CamillasConsequences

by Helena Harker

  “Your father? I do not know anyone by the name Alighieri.” Since Hephaestus is merely a metallurgist, his father must be a member of the middle class, and I rarely have dealings with such individuals.

  “I took the name Hephaestus Alighieri after my father lost everything he owned.” He leans forward and grips my wrists so hard I fear they will bruise. “My father was Baron Laurence McDermott.”

  I swallow, and Hephaestus releases me. Oh no. It cannot be. Then I remember. As I walked out of the sprawling manor, proudly clutching the heart-shaped pendant the Baron so reluctantly placed into my hands, a carriage drove up. Preoccupied with my new conquest, I did not pay much attention to the young man in the window who tipped his hat and bid me good day. Hephaestus.

  “I want revenge against the person who ruined my family.” His obsidian eyes cut me to the bone. “That person is you, Camilla.”

  I am lightheaded, my heart pounds and my fingers have difficulty gripping the cup. “Your father ruined himself.”

  “With your help.”

  “Let me explain.” For there are so many details to expound upon.

  “No. At first, when you asked me to repair the pendant, I was not certain you were the woman I sought, for it was many years ago, and I did not see your features clearly underneath your veil.” Hephaestus removes the aetherical communicator from his pocket and pushes it across the table. “But when you showed me this device, I knew you were responsible for Father’s downfall, because this is his invention. He owned the patent, and he spent years toiling in his laboratory, honing his idea into a workable model.”

  My muscles feel oddly relaxed. Too relaxed. I cannot sit upright anymore. I am about to slide off my chair.

  “You asked me to follow men sometimes,” says Devlin. “But did you know I followed you too? I followed you to an apothecary’s once, at the edge o’ the Warren. After you left, I went in and asked what you bought.”

  The curare derivative. I sway and fall to the floor with a thud. Hephaestus rises from his chair and swiftly strides to my helpless form. I must get away from him. My legs bend at the knees, but no more. My arms rise weakly, but I do not have the strength to push myself into a sitting position. To think I allowed him to share my bed. He doesn’t love me.

  He is deceitful and vengeful.

  Exactly like me.

  Weak as a newborn, I stare up at Hephaestus, whose fiery rage consumes him. His face hovers inches from my own.

  “Did you use this drug on my father?”

  My mouth moves. Nothing comes out.

  “Did you?” he shouts.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what happened after you left our house and took everything we owned?” He tears the pendant from my neck. “This was the first piece of jewelry I ever fashioned, a gift for my cousin Lexadora.”

  Lexadora, the cause of his father’s downfall.

  “I will give you what you are owed, Camilla.” His voice rasps in my ear. “Punishment.”

  The word strikes like a bolt of lightning, and I can barely breathe.

  “Devlin, return to the workshop,” Hephaestus orders. “Remain there until morning.”

  “Yes sir.” He walks away, not giving me another glance.

  “Please believe me, Devlin,” I call weakly after him, but I do not think he hears me. “I never meant to—”

  The front door clacks shut. Hephaestus crouches by my side, the pendant trapped in his giant fist. “This morning, while you slept, I looked in your wardrobe and found a black handbag filled with unusual implements. I also read documents sent to you by Lord Aldridge. I called on him today, and although he acted quite ashamed and refused to reveal all, he gave me a few shocking details about the type of blackmail you engage in.”

  My world is unraveling. Hephaestus knows all my secrets, every shameful one. He slings me over his shoulder as though I am no more than a sack of grain, and the air whooshes from my lungs. He carries me upstairs, my arms and legs hanging limply. He unlocks the doors, stretches me across the bed and fetches my handbag from the wardrobe. I should have hidden it better. Memories of my conquests flash through my head—the loud whack of the paddle, the zap of the prod pole and the cries for mercy. Now it is my turn to feel the sting of revenge, and at the hands of the man I had hoped would share my future.

  “I thought you were in love with me, Hephaestus.”

  He drops the handbag beside the bed. For a moment, his face softens and I glimpse the man who seduced me at the opera house. Then his features cloud and become vengeful. I recognize the look well, for I have seen it in the mirror time and time again. Keeping silent, he opens the clasp on my bag.

