Imogene turned her face away, and sobbed.
He leaned down and tenderly kissed her cheek. “Don’t fret, my dear. I can make you feel pleasure. In time, you will be eager for my touch.”
Unable to conceal her disgust, Imogene raised her head and vomited. Some of it splashed on his coat and shirt. Appalled, Norgrave released her and scrambled backward off the bed. He did not bother covering himself. The sight of his rigid manhood spurred her to move. She crawled off the bed and landed hard on her knees. She gritted her teeth against the pain and struggled to stand.
“Oh, you can’t escape me so easily,” Norgrave said, sounding grimly amused.
Imogene reached for a shard of the broken wineglass just as he turned her over onto her back. Blindly, she struck out at him. The sharp edge of the glass cut him near the corner of his left eye and down his cheek.
With a roar, he knocked the piece of glass from her hand. “Look what you’ve done. You will pay for this!”
Heedless of the blood running down his face, Norgrave’s fingers found her neck and squeezed until she saw tiny bursts of light. She tried to pry his unyielding fingers away as she gasped for air, but her gloves slipped. Her vision began to dim.
“Don’t faint on me,” he said, his sneering face inches from hers. Drops of blood struck her face like hot rain. “We are just getting started and I don’t want you to miss a minute of it.”
Chapter Sixteen
A trickle of unease went through Tristan when he discovered the front door unlocked. One of the servants could have been careless, but he dismissed the idea. His thoughts shifted back to Imogene’s message.
You have not given me much notice.
I will slip out of the house when it is safe to do so.
I will try not to be late. Imogene
There was nothing alarming in her message except for one important fact. Imogene was responding to a message Tristan had not sent her. She had left the safety of her family to seek him out, and if this was one of Norgrave’s pranks, he vowed to seek retribution for the man’s mischief.
“Imogene?”
She didn’t respond. Someone had lit the lamps in the front hall. Tristan walked to the table where he noticed her reticule. On top was the key he had given her. He picked up the key and frowned. She had no inkling of the true meaning behind his gesture. It was a sign of trust. The old house belonged to him, and by giving her the key, he was granting her access to a part of himself. She had been free to explore the treasures within, and to his surprise she had unlocked hidden doors within his mind and heart that he had not been aware existed.
He was not a careless fellow, and had not handed out keys to every female who had caught his eye. There was only one other person who had a key, and that was his closest friend.
Norgrave.
Tristan slipped the key into a pocket and he picked up the lamp. He had no idea how long Imogene had waited alone in the house. Perhaps she had fallen asleep in the bed they had shared. Even now, she could be dreaming of their lovemaking. The notion of waking her from her slumber and slowly loving her with his body quickened his stride as he climbed the stairs.
The rest of the house was cast in shadows so he headed for the bedchamber. A brief glance revealed it was empty.
Where the devil is she?
Concerned, he pushed away his lustful thoughts and began shouting her name. He heard a soft whimper when he checked the wing that once belonged to his mother. He rarely used this portion of the house. Even in his darkest moments of depravity, he had been incapable of desecrating his mother’s possessions.
The door to his mother’s bedchamber was ajar, and the glow of candlelight revealed he had found his errant lover. Relieved by his discovery, a trickle of annoyance crept into his voice when he entered the room.
“Imogene, did you not hear me call your name? The door is unlocked and I thought the worst—” His throat dried when he saw the disheveled state of the room.
There were several overturned chairs and broken glass on the floor. The bedcovers had been pulled back as if someone had been searching for something. Careful of the glass, he circled around to the other side of the room where a single lamp burned. It was then that he saw her huddled on the floor next to the bed. She had her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands covered her face as she silently sobbed.
“Dear God. Imogene!” He rushed to her side and dropped to his knees.
Imogene had been unaware of his presence until he touched her. He regretted his actions the moment she pulled her hands away from her face and started screaming. She struck out blindly as she shrank away from his hand.
“Imogene, it’s me!” he shouted at her, willing her to look at him. Her dark blue eyes were unfocused and wild. Her scream faded into soft mewling sounds. When he caught her chin to gain her attention, he noticed the ugly bruises on her face. The dried blood at the corners of her mouth.
Someone had hurt her. He blamed himself for not getting to the house quicker. Ignoring her attempts to push him away, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. “Hush, I’m here,” he whispered over and over as he rocked her like she was a child.
Her body was stiff as he held her. He stroked her back, and took note of every detail. Imogene had been struck in the face. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her had him seething with the urge to return the favor. She had been crying, but the swelling near her eyes had nothing to do with her tears. Her hair looked as if she had pulled out all of the hairpins in haste. The front of her dress was torn and there were smudges and stains on the fabric that looked like drying blood.
“Did someone break into the house?” he murmured into her tangled hair. She shook her head and continued sobbing. “How badly are you hurt? I need to know, darling. Should I summon a physician to examine you?”
Imogene shuddered in his arms. “No!” she cried. “Just leave me here.”
“Someone must have addled your wits if you think I will abandon you.” She flinched when he kissed the side of her head. “I regret that I am too late to confront your attacker. I came as soon as I saw your message.”
