“I hope to God that I’m not too late!” Jeremy slammed the door behind him.
~
“Is there anything I may get for you, Mrs. Eversley?” Bethlyn heard Grace ask.
You may help me to escape this monster I married, Bethlyn started to say, but thought better of it. She wasn’t certain she could trust Grace. Granted, the woman was considerate to her, having nursed her back to health these last weeks when she had wanted to die, to be lost in a netherworld where one felt nothing. She could also find no fault with her care of her infant son whom she’d named Nathaniel Matthew, after her father and Ian’s. She’d longed to call the dark-haired perfectly formed baby, Ian, but she feared Thomas’s wrath if she did. He resented her innocent baby enough without drawing further attention to the man who’d fathered him. Even months after Ian’s death, Thomas still clearly hated him, and Bethlyn didn’t want her son to suffer because of it.
Her dream was to elude Grace and that horrid man, Perkins, and find Tessie. They’d flee Woodsley and head straight to London where she’d go to Aunt Penny’s and seek out Jeremy. Yes, Jeremy would help her, but she couldn’t escape now. Perkins or some other male servant, loyal to Thomas, always guarded her door. If only she could smuggle a note to Tessie, the woman could send it on its way to Jeremy, but she hadn’t seen Tessie since the night of their attempted escape, and she was growing fearful that something may have happened to her.
Looking down at the sleeping face of her son, his tiny rosebud mouth slack against her breast, she knew she couldn’t even try to run now. The weather was much too harsh, and she was still too weak from her illness after his birth. For now she must bide her time and appease Thomas — appease him in all ways until she could decide what to do.
She handed the baby to Grace. “I don’t need anything else now. Thank you for taking such fine care of Nathaniel for me.”
Grace smiled at Bethlyn’s heartfelt compliment and left the room to take the baby to the nursery.
When Bethlyn began to pull the laces of her gown together, she felt Thomas’s presence before she saw him. She glanced up to find his eyes resting lustfully upon her full breasts, and the bulge in his trousers was all too noticeable, making her more than uncomfortable.
“I envy your son’s good fortune, my lady, but soon I shall engage a wet nurse to tend to him.”
She decided this was his way of attempting to break the bond between her and her baby. “But, Thomas, I have a great deal of milk left, and I must feed…”
“And so you shall, my dear. I can’t think of a tastier feast.” His tongue rapaciously moved across his lips, and he squeezed one of her nipples, allowing a droplet of milk to spill onto the fleshy pad of his index finger before tasting it. He leered at her, seeing her complete repugnance when she understood what fate soon awaited her.
“Thomas, please don’t,” she croaked.
He bent down and whispered in her ear; his breath felt hot against her skin. “I will give you but one more month to recover, Bethlyn. And then you shall be mine. I have wanted you for years, and I’ve waited long enough. Touch me, see how much I want you. Touch me!”
She jumped and he grabbed her hand, bringing it to the telltale bulge which felt as hard as stone. “Now you know what pleasure awaits you,” he told her, and smirked, self-satisfaction in his eyes.
For a second she felt nausea rising within her and grew dizzy. She willed herself not to be sick, but she wasn’t certain she could control it until a knock sounded on the door and Thomas broke away with a curse. Swinging open the door, Thomas bellowed at a servant, Bethlyn heard the muffled voices and, to her surprise, Thomas immediately left the room.
Taking deep breaths, Bethlyn forced down the bile in her throat. God, what am I going to do? she worried. She couldn’t stand Thomas to touch her, deplored touching him. But somehow she had to do whatever he wanted to keep her child and herself safe until they could escape from here. But for how long could she live as a prisoner, Thomas’s virtual slave?
Would he ever trust her enough to allow her to come and go on her own? She must let him think she’d please him in every way possible to gain her freedom and take her father’s letter to the authorities. Thomas must never suspect that she knew he’d poisoned her father. If so, he might kill her and the baby, then she’d never gain her revenge upon him.
And had he killed Ian, too?
That was the worst thought of all. For even if she and the baby escaped and Thomas was arrested for his crimes, she’d still have to live life without the man she loved.
