Salvation

by Smith, Carla Susan

  Phillip snickered. “This will not be necessary,” he said, stepping close enough to assault her with his decaying breath. “I have something far better to guarantee your obedience.” Her eyes flicked to Grace sitting quietly across the room with her head bent.

  Motioning toward the open door, Catherine watched as the men who had struggled earlier with the hip bath, now brought something else into the room. A chair. Ornately carved, it reminded her of a throne, and like a throne, it appeared solidly built. It would have been heavy by itself, but the addition of a figure in the seat was cause for red faces and much panting from both men. It was obvious the figure was male, but his head was covered, and his features hidden. Catherine could only assume the seated man was another of Phillip’s equally perverse acquaintances. Someone desiring to witness a display of deviant behavior, but wishing to keep his own identity a secret. Why, she couldn’t imagine. It wasn’t as if she was going to be permitted to reveal his identity to anyone. Perhaps the hood was part of the game. The voyeur’s groan as the chair was placed none-too-gently indicated he had not enjoyed his journey.

  “My dear, we have a special guest tonight,” Phillip said, adopting a playful tone. “Someone who has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to share our pleasure with us.”

  Suddenly fearful, Catherine turned her head, refusing to look at the hooded figure in the chair. Cruel fingers grabbed her by the chin as Phillip forced her head around. She closed her eyes, not wishing to see another disgusting, leering face, lips already wet with anticipation.

  “Think of Grace,” Phillip murmured as his fingers tightened.

  Catherine snapped her eyes open, and glared at him before following the finger he pointed. Her brows pulled together when she saw the ropes which bound the hooded man to the chair. Phillip had mentioned reluctance, and there was something terribly familiar about the man. Something she recognized …but didn’t want to believe.

  One of the henchmen pulled the hood away and Catherine gasped. She had no need to see the handsome chiseled features to know who was tied to the chair. She would know him anywhere. “Rian!” Her hand flew to her mouth as if she wanted to deny the truth, but it was too late. She could not recapture his name and push it back down her throat, and even if she could it wouldn’t change his identity. Her head swam, and a wave of nausea rolled through her.

  Rian was unconscious. Muscles slack, his body sagged against the heavy bindings securing him to the heavy wood framework. Tears filled Catherine’s eyes, and Phillip sniggered as he watched the full range of her despair flood her face. She could stomach anything, anything at all, but not this. She was in some unknown level of hell, caught between two fires and two horrors—a child, and the man she loved, both being forced to witness her debasement.

  Catherine sank to her knees and prayed fervently, silently, for God to intervene. She begged him to spare both Grace and the man who was the center of her existence, and the love of her life. She cared nothing for herself, unless there was a way she could be used to destroy the evil that had manifested itself in the form of her only blood relative. Seeing her lips move, Phillip sneered.

  “Prayers, Catherine? What makes you think God can hear you, or that he will answer?”

  One of the men suddenly poured a pitcher of water over Rian’s head. It brought with it an immediate response as Rian jerked up and began spluttering. He was disoriented, and took a few moments to stare uncomprehendingly at his surroundings while also testing his bindings. A trickle of blood ran from a point in his hairline and dripped into his left eye. Blinking rapidly, Rian shook his head, staining his shirt with droplets of blood.

  Catherine rose and took a half step forward before Phillip caught her arm and pulled her back. His grip was such that her skin bruised at once, but she did not care. Instead she balled the hand of her free arm into a fist and swung at her cousin, punching him squarely in the face. Shock and surprise allowed her to land three good blows in quick succession before Phillip, snarling like a rabid dog, punched her back, dropping her to the ground.

  Fury rolled through Rian at seeing his wife struck. His muscular arms strained against the ropes holding him. Thinking Catherine was unconscious, he was relieved to see the flutter of her eyelids. Unsteadily she pushed herself to her knees, her hands shaking violently as she tried to wipe away the moisture on her face.

  “Clean yourself!” Phillip barked, throwing a cloth at her.

  Catherine couldn’t help the smile that stretched her mouth. Her hand was on fire, but judging from the anger, and the odd thickening of her cousin’s voice, at least one of her punches had been successful. She wiped her mouth, cleaning as much of the blood and mucus mixture as she could, but the sound of Rian calling her name was too much. Dropping the cloth, she threw herself at him. With her arms around his neck, she covered his face with kisses that were a mix of blood and tears.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” she managed to say as she pressed her lips desperately to his, needing the taste of him in her mouth.

  A slight nod of Phillip’s head brought one of his hired henchmen forward to quickly jerk Catherine’s arms free of Rian’s neck, pull her away, and dump her on the floor at Phillip’s feet as Rian roared like a man possessed.

  Ignoring him, Phillip pulled Catherine to her feet and pushed her to the center of the room, turning her so she could look at her husband. The sheer silk robe clung to every curve of her body. Catherine, in a feminine gesture of self-consciousness, put her hand to the nape of her neck, acknowledging the loss of her hair. To Rian it did not matter. She looked beautiful. As beautiful as she had that night in his room when she had first given herself to him. The memory of that moment came flooding back and it electrified his senses.

