could be considered fair. I need details.” And he proceeded with a list of questions.
Though Jacob’s response was favorable, Phillip was still hesitant. The notion of beauty was apt to change according to the viewer, and, if dire circumstances were also a factor, it was reasonable to assume some embellishments would have been made. But Phillip was not interested in finding a suitable husband for his cousin. Marriage was an agreement that depended on far too many variables beyond his control. He looked instead for a simpler arrangement. One where the only matter of concern would be financial, and that was something Phillip could dictate. Especially as he enjoyed an understanding with the proprietor of a certain establishment.
A place where the walls were dark and filled with mirrors.
A place where, for the right price, any depraved appetite could be satisfied.
A place where a girl’s virginity could command a king’s ransom.
His proposal had been tentatively accepted with the proviso that Catherine met all expectations. The whoremaster was a cautious man, but he sweetened the deal with the promise that Phillip could watch as his cousin was broken in.
And so Phillip had set his plan in motion with meticulous care. To all concerned, the attorney in particular, he gave the outward appearance of helping a destitute relative and, giving weight to the lie, he instructed his wife to decorate and furnish a bedroom for his cousin. But it was never his intention to have Catherine set foot inside his house.
People went missing all the time. They vanished without a trace, and a young girl who was a stranger to the city, traveling with no relative to escort her…it wasn’t so difficult to believe. Tragic yes, but not unheard of. Still he had to be careful. Others would know Catherine’s destination and Phillip had to make sure that the finger of suspicion was never pointed at him. The pivotal part of his plan was to make sure she was abducted before she ever arrived in the city. So he paid handsomely for her to be taken at the last coaching station where horses were changed. But it never happened, and with no explanation as to why. Phillip’s anger spilled over into fury, making him vent his anger and frustration on his wife. His cousin was supposed to have already been on her way to the new life he had chosen for her, not resting upstairs! Now if Catherine were to disappear it might look suspicious.
Unless, unless…it were to happen while she was with his wife.
An abduction in the park perhaps?
Phillip felt his spirits lift. If Lettie were to witness Catherine’s disappearance it would give the tragic event credibility, and definitely remove any suggestion of his own involvement. He would just have to make certain that once his cousin Catherine disappeared, it would be a permanent arrangement.
After getting up from the bed, Phillip went to the bureau and put ink to parchment. A few lines confirming his resolve, and explaining how an unforeseen circumstance had forced a change of plan. Quickly he outlined an alternate proposal for delivering Catherine to the man who would ultimately control her fate. The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, the delicate sound totally at odds with the room’s occupant. Melting some wax, Phillip quickly affixed his seal and arranged for the letter’s delivery before dressing for dinner.
Chapter 7
Staring at her reflection in the tall standing mirror, Catherine hardly recognized the image looking back at her. The gown’s pink hue infused her skin with warmth she did not feel, and despite assurances that it was perfectly respectable, Catherine found the décolletage a little too revealing. She bit her lip
and frowned slightly. The gown seemed far too extravagant for a simple family dinner, but perhaps, she reasoned, her discomfort was due to a general lack of knowledge as to what was considered socially acceptable. It had been a long time since she had needed to dress for dinner.
The maid, thoughtfully sent by Lettie to assist her, had proved to be quite skillful with arranging Catherine’s hair. Now her heavy locks fell in a cascade of curls, interwoven with pink ribbons, over one bare shoulder. The overall effect was an appearance of fetching innocence, and while Catherine might not think the dress appropriate, she knew that she looked pretty.
She glanced at her own dark dress lying on the bed and for a moment was tempted to disobey her cousin’s wishes. But then she recalled the look on Lettie’s face. One that reinforced the notion such defiance would not go unpunished, except it wouldn’t be Catherine bearing the brunt of her cousin’s displeasure. Her face crinkled in an expression of disbelief. Surely Phillip would not be so unreasonable over something as mundane as a dress? But a voice in the back of her mind told her not to dismiss his wife’s alarm. Who knew him better? If it was important that she wear the gown Phillip had chosen, then she would wear it. If not to please her cousin, then to appease his wife.
It was impossible not to feel the tension in the house. It was so thick and oppressive, it threatened to crush Catherine the moment she stepped into the room. Lettie had warned her that Phillip was almost fanatical about punctuality, particularly at meal times, but dressing for dinner had taken longer than she anticipated. Hearing the clock strike the quarter hour, Catherine kissed Lettie on the cheek, and apologized for her tardiness, seeing a sudden glimpse of unease flare briefly in the other woman’s eyes. Whether the emotion had been shared by accident or design, Catherine could not tell, but in any case it was quickly hidden behind Lettie’s impenetrable mask.
Turning, Catherine now looked for the first time at her cousin, and her dislike was both instantaneous and vehement. She might not be aware of the current trend in women’s fashions, but she knew when a man was looking at her inappropriately. Her cousin wasn’t simply looking at her, his stare lingered, fixing on her in such a way she could not help but be uncomfortable at his scrutiny. But had he given her only the briefest of glances, Catherine still would have found his observation distasteful. Hesitantly she closed the distance between them, fighting hard not to let her feelings show. Though she was now dependent on this man’s goodwill, she trusted her instinct. She would have to be on her guard, at least until she was able to determine the true nature of her cousin’s character.
Swallowing nervously she said, “Cousin Phillip, I can never thank you enough for the kindness you have shown me.”
“Dearest Catherine, how could I do anything else?” The sound of his voice made her feel as if something slimy had slithered out from beneath a rock, and she suppressed a shudder when he reached for her hand. “My only regret is that ignorance of your existence made it impossible for the offer to have been given sooner.”
