by Addison Cain
“You think I don’t know that?” Arabella snarled. “You have no idea what I survived. Even a man like you cannot imagine it.”
Almost tender, the monster traced a finger over the line of her jaw. “What you fear will come for you. Be it for your life or to make you a whore. They have seen how very beautiful you are, and how fetchingly frightened.” Gregory grew lazy as he explained the simple answer. “You will fail, be dragged back to your hell, where they will relish toying with you and raping you until you die.”
“God damn you!”
Laughing, Gregory mocked her. “Look at you flinch from the truth. You are pathetic with your trembling and weeping.”
Bristling, she sat tall, green eyes flashing fury. With all her strength, she put her hands to his shoulders and shoved the man kneeling at her feet.
Filling the air with scornful laughter, he caught her wrists and held them with a crushing grasp. “You will have to fight a lot harder than that!”
Launching herself at him, Arabella began to attack in earnest, kicking and biting with every fiber of her being.
He caught her, pinning such rage, and made his point, to the panting wild woman. “That is the fury you will need if you want to win. THAT! Not fear. Not the lingering remains of old terror.” He pointed his finger in her face, his expression mirroring demonic violence. “If you cannot fight them with everything you have, you may as well whore yourself out now.”
He went from cruel to needy, Arabella caught up in his arms, crushed to his chest in his fervor to hold her tight. Under the embrace she stilled, and where she had pushed at him, she commenced to pull. Her urge to rip him to pieces with her teeth was warring with the need to prove she was formidable, but under all of that was the desire to be held, even crumpled as they were from battle.
Pressing her forehead into the curve between his neck and shoulder, she nodded and let out a grateful cry when he altered the purpose of his roughly grasping arms and hushed her, pulling her so close he could feel the heart pounding in her chest.
As he stroked her hair and held her, he rebuked. “There will be no more running. That is what they will expect. Do not give your enemy the pleasure of witnessing your weakness.”
He said nothing more while she cried.
Not half-recovered from her fever, it was not long before Arabella fell into slumber against him. Taking his chair, he held her on his lap, smiling savagely, gathering the edges of a quilt around them both.
As the hours progressed, Gregory remained still, toying with the ribbons that hung from her hair, cooing when she stirred in her sleeping.
“You’re always so warm.”
He grunted and held her closer, lips finding her brow. “Unbearably so?”
Glancing toward the small windows, Arabella found it full dark outside—far past the time she should have returned home. Sitting up with a start, she demanded, “What is the hour? Gregory, you should not have allowed this! Your servants will talk.”
“I am certain old Hannah will.” He pressed a quick kiss to her frowning lips before she could turn away.
Horrified, she stared into unapologetic eyes. “Why would you do this?”
“Calm yourself, Arabella.” He cocked his head toward the tea serving. The fact it lingered signified that no one had dared to encroach on their solitude.
“That is not funny!” she snarled, heart racing. “You cannot be trusted. It is infuriating, Gregory. I will not call here again.”
His arms already about her waist, he pressed her back to his chest. “There is no need to fret.” He captured the Imp’s lips in the softest of kisses, drawing from her an exasperated sigh. Pulling back, midnight eyes glowed with satisfaction. A thumb passed over her swollen mouth, Mr. Harrow clicking his tongue. “Was I not sweet?” He spoke the word with such pleasure, breathing it into her mouth, kissing her again before she could speak. “Did I not comfort you? Do I not dote on you?”
The way in which he could make her senses reel was drug-like.
Brushing his nose across her cheek, the tip of his tongue found the shell of her ear, tracing its shape and making her shiver. He took his mouth away, turned her to face him and purred, “Admit you need my help. What are the names of the men you fear?”
Meeting his eyes, grateful for the respite from his lips, she countered, “I am not fool enough to be in debt to you.”
“But you would do anything to protect the ones you love?” With a low growl of victory, a thing that seemed to excite him, he purred against her mouth. “I will ruin Mr. Dalton and destroy the men you fear. And when it is done, you will be my bride in payment.”
