by Cheryl Holt
In such an agitated state, he was fearsome and formidable.
"You're late," he seethed. "Everyone is awaiting you downstairs."
"I told you I wasn't coming."
"So you did. Silly me, I didn't believe you." He gestured to his brother. "Bind her hands behind her back."
Jack stepped forward and produced a length of rope he'd brought for that very purpose. Sarah gasped and wedged herself as a shield between Anne and Jamie.
"What are you doing?" she demanded of Jack.
"She's getting married," Jack calmly responded, "and we won't hear any argument."
"Oh yes, you will!" Sarah hurled. "She's my only sister, and I won't have her miserably shackled to a gadabout roue."
"It's none of your affair, Sarah," Jack warned.
"If it's not my affair, then whose is it? Maybe if your brother could keep his trousers buttoned, we wouldn't be in this fix."
Jamie turned his deadly gaze on Sarah. "When I want to be insulted by you, Miss Carstairs, I'll let you know."
He grabbed Sarah by the waist, picked her up, and set her to the side; then he nodded at Jack to proceed.
"I'm weary of both of them," Jamie said. "Let's finish this."
It was over in a thrice. Jamie gripped Anne's arms and pinned them together as Jack twined the rope around her wrists. With a few quick knots, she was trussed like a Christmas goose. She was so stunned that she didn't even consider complaining. What could she say? The man was a lunatic!
"You can drag me to the altar," she bravely boasted, "but you'll never pry any vows out of me."
"We'll see." The retort sounded like a threat and a promise.
He spoke to Sarah. "After this nonsense, Miss Carstairs, you're not welcome at my wedding."
"That's all right," Sarah fumed. "I have no desire to attend a farce."
"Good. You'll remain up here until I inform you otherwise."
"Yes, my lord and master."
Jamie whirled on Jack. "I'll need you as a witness at the ceremony; then you're to come back up and deal with her. You begged me to let her remain at Gladstone. You claimed you could control her."
"Control me!" Sarah stewed, scowling at Jack.
He seemed chagrined but had no comment.
"She must be made to understand," Jamie continued, "that I will not be thwarted in my decisions. Can you get her to comprehend this fact? If you're not up to the task, admit it to me, and I'll handle her myself."
"She'll do as I say," Jack insisted, "and she'll do it gladly. Won't you, Sarah?"
"Go to Hell, Mr. Merrick," she sweetly replied, batting her lashes at him, showing him that she wasn't frightened in the slightest.
"Come, Anne," Jamie commanded.
He took her arm, and she dug in her feet, making a feeble attempt not to acquiesce. He sighed as if he were the most put-upon husband in the world and she the most shrewish wife.
"You've tried my patience beyond its limit," he pointed out. "You may walk down of your own accord, or you shall be hauled down like a sack of flour. The choice is yours. Which is it to be?"
"I'll walk," she grumbled like a petulant child, and she jerked away and started out.
The two brothers followed her, flanking her on either side in case she made a run for it. In a daze, she trudged down the stairs, stumbling along as if in a dream.
How had she arrived at such a bizarre fork in the road? The parents she'd never known, who'd died when she was a babe, came to mind, and she wondered what their opinion would be if they could see her predicament. Would they be horrified? Would they be enraged? Or would they merely think—as everyone but Sarah agreed—that Jamie Merrick was a spectacular catch and Anne was lucky to have him?
She stepped into the front parlor, where Ophelia, Percy, and Edith had assembled. The cowardly vicar was present, too, but no one else had been invited. They spun as a group, gaping at her with varying levels of incredulity.
Jamie entered and said, "Vicar, you may stay. The rest of you will leave immediately."
Percy had the fortitude to inquire, "Anne, are you injured?"
"No, but if you could just—"
"Be silent!" Jamie snarled, cutting her off.
Percy frowned at Jamie. "Are you sure this is the best way?"
"Out!" Jamie hissed.
