“As you can see, my dear, escape is quite useless,” he told her. “I will always find a way to get back what is mine. If Catherine was not able to elude me, what hope could you possibly have?” He paused with his hand on the door knob, and the look he gave her froze the marrow in her bones.
The years of living in constant fear rose and completely paralyzed Lettie as decidedly as if her spine had been snapped in two. She became incapable of any rational thought. Phillip was right. Phillip was always right. If Catherine had not been able to escape his poisonous, grasping reach how could she hope to? Catherine was the strongest woman she had ever met, both physically and mentally. In a single, glorious moment she had dared to defy Phillip. Defy him, fight him, and win. It had been a moment of triumph. At least for a while.
Lettie hoped Catherine had been happy in her freedom, and she was sorry it could not have been forever. But now it was over. Phillip had brought her back. He had won. He would always win. Turning on her side, Lettie ignored the fiery pain that flared in her lower back and hip as she curled herself into a ball. She needed to find her own escape, so she let her mind slip to another place. One far away from the misery that had become her daily existence.
Chapter 23
Isabel sat at her dressing table, head in her hands, weeping bitterly. How could everything have gone so horribly wrong? All her carefully laid plans were ruined, shattered like the small porcelain figurine she had once destroyed in temper. How was it possible that she, always so shrewd and cunning, could be guilty of such a terrible error in judgment?
She had made the mistake of assuming carnal pleasure would be enough to bind Rian to her. God knows other men had been willing to tether themselves to her for less. But Rian was not other men, and he had surprised her. Lust, though enjoyable, was not nearly enough for him. He desired something more meaningful, more substantial. A basis on which to build a future. It was a foundation he believed Isabel was incapable of providing, and that had been a betrayal of the worst kind. What possible future could he want that she was not a part of? She shook her head as fresh tears spilled, and her body trembled with the deep ache of his rejection. It made no difference that Rian had told her many times, in many ways, that he would never marry her. Pride had refused to let her see the truth of his words. Taking the affection he was willing to give, she had twisted it into something it was never meant to be. And now it had spoiled, becoming ugly and unrecognizable.
“And you wonder why he turned away from you?” she said bitterly, staring at the disheveled, red-eyed, weeping woman who looked back at her from the mirror.
A sob caught in the back of her throat and she made a raspy hitching sound.
“Weeping, Isabel? My, my, I thought you were incapable of producing tears. How very touching.”
Raising her head, Isabel looked at the figure leaning against the doorframe. She frowned and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve so she could wipe her eyes before staring in disbelief. Of all the people she might have expected to see this day, he was not on her list.
“Liam?” Her concern was genuine. He looked terrible. Fear and worry had worked their own particular brand of destruction on the handsome, boyish face, leaving him exhausted and shattered. He still had not changed his clothes, and he looked creased and rumpled. “Liam, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your wife?” Isabel’s voice rose a few octaves. She didn’t know why, but the sight of him leaning so casually in her doorway sent an unexpected shudder through her. Felicity had surely made a full recovery by now.
“Ah yes, my wife. How nice of you to remember her.”
Charles and Emily had almost collided with Rian and John Fletcher at the front door of the townhouse. His in-laws had asked no questions regarding his brother’s hasty departure, nor the identity of the man who accompanied him. But they were not so forgiving with him, and he had to beg them to stay with Felicity.
“Liam, where are you going?” Emily had asked anxiously.
“There is a matter I have to attend to.”
“It cannot wait?”
He had looked over Emily’s head, directing his answer at his father-in-law, “No, it cannot.”
Charles Pelham did not need to know details. Instinctively he understood the necessity of his son-in-law’s departure. He nodded supportively and took his wife by the arm. “Of course we will watch over Felicity,” he assured him.
“How is Felicity?” Isabel asked, her voice bringing Liam back to the present. His presence unnerved her. He ought not to be here, in her private apartments. She watched, eyes narrowing, as he came into the room, his walk so like his brother’s. “Is she quite recovered?”
As Liam proceeded toward her, Isabel swung back around on the stool and watched him in the mirror. She picked up her hairbrush, and began passing it through her raven locks, her hands trembling slightly as she did so. Liam was now directly behind her, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, gently smoothing his fingers over the alabaster skin. His behavior was uncharacteristic, but even so Isabel was confident she could easily deal with the younger Connor.
“Liam, what about—”
“Shhh,” he hushed her. “Don’t speak, Isabel. Don’t say a word.”
This was most definitely not the Liam Connor that she knew. Despite her concerns she felt her body responding to his strong fingers as they expertly worked on relieving her tension. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head to one side as Liam continued to knead the tight muscles with one hand while the other, after moving her hair, now stroked the smooth column of her neck.
“You really are a very beautiful woman, Isabel.” Liam sighed, his lips grazing the sensitive spot below her ear as he spoke. “It would be a shame to disfigure such a lovely face.”
Her eyes flew open at the same time his hands stopped moving and his fingers dropped to circle her slender neck. With a sudden gasp she reached up, trying to free herself, but he only squeezed tighter.
