Blood Lust

by Jamie Salsibury

  “Well, is it done?”

  The man swallowed hard. “I done it. I killed her, just like you told me.” he stared at a place on the wall above Benjamin’s head. “You never said she was so pretty.”

  “Pretty?” Benjamin rudely replied. “good riddance to bad rubbish I say.” He shoved back his chair and stood up. “No one say you? You got in and out without a problem?”

  “I watched her for more than five days. Today she let the servants go home early. It was a good time to get it done.”

  “Good thinking.”

  He shifted uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “What’s the matter? Benjamin asked, impatient now that he knew the task was done.

  “There was a woman. She came into the room just as I was finishing up, and. . .”

  “Did she see you?” Benjamin leaned over his desk.

  “She saw me, not my face, but she saw me.”

  “Good God, we’ll have to find out who she was and get rid of her before she has time to cause trouble.”

  “I know who she was.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded his dark head of shaggy, greasy hair. “It was the girl you were suppose to marry.”

  “Katherine?” You aren’t talking about Katherine are you?”

  “That were her.”

  “Good God, what would Katherine be doing with a woman like Jane?” Leaning even farther over the desk, sunlight glinted through the window onto his powdered hair. “You’re certain it was she? You couldn’t have been mistaken?”

  “It were her and she caught me just as I finished having a little taste of her. . .”

  Benjamin realized he was sweating. He didn’t like the feel of it trickling down his sides beneath his linen shirt. “You’ve got to silence her. Your life could be in danger.” as well as his own. Katherine had been nosing around before, digging for information about his father’s murder. If she had formed a friendship with Jane, there could only be one reason.

  “Kill her,” he commanded. “Get rid of her before she makes trouble for both of us.”

  The man shifted his feet. “I don’t like killin’ women.”

  “Listen to me. You get rid of her before she opens her mouth and tells what she’s seen you do and you are arrested.”

  The man looked sullen.

  “Go on,” Benjamin urged. “Get it done and the sooner the better.”

  The man scowled then nodded slowly, his features dark with resignation. He would do what Benjamin said. Hanging was his secret fear. Moving quickly for a man of his size, he moved to the door, then closed it behind him. Benjamin stared at the place he had been, but his unease didn’t leave as it usually did. What was Katherine after? Why was she seeking information about the murder?

  If the man killed her, he would never know why.

  Then again, once she was dead, it wouldn’t matter. Benjamin smiled with satisfaction and sat back down in his chair.

  Picking up the final sheaf of papers needing his signature, he dipped the quill into the ink bottle and scrolled his name across the bottom. Ink splashed carelessly on the pristine pages, but he didn’t care. His carriage was waiting out in front, his trunks already packed and loaded. He was leaving London as soon as he was finished with this last bit of business, departing for his most recently acquired estate, the former home of sir Paul Stanwick.

  He had a funeral to attend.

  Benjamin flashed a satisfied smile, as his marriage to Elizabeth Stanwick and the death of her father, were the most profitable endeavor he had undertaken in years.

  John Stanton stood at the bottom of the staircase leading up from the entry. A drizzle had begun to fall outside the windows, the air chill and oppressive, the sky thick with dark clouds.

  He glanced up at the sound of Elizabeth’s footsteps, slight, soft steps approaching.

  “Elizabeth. . .” His breath caught as it had begun of late whenever she appeared, a slender figure of loveliness, he found more alluring than the most sought after woman.

  His attraction to her had strengthened in the days since their arrival at the country home, an hour spent in the gardens, or sharing a simple meal together before the hearth. He had found her sweetly hones and unfailingly sincere. Her shyness was endearing, and she was generous to a fault. More than that, she seemed to fit him, her softness in contrast to his strength, her gentle demeanor a buffer to his bold determination.

  “I’m ready, John.”

  He took her hand, helped her descent the last of the stairs.

  “Are you certain, Elizabeth? Is there nothing I can say to discourage you?”

  “He was my father, John. I loved him. I must say my final farewells. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

  Anger flowed through him, fury at Benjamin Spencer. “If the duke is there, if he orders your return with him to London, there is no way I’ll be able to protect you.”

  “I must go. Please don’t be angry.”

  He was beyond angry. He was livid with rage and frustration. Elizabeth Stanwick should have been his, not Benjamin’s. she would have been treated with care and respect. Instead, who knew what suffering she might endure at the hands of the duke.

  “If it hadn’t been for you. . .” Her voice rose just above a whisper. “. . .if it weren’t for those days we have shared, the courage you have lent me, I do not know what I might have done. But you are wise and you are strong and some of that strength and wisdom now resides in me.”

  Her pale eyes swelled with tears. They shimmered as they spilled onto her cheeks. “I shall never forget you, John. Through all of the years of my life, I will remember these special days that I have shared with you.”

  “Elizabeth. . .” He took her into his arms and sheltered her there, his chest aching with regret and no small amount of fear for her. “My love, I am begging you. Please, say you will stay here where you are safe. In time we will find a solution, some way out of this treachery Benjamin has immersed us all in. There is always a means if one is. . .”

  “Do you love me, John?”