Ophelia felt obliged to chuckle and butt in. "She seems a tad reluctant, Jamie. Are you positive you should go through with it? She might murder you later in your sleep."
"Out!" he said again, more loudly, and he swept them all with such a contemptuous glare that they scurried away. Jack slammed and locked the door behind them.
The vicar was standing by the hearth, and Jamie led Anne over.
"Get on with it," Jamie ordered, "and don't dillydally over the words. I want this concluded as rapidly as possible."
The vicar stared at Jamie, at Anne, at Jamie again. He studied her bound hands and gulped with dismay.
"Lord Gladstone," he tentatively ventured, "it doesn't appear that she's willing." "So?"
"This isn't the Middle Ages. If she doesn't consent, I can't perform the ceremony."
"Get going, man," Jack Merrick barked, "or I'll take you outside and you can explain to me why it's so difficult for you to do as the earl has requested."
Anne glanced at the Merrick brothers. They were resolved and ferocious, and though mayhem might result against the poor minister, she was certain this was her last chance to enlist an ally.
"I don't want to marry the earl," she interjected. "Any union would be a sham. He told me, just a few minutes ago, that the vows are frivolous and—"
"I never said that!" Jamie protested, seeming aggrieved.
"—and he has no intention of keeping to them. If you marry us, you'll be making a mockery of the entire notion of matrimony."
She deemed it an excellent, persuasive speech, and for a fleeting moment it looked as if the vicar might heed her entreaty and refuse to participate, but Jamie grabbed him by the arm and escorted him across the room. Jamie delivered a whispered, blistering diatribe that she couldn't hear, but whatever coercion he used, he definitely had the vicar's attention.
Obviously, the man was being terrorized with a severe fate. He shivered, assessed her with no sympathy, then hurried back to her, muttering, " 'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God'—"
"Vicar, please!" she begged.
'Trust me, Miss Carstairs," he responded. "The earl is a fine man. A fine man! You're having reservations now, but in the long term, you won't regret it."
"Are you mad? He's insane! He kicked down my door, and he tied me up, and he threatened my sister, and he—"
"Anne?" Jamie interrupted.
"What?"
"I asked you to be silent."
"Well, I don't choose to obey."
"I haven't asked you to obey. I've merely asked you to be quiet. I'm exhausted by your constant harangue."
She opened her mouth to reply, when he shoved a wad of cloth between her lips, effectively gagging her as if she were a prisoner. In the brief amount of time since she'd met him, she'd suffered numerous indignities, but this was—by far—the most aggravating, humiliating thing that had ever happened to her.
"There! That's better," Jamie mused. He patted her on the head, like a pet dog, as he grinned at the vicar. "Now then, let's proceed. I'm hungry, and I want to enjoy my wedding breakfast before it gets cold."
The vicar began again, and Anne stood there, muffled, shackled, mortified, as he sped through what had to be the shortest recitation of vows ever uttered. Jamie answered his questions in the appropriate spots. Jack chimed in where—in a rational world—Anne would have spoken.
Quickly they were at the end. The vicar closed his prayer book, had Jamie and Jack sign some papers, then raced from the room.
Anne was married to Jamieson Merrick—without ever saying a word.
Fourteen
“Let me explain how you've failed me yet again." Percy glared at his sis
ter, then checked his bag to be sure the maids hadn't forgotten to pack any important items.
"I'm not in the mood, Ophelia." "You're not? And why is that? Would my list of grievances be too long? I guess you're so busy running away that you wouldn't have time to listen."
"Jamieson Merrick is like a force of nature. He can't be deterred. You saw how he was with Anne. He's had his way at every turn. There's no stopping him."
"He just banished me to the Dower House—with Mother!"
"A fate worse than death." He gave a mock shudder, not really concerned over what happened to Ophelia. He had his own problems to solve, and they were much more pressing than hers.
"What am I to do?" she nagged.
"Go live with your mum, I suppose. At this late date, what else can you hope for?"