  “Please answer me.” I can barely turn my head. A strand of hair falls over my cheek, and I am helpless to remove it. “My feelings for you are genuine. Were your proclamations of love merely a ploy to entrap me?”

  Without answering, Hephaestus rummages through the handbag and pulls out my three-inch knife. Why did I not foresee this possible turn of events? I should have been more careful and thoroughly investigated his past. I certainly had the skills to do so, and I have delved into the histories of every man I have ever hunted down. Love blinded me. My heart beats in a slow, sluggish rhythm. I cannot even roll on my side to get away. My limbs are heavy, lethargic. How much longer until the drug loses its effect? Until then, I am at his mercy.

  “Stop this folly before you go too far,” I tell him. “Let me explain what happened. The evidence is in the cabinet. Look for yourself. You did not see it yesterday. The Panoptograph is on the bottom shelf.”

  “You think I want to see my father carrying on with a woman?” His teeth grit together, and he brandishes the knife. “I will tell you my story, and I will mete out your discipline as I do so.”

  My implements of pain are varied and plentiful, and I hope Hephaestus has not found them all. “Look in the cabinet,” I plead. “Please look in—”

  “You are arrogant, living here in your mansion, passing judgment on others. Who are you to judge others? You are flawed.”

  “I am.” Before meeting Hephaestus, I would never have admitted my failings.

  Lips set in a grim line, his muscles tense, Hephaestus straddles me, rubbing against my mound as he does. He seizes the front of my blouse and holds the knife against the fabric. My breath catches in my throat and I cringe. The blade slices through the thin material, continuing to the overcorset. He tears off the overcorset and tosses it aside.

  “Stop!” I remember all the men I punished, how they pleaded to be released. Baron McDermott had little tolerance for pain, and the white flesh of his buttocks bloomed red after the first lash of the whip. Will I be the same? My teeth grit together as I imagine lashes striking my tender flesh. No one has ever castigated me. I have always been in control.

  “You have sins to atone for.” The blade slices several more inches of my blouse, and I quiver as Hephaestus traces his fingers over my bare shoulders. Although my muscles are paralyzed by the drug, my skin senses the slightest touch.

  “My father was a well-respected aristocrat, a man of influence and an inventor. Although I did not spend as much time with him as I wished because of his obsession with science, he raised me well. My mother is the one who nurtured my artistic gifts, and she passed away from consumption when I was fifteen.” Another flash of the knife, Hephaestus rips away more fabric, and my blouse lies in tatters by my side. “As my family’s only heir, I should have taken over our holdings, but I had no interest. Ultimately, Father agreed to send me to Rome, where I studied art. I left him and my cousin Lexadora behind.”

  “I know about Lexadora,” I say. “She came to live with you when her parents passed away from the same disease that claimed your mother.”

  “Do not speak of her!” Hephaestus growls and seizes me by the throat. A vein throbs in his neck. “You have no right!”

  Closing my eyes, I sink deep into myself. My chest heaves up and down with my frantic breaths. There seem to b
e only two choices. I can lie here and cry and plead and beg and shout, or I can accept my punishment. For do I not deserve to be punished for all I have done? Suddenly I see Aldridge, how he struggled and flailed at first, and in the end surrendered to me. Perhaps he regretted the pain caused by his actions and felt the need for purification.

  I need to accept responsibility, because my actions had repercussions on others, which I rarely considered. Samson died because of me. Why, my actions in his regard are akin to murder. A court of law might even call it so. What of Fitzwellington’s wife and children, now social outcasts? I forever altered the course of their lives, for the wife now bears the stain of her husband’s immoral actions. What of Devlin, whose needs I blatantly ignored? There must undoubtedly be others. There must be, for I have been an avenger for years.

  What of my worst sin? I search my mind to unearth it, and there it is, buried under the biggest lie of all. I have always claimed that my actions were the result of my need to avenge women for the wrongs they have suffered at the hands of men. In reality, my actions are selfish, for I take pleasure in revenge. Stalking men and punishing them for their transgressions thrills me, feeds my lust for power. I act as both jury and executioner. Although I claim to have done this to protect women, I do it to appease my own anger, to continue to punish Samson even beyond his grave.

