by Jackie Ivie
“This doesn’t resemble anything in your name, love.”
He finished and draped Nurse Gunther’s muslin bandage over the spot before turning his attention to what appeared to be burn sores at Brandy’s lower back. Then he pulled at the edge of another bandage. That’s when she gave her horrid yell, the one she’d used on him in the carriage. She’d dissolving into barking interspersed with laughter as he peeled the bandage loose, careful not to disturb the scab.
“Well…he was no artist,” Brandy informed him. “I grant you that. But as I recollect he was carving out the word “whore”, and that does start with a “W”, now doesn’t it, my fine gent. Why…I’m deuced thankful he wasn’t trying for a “B”. Can ye imagine how that’d look?”
“I’d rather not.” His lips tightened as he put a handful of salve on her burns.
“Yer touch…makes me swoon, lover man. That it does. I’ll be certain sure to recommend ye to me friends, I will. If I had some to tell, anyways.”
Gil shook his head slightly. “Such ability. Truly. I’ve no doubt if you wanted to walk the boards, you’d be a hit in no time.”
Brandy hooted in glee. “Brandy…take to the stage? You’re daft. She’d freeze up. Get booted. Fall on her…ooh. Harder! That’s it, me good man…harder!”
He froze. At the first touch, skin had come off in his hand. Then he understood, and he was surprised at the start of tears in his eyes. She was fighting pain with acting. He’d never seen the like…and from such a tiny thing, too.
“Right there,” she cooed. “Ooh. Rub it in nice and good, so Brandy will be sure and remember yer touch later.”
“What? When you curse at me?” Gil had to clear his throat before he got a light enough tone to trade quips with her.
“Curse you? Why ever would I curse me very own dream-man? Yer touch makes me skin tingle, it does.”
Gil’s hand hovered above her buttocks. He took a trembling breath before moving further. The little chit might make others treat her with pain, but not Gillian Tremayne. He was made of sterner stuff.
“Lovely. That’s just…lovely.”
“How’d you get burned, Brandy?”
“Service. That’s wot it was. Service. The finest in all of Bedlam. Brandy’s known for it.”
“There’s got to be easier ways to provide service.”
She stiffened more, if that were possible.
“Service, me fine lord? Well. Brandy knows just what you’ll like, and she’ll do it, too. She likes serving the gents with the soft hands. That’s how she can tell. The softer the hands, the more willin’, ye know.”
“Willing?”
He choked out the words the same time he saw the long welt crisscrossing her thighs. It wasn’t the sight of her pain that made him swallow, either. Even with no extra flesh on her, she had shapely legs. What had happened to her looked like sacrilege.
“Why, she knows just how sharp you like yer knife. There! Oh yes! Right there. Brandy likes that, she does.”
He’d reached her feet and what appeared to be bite marks on her heels and toes almost had him losing the breakfast he’d managed to eat. He vowed right then to see the sanatorium cleaned out, or closed.
“You’ve the best hands yet, Guv. That ye do. I bet ye wouldn’t make the same mistake ol’ Regis did, would ye?”
“What mistake would that be?”
Gil was shuddering as he wrapped her feet. Sweat beaded his upper lip. It was ridiculous. He’d handled injuries before. He’d handled women before. But he’d never handled this type of abuse. Why, if anyone had told him he’d be spending his honeymoon coating his new bride with Nurse Gunther’s honey-herb salve, he would’ve had the person examined.
He needed servants with stronger stomachs so he could save himself from performing the chore. The entire staff either spent the day blubbering over the poor miss, or blushing at the words Brandy cursed them with.
“Why…he’d better learn just how far he can toss his hot oil. If he wants to hit crazy Brandy, that is. Stupid man! You’d think he’d never lifted anything heavier than his fist.”
She was cackling with glee and Gil stiffened. Someone had thrown hot oil at her? Dear God. That explained the burns.
“Does this Regis…make a habit of tossing hot oil at you, love?” He asked. “Surely you’d find a better way to service him than being his personal target?”
“You’ve such a way with words, dream-man! Of course he used Brandy fer other things. Like…dulling his knife. I was real good at that. I was.”
Despite his best effort, Gil plastered a hand to his mouth and ran for the door, her wild howl of laughter at his heels.
Brandy sent another prayer of thanks to God for Nurse Gunther and her spread. Then she hugged herself as far as her shoulder-cast would allow and waited for the blessed numbness the salve brought. It was taking a long time tonight, and she had to concentrate extra hard on her counting. It felt like that grand fellow, Gilly had taken a lash to every inch of her.
Damn him.
***
“I’ve a bit of a request, M’Lord,” Brandy said, breaking the silence.
Gil had been reaching for where her hand was lying on the coverlet then stopped. She’d probably give her banshee yell if she noticed his move.
“Can I get you to call me Gil, first?” He smiled and watched her eyes skitter away.
“What a fine thing that would be,” she replied. “Ha. Calling one like you by name. Why…that’d be a mess. You’ll be the next sent to Bedlam, you will.”