Suddenly she found herself unable to breathe in this stifling room and, throwing aside the bed covers, she got out of bed only to lean weakly upon the bedpost. Finally she made it to the window and drew aside the drapes. Finding the strength, she eased open the window and halted, stunned by the sight of a familiar figure emerging from the front of the house to enter a black phaeton.
Blinking back her disbelief, she thought she must be imagining that she saw Jeremy, but as the phaeton moved away she knew it was he.
Her voice came back to her in a straining rush. “Jeremy! Here, Jeremy! Jeremy! Je-re-my!”
But the clip-clopping sound of the wheels flying across the cobblestone drive drowned out her feeble voice like a deafening and ominous thunder.
~
Penelope Evans dozed in her chair, the book she’d been reading resting upon her stomach. A cold, bitter wind rushed through the usually warm bedroom from the open Palladian-style window and disturbed the crackling flames in the marble fireplace until, finally, the fire went out.
Stirring from the chill, Penelope woke to clasp her thin, veined hands around the edges of her shawl and to huddle more deeply into the depths of her chair. Suddenly she opened her eyes to find the window was open and started to lift the bell to summon her maid when what seemed from out of nowhere a hand materialized at her elbow and forestalled her.
“What in heavens!” Stunned and more than a little frightened, she glanced up to find a black-cloaked figure hovering over her. The room had grown dark and she couldn’t make out the face of the man, but for all his bulk and brawn, she sensed he wasn’t there to menace her, because surely if he meant to harm her he’d have had the perfect opportunity to do so while she slept Still, fear crept into her voice when she said, “Who the devil are you, and what are you doing in my room? Can’t an old lady be safe from molestation in these days and times?”
She heard him give a ragged sigh, and his voice was filled with pain when he spoke. “I … need … your help, Aunt Penny.”
Placing her lorgnette to her eye, she motioned him to come closer, not the least afraid of the man who she surmised was hurt and in need of some assistance. “Who the deuce are you, young man? Bring the candle closer so I can see you before I ring for my grandson and have you thrown out of here. But I assure you that if you’ve come here to rout an old bird like myself out of my fortune, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m not some silly woman, and I can attest to the fact that I no longer have a nephew.”
Following her orders, he moved the candle beside her chair and held it up to his face. Immediately she saw he was haggard in appearance, seeming to be in need of a good meal, yet his physique under the cloak was quite broad-shouldered. Blinking rapidly, Penny noticed that his eyes were dim, almost glassy, a sure sign that the man suffered a fever. Still, she didn’t recognize him, and there was no reason why she should have since she hadn’t seen him in a very long time.
“I suggest you leave the same way you got in here, you bounder; otherwise, I shall have the authorities on your head.”
“Please, please, help me, Aunt Penny,” he said, sounding ungodly weak and starting to sway. “Ring for Jeremy. Please.”
Before he fell onto Aunt Penny’s Persian carpet, he possessed the good sense to replace the candlestick.
32
Bethlyn learned that her month was ended on the day of a masked ball Thomas intended to throw for his guests’ amusements. A “Bacchana
lian feast” Thomas had leeringly termed it when he’d told her about it, setting her teeth on edge and her heart to plummet along with her hopes of escape at his obvious meaning.
She’d spent her days and nights in her room, not allowed a breath of air except for the window. Sometimes despair drove her to consider climbing onto the casement and flinging herself from it, but she couldn’t end her own life, not when her child depended upon her. Her only course of action would be to please Thomas in bed and, after she’d gained his trust, she hoped he’d grow lenient with her and not constantly threaten to send her baby away if she didn’t obey him. Perhaps she could turn Thomas’s lust for her to her own advantage by lulling him into a false sense of security with her body. He couldn’t keep her locked in here for the rest of her life. People outside of Woodsley knew of her existence now, and this thought caused her to think about Jeremy.
