Gregory, Lisa

by Bonds of Love

  “That’s true. But at least you aren’t tied down—as you found it necessary to tie a girl to overcome her.”

  “She ran away—I had to tie her. It was Pearl; she told me to.”

  Suddenly, Matthew flashed in and then back out, cutting a long slash down the big man’s arm. Fresh red blood welled out and the girl gasped.

  “Tell him what he wants, Paul,” she urged.

  “Shut up, Mag!”

  “Katherine told me what you did to her.”

  “Some girls like it,” Paul excused himself.

  “And if they don’t, you force them to do it anyway.”

  Paul rushed him, but Matthew neatly sidestepped him and drew his blade swiftly across his back. For the next few minutes Paul crashed about the room, alternately rushing Matthew and dodging his knife, until finally he stopped, winded and covered with sweat and blood from a hundred tiny cuts. Matthew faced him, his knife ready, still cool as death.

  “Good God, man, whose name do you want?” Paul gasped, his eyes glazed with pain and terror.

  “Another man assaulted her, a baron. She did not know his name. That’s the name I want.”

  “I don’t know his name,” Paul said and Matthew slashed at him, cutting across his chest.

  Blood gushed out and Maggie went into hysterics, yelling at the huge guard to tell him the name.

  “I don’t know. I swear to God I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell us their names, the high and mighty ones. Didn’t want us ruining her business by blackmailing them. I swear it. She never called him anything but ‘His Lordship.’ But Pearl knows—she can tell you.”

  “And where is Pearl?”

  “A hotel—the Crescent.”

  “If you’re lying—”

  “It’s the truth. I swear it.”

  “Then, for your information, I shall give you more than you deserve—a quick death.” Matthew’s arm flashed out, his knife spinning from his hand.

  The big man fell, Matthew’s knife in his heart. Maggie stared, too numb with fear to even scream, as Matthew retrieved his knife and wiped the blood from it, then returned it to his belt. He turned toward her and she shrank away.

  “I suggest you dump him in the street and forget you ever saw me. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yessir. I wouldn’t go to the constable, sir—never. I’ll do just like you say.”

  “Good.” He left the room without glancing back.

  He found Pearl very reluctant to talk, even staring down the muzzle of his pistol. His Lordship, she explained, was very powerful; he could ruin her. It wasn’t until he recounted Paul’s death and paused meaningfully that she broke down and told him that it was Arthur, Lord Kenwick, that he sought. Matthew thanked her with a smile that made her shiver and left.

  The sun was sinking as he approached Lord Kenwick’s gracious townhouse. The air turned chilly as the sun disappeared, but Matthew didn’t notice it. He let the doorknocker fall with a crash.

  “Yes?” A haughty butler opened the door.

  “I want to see Lord Kenwick.”

  “I am sorry, sir, but his lordship is indisposed right now—”

  Hampton shoved him aside and entered. “Goddam it, where is he? Must I shout for him?”

  “Sir!” The butler looked shocked. “Really, I must insist that you leave at once.”

  “Morgan, what is going on here?” snapped a crisp British voice and Matthew looked up at the stairs to see a pale, disdainful-looking man.

  “Milord, this man just—” the butler began.

  Hampton cut into his explanation, “Lord Kenwick?”

  “Yes?” The man’s eyebrows rose haughtily.

  “I would like to talk to you.”

  “Is it your custom to barge into a gentleman’s home like this?”

  “No, not into a gentleman’s home,” Matthew accented the word insultingly, and the butler, gasped at his effrontery.

  “I think you’d best explain yourself,” Kenwick snapped.

  “I think you’d prefer that we talk in private.”

  Kenwick looked at him for a moment, then shrugged and led him into the drawing room. Hampton closed the door after them.

  “Well?” Kenwick turned to him. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I have come to call you out.”

  The Englishman stared. “You mean a duel?”

  “Precisely.”

  “You must be mad! I’ve never even seen you.”

  “No, but you have dishonored a lady—my lady.”

