Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  "Yes, you have been."

  "If you'd like Ophelia to go, I might be amenable. You'd have to persuade me, of course."

  "What would you have me say?" she naively inquired.

  "Well, you wouldn't have to actually say anything."

  He reached out and trailed a finger down her neck, across her nape, and she was so shocked that she stood there and let him do it. When he kept on—as if he might continue down to her bosom—she slapped his hand away.

  "What are you thinking?"

  "It could be you and me at Gladstone, Anne. We could rule here. Would you like that? It would please me enormously."

  "I'm married to Jamie."

  "A minor technicality, I assure you."

  He leaned in and trapped her against the bedpost, his body pressed to hers, and down below, his cock was on her leg. He had an erection! Was he insane?

  What would make him suppose she'd welcome this type of behavior? He was her cousin, like an older brother. She had no passionate feelings for him, and she'd never given the slightest indication that she was interested in him in an amorous way.

  "Percy! Stop it!" She shoved him, but he was heavy as a boulder and wouldn't budge.

  "Jamie stole everything from me—even you. Do you have any idea how it galls me to admit that I could have had you, but he had you first?"

  "You're mad to reflect on it. I would never have lain down with you."

  "I shouldn't have given you a choice in the matter."

  He cupped her breast, having the temerity to pinch her nipple. For a stunned instant, she wondered how one man—her husband—could have touched the sensitive spot and sent her into spasms of ecstasy, while another could do the very same but merely be an annoying and offensive nuisance.

  Then her wits caught up with her brain, and she groped behind her on the mattress, where earlier she'd tossed a shoe. She snatched it up and whacked Percy alongside the head as she let out a bloodcurdling scream that had him staggering away.

  Freed from his weight, she scurried to the hearth and grabbed a fireplace poker. She pointed it at him, menacing him, eager for an excuse to inflict more damage.

  "Get out of here," she seethed. When he didn't move, she shouted, "Get out, or when Jamie returns, he'll kill you."

  "He's never coming back, so you'll never be safe from me."

  "He's on his way this very second," Anne retorted, feigning bravado, her knees knocking together under her skirt.

  "So trusting," he crooned, "so gullible. You should have wed me, instead of him. You know it, and I know it."

  "I know nothing of the sort."

  He started toward her again, not deterred by the poker, and Anne swung it, just missing his ribs. He jumped out of range and reined in his aggressiveness.

  "I'll go for now," he vowed, "but you can't keep me out forever."

  "I have a lock on my door."

  "I have many, many keys."

  "If you try to use one of them, I have a pistol that's loaded at all times. I'll shoot you right between the eyes, and I won't even blink."

  "Who says I'll give you opportunity to aim?"

  He stomped out, and as his angry strides faded, she ran over, slammed the door, and spun the key in the lock. She studied it, deciding it seemed very flimsy.

  If Percy truly wished to enter, how sturdy would it prove to be?

  Why aren't you at Gladstone?" Jamie snapped. "I've left," Jack curtly explained. "I thought you loved it there." "I was wrong. I loathe it."

  "But... who's watching over Anne?" Jamie sputtered. "You were supposed to; we agreed."

  "I guess you'll have to find yourself another nanny."

  "I don't want anyone else to do it."

  "Well then, you're in a pickle, because you've ended up with Ophelia and Percy."

  "They're at the estate?"

  At least Jamie had sufficient concern to look aghast. On a half-dozen occasions, Jack had written him but received no response.

  "Yes, with Percy fully ensconced in the earl's bedchamber."

  "He would dare?" For once, Jamie was completely at a loss, and he commanded, "Get your ass back there. Deal with him."

  "No," Jack said. "I'm taking the ship and heading out."

  "You're what?"

  "I'm leaving England. I'm taking the ship."

  "Like hell you are. I can't believe you have the nerve to ask if you can use it."

  "I'm not asking, Jamie. This is merely a courtesy visit to say good-bye."

  Jack walked toward the hall, prepared to depart that very moment, and Jamie huffed, "Just a damned minute. What are you doing?"

  "I've told you, but you can't seem to get it through your thick skull."