The heat went out of her, drained down to the floor like slithering ooze. Arabella shook her head, aghast.
Gregory smiled an evil grin, his lips stretching further at the small noise she made in her attempt to say no. “I am going to try to be virtuous now and let you leave... which was not my original intention. Go, or I will change my mind and force you to marry me before you get what you want. I have carried the special license in my pocket for weeks.” He set her free, watching her scurry off his lap, yet still holding her wrist tightly, almost bruising as he leveled her with a glare. “One more thing, Arabella. There will be no more talk of suicide... for if you kill yourself, my love, I will bring down the worst sort of hell on your collection of derelicts. They will suffer all their years in toil and pain. I will not live without you.”
She was suddenly more afraid of him than she had ever been of anything she’d faced under Benjamin Iliffe’s care. “Gregory, please.”
The smile faded, and if the beast was capable of gloom, that was the look he gave her before he spoke. “Go...”
His grip abated, Gregory’s fingertips brushing her hand as she pulled away and fled.
Chapter 15
P ayne found her sequestered within Crescent Barrows’ study again... just as she had been for more than a week. His lady had taken to standing at the window, her eyes on the moors as if anticipating an invading army’s attack. Day in and day out, she kept to her perch, unmoved.
“Why not ride out on Mamioro and explore? It is a fine day.”
Turning her chin from the misty view, the baroness offered him a soft smile. “I am still unwell. It is best if I stay indoors.”
She had taken pains to dress in one of her new London gowns, to have Magdala style her hair. Payne had noticed. “You are not unwell. Are you expecting company?”
“The rent is due. Mr. Harrow prefers to claim it in person. When he arrives, I will attend him.”
Payne had suspected as much, already fearing the answer. “You are eager to see the gentleman?”
Arabella looked unsure, eyes leaving his face to turn back to the view. “I need to speak with him, but he has not called. He has not written. No smoke marks the sky from the direction of his house.”
“But you dislike him, Arabella.”
He watched her hesitate before she turned to face him full on. He saw her sadness and her worry. Mostly, Payne saw her flickering spark of hope. “I don’t dislike him. Perhaps I should, but I do not.”
Unnerved, Payne went straight to her. “He is an opportunist, Arabella. It is for that reason Mr. Griggs chose him as landlord. Remember?”
“He is.” She licked her lip, took a deep breath, affirming. “But... he says he will help us.”
It was not to be believed. Payne doubted the man entirely. “To what aim?”
“Gregory Harrow wants me for his wife, assumes to secure me by removing my immediate complications. He knows about Dalton. Every facet of my life, he has his hands in. Every moment of delight, he is there.” Growing red faced, Arabella whispered. “He has shared my bed, Payne... more than once. I enjoyed it.”
“You deserve every happiness the world might offer, Arabella. But I do not believe Gregory Harrow can deliver such a thing.”
At his words, she looked heartbroken. “He says he loves me.”
“And if he lies?”
“Then my ultimate ruin awaits.” Pleading as if trying to convince them both, Arabella whispered. “But, Payne, I want to believe him.”
* * *
Another week passed before Arabella would leave her house, and it was not without a great deal of goading by Magdala before an invitation for the Jenkins upcoming foxhunt was accepted. Clothed in red velvet atop her great beast she chased after the men, who chased the dogs, who chased the fox. As a woman could only participate to a point, she settled for the thrill of cheering, doing her best to keep Mamioro out of the thick of it.
The stallion was unappreciative of her formality, prancing in place, stomping the dirt, and generally acting beastly.
It was still great fun, and she was glad she had joined the party.
Edmund's male friends were pleasant, unassuming, and unlike London men, they did not eye her to measure her potential worth. The ladies were just as friendly, and as the day wore on, when sport ended, clothing was changed, and the party had moved to the drawing room, it was easy to be amongst them. Even easy to dance when Edmund took her hand, lifting Arabella's lace covered arm to twist their bodies in a lively reel's first form.