  As I accept the idea of being reprimanded, of giving myself fully to Hephaestus for castigation, my fear dissipates and calm settles over my body. My punishment is well-deserved, and since my actions against Baron McDermott had unseen repercussions on Hephaestus, I will surrender and bend to his will.

  Hephaestus still has an iron grip on my throat. I echo Aldridge’s words. “Punish me for my sins. Then release me.”

  Hephaestus’ eyes meet mine, uncomprehending. He seems astounded. Yet my surrender pacifies him. His touch softens, as though he is a reluctant father correcting a beloved child instead of an avenger. Does he have feelings for me or were our encounters all a lie? I am desperate to know the answer.

  The knife’s tip glides along my skin, and he gazes at my bosom. He puts down the knife, kneads my breasts and rolls his thumbs over my nipples. I take a shuddering breath. He touches them slowly, almost questioningly, as if he expects me to order him to stop. I do not. His touch does not frighten me. Instead, it sets me aflame. I will allow Hephaestus to do what he wishes, and the thought sends a current of arousal into my nether regions.

  He delves into the bag, producing the leather restraints. It is obvious by the way he handles them that he has never used such devices before.

  “For my wrists,” I say. “Bind them.”

  He takes my hands, places them over my head and buckles the cuffs securely. “You are mine.”

  “I am.” Completely. Even if I regain control over my body, I will willingly lie beneath him.

  Once again, he forages in my bag, removing the paddle. One of his eyebrows rises as he examines the implement from all angles. He smacks the paddle against his palm, and then a second time against his forearm, where a red welt immediately rises to the surface. “This instrument is too much for your skin. I will use my hand.”

  The idea thrills me, and my nubbin flares, but I do not tell him so. Hephaestus changes position, sitting beside my limp form. He picks up the knife and cuts away my lavender skirt until my undergarments are exposed.

  “In Rome, I explored my passion for sculpture and for pliable metals that can be shaped into whatever I imagine. Upon graduation, I knew I faced an uncertain future. Most artists live in poverty. Despite my father’s initial reservations about having an artist as a son, I planned to ask him for a stipend to support me while I attempted to make my way as an artist. He could well afford it.”

  My skin shivers as he tosses aside the knife and inserts his fingers into the top of my undergarments, brushing my thatch of hair. I see a deep need in him, and I do not know if it is carnal or vengeful, only that he is consumed by it. Brutish as an animal, he rips away the garment, and I stifle a gasp.

  Hephaestus stares at my mound. The flat of his hand slides along my inner thigh, and he roughly pushes my legs apart. My cunny throbs, aching for his touch. He kneels between my open thighs, both hands resting on my knees and then gliding nearer and nearer to my cunny. Surely he must smell my musk. What will he think when he touches the wetness at my core? His finger runs along my slit, parting the hair. He does so again, going slightly deeper, and I hear warm, wet sounds as his finger travels all the way to my pearl.

  “Does this please you?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  He takes my pearl between his forefinger and thumb. I prepare for pleasure. Hephaestus squeezes hard, and sharp pain explodes in my nubbin. I cry out and he squeezes again, harder.

  “There will be no pleasure for you tonight, my sweet.” He takes hold of my bound wrists, lifts me up and places me over his knees while he sits on the edge of the bed. I manage to turn my head. His hand is poised for the first blow.

  “When I returned home, I saw you walk down the lane, and I knew immediately there was trouble, because Lexadora’s pendant was hanging from your neck.”

  His hand slaps my buttocks, and I wince.

  “When I asked Father for a stipend, he scoffed and said he was in the midst of financial difficulties but did not explain why.”

  A harder slap lands on my exposed skin.

  “He said Lexadora was attending a finishing school in Scotland, a school whose name I did not even recognize. She and I were very close. She was a ray of sunshine in my life, although there was much sadness in her because of the loss of her parents. And she and Father seldom got along, even though he bought her everything she desired, fine dresses, jewels, even horses. Why did he send her away when she had already been attending a reputable school in Upper London?”

