I had been a happy child. I had attended the village school, a bright student, eager to learn, and if the other children shunned me and frequently taunted me, that didn’t matter at all. My mother and I lived in a small room upstairs at the Red Lion, and there was always laughter and the sound of hearty voices, the smell of fresh sawdust and ale, a rowdy, festive atmosphere prevailing. My beautiful, vivacious, good-natured mother loved me, and she loved the taproom, loved the men who constantly vied for her attention. She was earthy and generous and utterly natural, and though many called her wicked, I knew that wasn’t so. As I grew older I frequently helped her behind the taps. I liked the men, too, with their teasing ways and their compliments, but adroitly managed to fend off any who tried to become too familiar.
I remember my mother coming in that awful night, her auburn hair soaked, her clothing clinging wetly to her voluptuous body. She kissed her handsome young shepherd goodbye and wearily climbed the stairs to our room. She fell ill almost immediately, and soon developed pneumonia. When she knew she was going to die, she sent a message to my father, begging him to come for me and provide for me in the future. He left Stanton Hall and came to the inn as soon as he received her message. She held my hand and looked at him standing there at the foot of the bed, and she smiled, knowing I was going to be cared for. She died only minutes later, and I was desolate. It seemed my whole world had crumbled, but my father took over then and provided another world to replace the one I had lost.
The Duke of Stanton had been a notorious rake at one time, a dashing, devil-may-care buck who had scandalized the countryside with his outrageous conduct, but that was all in the past. When I came to know him, he was in his middle fifties, in poor health, a widower with sad brown eyes and silver hair, delighted to have someone to care for after years of solitude in his splendid, majestic old house. Caring not a fig what society might think, he took me in with open arms and lavished attention on me. The house was filled with tutors and dressmakers, and the barmaid’s daughter was transformed into a proper young blueblood. After a year or so, it was difficult to believe I had ever been anything else.
I had the finest education money could buy, and if my blood wasn’t one hundred percent blue, I was as refined as demure, as aristocratic as if I had been born to my new surroundings. I soon came to love my father, as he came to love me, and for four and a half years my life was a glorious euphoria. That, too, came to an abrupt end. I returned home from school to find my father gravely ill, his nephew, George Stanton, in attendance. George, who was overweight, sullen, and mean in spirit, found my presence at Stanton Hall an embarrassment. Because of the law of primogeniture, he would inherit Stanton Hall and everything that went with it; still, he bitterly resented me. When my father had a sudden stroke and died a few weeks later, George wasted no time in throwing me out. I was not even permitted to attend the funeral.
I had no choice but to try and find some kind of employment. Thanks to my education, I had every qualification to become a governess, and I arrived in London with only a few pounds to spare and two bags full of fine, expensive dresses totally unsuitable for a would-be governess. I managed to sell a few of them, replacing them with more sober garments, and the rest now hung uselessly in the wardrobe in my room. I had applied for various positions, in vain. My money was running out and I had almost given up hope when Lord Mallory took me on as governess to his young son and daughter. Now … now I was in danger of losing this post unless I let him have his way with me.
Was I going to succumb to him? I still didn’t know the answer to that question.
The sun had almost disappeared as I stepped out of the gardens and locked the gate behind me, walking across the street to number 10. As I stepped into the front hall and closed the door, Millie came up from the shabby but comfortable sitting room the servants shared below stairs. A friendly lass with a wide, amiable mouth, freckled cheeks, and wide blue eyes, she had tarnished gold curls and a stout, sturdy build.
“’Ere you are, luv,” she said. “I was beginnin’ to worry ’bout you, ’deed I was. ’Ave a nice sit in them gardens?”
“It was lovely,” I replied.
“I wager you’re enjoyin’ yourself this week without them kids. It’s a relief, I’m sure. That Doreen—some kiddies shoulda been put down at birth, an’ that brat’s one of ’em. Now Master Reggie, ’e’s a regular luv, ’e is, gentle as a lamb. Can’t imagine who ’e takes after.” Millie shook her head, sighing heavily. “Will you be wantin’ a tray sent up?” she asked.
