Capturing the Viscount (Rakes and Roses Book 1)

by Win Hollows

  Until he came back.

  Fennimore strolled into the room with a wooden chest about the size of her torso. He clunked the thing down on the bedside table and then went to the fireplace to stoke the flames. He then turned towards her. “How are you feeling?” he asked, staring intently at her features.

  She wasn’t sure if answering him or not was better. Her fear might be exactly what he enjoyed, so she stayed silent.

  He didn’t give her the option. Walking over to her, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “I asked you how you feel. You will answer me, and end each statement with “Master Grayson. Do you understand?”

  Laura glared up at him. She was done trying to reason with this man. “You can go to Hell….Master Grayson.”

  Grayson stepped back and sighed, releasing her face. “You know, it’s never fun if they give in straight off anyways” he commented. “So I’m glad you’re giving us a chance to test some of your limits, Laura.”

  She attempted a bored tone. “I will tell you that my limit for tolerating imbecilic mad men has been reached.”

  He only smiled. “Teaching you respect is going to be fun. For me, that is. I have a feeling you are not one of those women who take pleasure in debasement.” He went to the chest and opened it. Laura had a feeling she wouldn’t like what was inside. “There are those who do, you know. My Madeline was perfect. So obedient, but never lacking in spirit. She understood the sport of it, you see. The give and take. It’s an art, knowing just how far too push someone until they give in. I never tired of our games.”

  He took out a palm-sized object that was shaped like a letter C. As he brought it closer, she could see that it was made of metal and had a screw with a sharp point coming through the bottom of the C, while the other end was disc-shaped. She tried not to think about what it was used for, but possibilities flashed through her mind, kicking her heart into faster rhythm.

  “Who is Madeline? What happened to her?” she asked. If she was going to die in this place with this man, she might as well know what in blazes was going on.

  Fennimore stopped, and for the first time since entering the room, he looked unsure of himself- lost. His mouth hung open for a brief moment, eyes unfocused. Finally, he blinked. “What happened to her is not your concern.” Reaching the chair, he knelt down in front of her and began to twist the screw within the device. The C’s ends drew closer together.

  As she watched him raise the device towards the right arm of the chair, Laura realized with horror what the device was- a clamp that, when adjusted, would slowly screw the wickedly pointed end into a person’s flesh with excruciating precision. Her throat closed, air coming in labored breaths into her panicked lungs. “You-you can’t mean to use that on me.”

  Grayson smiled and looked at her wide eyes, pausing in his movement. “You look lovely right now, you know. Fear gives things beauty. Fear lays bare the nature of everything, reducing it to its essence, to the very thing that makes it beautiful- the temporal nature of the body.” He stroked a finger down the column of her throat. She jerked away, but he paid the movement no notice. “When threatened, both human and animal will react in pure instinct to preserve the fragile state of its existence. Most women, I’ve learned over time, go through stages of conflicting instincts during times of fear and pain. Right now, you are warring between panic and logic, still hoping that negotiating will mitigate your need for an adrenaline response. Two parts of your brain are struggling to control your body’s reaction.” A bead of sweat bobbed on the tip of his finger as he touched it to her temple. “You can’t stop the involuntary response of what your brain knows is about to happen. Yet, you also can’t stop the urge to attempt to extricate yourself from the threat by appealing to the source of the threat however you think will be most effective.”

  His explanation only served to convince Laura that, number one, he was mad. And number two, she really was in trouble. In fact, there was no reason to think he wasn’t telling her the truth now- She might very well not leave here alive. Her only chance might be to figure out what it was he thought was causing him “trouble.” Perhaps convincing him that he needed her alive to solve his problems would buy her time until someone realized she was missing. Surely someone would come when she didn’t arrive home by this evening?

  She could no longer stop her body from shaking as she watched him place the clamp over her hand and under the wooden chair arm. The screw side of the clamp was underneath, but she saw it could came up through a specially drilled hole in the armrest. Cold metal touched the top of her hand, and he tightened the device until she couldn’t raise her hand off the wood at all. Her voice was no longer steady when she asked, “What is it you think I’ve done to you? I can tell you, it was not intentional.”

  Grayson methodically adjusted the clamp until he heard her sharp intake of breath at the sensation of the screw reaching her palm. “Ah, there we are.”

  Her heart was racing, and she knew panic would soon take over her mental faculties. She also knew she had to keep trying to reason with him, or there was no hope. “You can’t just torture and kill the daughter of an Earl, Grayson. You’ll be hanged.”

  He grunted as he rose and dusted off his hands. “Fortunately, there are any number of accidents that can happen in the country. Happens all the time.”

  “You can’t think you’ll really get away with staging an accident,” she wheedled.

  He laughed. “You’d be surprised what people believe, if a peer of the realm says it happened. Now, let’s have a little chat about things past, shall we?”

  She stayed silent. He might be insane, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t outlive whatever usefulness he thought she had to him. Better to find out what was going on first to know what leverage, if any, she possessed.