He was her one grasp at freedom. She surmised Augustus had relayed her message to him; otherwise, he wouldn’t have shown up at Woodsley. However, Jeremy hadn’t been back, and she wondered what lies Thomas had told him to keep him away, reinforcing her desire to be free. If Jeremy couldn’t help her, then she had no one but herself to rely upon. From the unlikely source of Grace she had learned that Thomas had badly beaten Tessie on the night of the aborted escape attempt, and only within the last few weeks had Tessie been able to get up and help in the kitchen. However, the old woman’s movements were closely watched by the kitchen staff and anything she said or did would be dutifully and promptly reported to Thomas. Thus, Bethlyn was prevented from seeking Tessie’s help again — not unless she wanted her harmed on her behalf once more.
The sounds of excited and lyrical laughter from the “women of Woodsley,” as Bethlyn derisively named them, floated down the hallway and gained her attention. No doubt they were getting ready for the large ball and the later entertainment, both in the ballroom and the bedrooms. Bethlyn grew sick with impotent rage to realize what her home had become and to know that the man who’d caused it all was the man whose filthy, lecherous hands would soon touch her as her husband.
Husband. The word sunk into her brain, hitting her with its intensity of meaning. Thomas was her husband. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t relate this word to the man, because in her mind her husband would always be Ian.
“Ian, Ian,” she said softly, tears misting her eyes. “We wasted so much time when we could have been together.”
~
The night of Bethlyn’s concubinage as Thomas’s wife, and this was how she thought of it, arrived. With each passing hour, a feeling of dread grew within her and threatened to suffocate her. Like a trapped bird, she paced the floor, so agitated that she screeched at Grace when the woman brought her supper to her.
As the hour neared eight, Grace entered the room and on her arm was a deep sapphire-blue velvet gown, the color of the ocean. The tight-fitting sleeves ended at the elbow and were trimmed in silver, as was the neckline of the snug and very low-cut bodice. Grace placed the gown on the bed and stepped back to admire it.
“Thomas said you are to wear this dress tonight.”
Bethlyn barely looked at the gown. “Is that a command?”
“I fear it is.”
Shrugging, Bethlyn began to undress, not caring what she wore for her first night as Thomas’s bride. In fact, she wondered why he wanted her to dress at all when clearly he’d made it quite plain that he preferred her naked and panting beneath him.
After Grace had helped her fix her hair into a becoming mass of curls on top of her head, Grace stepped back and smiled. “You’re quite beautiful, Mrs. Eversley. Thomas is lucky to have you for his wife; however, I don’t think you feel you’re fortunate that he is your husband.”
“I hate him!” Bethlyn spat out, suddenly not caring if Grace reported to him.
Grace didn’t reply. Instead, she turned and left the room, leaving Bethlyn to wonder if she was going to inform Thomas what she’d said. Minutes later Thomas entered the room without knocking, and from the delighted expression on his face, Bethlyn realized Grace hadn’t said anything to him.
He circled her like a vulture coming in for the kill as he nodded his head at the beautiful picture she made in the gown he’d had specially designed for her. His perusal over, he flashed her a lecherous smirk which was becoming all too familiar to her. A chill rushed through her, turning her heart and soul to ice, hardly aware when he withdrew a box from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Opening the silk-lined box, he held out an exquisite diamond and sapphire choker accompanied by matching earbobs. Not allowing her to touch them, he took it upon himself to place the earrings on her lobes before possessively clasping the choker on her neck. His fingers intimately brushed against her skin, but she somehow managed to quell the shiver which sliced through her, praying she could be an expert enough actress to live out the next few hours, days, weeks, or months until she and her child were free.
“Do you like my wedding gift to you?” he asked, and led her to the mirror.
Gain his trust, she reminded herself. Gazing at her reflection, she smiled warmly, but her insides felt as cold as the stones against her flesh. “They’re quite lovely. Thank you, Thomas.”
He placed his hands on her naked shoulders, seeming pleased with her response. “May I have a kiss of thanks?”