  “Now see here, sir, I never—”

  “Her name is Katherine, though you may not have bothered to call her by name. Let me jog your memory. She was the frightened, helpless girl you disported yourself upon two nights ago—the one tied to the bed. Ah, I see you remember.”

  “The whore?”

  “Yes. The whore.” The Southerner’s voice was as brittle and dangerous as thin ice.

  Kenwick laughed. “You must be joking. You’re come to defend the honor of one of Pearl’s doxies? She was a delicious little piece, of course, quite enjoyable, but hardly something to fight over. After all, she is there for the price—”

  The sudden flame in Hampton’s eyes made him cut short his words. Good God, he thought, the man is insane.

  “That girl was no street girl selling her favors. Surely even an animal like you must have seen her breeding; do you think skin as fair and soft as that comes from the slums? She is the daughter of a wealthy Bostonian, a pampered, sheltered girl who had never known harshness or pain until—” He stopped to regain control of his voice. “She has never felt any man’s touch but mine, and that but a short time—and God knows I never touched her in your manner.”

  “Your wife?” Kenwick looked startled. “I had no idea she was of gentle breeding.”

  “You mean you had no idea she had anyone to protect her. You know, everyone knows, that many of those girls are there unwillingly. Didn’t Pearl ask you to subdue a recalcitrant girl? Couldn’t you tell she wanted none of you? Yet you forced yourself upon her, and in the vilest way. I demand satisfaction, sir.”

  “Indeed? A gentleman doesn’t duel with just any boor who happens to—”

  “Damn it, man, it is only because you are a so-called ‘gentleman’ that I give you this chance and don’t kill you on the spot as I did her other tormentor. If you refuse my challenge, however, I shall be forced to do so.”

  “My seconds will call on yours,” Kenwick said stiffly.

  “Good. Ensign Fortner, of my ship, the C.S.S. Susan Harper, shall act as my second.” Hampton strode to the door, then turned and smiled humorlessly. “If it makes you feel any better, you won’t be killed by anyone of low birth. My grandmother traces our family back to an exiled noble of the court of Charles I.” He bowed shortly and left the room.

  Katherine awoke, her head much clearer than before. Matthew! She sat up—he was not there. For a moment she was gripped by the cruel fear that it had been only a dream, and her heart raced, but she forced herself to be calm. Wasn’t this the familiar cabin of the ship? His cabin? She closed her eyes. Her battered mind and body could not quite grasp that she was safe, that they couldn’t get her.

  All the memories of the past days—some sharp and some mercifully hazy—filled her mind, and she felt sick and ashamed. Her body felt sticky and dirty and crawling with unspeakable filth. Oh, Matthew. Had she told him all about what they had done to her, or had that been a dream? It was so mist-enshrouded, it was difficult to tell. She had the sick feeling she had told him—was he filled with disgust for her? Oh, please, no. Matthew would understand; he wouldn’t think her vile; he knew about these things.

  The door opened and she looked up, her heart pounding in fear and hope. It was Matthew, looking so lean and strong and handsome that tears sprang into her eyes. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes, hating herself, her own unclean, violated body. They had dirtied her everywhere; there was not one pure spot on her body, not a single place that b
elonged only to him. Oh, God, she could not even offer herself to him in gratitude. She had nothing to give; they had taken it all from her. She wanted to throw herself at him, to kneel in submission, and promise herself to him for as long as he wanted her, promise to no longer fight and resist, but to give her body to him totally, give him all the things he had wanted from her, promise to do anything to please him. But she couldn’t; she could not offer her body, made vile and repulsive by their touch, to him. It was sickening to think of putting her soiled body against his.

  “Katherine?” His voice was gentle. He felt shaken by the sight of her abjectly huddled on the bed. Oh, God, she wouldn’t even look at him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Matthew.” Did he still want to hear his name on her lips? She would scream it from the rooftops now, if he asked it.

  “I have brought you a bowl of soup. Can you eat a little? It smells delicious.” His tone was coaxing.

  “Yes, please; I’m hungry.”

  He gave the bowl to her and watched her gulp it down. Still she wouldn’t look at him.