  The love that Catherine felt for him, that they shared, poured out of her like a beacon welcoming him home. If his life were to ever reach a point where agonizing despair became his only companion, where his future was nothing but an endless sea of hopelessness rolling before him, Rian knew all he need do was reach for her, and he would find his haven.

  He watched as she raised a finger to her lips, begging him to remain silent. He struggled to keep his face impassive. To not give her bastard cousin anything he could use against either of them. Exhaling softly with relief that Catherine was alive, Rian allowed his attention, which had been riveted on his wife, to focus on the other people in the room. His head pressed against the carved back of the chair, he looked about him guardedly while ignoring the steady throb of his earlier encounter with the blackjack.

  The two burly figures in the doorway had come from the docks, judging by their clothes and overall appearance. Though taking on two at a time might require some effort on his part, Rian was certain he could overpower them once he was free. Being tied up was definitely a disadvantage. Turning his head slowly in the other direction, Rian was startled when he found himself caught in the stare of a child who sat, immobile, hands in her lap, staring back at him. Her expression was that of a terrified rabbit caught in a snare. As Rian continued to stare, her eyes, too big for her small face, became even more terrified, and he wondered how she would ever give her trust to any adult again.

  There was one other person in the room. A figure that Rian had studiously chosen to ignore because acknowledging his presence would put a strain on his control. It would help no one if rage caused him to make a mistake, and Catherine would pay the price. He prayed he had not already crossed that line. It was Phillip, however, who decided to make the first move.

  Chapter 26

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I am—”

  “Phillip Davenport, and believe me the pleasure will be all mine when I choke the breath from your body,” Rian finished for him.

  Phillip took a moment to observe him, a look of disquiet on his face while Catherine allowed the tiniest glimmer of a smile to lift her lips. Like any hot-blooded male, Rian was at his most dangerous when
his family was being threatened. A fact Phillip could not have failed to notice. Rian did not need to issue threats or warnings. A line had already been crossed and there was no going back. Both men now stared at each other. Rian took in the debauched figure with the sagging flesh and dissolute face. He could not believe Catherine shared the same bloodline as Phillip, yet he knew it to be true. His wife’s face told him it was true. This was the architect of her nightmares, and Rian made a silent promise that Phillip Davenport would not leave this room alive.

  As if he were the honored guest at an elegant function attended by the very best of the aristocracy, Phillip waved off Rian’s interruption and continued to speak.

  “Well, I see that formal introductions are not necessary, but allow me to indulge myself and explain why we are all gathered here before we embark on tonight’s entertainment.” He paused and moved to the dresser, giving Rian a wide berth as he did so. Whether he did not trust the rope, his men or the captive himself, it was hard to say, but Phillip had noticed the way Rian looked at Catherine, and the way she looked back. The man was her husband and her lover, and as such was unpredictable and volatile. It was wise to be cautious. Pouring a liberal amount of brandy into a glass, he gulped the fiery liquid down. The burn in his belly bolstered his courage.

  “As you may or may not know,” Phillip said, “depending on how loose Lady Howard’s tongue has been, Catherine and I are related by blood. We are distant cousins, and have the privilege of being each other’s only surviving blood relatives.” Rian shared his feelings with a curse, which Phillip admonished by waving his finger back and forth as he took a larger gulp from his glass.

  “As I said,” he continued, “we are blood relatives, but it seems that my dear cousin’s feeble excuse for a father managed to squander away his fortune before making sure his daughter was married.” His eyes shone with hypocritical sympathy. “Upon his death my dear cousin was left a pauper. A condition unfamiliar to her, but one that I have more than a passing acquaintance with, given the circumstances of my own wretched childhood.” He turned to Catherine. “I really should commend you on the tenacity of your father’s lawyer. The man simply refused to give up until he had secured my promise to shelter you under my roof. Personally I would never have agreed except that he guaranteed doing so would not be to my disadvantage.” Phillip licked his lips. “And I realized I could profit from the situation.”

  “Profit?” Catherine asked, bewildered. “How?”

  “I was assured that, though penniless, you were handsome enough to attract a husband.” Phillip now beamed at her. “Fortunately, I have always been able to see the full potential of any business proposition. If you were such a beauty, I knew a far more profitable arrangement could be brokered, but of course that was before I saw you for myself.” He drained his glass.

  “I don’t understand,” Catherine whispered, looking bewildered and lost.

  “Sweetheart, he meant to sell you to a whorehouse,” Rian stated without emotion.

  “Ah, I see your husband is a man of the world,” Phillip said, refilling his glass. “I am sure he is quite familiar with the workings of brothels. How much would he have been willing to pay to lie with you, I wonder?”

  With his heart aching, Rian watched Catherine’s eyes change color as understanding gave way to rage.

  “You miserable bastard!” Leaping forward, Catherine knocked the glass from Phillip’s hand and slapped him soundly across the face, leaving a stinging imprint on his cheek.