  Fennimore went to the water basin and dipped his hands in, washing them and then drying them on the towel beside it. He went to lean against the bed post a few feet away, eyes trained on her face. “What do you remember the night of the Rothstone Ball- specifically, during the time you snuck away to the conservatory?”

  Laura blinked. What did that have to do with anything? And how did he know about that? “I don’t understand.”

  He sighed, more of a growl. “I would prefer we not waste time with inanities. Answer the question.”

  The tip of the crew pressing against the center of her palm reminded her of what could happen if she refused to answer. Yet which was worse? Pain now or possibly death later?

  “Now, Laura,” he said softly.

  The back of her neck tickled as a bead of sweat ran down it. “I-I remember setting up my camera and sitting on the bench. Then Rem- Rothstone, rather- found me.”

  “Yes, and you shared a wonderful moment in the moonlight. What else?”

  She froze. “You…how do you know that? How do you know any of this?”

  He came forward. “It’s not important. Did you see anyone else there? Or anything unusual?” His eyes blazed with the need for her answer.

  “I don’t recall,” she said honestly.

  Grayson thought for a moment. “What happened to the photo plate you were using that night?”

  She knew what had happened to it and in whose possession it was, but she wasn’t going to give that away. “Why?”

  He took another step toward her. “Do not make me twist that,” he nodded towards the clamp on her hand.

  “I won’t tell you until you explain why it’s so important.”

  Fennimore’s smile was predatory. “Part of me was secretly hoping you’d say that.” Closing the distance between them, he knelt down in front of her. “I want you to look at me. Can you do that?”

  She couldn’t help it. “Since I’m already looking at you, that’s rather redundant.”

  His lips twitched. “So disrespectful. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

  He reached under the arm of the chair.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” she screeched, but he did not l
isten.

  The screw twisted up into the fleshy pad of her palm, one full rotation. Hot pain reverberated through her hand and up her arm. Laura let out a short scream from the shock of it, scrunching her eyes closed.

  “No, open them. Look at me,” Grayson commanded.

  Laura shook her head, forcing her brain to separate itself from the sensation there. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “No? Alright then.” He twisted the screw again, this time two full rotations.

  Laura held in her scream with all the willpower she had left. Her teeth ground against one another. She tried to focus on the tightness of her jaw, but perceptions of reality kept intruding. Warm wetness trickled to her wrist and dropped to the floor with a flat sound. The bones on the top of her hand ached from forcing themselves against the clamp. And now cold sweat had risen everywhere on her skin, though the room was now a comfortable temperature with the fire crackling not far away. But everything came down to the white-hot feeling of metal being driven into the sensitive flesh of her palm.

  Grayson grabbed her chin. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes unwillingly.

  “That’s better. You do have lovely eyes. Your pupils dilate when experiencing pain or anxiety. Did you know that?”

  “Your voice is more painful than anything,” she ground out.

  His eyes flashed as he twisted the clamp again.

  Laura was proud that she made no discernable sound and kept eye contact as the pain flooded through her hand. The dripping sound grew more frequent.

  “Remarkable. I am quite enjoying this,” Fennimore commented. “It’s been some time since I’ve allowed myself to indulge so thoroughly. Since Madeline, in fact.”

  “Who is she?” she whispered, trying not to cry. This woman seemed to be at the center of some obsession of his.

  Grayson sat back on the floor and popped an elbow on one knee. Laura saw her own blood on this tips of his fingers. He seemed to not notice it or not care. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you now. I find I’m in the mood to speak of her.” He rubbed his fingers together, spreading her blood between his finger pads. “Madeline was my soulmate. She came into my life at just the right moment to change everything. Every day was full of wonder- new discoveries, new heights of pleasure for both of us. She was so pure… Anything we did, it was like it couldn’t touch her, couldn’t dim her spirit. Every time was like the first, every day new. I have never felt happiness like I did in her presence.” He seemed to drift off into a reverie.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Laura said past her gritted teeth.

  His eyes snapped back to her. “It was. Until someone I trusted took her from me. He seduced her with false promises of a title and respectability, no doubt. She always did want those things more than anything else. She said it was freedom. I told her no one would make her a peer’s wife, Earl’s bastard or not; It’s just not the way things are done. But she always hoped.” He shifted on the floor, stretching out his leg. How someone could relax while another person sat in pain not five feet away, she didn’t know. He continued, “I knew she couldn’t be happy with that pup, but I never thought….Well, then it didn’t matter.” He gulped, and Laura could see he was genuinely distraught thinking about it.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “He killed her,” he said flatly, glittering eyes half-slits in the fading afternoon light coming through the window. Nostrils flared, he clenched his fist, smearing blood over it. His shoulders heaved up and down with emotion. “That bastard-” he choked, looking towards the flames in the hearth, then took a deep breath. “That monster threw her into the street in the dead of winter when he discovered she was with child.” His voice lowered. “My child.”

  Laura closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  He continued, almost as if she weren’t there listening. “She sent me a letter asking me to come for her- for her and our baby. When I arrived there two days later, she had already been thrown out the night before. The butler acted as if tossing a pregnant woman into the cold was as necessary as tossing out a chamber pot.”