"You know what Edith is like. I will not care for her! I will not play nanny to the demented shrew."
"What would you have me say, Ophelia? Would you rather he tossed the two of you out on the road?"
"You said it would never come to this!"
"You said the same, but it appears we were both wrong. You'd best pack your bags—as I have done."
She grabbed the lapels of his coat and shook him. "You have to help me! I've been your countess-in-fact for over a decade. I won't sleep in some decrepit bedroom in a hovel down the lane, with only a smattering of the most slothful servants to attend me. I won't abandon my spot to Anne!"
"The wedding is over, which would seem to indicate that you already have."
"This is all your fault."
"How is it my fault? I followed every bit of your advice, and look where we are."
"No, you didn't! I advised you to placate him so that we could keep a hand in the family coffers. But you let your pride get in the way."
"What do you mean?"
"Jack tattled on you."
"About what?"
"You told Jamie that you wouldn't accept any compensation, so because of your arrogance, we're left with nothing."
He hadn't wanted her to hear of that stupid meeting, and his first instinct was to deny her accusation. He'd merely heeded his idiotic lawyers and proceeded according to their instructions. How could he be to blame?
He clasped her by the neck, tightening his grip, loving the fear that came into her eye. With his recent rough treatment of her, he'd learned a fascinating detail about himself: He had a nasty side that reveled in violence.
He hadn't realized how exciting it could be to force himself on a woman, although with Ophelia there wasn't ever much resistance. She was as dissolute as he—often more so—but the discovery had shifted their relationship into an entirely new realm.
He couldn't wait to try out his aggression on other females, perhaps a few of the housemaids, or maybe an innocent debutante in London. It would be the ultimate decadence to viciously ruin some snotty, irritating virgin.
"I'm sick of your denigrating me," he said. "Shut your mouth!"
"What if I don't?" She was clawing at his fingers, gasping for air. "You haven't the nerve to do anything to me."
"Haven't I?"
He shoved her onto the bed, as she sputtered and fought, but he was stronger and more determined. He climbed over her as he fumbled with his trousers and released his cock.
"Suck me off," he commanded, stroking the tip across her ruby lips.
"I won't. Not when you're being a beast."
"Do it!"
He reached inside her dress to painfully squeeze her nipple, and she moaned in agony and opened wide.
He flexed into her, as she gagged and fumed, and he was thrilled by his mastery over her. For much of his life, she'd ordered him about, had disparaged and maligned and insulted, and he was delighted to finally show her who was in charge.
Like a crazed animal, he thrust, and as his seed
poured down her throat, he could barely keep from braying in triumph.
How could he not have known how satisfying carnal supremacy would be? Why hadn't he ravished anyone before? His days of enduring her criticisms and complaints were over. He would make the decisions. He would formulate the plans.
With a deep growl, he pulled away, and he heaved her off the mattress and onto the floor. She was crouched on her hands and knees, muttering and struggling for breath.
"Bastard!" she mumbled.
'I certainly can be, and you shouldn't forget it."
She stumbled to her feet. Her hair was falling, her clothes askew, and he laughed at her disheveled condition. In the past few weeks, the balance of power between them had changed, but she hadn't figured out exactly how. He was tired of letting her walk all over him, and from now on, they would do things his way. Starting with Jamie and Anne and moving on from there.
He stood, straightened himself, then calmly closed the straps on his portmanteau, which had her aghast and scowling.
"You can't leave," she insisted.
"1 have to. For now."
"You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am. Jamie has demanded my departure, and I don't want him wary, so I'll comply."
"But how will you ever return? As long as you're here, you have a continuing claim. If you trot off to London, Jamie will have won."
"Jamie will never be victorious over me."
"He already is!" she hissed.
"Little sister, you're beginning to annoy me. Now, I must be off. Would you like to come with me?"
"Are you mad? One of us must maintain a presence on the estate."