  “Bitch!” Phillip returned the blow with more force than Catherine’s slight frame had been able to generate. His mouth compressed into a thin line as she fell to the floor, hand covering her face as she fought back tears. Rian let out a howl of rage as Phillip grasped the front of the flimsy garment Catherine wore, pulling her up so their faces were only inches apart. “Let me be perfectly clear,” he snarled. “You will pay for all I have suffered.”

  More confused than ever, Catherine asked, “Suffered? How? In what way?” Nothing Phillip said was making any sense. His words only convinced her he was more deranged than she had previously thought.

  “I suffered because everything you ever had was given to you. It should have been mine as well. You stole it from me. It was my birthright too!”

  “But I didn’t even know you existed! Whatever the rift in our families, it happened before either of us were born. You cannot hold me to blame for something I had no knowledge of!” Catherine spoke reason, but the maniacal gleam in her cousin’s eyes told her it was useless as an enraged Phillip pushed her back to the floor.

  “Of course I blame you,” he told her fiercely. “Someone has to pay for my misfortune.”

  “You’re a-a-a monster,” Catherine stuttered, but Phillip glowed as if she had just paid him the most charming of compliments.

  His glass had landed on the floor and was, surprisingly, still intact. Phillip picked it up and refilled it. “I was quite convinced you had died after leaving me as you had,” he told her. “The streets are a cruel, violent place, especially to young girls who know nothing of them. On reflection, it would have been better if you had perished. God knows you should have.”

  “But she didn’t,” Rian said.

  Phillip sighed and gave Rian a sour look. “No, she didn’t. I suppose that was due to your interference.”

  A terrible form of horror came over Catherine as she listened to the casual way Phillip spoke of her dying. She meant nothing to him, and he held absolutely no regard for her as a living, breathing human being.

  Rian spoke in a low voice, “You had best make sure your men kill me, Davenport, because if you do not, then I promise you will not take a breath outside this room.”

  Hearing Rian’s words, Phillip turned and blinked slowly, once then twice. “Why, Mr. Connor,” he said, feigning surprise, “forgive me. I should have made my intentions perfectly clear. Of course you will be killed, but only after you have suffered all the agonies of hell as you watch me take this divine creature you care so much for. And I will take her, by force, again, and again, and again. I promise you she will not enjoy one moment of it, and when I am done, there are others who will take their pleasure with her.” He nodded at the two men standing by the door, and, unable to help himself, Rian glared at them.

  “If either of you so much as lays one finger on her…” He left the rest of his threat unspoken.

  “Such theatrics!” Phillip rolled his eyes. “As I said, after they are done with your wife, then you can watch as I choke the life from her in the full and complete knowledge that you cannot stop me.”

  Rian resumed looking at the two burly guards who, finding themselves the object of such intense scrutiny, shifted uncomfortably. Ignoring Phillip, he addressed them.

  “You know I will kill you both,” Rian said calmly, “before I kill him.” He jerked his head in Phillip’s direction.

  Apparently the full extent of their expected participation had not been explained; Phillip had failed to share with his two henchmen the role he wanted them to play. Neither man was a stranger to thievery, battery, or rape, but their curious code of ethics balked at murder for no good reason. If Phillip wanted to kill both the woman and her husband, then so be it, but he would have to do it without any help from either of them. Swinging from the hangman’s noose for someone like Phillip Davenport was not a prospect either had bargained for.

  A silent communication between the two said they wanted no part of Phillip’s peculiar brand of insanity, so they simply turned and walked away. The sound of their boots could be heard as they made their way down the staircase. It was soon followed by the front door slamming.

  “They may have gone for help!” Catherine said desperately, her voice close to breaking, but Phillip only laughed at her.

  “Nonsense. They have been paid well for their services, and if they want to live to see another sunrise, they know to hold their
tongues.”

  To hear Phillip state that he would murder her had been shocking, momentarily freezing her. Catherine knew that she alone could not prevent him from ending her life. But she was definitely not going to make it easy for him. She was not about to hand herself over to him without taking something in return. The idea of gouging out an eye was very appealing.

  As if deciding that too much time had been wasted in conversation, Phillip moved closer to her side. “Come, Catherine, it is time.”

  “Phillip, for the love of God, I beg of you don’t do this!” she beseeched, but her plea only seemed to irritate him. He jerked her roughly to her feet and slapped her.

  “At least let the child go!” Rian’s roar made Phillip stop to consider the request.

  Sensing a moment of hesitation, Catherine added, “Please, Phillip, I promise I will do whatever you ask of me, but let Grace go. She has no place here.”

  “Will you do everything I ask of you?” He ran his hands over her body, feeling the warmth of her skin through the light fabric. Catherine nodded, not trusting her voice.

  He paused, his gaze falling on the small figure seated across the room. She was so still, she appeared frozen. Phillip did not have to tell her to mind her tongue.

  With a jerk of his head, Phillip motioned toward the door, but Rian was the only one who saw the child scramble from her seat and hurry out of the room. He sighed. She had undoubtedly seen too many acts of human cruelty in her short life, but there was no need for her to witness murder.