“I think not, Millie. I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll just go up to my room and read a while.”
“All that readin’—can’t be good for you. Don’t know that I’d care to know how. You go up now, luv. If you need anything, just let me know, you ’ear?”
I smiled at the girl and moved on down the hall. Although technically I was “above” the servants in station, I had always considered myself one of them and had never given myself airs. As a result, I was very popular with all of them. Jeffers, the butler, considered me his equal. Mrs. Branderson, “Brandy,” the housekeeper, loved to chat with me, and Cook always sent special trays up. Without their friendship, life at number 10 would have been uncomfortable indeed.
My room was just off the nursery, completely isolated from the other rooms. Jeffers, Brandy, and Cook had quarters in the basement. Millie and the other maids slept in narrow little cubicles up in the attics, and the two footmen had rooms over the carriage house with the groom and coachman. I enjoyed the isolation, for it gave me a sense of privacy. The room was large, with windows looking out over the mews in back of the house. If the furniture was second best, everything a bit shabby and worn, it was still comfortable and snug.
The light was almost gone now, its thin rays fading on the old blue and gray carpet with its pattern of pink roses. I lighted the lamp and took off my dress, hanging it up in the enormous mahogany wardrobe with its heavy door that never shut properly. I removed shoes and stockings and, wearing only a white muslin petticoat, took down my coronet of braids and shook them loose. Hair fell to my shoulders in abundant red-brown waves, coppery highlights gleaming. Sitting in front of the mirror, I brushed it until it gleamed even more, and then I put the brush down and stared at the woman in the mirror.
The petticoat was exceedingly low-cut, my breasts more than half revealed. The bodice was form-fitting, the full, flaring skirt adorned with row upon row of white ruffles. In this elegant garment, and with my hair falling about my shoulders in such rich profusion, I looked totally unlike the demure Miss Danver with her severe hair style and drab brown dress. Lord Mallory desired me. He would desire me even more if he could see me like this, I thought, and then I frowned, my blue eyes once again dark with concern. I left the dressing table and moved over to sit in the large, comfortable pink chair in front of the windows.
The sky was ashy gray now, and the world below was etched in gray and black and dim whites. The lamp was low, and shadows spread inside the room multiplying beyond its softly diffused pool of light. I thought about Lord Mallory, and there was a strange ambivalence that hadn’t been there before. I detested him, I told myself, yet I was undeniably attracted to him. I remembered that kiss. I remembered his tall, strong body, his arms crushing me against him, and I remembered the sensations that had exploded inside me like tiny buds blossoming.
Recalling what he had said about my mother, I wondered, did I indeed take after her? I was a virgin, and I had never even contemplated sleeping with a man before. I was respectable and decent, yet, even though I hated him and everything he stood for, I couldn’t deny that I found Robert Mallory physically attractive. I knew that I would never willingly submit to him, but if he took me by force would I really be as distraught as I told myself I would be? Was I a shameless creature for desiring him as I did? Surely women, decent women at least, weren’t supposed to be attracted to rakes like Robert Mallory. Perhaps there was more of my mother in me than I realized.
&nb
sp; Night had fallen now, and now the black and gray and white was gilded with silver on the rooftops, spilling down over the sides of houses. A cool breeze caused the curtains to stir. They billowed into the room like waving white sails, billowing, falling limp, billowing again. The breeze felt wonderful on my bare arms and shoulders, for it had been a sultry day. The lamp flickered and went out, the blossom of golden light vanishing abruptly. I didn’t get up to light it again. Weary, worried, I sat in the comfortable chair, drowsy already. I closed my eyes, and in a few minutes I was fast asleep.