  “I care for you, Elizabeth. You know how deeply I care.”

  He felt the faintest shake of her head. “It doesn’t really matter. I am a ruined woman, no longer pure, not the sort of female a man like you would marry.”

  John gripped her arm. “That is not true. There is nothing Benjamin can do to make you anything less than you are, sweet and kind and innocent. Do not talk that way again.”

  Elizabeth looked at him, sadness brimming in her eyes. “You are the strongest, bravest man I have ever known and I love you with all my heart. If you loved me in that same way, there is nothing I would not do so that we might be together.”

  “Elizabeth, please. I am not a man who loves easily. My feelings for you are deep and irrevocable, but love? I do not know, I will not lie to keep you.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. “that is why I love you, John. And why I always will.”

  A knot formed in his chest. “Don’t go, Elizabeth, please.”

  “I must, my lord. Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  He dragged in a breath of air. If he loved her, perhaps she would stay, try to find a way for them to be together.

  If he loved her.

  But did he? He had never loved a woman. He wasn’t sure he knew how. Perhaps he should have tried. John tossed the notion away. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be fair to Elizabeth.

  Setting his jaw against the rising pressure building inside him, he directed her into the carriage, settled her in the seat, then sat down across from her, stretching his long legs out for the journey.

  He wanted her there before the duke’s arrival, wanted it to appear that she had been in residence all along. John would accompany for most of the way, then send her on alone.

  It was dark outside, only a sliver of the moon lit the empty London streets. An occasional carriage, returning its occupants home, and the lonely hooting of the owl who ha
d built its nest in the stable were the wounds that filled the chilly night air.

  He was weary, so unbelievably tired. It’s over. After all these years, it has finally come to an end. Defeat hung like a shroud around his shoulders. In the silence of his bedchamber, William felt the walls of failure closing in, an implacable, invisible prison.

  Only a single candle flickered in the room, the flame burning low, glittering in the pool of wax that had been building as the hours crept past. Sitting in a chair in the corner, his long legs sprawled in front of him, his hair unbound and hanging around his shoulders, he lifted the brandy decanter to his lips, taking a long swallow of the soothing liquid straight from the bottle.

  Tonight he needed the solace, needed to drive the demons of hatred away.

  Not since the beginning had they stalked him as they did this eve. Back then, when he had been thrown into prison, when he had been forced to endure that suffering, the pain and humiliations, he had done so for a single purpose - to see his brother pay.

  Vows of vengeance had seen him through. Hatred of his brother had given him the strength to survive. When he thought he couldn’t go on, when he thought he would rather be dead than face another sunrise, thoughts of Benjamin living in Sussex Manor, dining on pheasant and champagne while he ate from a watery soup for fifty men from a single ox bone kept him going. Thoughts of Benjamin squandering the family fortune, of him destroying their father’s good name, of him sleeping with the woman William had once believed he loved.

  Determination was his ally, a need for revenge so strong just thinking about it could make him sick to his stomach.

  Always he had believed he would win. Always. Tonight, in the shadows of his quiet room, he sat in the darkness facing the terrible certainty that Benjamin was going to be the victor. There wasn’t enough proof to clear him. With Jane gone, he would have to leave without the justice, the vengeance he so desperately wanted. If he didn’t sooner or later he would be found.

  Then Benjamin would have won even that final, empty victory.

  William took another long pull on the bottle, scoffing at himself in the process. Who was he kidding? His brother had won years ago with his cruel betrayal. He had lost a part of himself during those terrible years, days when he was more animal than man.

  Survival was all he lived for then, a will so strong it overrode all he ever was, any traces of decency still left inside him.

  William gave a glance at the door, his thoughts turning to the woman in the room next to his, the petite beauty. His wife, for all intents and purposes save one. A true and bona fide, God-sanctioned marriage.

  That he could not have, had sworn with an oath of blood he would never allow himself to have.

  He took a drink of brandy. Once he had wanted such a union, dreamed of children and home and sharing his life with a woman who belonged to him, as his father and mother had done.

  With a force of will, he shoved the gruesome thoughts away, set the bottle on the floor, stood up, and began to peel off his clothes. Shedding his wrinkled tailcoat, then his waistcoat, he shrugged out of his white shirt. He still wasn’t drunk enough to sleep, but perhaps he would be able to rest a little. Even an hour would help. Whichever path his fate now took, he needed his wits about him if he intended to survive the days ahead.

  Weariness and the brandy made his movements sluggish and awkward. He cursed when he brushed the edge of the table, tipping it sideways, and an untouched brandy snifter, placed there for his use, went crashing to the floor.

  He cursed his bad luck, which seemed to mirror the events of the day, and barely had the will to bend down and pick up the pieces.

  Katherine heard the splintering glass in the room next to hers. William was still awake. But she had suspected as much. He was mired in depression at Jane’s murder, certain his last hope for proving his innocence had died along with her.

  Katherine had tried to cheer him at supper, had described in detail about her meeting with the constable and relayed the news that the man seemed satisfied with her tale of the murder.