  His lips trembled, and he cleared his throat, forcing them into a hard line. “I retraced her steps, asking every inn and coaching line between here and there. She had tried to make her way to my estate on a public coach, but she didn’t have enough to take her the whole way. The coach dropped her off on the side of the road on the outskirts of a village.”

  Grayson’s voice grew soft, and she had to struggle to hear him as he related the rest of the story. “She was found the next morning by a farmer in one of his stables…She- and our child- had frozen to death.” A tear made its way down his cheek unheeded, and his eyes were distant. “I brought her home and buried her here at the estate, where they both should have grown old.”

  Laura felt tears of her own that she’d held back before fall. “Grayson…. I had no idea.”

  His gaze sharpened, and he seemed to come back to himself. His tone was cold again as he said, “No one did. And no one cared. I put her name in the papers’ obituaries, and notified the press, but not a single person sent condolences or expressed interest in her funeral. When I told that scum Craigerton about what had happened to her because of him, he shrugged.” Fennimore mimicked the gesture. “No words, no regrets. Just a movement of the shoulder was all he could muster for a woman who was worth a thousand of his ilk. For a woman who died for his pride.”

  She thought of Madeline, a terrified woman alone in the cold, trying to protect the child growing inside her. Knowing she wouldn’t reach her destination in time… Laura’s lip trembled. “No one deserves that. I’m sorry.”

  “No, she didn’t deserve that.” His voice grew hard. “And Craigerton didn’t deserve to draw breath. I tried to forget about the fact that he was still living his filthy life, free of any guilt or consequences, until I couldn’t stand the thought of it anymore. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know if I could,” he said candidly. “But I took his life in the Rothstone conservatory with the same knife Madeline and I used to use…” He trailed off, lost in memories.

  Laura’s mind reeled as she put it together. She flexed her hand, sending a shot of agony through her nerves. The screw was still buried deep, but the bleeding had slowed a bit. So that was what this whole thing was about. He thought she knew something about that night. She must have walked into the scene of Daniel Craigerton’s murder. Fennimore must have been there the entire time that she and Rem were embracing. The knowledge wasn’t pleasant.

  And now that she understood, she knew that she couldn’t reveal where that picture was. Once she did, he would be done with her.

  Fennimore’s face was lit on only one side now as the sun’s slant toward the horizon continued and the fire became the brightest point in the room. “I suppose I am a monster too, but I can live with that. What I will not tolerate is being judged by the world for giving justice to my Madeline. The man who killed her doesn’t deserve pity. He doesn’t deserve to be mourned. Madeline wasn’t.”

  “I cannot honestly say that I blame you for doing what you did. The man deserved punishment. However, you must see that now you’re harming another innocent woman who did nothing to you.”

  “You’re not innocent,” he spat. “Naïve, perhaps, but not innocent. None of you aristocratic women are. You sit prettily and lie through your teeth all day to get what you want. Madeline was real. Honest in everything.”

  The fervor is his voice underscored his devotion to a woman who would never return. It made her heart ache, but she couldn’t afford to let her emotions rule her thinking right now. “Maybe she was,” she said gently. “But I haven’t lied to you. Not once.”

  He scoffed. “And have you told the truth once?”

  She sat up straighter in the chair, her back aching from the forced position. “I wouldn’t be here if what we’ve talked about wasn’t the truth. I have been honest about my feelings for you and for Remington, even though it should have driven yo
u away. Being honest wouldn’t have been advantageous if your suit had been real, would it?”

  Laura’s heart pumped as he seemed to consider her words. He cocked his head to the side. “What if you’re just a very good manipulator? I’ve seen it before, especially from women of your station.”

  Laura tried to laugh, but the sound was cracked and dry. “The only one who has manipulated this relationship has been you, apparently from the very beginning.”

  “I can’t deny that,” he admitted calmly, raising himself to his knees. Chilled fingers touched her cheek and slowly skimmed her lips. His eyes developed a hunger she recognized. “Although I also can’t deny that every moment with you was repellant. I understand the appeal. Mayhap if we had met under different circumstances…I would have enjoyed keeping you as my pet for longer than a few hours.”

  His voice held a hypnotic, almost reverent quality. It was almost easy to fall into its cadence and away from the pain in her hand. Almost. Either way, this was her chance to play along. “Mayhap, if you weren’t planning to kill me, I wouldn’t object.”

  His breath rushed into her face as he exhaled on a chuckle. He inhaled sharply, scanning her sweat-sheened features. Hand on her neck, he reached behind her and drew her face forward.

  There was no trying to fool herself that she wasn’t relieved at the reprieve from more pain that she was already in. She closed her eyes, anticipating the pressure of his lips. Laura knew she couldn’t recoil, but the effort it took to pretend that all she felt was pleasure was almost too much. Ignoring the pain in her hand and the patter of blood that still sounded from the floorboard, she let him press his lips to hers and open them. His tongue slid in, wet against the inside her mouth that was dry from fear. As best she could, she reacted to his movements, eliciting a groan from him. Her heart sped; perhaps he would elect to untie her after all.