The rank odor of his breath assaulted her, and she was forced to turn her head away. All she could do was hope Philip would mistake the movement as an indication of her relief at his generosity. Taking a deep breath she forced herself to look back at him. It mattered not how odious she found him; her debt to him was one that could never be repaid. Something she could never forget. “Your gift is most generous,” she told him, gesturing with her free hand to the rose hued cloud she wore.
His expression shifted. A shadow darkened his features and sent a shiver down her spine. “It is most becoming,” Phillip agreed. “Come, you must be famished, and the hour is getting late.”
Catherine’s initial dislike of her only living blood relative did not change with the meal. Whatever manners Phillip may have had, he chose to disregard them at his own table. The soup course was an auditory nightmare of sounds better suited to a farmyard feeding trough. And for some reason known only to him, he abandoned the use of utensils altogether during the main meal. Instead he shoveled food into his mouth with his fingers, all the while insisting on conversing with her, and not caring that particles fell from his mouth onto the table and his clothes. Revolted by his behavior, Catherine felt more than a little nauseated. She wanted to protest, but a glance at Lettie’s raised brow was enough of a warning to keep silent.
Her appetite completely ruined, Catherine wondered if it was possible Jacob Whitney had made a mistake about her familial tie to Phillip Davenport. Perhaps having the same name was nothing but a coincidence. Davenport was not so very unusual a name, but as she continued to observe him, Catherine was forced to acknowledge physical similarities between Philip and portraits of her grandfather that she could recall. Davenport blood ran through Phillip’s veins as surely as it ran through hers.
Finally the torturous ordeal came to an end, and Phillip joined the two women as they adjourned to the salon. After pouring himself a whisky, he offered a glass of sweet wine to Catherine, which she politely refused. He did not offer his wife anything at all, and continued to ignore her as he had all through dinner. It was as if she didn’t exist. Lettie did not appear to be concerned by her husband’s behavior. If Catherine had to guess, she would think it was a common occurrence, but it did not excuse Phillip’s rudeness and lack of manners. She turned her head to speak to Lettie, but before she could say anything, Phillip quickly drained his glass and came to stand before her. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, bade her good night and marched smartly from the room. A few moments later both women jumped at the sound of the front door being slammed shut.
“Did I say something to offend?”
Lettie gave a sigh of relief and patted Catherine’s hand. “No dear, of course not. You will, I am sure, soon accustom yourself to some of your cousin’s peculiarities.”
“What sort of peculiarities?”
“At times his behavior can appear to be quite unfathomable, and erratic.” She squeezed Catherine’s hand, and the mask slipped. “But you must not let him frighten you.”
Catherine narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why would you think he would frighten me?”
“Oh dear, did I say that? That’s not at all what I meant.” In her haste to try to cover up her blunder, Lettie’s true feelings were revealed, making Catherine wonder how many times her cousin had frightened his wife. And why. “You must forgive me,” Lettie continued, “Phillip is forever telling me what a silly goose I am, always saying the wrong thing.”
She offered nothing further to explain her remark, and Catherine did not pursue it. But she did not think Lettie had misspoke.
“No matter.” Catherine smiled, determined to put the other woman at ease,. “I am certain we are more than capable of providing our own entertainment.” For the first time since her arrival, Lettie gave Catherine a smile that was free of any restraint, and it lit up her face. “Oh Catherine, I do hope we will be the very best of friends.”
“Of course we will. How could we be anything else?”
Whatever was amiss in Lettie’s life, whatever secrets she chose to keep to herself, Catherine was positive about one thing. The woman seated next to her was desperately unhappy. And had been for a very long time.
* * * *
Phillip was totally captivated. Having assumed the report of his impoverished cousin’s beauty to be somewhat exaggerated, he was stunned to find the truth was a very different matter. The description had been woefully inadequate, so much so it occurred to Phillip that perhaps the fool of a lawyer had been looking at an entirely different girl when he made his account. Or perhaps age was impeding the man’s sight. Whatever the reason, Catherine was a vision.
Her voice, thanking him for his kindness, had been a throbbing purr to his ears, and as he scanned her upturned face he found himself consumed with a sudden, overwhelming need. All reason was destroyed by the one strident, demanding thought pounding inside his head. He had to have her! Take he
r body, possess her flesh, and not be content until he had satisfied himself completely. Never before had such an overpowering urge filled him, sweeping through every fiber of his being, and dominating his senses.
Closing his eyes, Phillip felt waves of lust roll in his belly as he imagined the firm roundness of her breasts filling his cupped palms. All thoughts of delivering Catherine to the man he had already promised her to vanished, especially after he took her hand and pressed his lips against the smooth skin. Though she tried to disguise it, he had felt her shudder at the feel of his mouth on her flesh. It ignited a flame within him. So much the better. It was more than he could have hoped for. And the subtle shift in her body language said she would not willingly let him take her. Which would make the experience all the more exciting.
And now the idea of being allowed to watch as Catherine was broken in became ludicrous. No force imaginable was going to persuade him to turn her over and place her in the hands of another. At least not until after he had personally introduced her to the pain and pleasure that would become her reality.
Chapter 8
Catherine wasn’t sure what made her wake. There were so many unfamiliar sounds, it could have been anything. The house as it settled or perhaps the barking dog beyond her window. But then the prickly feeling at the nape of her neck told her it was neither of those things. Dread came over her, causing a tight feeling in her chest and a sudden sour taste in the back of her mouth.
Something was out of place.
The room felt wrong, and Catherine had the oddest feeling she was no longer alone. Turning her head, she looked at the bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar, a faint light spilling over the threshold from the lamp that sat on the narrow hall table. A lamp that Lettie told her remained lit through the night. Catherine frowned, certain she had closed the door after she and Lettie had said their good-nights to each other. At least she thought she’d closed the door, but now, with her senses groggy, she could not be sure.
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