The sound of footsteps awakened me. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, no idea what time it might be. I sat up, startled, and then I felt panic grip me. I recognized the footsteps. He had a long, lazy stride, and those tall black knee boots he wore made a certain ring. I jumped to my feet. My heart was pounding. Lord Mallory was in the country with his wife and children. It couldn’t be him, I told myself, but as the footsteps drew nearer, I knew I wasn’t mistaken.
Moonlight spilled through the windows, and the room was filled with a hazy silver light, every detail clear. The footsteps stopped outside the door of my room. Had I locked it? No, no, of course I hadn’t. I never locked it, for one of the children might want something during the night. The children were gone now, but their father was here, and he wanted something I was not prepared to give. Paralyzed with fear, I stared at the door, saw the knob slowly turning, and then the door opened and he stepped inside.
“Hello, Marietta,” he said, in a lazy drawl.
“You—” I whispered.
“Surely you were expecting me?”
“You’re supposed to be in the country. You took your wife and—”
“I took her, yes, and I spent three dreary days with her, and then I suddenly remembered a … uh … very important appointment. I took my leave of her with proper reluctance. She and the children will stay on for several more days, but I have other plans—” He glanced around the room. “Snug and cozy, isn’t it? Would you believe I’ve never been inside this room before? There was never any reason. Nice furniture, I see, a nice, large bed.”
“Lord Mallory—”
He closed the door behind him, and locked it.
“Nicely located, too,” he continued. “None of the servants could possibly hear us. We can make as much noise as we please. We’re going to have a grand time, Marietta.”
His manner was exceedingly casual. He seemed almost bored. He wore the tall black boots, snug black trousers and a loose-fitting white silk shirt open at the throat, the sleeves very full and gathered at the wrists. In the moonlight I could see his face: the familiar half-smile on his lips, lids drooping heavily over glowing dark eyes. His thick brown hair was disarrayed, a fringe falling across his brow. He looked like a handsome, ruthless buccaneer come to plunder and despoil. My knees felt weak, and for a moment I thought I might actually crumple at his feet.
“You’re trembling,” he remarked. “Surely you aren’t frightened?”
“Please go away.”
“You don’t want me to go away, Marietta.”
“I’ve never—”
He arched an eyebrow. “No?”
“I—I’m a decent woman. Please—please don’t do this. I’ve never had … relations with a man. I—”
“You don’t really expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true!”
Lord Mallory laughed softly. “A man can sense things. I sensed what you were immediately. The prim manner, the drab clothes never fooled me for a minute. If I hadn’t been … uh … preoccupied with Jenny, this visit would have come about much sooner. Relax, Marietta—”
He moved slowly toward me with panther-like grace, his dark eyes glittering. My pulse leaped, and my heart was palpitating rapidly, so rapidly it seemed it must burst at any moment. He stopped, standing very close to me, his hands resting lightly on his thighs. I tried to speak, but my throat was dry and no words would come. Lord Mallory studied me, savoring what he saw, those dark eyes taking in every detail: the hair cascading about my shoulders, the low-cut petticoat with the clinging bodice that left shoulders and most of my bosom bare.
“Your hair—your body. It’s a crime to hide a body like that,” he said. There was a husky catch in his voice. “I’ve known a lot of women, but never one so utterly superb—”
“Don’t touch me—”
“I’m going to touch you all over, and you’re going to love it.”
Panic overwhelmed me then. I tried to move past him toward the door. He seized my arm and jerked me toward him. I struggled. He laughed huskily as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me in front of him, my back against his chest. One arm curled tightly around my waist, he lifted my hair and planted his lips against the side of my neck. My flesh seemed to burn.
“Agatha and the children will be in the country for another week,” he murmured. “We have seven full days, and I’m going to teach you things, Marietta, wonderful things. You’re going to be a most appreciative student—”
He turned me around in his arms and then kissed me with that lazy deliberation that seemed to cause liquid fire to spread through my veins. He cupped one large hand around my breast, his strong fingers squeezing, kneading. I refused to acknowledge the sensations sweeping over me. I had to stop him. That was all I could think about. I had to stop him.
