She tried standing, but a wave of agonizing pain made her collapse to the floor, fall forward on all fours, and vomit up what little she had eaten at dinner. Shakily she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She needed to concentrate, and get away from her cousin before he regained his senses. If he caught her again he would kill her, of this she had no doubt. The pain that racked her body was now moving through her in excruciating swells. Something she could not ignore. Crawling across the floor, Catherine was able to reach the door, where she grasped the round porcelain knob with both hands, and pulled herself upright. Though the agony was almost beyond her limited endurance, her legs did not give way this time. Trembling from head to toe, she opened the door.
She refused to look back, afraid that if she did, she would see Phillip looming behind her. Instead she held on to the door, struggling to catch her breath while remaining on her feet. Out the corner of her eye she noticed her heavy traveling cloak now lay across a chair. The maid who had helped her dress earlier must have brushed it out and returned it to the room. Needing something to shield her nakedness, Catherine put it on, and then, with a strangled sob, she stumbled out into the dimly lit hallway.
Escape was her only thought. She had to get out of this house and away from the madman in the room behind her. Put as much distance as possible between herself and this living nightmare, and she needed to move before her strength gave out. Before her cousin came to his senses.
One step at a time.
Each step sent an arc of pain shooting up her legs to her lower back where it exploded in a fireball. Grimly she hung on, making her way, step after step, down the hall, leaving behind, as evidence of her passing, a series of bloody footprints. The staircase provided its own set of problems, but holding onto the banister, Catherine took one torturous stair at a time. When she finally reached the bottom, her lungs were on fire. Each breath felt as if her chest were being sliced open from the inside, and, adding to her misery, a river of sweat rolled down her back, stinging the open lash wounds.
With a hand over her mouth to muffle the sharp rasp of her own breathing, Catherine strained her ears, trying to hear if her progress had alerted anyone else in the house. The fact that her screams had brought no one to her aid did not mean others in the house were unaware of her movements. Nothing but a heavy, ominous silence greeted her, so she made her way across the black and white tiled floor to the front door with as much haste as she could muster. It was difficult to believe that only a matter of hours had passed since she’d first walked over this same floor and accepted Lettie’s outstretched hands in welcome. An act that seemed so strange to her now, it might have happened to someone else entirely.
The only obstacle between Catherine and freedom was the heavy front door. She closed her fingers around the ornate iron handle, rotated it first one way and then the other. The door refused to yield. She twisted it harder, but it still did not give. The very real fear of what her cousin would do if he were to appear on the upper landing and see her made her pound her fist weakly against the decorative paneling. Sobs filled her throat, threatening to spill out and break the silence around her. A hand closed over her mouth, stifling the scream that lay just below the surface. Catherine whirled, clenched fist almost striking the smaller woman standing before her.
“Shhh!” Lettie held a finger to her lips, the single flickering candle she had placed on the floor dimly illuminating her face while throwing grotesque shadows on the wall behind them. The mask had dissolved, and Catherine could see her own horror reflected in the older woman’s eyes.
From the swollen contours of her face, Catherine used her one good eye to stare in bewilderment as Lettie knelt on the floor, and gently raised Catherine’s foot, slipping on a soft-soled shoe. She repeated the action with the other foot, and if she noticed the bloodstains on Catherine’s bare legs, she made no comment.
“You cannot go barefoot,” Lettie whispered. It seemed the least of Catherine’s problems.
Getting to her feet, the smaller woman reached for the bolts on the door and slid them free of their housings. Catherine had never known any door at The Hall to be bolted unless the threat of inclement weather gave cause, so she had not thought to check. Now the iron handle turned easily, allowing the door to swing open smoothly and reveal the fog laden street outside. Rolling in and out, the thick mist hid everything. Revealing nothing beyond an arm’s length and also muffling all sound.
Lettie briefly squeezed Catherine’s hand. “You must go,” she urged. “He will surely murder you if you stay.”
“Come with me,” Catherine begged.
Shaking her head, Lettie released the hand she’d been holding and took a step back. Catherine frowned, trying to understand why this gentle, kind woman would choose to remain with such a monster. She opened her mouth to ask as much, but, startled by a noise from within, Catherine stumbled out into the night, and was quickly swallowed up by the fog.
Chapter 10
Isabel had no regrets about taking Rian as her lover, but, despite her best efforts, she knew no more about him now than she had the first time they’d tumbled in her sheets. Though charming and attentive, he remained maddeningly elusive when it came to revealing anything of a personal nature. He deflected her questions with ease, leaving Isabel with no other choice but to turn to others to satisfy her own curiosity.
Rudimentary gossip confirmed that Rian Connor had, until recently, been the owner of a prosperous plantation in the Americas. Isabel had no idea what crop he grew, nor did she care, but she was curious as to the reason behind his return to England. That it was a permanent change was confirmed by the rumor he was in the process of liquidating all his holdings in the Carolinas, and, if only half the accounting were true, it would explain why he had no interest in her wealth. It also led to speculation that attending his brother’s forthcoming marriage wasn’t the only reason for his return.