Arabella knew a sort of accomplishment. The feeling, the cohesiveness—in that moment she belonged. She was sheltered and safe.
A whole beautiful day and she had only thought of Gregory a dozen or so times...
She’d hardly thought of how there had been no word for weeks. She’d almost forgiven him for frightening her.
Edmund Jenkins had exercised her demon.
Arabella felt free.
...and a little lonely.
“Lady Iliffe,” Edmund teased. “There is supposed to be some conversation when dancing.”
Her brow lifted, Arabella impertinent. “Are you sure? I was taught no such thing.”
He turned her, pleased to see her confident in where she placed her feet. “Did you enjoy the hunt?”
Arabella had to admit, “Very much. But Mamioro longed for a different rider. He bit your stable boy.”
“Ahh, a confession... I was wondering if you would own up to it.”
“Your complaints are distracting me.” All mischief, she feigned indignation. “I don’t want to trip and ruin your party.”
Edmund, taking the bait, whispered the next step of the dance under his breath. Making her smile when the reel ended and she’d performed perfectly.
Breathless, Arabella took the seat beside Lizzy, finding the girl continuing to do what she’d done most of the evening—steal glances across the room. Lizzy had even worn a new blue gown, had styled her hair beyond her customary, simplistic knot. The youngest Jenkins was done for, done up, and the goal of all that effort was hard to miss. One of the officers in attendance, a Mr. Ennis Bosworth, was most certainly the center of all that attention.
Leaning close to the oblivious girl, Arabella whispered, “Is he a nice man, or do you only fancy his looks?”
Jumping, Lizzy blushed ten shades of red at having been caught. “Mr. Bosworth is a friend of my brother. I have known him my whole life.”
That was recommendation enough. “And, of course, that is why Mr. Jenkins invited him. But I must say, Lizzy, I am disappointed you never confessed to having an admirer.”
Meeting Arabella eyes, Lizzy moped. “I have hardly ever spoken to him.”
“Well, here is your chance... Go over there and act as hostess.”
“Stop teasing me.” Lizzy tried to retaliate, stammering, “What of you and Edmund?”
Knowing she’d brought the question down upon herself, Arabella tried to gently explain. “I do not require a husband, and he deserves a greater connection than I could offer.”
Lizzy looked as if the idea Arabella would not want him had never occurred to her. “Do you not like him? You could be my sister.”
“Let's not speak of it further, dear Lizzy.”
Lizzy was far too smart and too sweet. “Is it that you have no dowry? He would not care.”
The bluntness made Arabella scoff, a noise she instantly regretted when more eyes moved her way. Clearing her throat, the baroness stood and asked Lizzy if she would take a turn around the room. When they were in a distant corner, away from the twitching ears of the other guests, the baroness took Lizzy's hand and held it. “I have been a wife, and I did not enjoy the experience. As it stands, I have financial means and the freedom to do as I please. Should I marry, I would lose my dower, my independence, and my lifestyle.” Squeezing Lizzy's fingers, Arabella made her final point, “I would not do so willingly.”
Eager to argue, Lizzy asked, “What about love?”
A small conciliatory smile came with the truth. “I respect him very much as a friend, but I do not love Edmund in that way.”
“He admires you. You must know that.”
Arabella's low tone grew harsh. “This is not a fairytale, Lizzy. You must stop.”
Pleading, Lizzy tried to make amends. “Please don't be cross with me.”
Softening her scowl, Arabella offered an olive branch. “I'm honored that you would find me a worthy sister.”
Lizzy shrugged, seeking the informality they usually shared. “Well, Lilly is not nearly as much fun.”
Both laughed, the uncomfortable moment over just as the eldest sister announced games must begin.
Arabella thought to sit them out, to remain with Mrs. Jenkins and the two older chaperones. She was denied the respite, thrust forward by her hostess as if the idea of a young woman refusing was preposterous.