  "That ship is mine. If you presume you can simply take it and go, you've tipped off your rocker."

  Jack was so furious that he wondered if he might explode. He stormed over till they were toe-to-toe, loving his brother, hating his brother.

  " 'Mine, mine, mine,'" Jack mocked. "You sound like a fucking parrot."

  "I won that ship. Not you."

  As if Jack could ever forget the brash, reckless boy Jamie had been! How could it be fifteen years later and nothing had changed?

  "I was with you, remember? I know how it was."

  "I spent my life on that hunk of wood, and I won't let you have it without a fight."

  "I was with you every step of the way," Jack fumed. "I did everything you ever wanted. I went everywhere you ever suggested. I participated in every foolish, dangerous raid you ever planned. I stayed at Gladstone for you, while you were here in London, screwing women and gambling your money away. In all that time, have I ever asked you for a fucking thing?"

  "No, but that doesn't mean you can have my ship."

  "Why is everything yours?" Jack bellowed, surprising them both with his rage. "Why can't something be mine for a change?"

  "You don't want anything badly enough to make it yours. You always give in. You always give up. Now get your sorry ass back to Gladstone. You're trying my patience."

  Jack hit him as hard as he could. Jamie hadn't been expecting a punch, so he stumbled to the side and knocked over a fussy decorative table, sending whiskey glasses and figurines crashing to the floor. In all their years together, they'd never come to blows, and Jack couldn't describe the careening emotions that had driven him to lash out.

  He had such vivid memories of how it had been when they'd first arrived at Gladstone, and he was tormented by them. There'd been a remarkable sense that he was finally home, but it had all been a chimera, and he was frustrated by how little he'd accomplished, by how unwelcome he'd actually been.

  He stood, rubbing his knuckles, as Jamie sat up, then stood, too. Jamie was massaging his jaw and eyeing Jack as if he were a rabid dog.

  "What the devil is wrong with you?" Jamie seethed.

  "I hate it here," Jack lied, in his heart, yearning for Gladstone as he'd never yearned for anything before, but it wasn't his and never would be. "I hate England, and I'm never coming back."

  "Is this because of Sarah Carstairs?" Jamie probed, reading Jack's mind. "Why don't you propose to the blasted woman?"

  "I did, and she won't have me."

  "So you'd go off and leave me—just because she hurt your precious feelings?"

  "No, I'm going because you're an obnoxious prick and I can't stand you anymore. Go help your wife. She needs you."

  After that, there wasn't much else worth saying. Jack marched away, hoping Jamie would call for him to halt but also hoping he wouldn't. His pull had always been too strong to resist, and Jack was too weary to battle the subtle pressure Jamie could exert.

  As Jack reached the threshold, Jamie said, "Just like that? You're really leaving?"

  Jack spun around, studying Jamie, anxious to recollect every detail. "Yes, just like that."

  Jamie scoffed. "I'm placing guards at the ship, to make sure it's securely tied to its moorings. Don't even try touching it."

  "Fuck you. I don't n
eed your paltry vessel. I have my own funds; I'll book public passage." He started out again, then paused. "If Sarah Carstairs comes sniffing around, tell her I have what she's searching for. Let her know ... that ah ... that I'll keep it safe."

  "Did you steal from her? Will she demand payment?"

  "No. I have something invaluable that she never wanted. You couldn't put a price on it." "What the hell does that mean?" "She'll know."

  Detesting how long their parting had turned out to be, he whipped away and left.

  *-

  What do you think?" Percy inquired. "Do I look like Jamie?" "Oh yes," Ophelia responded, "you definitely look like him."

  She assessed her brother, intrigued by the transformation. She'd known that he and Jamie had similar features, but with Percy's recent loss of weight and his having donned a black wig, a fake ponytail in the back, the resemblance was uncanny. Jamie and Jack Merrick could have been triplets instead of twins, with Percy the third wheel. If Percy was spotted, especially in the shadows, in the dark, any witness would absolutely swear that he'd seen Jamie.

  She slackened the collar on Percy's shirt and tugged some of the hem from his trousers, so that the fabric billowed around his chest and waist.