“Stop it,” Liam ordered in a voice that was completely calm. “Stop it or I swear to God I will snap your neck right here and now.” Immediately she ceased struggling. “Good, that’s better,” Liam murmured as his untroubled eyes met her wary ones in the looking glass. For the first time in a very long while, Isabel felt afraid.
“Your man, John Fletcher, graced us with a visit a little while ago,” Liam continued softly. “He put forth a most interesting proposition.” He disclosed how John was able to secure her freedom from his brother’s retribution for her part in Catherine’s abduction. He did not reveal the reason behind John’s desire to protect her. Though she tried to suppress it, Liam felt Isabel’s shudder of relief, and in the looking glass he saw her eyes close, and felt the muscles move beneath his fingers as she swallowed.
“It has been generally agreed upon that a visit to your estates in Ireland would be most beneficial,” Liam said. “The sooner the better. I trust you see the sense of this proposal.” He loosened his hold just enough so she could nod in affirmation. “Good, but there is one more thing you need to know before you go.” Leaning forward, he exerted pressure again. “Felicity lost the baby she was carrying—our baby—because of you.”
Isabel instinctively dropped a hand to her lap and pressed it against her stomach. Was Liam going to dispense his own brand of justice, an eye for an eye, a life for a life? Her baby for his?
“Your man made one small mistake when he bargained for your safety, Isabel. He only secured an agreement with Rian.” She looked at him in the glass, her face pale and her lips trembling. “Most likely he did not think that your actions had had any effect on me directly. Go to Ireland, stay there and don’t ever come back. If I see you again or if I hear that you have returned”—Liam released his hands from around her throat and let them rest lightly on her shoulders—“I will kill you. On that you have my solemn promise.”
Not once had he raised his voice above a polite whisper
, speaking smoothly and softly, and that made his words all the more deadly.
Chapter 24
Catherine lay quietly on the bed, watching the waning light outside the window through a gap in the heavy brocade drapes. It had been a shock to see Lettie looking so pale and gaunt, dragging her injured leg. She bore little resemblance to the woman who had helped her escape, and none to the one who had welcomed her into this house. What had Phillip done to her, and how had she been injured? Her mind began throwing up one horrific scenario after another, until she threw her arm over her eyes to block out the images. Lettie’s life was miserable and wretched enough, and the last thing Catherine had ever wanted to do was to add to her burden. She was deeply sorry to be the reason for her most recent injury.
A light knock on the door made her turn her head. What new torment had Phillip dreamed up? “Come in,” she rasped.
A girl entered the room, carrying a tray which she placed on the table next to the empty pitcher of water. Catherine started to tell her to mind the floor—she did not want the child to step in the stale vomit—but the carpet had been cleaned. She frowned. When had that happened? The girl took the cover off the dish and the aroma of hot beef stew elicited a growl from Catherine’s stomach. Her last meal had been the plate of sweet and savory treats at Isabel’s party, and from the alarming gurgles her stomach was making, it would appear that was some time ago. Saying nothing, Catherine watched as the girl picked up the empty pitcher, left the room, and a few moments later returned with a full one.
“The master says you gots to eat,” the girl told her, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. Her tone seemed unnaturally subdued for one so young, and her brows knitted as if she was trying to remember something. It unexpectedly cleared, and she dropped Catherine a wobbly curtsey.
If the sight of a grown woman manacled to the bedpost with her hair shorn alarmed the child, she gave no sign. Catherine had to wonder what she might have witnessed in so short a span of years that such brutality raised no distress whatsoever. What possible reason had Phillip given to explain Catherine’s presence? Why presume he had given a reason at all, Catherine thought dully. This was his house. He had no need to explain himself to anyone. Least of all to a child.
“You can tell the master that I would rather starve to death than accept any food from his hand,” Catherine said softly, her throat aching as she spoke.
The girl’s eyes darted toward the open door, her impassive expression quickly replaced by fear. She plucked nervously at a fold in her dress as she stood waiting. Turning her head slowly, Catherine saw the reason for her dread as Phillip now joined them. Obviously he had been outside the door, listening to their exchange.
“Grace, come to me please.” He spoke pleasantly, motioning with his hand in the girl’s direction. She obeyed, but Catherine could see the tremble in her shoulders as she stood next to him.
Ignoring his prisoner, Phillip gave his full attention to the child, making certain that Catherine had an unrestricted view. Poverty and hardship had not quite taken everything. A trace of hope lingered still, hope at the possibility of a better life. It told Catherine the child was too young to be in this house.
“Did you tell the lady what I told you to say?” Phillip asked.
Grace nodded.
“And what was her reply?”
Just as softly, Grace repeated Catherine’s words, exactly as she had spoken them, word for word. Saying nothing, Phillip turned and l stared directly into his captive’s eyes, a cruel sneer curling about his lips as she stared back at him. No longer dull and lifeless, her eyes sparked with defiance. Phillip made a sound in his throat that reminded Catherine of a fussy hen.