“Why?” She lifted her head and it was then that he noticed the bruises around her neck. “Were you eager to watch him at work or did you expect to find my body?”
The sorrowful shadows in her dark blue eyes revealed the depth of her suffering. A part of him was desperate to believe Imogene had surprised a thief, but her presence here this evening had been planned. Her abuser had tricked her and lured her with a message that had not been written by Tristan’s hand.
“Who would I be watching, Imogene? Norgrave or someone else?” he demanded. “I have already deduced he was the reason why you are here. Did you and Norgrave surprise a small band of thieves? Where the devil is he? Is he summoning the watch? Is that why he left you alone?”
His friend had some rough edges, but Tristan could not believe Norgrave was responsible for Imogene’s battered condition. And, if he was innocent, then why had he abandoned her? The watch could have been summoned later. There was nothing in the house that could not be replaced.
Instead of replying, she wiped her eyes with her fingers. Her hands were bare, but he noticed there was dried blood on them. He captured her hand and pried open her fingers. There was a nasty cut on the palm of her hand. The bleeding had slowed. He retrieved a handkerchief from his waistcoat and placed it over the wound.
“We need to clean it or you will get an infection.”
Imogene shook her head, but she held the handkerchief in place by making a fist.
“I need you to talk to me, darling,” he said, striving for a soothing tone that he didn’t feel. He was determined to hear the entire ordeal from her lips, even if it took the rest of the night to coax it out of her. “When I read your note, I knew something was wrong because I didn’t send you a message. The one you received wasn’t written by my hand. I could think of only one man who was capable of duplicating my handwriting, but I don’t know the rea
son behind it.”
“He told me it was a prank,” she said after a few minutes of silence.
“Who?” She was in his arms, but she might as well have been miles away. “Was it Norgrave?”
Imogene glanced away. “Did you send him? He told me that he was here on your behalf. That … that you sent him because you were finished with me.”
Damn Norgrave’s black soul to perdition! Tristan’s arms tightened around her. Finished with her? How could she believe such a lie when she was all he thought about when they were apart? “Norgrave lied to you, Imogene. I started this affair between us. I damn well would have had the courage to face you if I wanted to end it.”
Her brow furrowed in puzzlement at his anger. He was offended that she thought so little of him.
“The things he said … I thought … I believed…” The color drained from her face.
Imogene was making very little sense. “What did you believe?”
“I let him ruin everything,” she said, more to herself than him. Her face crumpled as she sobbed into her fist. “I did not tell him that I sent a note to your house. If what he told me was true, I did not think it mattered. Is that why you came? You believed his lies, too?”
What lies?
He did not understand exactly what had transpired before his arrival, but the pain and confusion in her voice was breaking his heart. He picked her up and held her close to his chest as he stood. “Imogene, love, I have not spoken to Norgrave. How could I? I left town. Remember? You need to be resting on a bed, not—”
Imogene practically strangled him as she wound her arms around his neck. “No! I cannot, please, I cannot.”
Tristan thoughtfully glanced at the bed and the bedchamber. His initial impression had been that a robbery had taken place and the chamber had been ransacked. When he imagined his friend alone in the room with Imogene, the confrontation became more intimate and sinister. His intense gaze lingered on the bedcovers that had been pulled back and were twisted. The linens were soiled with smudges of blood and other stains he could not identify. Her bloody gloves had been discarded at the edge of the bed.
Dear God.
“He’s a dead man,” Tristan said. The fury simmering in his gut rose as it threatened to consume him. Imogene had her face nestled against his shoulder as she attempted to hide from him and the devastation of Norgrave’s attack.
Without asking her permission, Tristan carried her out of the bedchamber. He did not need a lamp to find his way to the bedchamber he had shared with Imogene. Grimly, he understood what she was trying to tell him—that she was ruined because of what Norgrave had done to her.
The immoral lice-ridden bastard.
He placed her gently on the bed. When he tried to step away to light a candle, she clung to him.
“Do not leave me!” she begged.
Tristan struggled to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “Love, I’m not. We are staying long enough for me to find a cloak for you and then we will be on our way. You need to be examined by a physician. I need to know—” He cleared his throat. “You’ve been hurt and I need to know how badly.”
The strain on his neck was unbearable so he sat down beside her. She crawled back onto his lap and he welcomed the chance to hold her again, while he struggled to strap down his emotions for her sake.
“I do not know if I can let anyone…” She trailed off, her voice so faint he had to bow his head to hear her. “Everyone will know what was done. My father. There will be a scandal. Verity. Is it fair that my sister pays the price?”
Tristan listened, trying to make sense of what she was telling him. Norgrave obviously was counting on her to never speak of his attack. How did he hope to keep it a secret? Did his friend think he would hold his silence once he learned the truth?
I wasn’t supposed to find out.
Imogene had said that Norgrave was unaware that she had responded to his note. If Tristan had not followed her to the house, she would have continued to believe the blackguard’s lies. She would have spurned all of Tristan’s efforts to speak to her, and for the sake of her family, she would have never told anyone what had transpired in this house.