Certain of victory, he released me. His lips were parted. Heavy lids almost concealed his eyes. In the hazy silver light his face was all planes and angles, deeply shadowed, evil, but also very handsome. Catching his thumbs in the straps of my petticoat, he began to pull them down, ever so slowly, revealing more and more firm, rounded flesh. He was in no hurry, no hurry at all. He wanted to savor each second. He was like a man transported. Nothing existed for him now but his throbbing manhood and the warm female flesh that would gratify its quickening demands.
As he stroked my breasts, pressing, probing, they seemed to have a life of their own, swelling under his touch, flesh hardening. I gasped, and a weakness seemed to sweep over me as he bent down to kiss each nipple. Now, now, I cried out silently, I must stop it now … before it’s too late. Lord Mallory straightened up and made a soft, growling noise in his throat, clutching both my breasts in his hands.
I pulled back. I slapped his face with all the force I could muster. The sound it made was like an explosion. Lord Mallory cried out, startled. My palm stung viciously. I darted toward the door, fumbling with the key. I didn’t know where I would go, what I would do, but I knew I had to get out of this room as quickly as possible.
He grabbed my arm. He swung me violently across the room. I screamed, and he clamped a hand over my mouth, chuckling to himself, not at all angry, delighted that I intended to put up a fight. That would make it all the more interesting.
“So that’s the way you want to play?” he said. “All right, wench, that’s the way we’ll play it!”
He forced me over to the bed, shoving me down onto the soft mattress. I tried to get up, and he shoved me back down again, eyes gleaming, lips spreading into a rakish smile. I kicked his shin, and he shook his head as though I were a naughty child. He slapped me across the face, his slap even more forceful than my own had been. My ears rang; lights seemed to burst inside my head. I fell back, sobbing, and Lord Mallory looked down at me with one brow arched high.
“Such games we’re going to play, wench. Such lovely games—”
“No!” I cried. “No!”
“Scream all you like. No one will hear.”
And then he was on top of me, crushing me, the weight of his body pinioning me. I struggled, still I struggled, and he enjoyed that, smothering my protests with his mouth, kissing me with a wild abandon that caused every fiber of my being to quicken. He was on his knees now, one leg on either side of my thighs, and he was still smiling. He pulled at my skirt, lifted it, exposing my legs. Sobbing wretchedly, I tried to throw him off, but it was futile. He fumbled with his trousers, and then he caught my wrists in his ha
nds and held me spread-eagled beneath him.
“No!” I cried again.
He laughed. He loomed over me, a dark demon bent on my destruction. I shook my head back and forth, silently pleading. I tried to free my hands. He held them in a brutal grip. Waves of panic rose and crashed over me, and I was trembling all over.
“All right, wench,” he said amiably. “The lesson is about to begin.”
He lowered his body over mine, and I cried out as he entered me. He covered my mouth with his hand. Tears spilled over my lashes as he drove deeper and deeper with steady deliberation. I was screaming inside, and still I fought, struggling beneath him, and then it seemed the whole world exploded and I went hurtling into oblivion, falling, falling, and I clung to him as senses shattered and nerve ends snapped and life itself seemed to hang suspended in midair.
III
Clothed in a light-blue dressing gown, I stood at the window, peering out at the fleeting night shadows, not really seeing them at all. Lord Mallory was stretched out on the bed, and I could feel him watching me. Neither of us had slept. I hated him. I had never hated anyone so much in my life, and I doubted that I ever should again. He had used me viciously, repeatedly, like a whore. He had forced me to respond, and I hated him for that most of all.
I thought about Jenny. I wondered where she was at this moment. Jenny had been his victim, too, but I wasn’t going to share her fate. Something inside of me had hardened, and I discovered a tight core of strength and determination that I hadn’t been aware of before. I promised myself that I would never again be weak and vulnerable. Every illusion had been shattered. I had no one to turn to. I had only myself, and I decided I would do whatever was necessary in order to survive.
Love's Tender Fury Page 2