The man himself would neither confirm nor deny the tales being spread about him, and only laughed good naturedly at Isabel’s attempts to wheedle facts from him. Finding her efforts so easily thwarted was a new experience for her, and one she did not enjoy. When pressed by others for details about the enigmatic Rian Connor, she pretended to know far more than she actually did. Putting a finger to her lips, she would smile and shake her head, thus giving the impression she knew a great deal, but was sworn to secrecy. Those who knew her well, a handful at most, saw through the charade and became intrigued. If Isabel could not discover Rian’s secrets, then who could? And a man about whom so little was known had to have secrets.
Despite the geographical distance separating the brothers, Rian and Liam had managed to remain close. Well pleased by his brother’s choice of bride, Rian knew it was a union that would not only substantially increase Liam’s standing as a landowner, but also give him a voice in political circles should he choose to use it. Isabel had never regarded the younger Connor with anything more than a passing interest. His face was handsome enough, she had been overheard to say, but he did not attract her in any other aspect. Now she found it difficult to believe the young man was singlehandedly responsible for his brother’s return. Affection for a sibling, no matter how deep, was no reason for a man to turn his back on untold wealth and prestige. Something more significant than a matrimonial union had to be involved. For the time being, Isabel contented herself with the knowledge that if she had no answer, neither did anyone else.
Rian, his mysterious past and unknown future, remained the topic of conversation wherever they went. This suited Isabel perfectly because if he was being talked about, then so was she. In every salon and drawing room someone could be counted on to dredge up and recirculate what little was known of Rian’s abrupt departure so many years ago. A violent disagreement between father and son was common knowledge, but the cause less so. It seemed the gossips were undecided whether heavy losses at the gaming tables or an unsuitable love affair was the culprit.
Perhaps a combination of both. Still, it was but a matter of days before Rian sought passage aboard ship, and, at barely seventeen, he broke his mother’s heart.
With no denial or confirmation from her lover, Isabel was certain the truth differed greatly from the conjecture whispered behind painted fans. It should have been enough that she had managed to capture the enigmatic elder Connor, but Isabel had unwittingly given the gossip mill more grist for the grind.
Having kept Rian longer than any previous man she had been involved with since the death of her husband, Isabel made an astonishing discovery. She did not want her affair with Rian to end anytime soon. In fact she did not want it to end at all. More unsettling however, was finding herself considering the idea of marriage. It was a notion that grew more appealing the longer she thought on it, but she sensed getting Rian before a man of the cloth would be no easy task. In all her other affairs she had been the one to call the tune to which her various lovers had eagerly danced, but this time it was different. The tables had been turned, and though Isabel chafed at the role reversal, she told herself it only served to add to the thrill of the chase. The prize was well worth the hunt, and she had every confidence in the end she would triumph. After all, she had never failed before to get what she wanted. But Rian Connor was no ordinary man, and making him see that she was what he also wanted was going to take every ounce of skill, and every weapon she possessed.
With her considerable wealth of no interest to him, Rian made no secret of the fact that although he found her charming and exciting, and would remain faithful to her for as long as they were together, her body would not be enough to keep him tied to her. She had the impression that should she suddenly disappear from his life, Rian would sincerely mourn her absence, but he would not grieve overlong. It was not indifference on his part, but more a statement of fact. Life was too short to dwell on things that could not be changed, and this was part of his allure.
She consoled herself with the thought that for the present she did have him, and he enjoyed her company both in and out of bed. But a lifetime commitment was an entirely different prospect. While Isabel was kept busy with plans to ensnare Rian, her peers wagered amongst themselves on how long it would take for the beautiful young widow to land her prize.
* * * *
At thirty-two years of age, Rian Connor had already tested the waters of matrimony and it had not ended well. He had been amused to find himself declared a most eligible bachelor amongst society, and shocked by the number of young women who were constantly at his elbow. Either of their own accord or because of a firm push from an ambitious mother. Of course his suitability was brought into question once he attached himself to Isabel, but Rian was not in the least concerned.
In spite of the delightful distractions thrown his way, he found no reason to change his current marital status. He knew the joy of giving himself completely to one woman, and had experienced the pain of loss when that same love was scorched by tragedy. He felt no need to relive the experience, and doubted he ever would. Women, he decided, were to be admired, adored and cherished, and he much preferred the role of lover to that of a husband.
His presence at his brother’s wedding was going to be a bittersweet experience. It was the first time he had set foot on his native soil since that terrible fight with his father so long ago. He had almost forgotten what had sparked the furious outburst between them. Almost, but not quite. A man didn’t truly ever forget the reason for leaving those he loved. But if the same circumstances prevailed today would he behave so rashly? A wry grin turned his mouth. He would not blame the impetuousness of youth for his decisions; after all, they’d helped him become the adult he now was.