  The killer was a footpad, the constable was certain, intent on stealing the duchesses jewels. They were safe for the moment, she had told William, but he had only nodded, excused himself, and retired upstairs to his room.

  A few minutes later, a servant was summoned and a bottle of brandy sent up to his bedchamber. There had been no word from him since.

  Listening now, the sound of William’s movements carried through the wall between their rooms. Knowing she shouldn’t, her heart throbbed softly in warning. Katherine swung her legs to the side of the bed, put on her quilted wrapper, and walked to the door leading into his bedchamber. It wasn’t locked. With Jane’s murder so near at hand, William was worried about her safety. He wanted to be able to get in quickly if trouble arose.

  Quietly lifting the latch, she opened the door and stepped in.

  Long, dark shadows filled the chamber, and the dim, yellow flicker of a candle burned low. William knelt beside a small table, facing away from her as he worked to pick up the broken pieces of the brandy snifter, his sun-darkened body burnished in the faint light of the candle. He was naked to the waist, she saw, wearing only his breeches and boots.

  He straightened from his task at the sound of her and started to turn, but not before she saw the jagged white scars that formed a vicious patchwork across his back.

  A gasp escaped before she could stop it. William swore an oath, set the bits of broken glass down on the table, and started in her direction. “What do you want, Katherine. Did you even think of knocking?”

  She felt sick to her stomach, her bottom lip trembled. “Your back. Dear God, what has happened to you? What have they done?”

  He stiffened, stopped a few feet away and came no closer. His face looked hard, his features closed up and remote. “I was flogged. It happens I am not a particularly humble man. Taking orders was difficult for me, a man raised as heir to a duke. It took a while for them to break me, longer than most.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. How could she have not noticed? They had only made love a few times and she had been too caught up in the moment of the things he was doing. Or perhaps he had simply been careful that she did not see, and made her way toward him. Inside her chest, her heart thumped painfully, hurting for him, each breath tight with knots of pity.

  “Turn around,” she whispered and saw him bristle even more.

  “It isn’t pretty. I hoped you would never have to see this.”

  “Please, William.” Her throat felt so thick, the ache there so harsh she could hardly speak. “I want to see how badly they have hurt you.”

  His muscles strained with the tension that poured through him. She thought he might refuse, then slowly he moved, his shoulders straight as he turned so the candle shown on the deep grooves and ridges. They were lighter than his darkly tanned flesh, a maze of thin lines that crossed the heavy muscles, some deeper than others where the lash had cut more than once. Broad valleys of flesh had been ripped out in places then partially grown back only to be torn out again.

  Her breath constricted, seared down her throat. Dear God, the pain he had suffered. Tears stung her eyes, spilled in scalding droplets down her cheeks. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torture he must have endured. Her hand trembled as she lifted it toward his scarred and battered flesh. She rested it gently atop one of the grooves, bent and pressed her mouth against the taught brown skin.

  She heard him take a deep breath, felt the muscles tighten. Twice more her mouth brushed his flesh as if she might take away the pain.

  He turned then, his eyes penetrating, dark with terrible memories with anger that now seemed directed away.

  “I did not kill my father, Katherine, but I’ve committed other crimes, dozens of them, some worse than murder.”

  “No. . .” It was a barely whispered word. She shook her head. “It wasn’t the same. You were innocent. You were fighting to save yourself. You didn’t deserve that they did to
you.”

  He gripped her shoulders, his fingers tightening, tight and unrelenting. “Why can’t you see! Why is it so hard for you to understand?”

  Katherine stood frozen. A fire seemed to be building in her stomach. Pity for him choked her, nearly making her gag. Bitter sobs shook her being. How had he survived? How had he been able to bear it?

  “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Please don’t cry. I’m not worth your tears. A man like me isn’t worth it.”

  He had said something like that before. She pulled back to look at him, saw him through a film of tears. “These aren’t the only scars you carry, are they, William? The ones locked up inside, those are far worse. Tell me what you’ve done that is so terrible. Let me share your awful burden and in time the pain will fade.”

  He shook his head. Already the darkness had begun to appear in his eyes and the features on his face. “Don’t ask that of me. If you care for me at all, you won’t ask me about it again.” The expression in his face betrayed an agony that ran deep. It was etched so sharply Katherine’s heart twisted painfully inside her.

  She wanted to comfort him, hold him. She wanted to take away the hurting, ease the terrible memories. “It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me anything.” She reached up to touch him, brushed a lock of his dark hair back from his cheek.

  Turning away, she began to unbutton her wrapper. It took longer than it should have with her fingers trembling so badly. William said nothing as she eased it off her shoulders and let it fall, nothing as she crossed to his large bed and drew back the covers.

  He stood unmoving in the shadows, but she felt his eyes on her. Ignoring the pulse beating inside her chest, the warmth beginning to run through her veins, she clasp the hem of her night gown and dragged it off over her head.

  His gaze watched her toss it away as she positioned herself on the massive bed.

  “Please. . .” Her fingers worked the single plat of her hair, unbraiding it then loosening the strands. She spread it around her shoulders. “I need you, William, just as I know you need me. Make love to me this night. Help us both to forget, if only for a while.”