  “Not so fast,” he said. “You’ll make yourself sick, and burn your mouth besides.”

  She forced herself not to gobble it. He was standing so close she could feel his breath on her hair. She wondered what he was thinking.

  The soup made her feel better, and when she handed back the bowl she forced herself to look at him. His face looked tired and sad.

  “Oh, Matthew,” she whispered.

  His heart lurched at the caress in her voice, and he bent to touch her arm. Frantically she scrambled out of his reach.

  “Oh, no,” she pleaded, “oh, please don’t touch me.” Didn’t he see how dirty she was? He mustn’t put his hands on her, mustn’t soil them on her filthy skin.

  Matthew paled and retreated. “Oh, God,” he whispered, “what have I done?”

  He turned and quickly left the room. Katherine ran to lock the door after him, then ran to the wash basin and thoroughly scrubbed every inch of her body until her skin was red and raw. She picked up the sheet that he had wrapped around her at Pearl’s and tore it and stuffed it piece by piece into the stove. Next she changed the sheets she had slept on; even they seemed contaminated. After that she felt somewhat better.

  Matthew leaned against the railing for a long time, staring out to sea. At last he turned and called for Peljo.

  “I want you to go into the city, check the hotels, and see if Dr. Rackingham is still here. If he is, bring him to me.”

  “But, Cap’n,” the little man expostulated, “have you lost your wits? You just found Miss Katie and now you’re going to give her up to that old fool?”

  “Peljo, I will do what I think best, and I would appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself.”

  Peljo choked back his response and left quickly. Matthew turned back to the sea. He must let her go; he knew it now, had known it since the moment he had realized that he loved her. She despised him; his very touch filled her with fear and disgust. From the first she had wanted only to escape him, but he had held her, brutally insensitive to the anguish she suffered, berating and teasing her for her shame at what he had done to her, constantly inflicting himself upon her—call it what it was: raping her. Well, he had broken her, he and the men at Pearl’s. Now she cringed from his touch, too scared to even fight him any longer. He had killed Paul for it, and tomorrow he would kill Kenwick. Nor would the other villain go unscathed; perhaps his punishment on himself would be even worse—for he was going to give her up, hand her over to Dr. Rackingham. Let her escape from him and pray that her slow Yankee lieutenant would be able to teach her the ecstasy that lay dormant in her body. He clenched his fists at the thought of another man exploring her body, tasting its sweetness, arousing her. He saw her lovely long legs twined around him, heard her moans of desire. With supreme effort, he wrenched his mind away from the picture he had created, only to find it replaced by a worse one—her writhing in pain and fear beneath Kenwick’s hands.

  His tortured thoughts were interrupted by the aging doctor who approached him, tagged by the glowering Peljo. The doctor’s face was so suspicious that Matthew had to smile fleetingly.

  “Dr. Rackingham, I’ve decided to release Miss Devereaux into your hands.”

  “I knew you still had her.”

  “Actually, I did not at the time, but that’s of no matter. Miss Devereaux escaped and I am afraid suffered a rather sordid and—and harrowing experience.” He turned and stared back at the sea, his voice carefully toneless. “Even I cannot bring myself to cause her any more grief. So I am letting her go. She needs someone to look after her, help her home. She’s—” He paused, struggling to keep control of his voice. “She is feeling rather bad, you see.”

  Rackingham stared. “Good God, what happened to her?”

  “She will tell you if she wishes to,” Hampton said shortly.

  “Of course, but—poor girl.”

  “I have a condition, Doctor.”

  “Oh?”

  “I want everything about what has happened to her kept quiet. I want to keep as much scandal as possible from her. I trust in your discretion—I know very little about proprieties.”

  The man stiffened. “It is a little late to be thinking about her reputation, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I can hardly undo what is done, Doctor. The best I can hope is to cover it up. Could you manage to combat the rumors—say we slept in different cabins?”

  “Yes, but you know how little effect that will have against rumor. And has it occurred to you that she might be—with child?”