"So you'd rather remain here and play nursemaid to Edith?" As if his burdens were the greatest in the world, he sighed. "I have everything worked out, Ophelia."
"Really?" she snidely goaded.
"Yes, really. At the moment, I've lost the legal battles, but there are other ways to fight Jamie. Can you honestly tell me that you think he'll make Gladstone his permanent residence?"
"No, I don't believe he will."
"Neither do I. So he'll go shortly, and Anne will be all alone. After all I've done for her, can you actually suppose she'd dare deny me anything?"
"No."
"So once he leaves, I'll come home, and I'll bait the perfect trap, then lure him back."
"What trap? What have you arranged?"
"I haven't decided on the particulars yet, but I'm debating them. In the meantime, I'm off to London to revel before total poverty sets in. When I return, it will be to assume my rightful place."
Jamie would be dealt with like the nuisance he was, and as to Anne ... well... she needed to remember how much she owed Percy for his support over the years. And he knew precisely the sort of payment he'd extract.
Edith peeked through the keyhole, catching glimpses of her son and daughter as they flitted past the small opening. She couldn't see all of what they were doing, but a
clear view wasn't necessary to understand the depth of their depravity. At an early age, they had succumbed to unnatural urges, and Edith had never had a clue how to make them desist. She considered bursting into the room, shaming them for their obscene acts, but she was tired and hadn't the energy to endure one of Ophelia's bitter tirades.
Percy was speaking again, and Edith pressed her ear to the hole to listen. She managed a few sentences, enough to discern that she was being evicted from Gladstone—when ho one had said a word to her about it. With the new earl arrived, her future was being bandied as if she were invisible, as if she were a person of no consequence in the ostentatious mansion.
It had always been so. She had always been ignored.
Where was she to go? What was to become of her? Why would no one say?
She was treated like a child, like a half-wit, and to learn that Jamieson Merrick would cast her out, that he would abandon her to Ophelia and Percy, was the most frightening notion imaginable.
She'd been positive Jamieson would help her, that he would change things for the better. How could she have been so wrong about him? After all her scheming, if he was no different from his worthless father
, what would she do?
Suddenly, Ophelia marched out in a huff, and Edith reared away and stood. She would have run so as to avoid detection, but before she could, the door was flung open and she was confronting her odious daughter.
"You old witch!" Ophelia seethed. "What are you doing lurking out here? From how much you spy on us, I'm beginning to think you're a voyeur at heart."
"I'm watching you," Edith said, "and God is watching you."
"Then your God certainly got an eyeful. Tell Him for me that I hope He enjoyed the show."
She stormed off, the disgusting smell of fornication hovering in her wake. Edith stared after her, knowing she would eventually even the score. But which revenge would be the sweetest?
You tug the cord like this and let fly." "Can I try it?" "That's why I brought it." Jack offered the slingshot to Tim, and the boy eagerly took aim at a stick of wood they'd rested on the fence. He frowned and fussed, but after several attempts, he got the hang of it. When he finally knocked the stick to the ground, he whooped with glee.
He was a smart child, a respectful child. The deceased widow who'd raised him had been very poor, and they'd lived in squalor, but she'd done a good job with him. Tim was courteous and friendly, and Jack liked him very much.
"Did you see that?" Tim asked. "I hit it square on." "You sure did."
Tim tried to give the weapon back, but Jack just smiled.
"You keep it," Jack said. "But... why?" "I made it for you." "For me?"
Tim was confused, as if no one had ever given him a gift before, as if he didn't know how to accept it. His expression was so identical to Sarah's that it was almost painful to observe him.
Jack patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, for you. I want you to practice every day. I want you skilled enough to keep the rats out of the barn and the rabbits out of the garden."
"I will!" Tim vowed. "I'll be the best guard ever!"
"I know you will."
There were squirrels in the trees, and Jack taught Tim how to track the fleet animals. He had no chance of harming any of them, but it was humorous to observe as he concentrated and struggled to improve.