“What a ridiculous notion to think that I would allow you to starve yourself,” he said. “No, my dear, this just cannot be tolerated.” He placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and Catherine saw her flinch as Phillip continued. “I will admit that the last time we were together you managed to inflame my passions to such a degree that I quite lost control of myself, but that will not happen again. This time I am better prepared.” Idly he moved his hand and pulled a curl from beneath Grace’s bonnet, twirling it around his forefinger as he continued to watch Catherine. “You are refusing my hospitality, Catherine dear, and that is most rude of you. Your lack of manners I will forgive, but not your disrespect. I see no merit in punishing you, so I will punish the child in your stead.”
“No!”
Catherine’s shriek of protest was not enough to cover the sound of Phillip’s backhand slap across Grace’s face. So brutal was the blow, it lifted her thin body off her feet, sending her across the floor to land in a heap by the open doorway. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Phillip smiled at the look of horror on Catherine’s face, and then walked over to Grace. He raised his hand, as if to deliberately strike her again.
“No, Phillip, don’t! I’ll do whatever you ask!”
He gloated in triumph. The injustice of his action had created a fire that made Catherine’s skin glow and her eyes light up. She was filled with so much rage, Phillip could almost taste it. It was a fury that promised to make his flesh sing when he took her again. Already he felt the slow burn of anticipation and his face flushed with excitement.
“You will obey my every command and fulfill my every wish?” he asked with conceited arrogance. Defeated, Catherine nodded wearily. He had found the weakness in her armor, and they both knew he would, if given the chance, exploit it to the fullest extent. He was barely able to prevent himself from rubbing his hands together in glee. “Well, you had best finish your meal, and get some color back into your cheeks,” he said in a cheerful tone. “Here, Grace will help you.” He gave a vicious kick to Grace before stepping over her and locking the door on both of them.
Scrambling off the bed, Catherine stretched as far as the chain would allow, but it was not enough to let her reach the child. “Grace?” she called, but her throat hurt too much for her to do more than whisper.
She clasped her hands anxiously, hoping that Phillip’s boot had not caused an injury serious enough to warrant a doctor’s care. It was doubtful the child would receive it. The next few moments were some of the longest in Catherine’s life, relieved only by the sight of Grace’s limbs moving. Opening her eyes, the child blinked a couple of times. There was a puzzled look on her face as if she could not recall how it was she came to be lying on the floor. Or why her body ached so. She struggled to a sitting position, groaning and clamping a hand to her lower back. Her breaths came out as quick, short gasps to counteract the pain. She crawled toward Catherine, who lifted her in her arms, being careful not to hold too tightly, and placed her on the bed.
Tears streaked down Grace’s small, pinched face, an ugly welt marring her cheek. She sniffed loudly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Sh-shall I take it away?” Grace asked, pointing to the stew.
Catherine shuddered as she picked up the spoon. “No, sweetheart. I will eat it.” She eyed Grace’s rail thinness. “But I think it may be too much for me, and I do not want the master to become cross. Would you help me?”
During the course of their shared meal, Catherine learned a great many things. Holding Grace close to her, she spoon fed both of them, and discovered that during the past few days most of the remaining household staff had been sent away.
“Who is left?” Catherine asked.
“There’s cook, an’ Rosie who keeps to the scullery, an’ me to look after the missus, oh an’ some men I never saw before.” Grace gave Catherine a grave look. “They came this morning.”
“But why would everyone else be sent away?” Catherine asked.
Grace’s thin shoulders moved under Catherine’s hand. “Dunno, Missus, but the Master promised me a sovereign if I stayed ’til the end of the week to help with the other missus.”
“Why only until the end of the week?”
“The other missus won
’t need anyone after then.”
A cold shiver went through Catherine. Either Lettie was far sicker than she had realized, or else her demented husband was planning something horrible. Tucking a curl beneath the cap Grace wore, Catherine contemplated the freedom with which the child could move about the house.
“Grace, can you get in and out of Miss Lettie’s room?”
The girl nodded.
“Good,” Catherine said as a spark of hope ignited within her. “I need you to get a message to her.” Looking around the bedroom, Catherine pointed to the bureau against the far wall. “See if there is any paper there and pen and ink also. I will write a note for you to take to Miss Lettie for me.”
Moving away from Catherine, Grace shuffled her feet and hung her head. “Can’t do that, miss,” she said, putting her hands behind her back, and refusing to look at her. “Please don’t make me.”
“But Grace, it’s just a note.”
“If the master finds out, I’ll be skinned alive so help me!”Her belief in the threat was so absolute, terror smothered her like a blanket.
The small spark of hope that had ignited in Catherine sputtered and died before it had a chance to burn. She had neither the words nor the time to convince the frightened child that if she was careful, she would be safe. Not wanting Grace to see her disappointment, Catherine looked away. It wasn’t the child’s fault. Having already witnessed Phillip’s cruelty to her, there could be no doubt that it had not been the first time Grace had tasted his temper. He had managed to hobble her courage just as effectively as he had crippled his wife.
Catherine’s mind was racing. There had to be a way out of this nightmare, and she was determined that when she found it, she would leave neither Lettie nor Grace behind. She could not, would not, escape without them.
Salvation Page 19