  Matthew looked at him, stunned. “Pregnant? My God—what’s to be done? I would raise the child; perhaps she could remain here until it’s born. People will talk, of course, but they wouldn’t know.”

  “Captain Hampton, if you are in fact concerned about Miss Devereaux’s honor, if you do regret what you have done, why don’t you marry her? Give her the protection of your name.”

  “Sweet Jesus, man!” Hampton swung toward him and in the dim light Rackingham saw the naked pain in his face. “Do you think I wouldn’t gladly marry her? I love her,” he rasped. “But she would never consent; she despises me. She cringes at my touch.” His voice broke and he turned away.

  “Have you asked her?”

  Hampton shook his head.

  “Captain, you did not see, as I did, the way she hung by your bed all through your illness, the way in which she took care of you. I think that inside she is fonder of you than she cares to admit.”

  “A lot has happened since then, Doctor, none of which would endear me to her. I am afraid that at the moment she must hate all men.”

  “Nevertheless, to guard against disgrace, especially if she is carrying your child—”

  “You do not know Katherine very well if you think that. She sticks steadfastly to her principles and ignores the consequences. However, I shall ask her.”

  There was a moment of silence and then Rackingham asked, “When is she to leave?”

  “I think she should rest another night. She’s still a little shaky. Tomorrow morning, I guess.” He could not bring himself to separate from her just yet. “I have a rather early appointment and I shan’t be here. Perhaps it would be best if you left then.”

  “When is your appointment?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  The older man raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. It sounded like a duel—what had gone on here since he left the ship? Poor Katherine; perhaps it was best not to inquire.

  “I have a few things I bought for her; she probably will refuse to take them. Would you please take them along? Perhaps she might accept them later.”

  “Yes, of course.” Rackingham felt a twinge of sympathy at the suffering underlying his quiet tone.

  “Thank you.” Hampton shook his hand, and the doctor took his leave. Matthew took a deep breath and headed for his cabin.

  Katherine was in bed but not asleep. She looked a little bet
ter, not so pale or vacant-eyed, but she still acted shy and afraid. Hampton forced himself to smile at her.

  “How are you, Katherine?”

  “Better. Why did I feel so strange and dizzy? Why did everything look funny, all out of shape and brightly colored?”

  “I think they must have drugged you. So you wouldn’t resist. Fortunately, I think it’s made your memories less sharp.”

  Katherine sat up and hooked her arms around her knees. Why was Matthew standing across the room like that? She wished he would come sit beside her, hold her hand; she would feel better that way.

  “Katherine, are you pregnant?” he blurted out, then cursed himself for being a clumsy fool.

  She looked at him in surprise and said, “What?”

  “Are you carrying my child?”

  “I—I don’t think so.” She blushed and ducked her head.

  “Do you even know how to tell?”

  “I’m not sure. You get sick at your stomach. But the old ladies never really tell you about it if you’re unmarried.”

  He grimaced. “Lord, they love to keep you ignorant, don’t they? Some have morning sickness, but others don’t The best sign is if your periods stop.”

  She blushed again and said in a tiny voice. “No, Matthew.”

  “Good.” He paused and stared into space. Finally he plunged in. “Katherine, I apologize to you for what I have done; I am afraid I have been very cruel. I did not mean to be; I was simply too selfish to see what harm I was doing to you.”

  She said nothing, simply stared in amazement, and he hurried on. “Anyway, I have decided to let you go. You are no longer my prisoner. Dr. Rackingham will come here tomorrow morning to get you. You won’t be afraid with him, will you?”

  Numbly she shook her head. He was sending her away! She began to tremble. Why was he sending her away?

  “I didn’t tell him what happened to you. I thought you would not want me to. He will take you home and help you try to gloss over what happened. He—he thought you might consider marrying me.” He picked up a paperweight from the desk and rolled it in his hand, fixing his gaze on it. He cleared his throat. “Would you, Katherine? I would take care of you and never intrude upon you. Nor would I hold you to your wifely duties; it would be a marriage in name only, of course. We could have separate bedrooms, and you would have a lock on your door.”