  "Jamie never wears clothes that are tightly tailored," she explained. "He doesn't?"

  "Haven't you noticed?"

  "I wouldn't pay him that much attention."

  "Relax your shoulders and hips," she advised. "You have to be more loose limbed." Jamie moved as if he anticipated trouble, as if he was a moment away from slipping a dagger out of his boot.

  "Like this?" Percy mimicked as he scrutinized himself in the mirror.

  "That's excellent. And your mouth ..." She considered, then suggested, "Can you quirk your lips in a half smile, just there on the right-hand side?"

  "How's that?"

  "Perfect."

  Too perfect. She scowled.

  She still recalled the night early in the summer, when she'd gone to Jamie's bed and had been rebuffed. While he'd inflicted many indignities on her, she hated him for that humiliation most of all.

  Percy was the only paramour she'd ever had, and she'd presumed herself content in their relationship— until she'd met Jamie. The fact that she desired Jamie and could never have him was infuriating, but she would have her revenge, and it would be so satisfying.

  Suddenly, Percy spun from the mirror and lay down on the bed!

  "Come here," he ordered.

  "Why?"

  "I want to fuck you while I look exactly like Jamie. I want to pretend I'm him and that I'm forcing myself on you."

  "That's disgusting."

  "Did I ask your opinion? Just come here." She glared at him. He could be so tiresome, but she'd been bound to him her whole life and couldn't

  imagine another path. Yet she had to admit that it was titillating to picture herself trifling with Jamie rather than Percy. If she blew out the candle, it would be sufficiently dark that it would seem as if she were with Jamie.

  Would it be more arousing? Or would it be no different, at all?

  "If you want me to believe you're Jamie, you need to be a bit more demanding."

  "How so?"

  She shook her head in exasperation. The man was thick as a brick.

  "You've watched him with Anne. He doesn't take no for an answer. So no, I won't climb into bed with you. You'll have to make me obey."

  He frowned, ready to berate her for denying him, when he realized what an amusing game she'd devised. He was as excited to play it as she was.

  Ever since Jamie had appeared on the scene, Percy had grown more violent in their couplings, but Ophelia wasn't complaining. She enjoyed his more spirited side. It was thrilling to know that—after so many years—Percy still wanted her so desperately, and that she would forever be his one true love.

  He rose up, slowly, deliberately, precisely as Jamie might have done it, and he came to her and seized her wrist. She tried to pull away, tried to run, but Percy wrestled her onto the mattress and pinned her down.

  "Don't ever tell me no, Anne." He was totally immersed in their fantasy. "Don't ever assume you can escape me. You can't."

  His cock was harder than it had ever been, and Ophelia rippled with lust, certain it would be their best fornication ever, but he was so wrapped up in his vision of her being Anne that he merely rammed himself between her legs and thrust with a vigor he'd never exhibited prior.

  He took her in a coarse, despicable way, and she was irritated to discover that he'd found the notion of copulating with Anne—instead of herself—to be incredibly stimulating. He quickly flexed to the end and finished with a loud grunt. Then he rolled away and went to preen in front of the mirror again.

  "Jamie couldn't have done it any better," he boasted.

  "Jamie would have taken his time."

  "Shut up." He admired his reflection. "I wonder what he'd do if I raped her. He'd be so angry."

  Ophelia simmered with jealousy. "Anne? You want to rape Anne?"

  "Of course. I always have. You know that. Would you like to help me? You could hold her down while I proceed."

  "You're going to murder Anne," she tersely reminded him. "You're not going to have sex with her." "Perhaps," he aggravatingly mused. "Percy!"

  He glanced over and chuckled. "I was joking, darling. I've never desired anyone but you. So... when should we expect Jamie to arrive from London?"

  Sarah had done them such a favor by totting off to London to fetch him. It would make everything so easy, would bring about a conclusion that was nice and tidy.

  "Maybe tomorrow or the next day." Percy strutted before her. "Will I pass for Jamie or won't I?"