She felt surprise that he asked for one, but she knew now wasn’t the time to resist him. When she turned her head in his direction, his lips immediately contacted with hers. The feel of his mouth, the way his tongue crept between her lips to collide with her own tongue disgusted her. She didn’t want to push him away, fearful of what might happen if she displeased him, but her hope of a short kiss dissolved when he forced her to open her mouth to him and pulled her roughly against him.
Not able to breathe and totally repulsed, she began to wriggle. “Thomas, please, not yet. Not now.”
“When?” he rasped, and his abrupt breaking away gave her the chance to take a deep breath.
‘‘I’m dressed to go downstairs. I’m not ready … now.”
He snickered. “I doubt you’ll ever be ready. Didn’t Briston teach you about passion at all? I don’t believe he did an adequate job, but then I always wondered about his prowess. You’re like a lump of coal, but I warrant before this night is out, you’ll be hotter than one thrown into a furnace. I think you need some inducement, my love.”
Grabbing her by the wrist, Thomas pulled her from the room and down the hallway, not bothering to tell Bethlyn where they were headed.
Dragging her behind him, they finally halted by an iron grillwork balcony which overlooked the ballroom. Below, the gaily gowned women of Woodsley mingled with the well-dressed gentlemen, their faces hidden behind colorful masks.
“Notice the women and learn from them,” he commanded. His breath and the feel of his hands upon her shoulders felt poker hot as he positioned himself behind her. “They have no fear of lovemaking or men.”
“They’re whores.”
“Yes, they are, but they’re the finest whores in all of England, perhaps the Continent. The men who frequent them are among the wealthiest and aristocratic, as you well know. They pay any price I deem high enough, as each woman is more than adept at pleasing each man, knowing the gentleman’s own peculiarities.” Thomas pointed to one woman in particular who was being held in an intimate one-armed embrace by a portly man whom Bethlyn recognized immediately as Lord Hoxton despite his mask. Hoxton’s coat sleeve was tucked into the front of his jacket, since he had lost his left arm in a hunting accident some years ago, but the whore encircled by his right arm didn’t seem to mind.
“That woman’s real name is Maggie,” Thomas droned on in her ear. “But here, she is called Selina, a name she chose for herself because it makes her feel beautiful. She can forget that she grew up in an orphanage and was initiated into womanhood by a cruel rape, perpetrated against her by a man who was a trustee. When Perkins found her, she was livin
g on the streets and selling herself for pennies.
“Granted, she is a whore. But you see how Lord Hoxton dotes upon her, how he even now offers her his cup of wine and kisses her with such tenderness. If she was only a whore, Hoxton wouldn’t bid so highly for her when she is placed on the auction block. Because of Selina’s life in an orphanage, she was forced to care for deformed children. Hoxton’s loss of an arm isn’t repulsive to her. With Selina, he is a whole man and not a cripple, something ladies in the ton will not allow him to forget. So, you see what a needed service we’re performing here at Woodsley.”
“I see that you’ve turned my home into a brothel, and that every time one of these creatures is auctioned off you earn a hefty profit!” Bethlyn’s breasts heaved with emotion, her usually pale face turning a becoming shade of peach. “No matter what you say, or how noble you want me to envision your women, they are still whores.”
Thomas’s eyes glittered with rage, but also with such intense desire that he did the unforgivable in Bethlyn’s mind by placing his hands upon her breasts and massaging the protruding nipples through her thin gown with his thumbs. “You, my honey-haired aristocrat, are one, too.”
“Stop touching me like that, you hateful, disgusting man. I don’t want you to touch me — ever!”
“I shall touch you whenever and wherever I like, my fine lady,” he hissed. “And you can’t stop me, because I am your husband. Your master.”
This blatant reminder caused her to shake with humiliation and anger, because no matter how much she detested Thomas, no one would intervene if she fought him. She was his wife and was in an all-too-subservient position. She saw the futility of fighting him, deciding to conserve all of her energy and keep her wits if she and her child were ever to escape Thomas’s clutches, but she was afraid her own heated words may have ruined any chance to earn his trust.
Taking a deep breath, Bethlyn forced herself to appear contrite. “Forgive me, Thomas. I … I didn’t mean that.”
Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) Page 47