“I am to blame for all of this,” he murmured, sickened and desperate to avenge her. “Norgrave would have never touched you if I hadn’t desired you. If I had left you alone—”
“After our first meeting, I longed to see you again,” she whispered back. “I was shameless enough that I would have chased after you if you had not sought me out.”
He closed his eyes and wished he could have arrived in time to stop his friend. “Imogene, we cannot stay and pretend nothing has happened. Norgrave has to pay for his crime. I need to alert the watch.”
“No,” she said flatly. Imogene stirred in his arms, but she did not push him away. “Do you think to find justice in the courts? If you have him dragged in front of a magistrate, he will tell everyone that I was a willing participant. He will point out that I had a key to your house, and no one will blink an eye when he announces that both of you were my lovers. Naturally, he will be contrite and offer to marry me to spare my family the scandal. Even if my father protests, the magistrate will find it an acceptable resolution for all parties.”
Tristan cursed. He had not considered that Norgrave might be forced to marry Imogene if the truth became public knowledge. Norgrave had never expressed any interest in marriage, however, there were advantages to marrying a duke’s daughter. Had this been Norgrave’s plan all along?
“I cannot marry him, Tristan,” she said starkly, trembling in his arms. “I could not bear it.”
“Neither could I,” he grimly replied. “However, I cannot keep silent and feign friendship with the man who has hurt you. Don’t ask this of me.”
She brought her fist to her mouth to smother her sobs. “Then you condemn me to a fate far worse than death.”
“Not if I can help it,” he said, tenderly shifting her from his lap to the mattress. “Do you trust me?”
Tristan winced at her hesitation. Of course she did not trust him. He had failed her in so many ways.
Imogene grasped his hands when he attempted to move away. “I want to trust you. Is it enough?”
Tristan concealed his disappointment with a slight grin. He couldn’t complain since she was granting him more than he deserved. “I will prove to you that your trust isn’t misplaced. It begins with us leaving this house.”
“I cannot go home,” she said, her shadowed gaze following his movements as he lit a candle and then moved to the wardrobe to search the drawers for a cloak. “I have little skill for deception, and besides, my dress—”
“I have a plan.” Tristan’s mind was racing as he weighed their options against the risks.
Where is that damn cloak?
He opened and shut drawers, revealing his frustration and impatience. He needed Imogene covered from head to toe. She was trembling as if she was cold so she would likely welcome the warmth of a thick cloth. It would also conceal her identity. If luck was on their side, no one would see them leave the house.
“If not my home, where will we go? Your private residence?” she said in disbelief.
Tristan had considered bringing her to his house. She would be safe there, but the risk of her being recognized increased. “Not that I would mind settling you in my residence, but I thought our goal was to avoid a scandal.”
“Then where?”
“My aunt’s house,” Tristan said decisively. He grunted with satisfaction when he pulled a cloak from one of the drawers. Draping the fabric over his arm, he picked up the candleholder and returned to her side.
Imogene was clutching one of the pillows to her chest. “Do you think it is wise to involve her?”
“She will be discreet,” he promised. “We could do worse for an ally.”
Tristan set the candle down, and shook out the cloak and wrapped the fabric around her. He refrained from telling her that his aunt would also insist that Im
ogene be examined by a physician to assess her injuries. There was no reason to heighten her fears.
Norgrave would have to be dealt with. Imogene was vehemently against having him hauled in front of a magistrate for his crimes, but there were other ways to punish the bastard, and Tristan was personally going to deliver the message.
Chapter Seventeen
Imogene was lost in a sea of misery and pain.
How amazing that it was Tristan, her beautiful and strong reluctant knight, who had emerged out of the darkness and wrapped his arms around her to stop her from slipping under the surface of the dark waters of despair, her mouth and lungs filling with the warm, salty liquid of her tears. He had kept her from drowning.
She loved him, and she hated him. Distrust twisted her wounded heart, but as he cradled her in his arms within the shadowed interior of the coach, she knew he was determined to save her. Her knight might be tarnished and his honor in shreds, but he understood duty. The need to protect her from further harm burned in him as brightly as his thirst for vengeance. He blamed himself for Lord Norgrave’s attack. Whether it was fair or not, a part of her blamed him, too.
“Are you still with me?” Tristan murmured into her hair.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, slipping her hand underneath his waistcoat until it splayed over his chest. In spite of his calm demeanor, his heart was pounding in his chest.
“Good. Hold on to the fact that you are strong—and brave. You’ll be in good hands under my aunt’s care. She’ll know what to do,” he vowed.
She did not know which one of them he was trying to convince.
Imogene closed her eyes, letting Tristan’s warmth sink into her body. She was so cold and there was a deep ache that seemed to radiate from her bones. Flashes of color exploded beneath her eyelids. At first the patterns were indistinct, and nonthreatening. Suddenly, the Marquess of Norgrave’s face came into focus. His normally genial expression hardened and twisted until she no longer recognized him.
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