As a young man, the seriousness of his manner, coupled with his willingness to work, had convinced the captain of a ship bound for the Indies to take him aboard, and he quickly learned that the life of a sailor was brutal and harsh. Still, luck had been on his side and the captain, though by necessity a hard man, was also a just one. Under his tutelage Rian left boyhood behind on that initial voyage. Unafraid and eager to learn, he earned the respect of his shipmates, and for five years he served on one sailing vessel or another as he expanded his horizons. But it was tales of the Americas that stirred his imagination, and, when the opportunity arose, he seized it with both hands and headed for the New World.
His adopted country welcomed him with open arms and a wealth of opportunities for those not afraid of hard work. From the headstrong youth a man was molded, and with patience, a keen nose for business and a little good fortune, Rian found himself the owner of a modest plantation when he was twenty-four. He thought nothing of working alongside his field hands, and every penny of profit from the crop he helped plant he put back into the rich, fertile ground. In no time at all he was able to add additional acreage, and while still in his twenties he had one of the more profitable plantations in the county. And he might have been content to continue with his new life had not tragedy struck, reminding him how isolated he was without the connection of family.
When news reached him that Liam was to take a wife, it took little coaxing for Rian to put his affairs in order and set sail for his homeland. A voyage infinitely more comfortable as a paying passenger than a member of the crew. Isabel would have been surprised to know the driving force behind his return was nothing more sinister than homesickness.
But his homecoming was not without consequences. His father, with whom he had argued so bitterly, was now dead. What should have been a simple difference of opinion had become a rift too wide for either to cross. In a fit of temper, the patriarch had disowned his firstborn, in favor of his younger brother. The fact he would employ such a tactic only proved how little he knew or understood either of his children. But now, whatever hopes of forgiveness and reconciliation Rian may have harbored lay buried alongside a bitter, twisted man. The fierce need to find a measure of peace was something Rian would have to pursue alone. Even now he could hear the echo of his father’s voice inside his head. Embarrassment over a youthful indiscretion had fueled an anger-laced tirade. Unbeknownst to either of them, it was the last time they would speak.
Thankfully, the same could not be said of Rian and his brother.
Over the years they had corresponded with each other and stayed in touch. So when Liam wrote to tell his brother he wanted to marry, it was not a complete surprise to his sibling. His choice of bride, however, was another matter.
Felicity Pelham was not completely unknown to Rian. She was, after all, the daughter of their closest neighbor, but Rian had been astonished that Liam would choose her for a wife. He vaguely recalled a skinny girl who was all elbows and knees and somewhat nearsighted. However, giving Felicity the benefit of the doubt, and allowing for the passage of time, he thought perhaps she might be a good match for Liam. The girl he remembered had a serious outlook on life even at a young age, which would complement his brother’s own calm dependability. The added incentive of Pelham lands bordering Connor property made it a sensible match, but Rian hoped this had not been a factor in his brother’s choice.
On the surface the brothers were as different as chalk and cheese. Yet it was this difference that strengthened the bond they shared. Knowing his return would cause a great deal of speculative interest, Rian wondered if Liam had requested his attendance as a way of deflecting attention from himself and his bride-to-be. He chuckled at the thought, happy enough to oblige the engaged couple in any way he could. Oakhaven, the sprawling country estate that was the Connor family seat, had not yet been graced with his presence. Wanting to indulge himself first with whatever temptations the city might offer, Rian was residing in the townhouse Liam had had the foresight to purchase some years before. And, as the ceremony was to take place in the city, it made perfect sense for him to remain in town until after the nuptials. He would have plenty of time to visit his childhood home once Liam and Felicity were wed. Then he could confront the ghosts of his past alone
, and on his own terms.
* * * *
Isabel took it for granted that she would attend the wedding with Rian. The Pelhams were an old family whose loyalty to the crown could be traced back to the time of Richard the Lionhearted, and while the Connors could not boast the same lineage, a persistent rumor spoke of the family’s similar origins down the line of Celtic royalty. In truth no one cared if royal blood was present in either family. The wedding was going to be a grand affair, and anyone of consequence had already been invited. Isabel’s own standing, enhanced by her recent connection to the groom’s family, guaranteed her new gown would be finished on time. All that was left to decide on were the jewels she would wear.
These thoughts swirled through her mind as she sat at her dressing table attempting to restore some order to the unruly mass of black curls that framed her small, exotic face. Lifting the brush to tease the locks into place, she glanced in the mirror at the man who lay in her bed, propped up on the pillows watching her. Rian stretched lazily and settled himself more comfortably, giving her his complete and undivided attention.
Dressed in a scarlet robe so sheer she might as well have been wearing nothing at all, Isabel delighted in preening for him. She turned one way then the other, ostensibly concerned with her grooming, but an astute observer would see her eyes never left her lover’s face in the looking glass. Finished with her task, Isabel gathered up her curls and secured them with a jeweled comb on top of her head. The movement of her arms caused the front of the robe to gape open, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her lush breasts peeking through the scarlet lace. Rian sighed, deciding there was nothing truly more sensuous than a woman brushing her hair.
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