Arabella had never played parlor games, and found herself drawn into charades fairly quickly. It was simple and fun, but quickly replaced with a game she had no interest in once Edmund had taken it upon himself to explain the rules. Blind Man's Bluff might have been innocent should children play, but was a means of flirtation for those of marriageable age.
While the men moved the furniture nearer the walls, Arabella backed away. Little more than a spectator at first, she stood silent as the ladies taunted the blindfolded officer who was trying to catch the snickering ladies. Nor did Arabella engage in the clapping that would draw the touch of a man nearer.
Lizzy was caught first, giggling when the officer carefully pat the lines of her face. The man guessed correctly, the crowd cheering, and the blindfold was transferred to Lizzy's eyes. On and on the game went, growing wilder, until hands groped and fingers explored in a way that would never have been allowed if not for the game.
Lilly clearly wanted to be caught when her brother was the Blind Man, and Arabella saw the look of dissatisfaction on his face when he felt his sister's signature curls. Once the handkerchief was removed, he looked about and Arabella felt his eyes land on her. The normally prudent man seemed to smirk, as if to vow he would try again and be the first to catch the most timid player of the game.
“Well, that was a promising look if I ever saw one?” Ennis Bosworth taunted behind her.
Unsure what to say, Arabella backed nearer the wall.
Lilly was spun about, giggling as she began her pursuit. The pretty woman caught one gentleman and guessed wrong. Notified of her improper deduction by three claps, Lilly began again. Yet after a few minutes and multiple wrong guesses, it grew obvious she had some plan in mind. All of it ruined when Mr. Bosworth shoved Arabella into the path of the seeker.
Lilly landed a hand on her arm, using the opportunity to pat and poke, knowing full well the only female in the room with long lace sleeves was the baroness. The game was over. Lilly unable to pretend a fourth time, frowned, announcing, “Lady Iliffe.”
Before Arabella could cry off, her eyes were wrapped in silk, and her hand taken until she stood at the center of the space. Finding her feet after Lilly had spun her in circles, Arabella took a few mincing steps, but when someone touched her from behind she yelped and froze.
“No need to be nervous, Lady Iliffe. We will not let you walk into the fire,” Lizzy giggled, her tone easy and reassuring.
Straightening her shoulders
, Arabella began to seek out hushed voices and the sounds of shuffling. It seemed she was to be punished for her timidity and all the room made her work for her conquest, leading her about, and laughing every time someone escaped. More loud giggles, a nearby snort, and she sensed something a few inches away. Two steps and her palms landed against unyielding bulk. Tracing the line of a jacket lapel, she felt something was not right. Her captured player smelled of the heath, was cool to the touch. Higher her fingertips searched, discovering the man was too tall, his sideburns and waving hair damp from misty night air.
It was like touching an apparition, the very spirit that had been haunting her crashing in on her short-lived moment of peace.
“Aren't you going to guess?” one of the ladies giggled. “He looks like you are making him nervous.”
There was that snort again, a sound of disdain from behind her. Abandoning his brooding face for broad shoulders, Arabella followed the line of his sleeves to hands still cold from the weather, and brushed the shape of a ring on his smallest finger. Taking it with her as only a Romani could, Arabella palmed the crescent moon shape of the cheap bauble, intending to hide it before it could be seen and cause trouble.
Gregory was not about to let her get away with simply stealing it. With the dexterity of a card shark, he managed to slip the silver ring onto her betrothal finger.
Aware she must speak, afraid to say his name aloud, Arabella asked, “Have I caught a giant, scowling footman?”
Bursts of laughter came from all around. Three claps were made to confirm her wrong guess, but before any could spin her about to try again, the man reached up and unknotted the scarf.
The silk fell and Arabella stared.
Mr. Harrow admonished, “Do not look at me so, Lady Iliffe. It was not my intention to frighten you.” Though his eyes burned, warning his intention was far from innocent.
Arabella sucked in a breath, realized she'd been left bloodless.