  Hephaestus’ hand is as hard as stone when he strikes me. Fire spreads through my flesh. Before I have time to recover, he strikes again and a cry breaks free from my lips.

  “I couldn’t find that school, could never locate Lexadora. Father refused to speak of her. He said he sold off his lands. He said his aetherical communicator, which he had been ready to introduce to the public, was a failure. I knew he was hiding something from me.”

  Hephaestus aims a volley of slaps at my bottom. Blazing pain sweeps across my flesh. My buttocks are on fire, and there is nothing I can do to diminish the agony. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes, falling to the bed sheets. The blows do not stop. One after the other, they land on my skin, and cries burst from my throat.

  “He began to drink. Whiskey, gin, port, whatever he could buy. Then I heard from a friend that he was gambling at the steeplechase, betting on horses that never made it over the final hurdle.”

  More slaps. More and more and more, until I break into sobs. Hot tears drip down my cheeks. I want to beg him to stop, but I do not. This must continue. It is no worse than the pain I have inflicted on others. I must allow Hephaestus to purge himself of his anger. Then I will tell him the truth.

  “All that time, I could do nothing for him. My education did not allow me to obtain gainful employment. I had no skills. I had expected to have everything handed to me when I returned home.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say between hitching breaths.

  “In the end, he sold his last remaining possession, our home.” Hephaestus stops long enough to take a few deep breaths. His hand must burn fiercely by now. The sensation is one I have experienced many times, and when the pain is too much, I use the paddle. As if reading my mind, Hephaestus reaches across the bed. He holds the paddle before me, running his fingers along the rich, black leather, and I bite my lip. “You deserve more.”

  My eyes squeeze shut, and unbidden tears flow down my cheeks. I cannot disagree, although I do not think I can bear it. When I tense my muscles, my legs move slightly. If I tried, perhaps I could push myself off Hephaestus. And then what could I do other than lie in an undignified heap on the floor? No, I must tole
rate the punishment.

  The paddle smacks my buttocks. This first blow is light, yet my over-sensitive skin screams in agony. Another blow. Harder. The smacking sound alone makes me wince, and the sensation causes cries to spill from my mouth.

  “Enough?” he asks.

  I gasp, barely able to form words. “It is up to you to decide the extent of my punishment.”

  More blows rain down on me, more than I can stand. One after the other, they set fire to my flesh. Hephaestus throws down the paddle, grabs me by the hair and flings me down on the bed. He lies next to me, holding the restraints over my head with one hand while rubbing my breasts with the other. My bottom throbs and flames. It must be covered in welts, for the paddle is an unforgiving instrument.

  “One night, he was crossing Tower Bridge, and he fell into the Thames. He drowned. His body washed ashore the next day. I don’t believe his fall was the result of drunkenness. I believe he chose to end his life.”

  His thumb and forefinger close over my nipple. I brace myself for the pain, and when he pinches the tender flesh I utter a sharp, piercing scream. Immediately, he moves to the next breast and pinches it even harder, sending a fresh flood of tears down my cheeks.

  “You killed my father, you stole inventions that should have made my family rich, and I’m convinced you are responsible for Lexadora’s disappearance.” He seizes me by the throat and stares into my eyes. “Are you?”

  Should I give him the full explanation? Should I attempt to absolve myself of guilt? No, I must not. The punishment must continue. “Yes, I am responsible.” The breath hitches in my chest. “I am responsible for all those things.”

  Hephaestus roughly pushes my legs apart and kneels between my thighs. Through his trousers, his erection bulges, and I grow tense. His fingers work at the buttons, and he pulls down the trousers, his immense member springing free. He lies on top of me, his cock blazing hot against my skin, his massive body covering me completely. Spreading my thighs farther, he pushes closer to my cunny until the head of his cock presses against my maidenhead. My breathing stops, and I cannot look at him. My heart transforms into a panicked bird. I expected physical punishment, but not to be violated.