  The wig and the rough love play had altered him, and he was starting to walk differently, to speak differently, as if he were gradually becoming Jamie.

  "You'll pass," Ophelia said. "Anne will never suspect that you're not her husband."

  "Until it's too late."

  "Yes, until it's much too late."

  Twenty-One

  “What do you mean, Edith? You're babbling again." "Sin and damnation," Edith said. "That's what's coming to them."

  Jamie laughed at the older woman. She wasn't nearly as crazed as she seemed, and she provided the most interesting messages, but they were always extremely subtle and convoluted.

  "Cease with the biblical chatter. You know I can't stand it."

  He went to the sideboard, filled a glass of whiskey, then handed it to her. She downed a hearty swig.

  He wasn't sure why he'd let her stay with him at his town house, but he supposed he felt sorry for her. She'd been shipped to London by Ophelia, and was to have visited friends, but shortly after Edith had arrived, her hosts had fled to the country.

  Edith had shown up on Jamie's stoop, a tad befuddled and thinking the residence was still Percy's. She—the former countess, his father's wife!—had wanted to return to Gladstone but hadn't had the funds

  to go. Jamie would have gladly sent her home, but she hadn't seemed in a hurry to leave, nor had he been in a rush to kick her out the door.

  In the weeks she'd been living with him, she'd developed an affection for his favorite Scottish liquor, and he wasn't about to tell her to moderate her intake. She was so irritatingly religious and had so few vices. What harm could there be if she became an elderly sot? She couldn't possibly grow more annoying.

  "You shouldn't trust Ophelia and Percy," she said.

  "This is not news to me, Edith."

  "Bad blood. Bad blood in all of them."

  "I can't argue with you."

  "Your father spawned devils” She frowned. "But Sarah was no angel, either, so perhaps there's something in the water at Gladstone that causes people to constantly transgress."

  His curiosity was piqued. "What did Sarah do that was so wicked?"

  "Well... the baby. The boy."

  "What baby?"

  "Her little bastard."

  "Sarah had a child? Out of wedlock?"<
br />
  Edith stared him down. "Did I say that? I must have misspoken. I'm not aware of any child being born."

  Jamie chuckled. "You're sly like a fox, you old bat. Why don't you just come out and share all your secrets at once? Why reveal them one at a time, in riddles?"

  "No one can ever know."

  "Right."

  So ... Sarah had an illegitimate son. Was he still at the estate? Or had the Merricks sold him into slavery? There was probably another lost, disavowed boy traveling the globe on a sailing ship. Then again, they might have saved themselves the trouble and simply drowned him at birth.

  Had Jack learned of the lad's existence? Was the situation at the root of Jack's problems with Sarah? After Jamie's last quarrel with Jack, it was likely Jamie would never know the answer.

  Jack was leaving, and Jamie couldn't convince him not to go. Jamie had been able to deal with Jack being a long horseback ride away at Gladstone but couldn't bear to envision his brother across the ocean, in some unknown, godforsaken place.

  A wave of grief swept over Jamie, but he pushed it away and had another drink. He poured one for Edith, too.

  To hell with Jack! If he wanted to act like an idiot, he could. Jamie wouldn't beg him to stay. Jack could dig any damned hole he pleased, and Jamie would happily furnish the shovel.

  "What is it about Ophelia and Percy that keeps you in such a dither?" Jamie asked. If Edith was in the mood to spill her guts, why not let her? "You're always haranguing about them. Why are they so awful?"

  "Fornicators." She nodded as if that explained it all.

  "I figured Percy was, but Ophelia? I thought she was a spinster." The remark was a bald-faced he. Ever since the night Ophelia had slithered into his bed, he'd known she was as experienced as any courtesan. "Who is her lover? Or has she had many?"

  "Fornicators," Edith repeated, and she made a crude gesture with her fingers that could only be interpreted one way.

  "Fornicators ... as in Percy and Ophelia... together?"

  Jamie assumed he'd heard it all in his life, but this was definitely something new. But then, he wasn't that surprised. From his own relationship with Jack he understood how close twins could be, but apparently, his half sister and half brother had taken the word close to a whole new level.