She looked back at him, wagged her finger, and then she batted her eyelashes over glassy-looking burgundy orbs.
“Would it really be such a hardship?”
He lowered his voice to ask it. He watched her gulp as she seemed to catch her first response. And then her eyes went glassy-blank again.
“Aye. That it would. Ye see, there’s been so many of ye fine gents, I might forget, and then what would you do with poor little Brandy, eh? Send her more of your over-salted broth yer wenches serve?”
She laughed and slapped at the bedcovers at his expression.
“Now, don’t go and look at Brandy that way. She only wishes ye’d get off yer duff and instruct the maids around here that broth tastes better without so many of their tears flavoring it. I’ve never seen such carrying on. Why, I’m beginning to think yer entire estate consists of one crying wench after the other.”
“I’ll have to agree with you there, I’m afraid.”
“Cor! Ye really are one of the quality, with that refined voice and all. ‘I agree with you there,’ said as perfect as you please.”
She interspersed her words with his own voice and Gil shook his head. Such an amazing talent should have gotten her out of any number of scrapes, including that sanatorium.
“I’ll be certain the maids receive your instructions. Will that suit?”
She turned expressionless eyes on him and he almost shivered at how lifeless they looked.
“Will that suit?” she mimicked.
“Stop using my voice on me!”
“Well…who else am I going to use it on, then? You tell me. There’s just you and that silly Nurse Gunther this eve. Could you tell the woman Brandy can instruct her later on how best to please a man?”
She fluttered her eyelashes again and Gil flinched.
“Oh! And that reminds me. There’s that blubbery Mrs. Wright, too. She’s making your maids work extra hard on the laundry, that one is. What with blowing her nose into those hankies all day and sobbing’ away like the Archangel hisself has just come down for her. ‘Poor mite’, she says all the time. ‘Poor little mite.’ Yer entire household is daft, me fine dream man.”
She did Mrs. Wright’s voice so well Gil applauded, with slow, even-paced clapping. He watched her eyes clear for just a moment and then she carefully blanked them out again.
“You’re especially good at that, too. Aren’t you, Brandy-love?”
“I don’t have a clue to
what ye mean, dream man. Good at what? Lying abed with no company besides you? None at all. I tell ye, even at my most recent residence they had spiders, rats, and assorted vermin to talk to.”
Gil winced as she captured his voice from the carriage ride. Then he smiled. For some reason his new expression made Brandy’s fists knot on the covers.
“You wound me to the quick. That you do. I’ve been sitting here day after day, visiting to your heart’s content, and what do I get for my trouble? Abuse heaped on my head.”
He shook his head sadly and she smirked.
“That’s because ye’ve got it wrong, Guv. You haven’t laid a finger on me yet. Not one. And I’ve been pining fer the touch of a man’s hands. Why…I believe I’d even sit still and let ye have a go at finishing my branding, I would. Have you a knife handy?”
She leered at him like an overly excited whore and Gil fought the urge to flinch away. She was trying to shock and anger him into abusing her, and for the life of him, he didn’t understand why. She was very good at it, though. He could see why she’d received such harsh punishment at the asylum.
“I do seem to have forgotten a knife, Brandy-love. Would the gentle touch of a kiss do, instead?” He leaned toward her and breathed heavily, making certain she’d feel it on her cheek.
She blanched, turning so white he thought she might faint. And then she sucked in a breath and gave that horrid cry of hers. Even prepared for it, Gil jumped. She grinned up at him as the sound finished echoing. He knew how satisfied she was that her little act had worked at moving him away. Still, the glassy look had faded for the briefest moment, showing the hint of fear behind those eyes. Gil knew there wasn’t enough honey-herb salve to soothe that.
“Look there. Ye gone and done it now, Guv. Ye frightened little Brandy with her harsh ways. Why…she’d lay her skin open for ye iffen she must…but a kiss? A kiss from between these rotten teeth would turn yer belly. It would.”
She’d shuddered during her speech at the mention of kissing, and it looked like an honest reaction. She was also lying. He knew her teeth were almost as good as his, but he didn’t mention it. She was searching for material to act on and he wasn’t willing to give her any. She was too accustomed to this act of hers.
“Well then, besides instructing my staff on your likes and dislikes, what would you like me to do with you this eve?”
“Could ye just take a bit of a strap to my arm, Guv? The thing’s been pining for attention, it has.”
Gil tried and failed to keep from turning a bit nauseous as she held out the arm connected to the shoulder he’d broken. She gave him a gleeful look and then she chuckled.
He didn’t know why he bothered staying near her. She was taken care of. Mrs. Wright hovered at her door to grant his wife’s every whim. No one would care if he traveled to London and found other entertainment…so why did he bother to stay and listen to her?
“You’ve a wicked tongue, Brandy. I’m surprised the guards on that sanatorium actually let you keep it.”
“Well now! Such a high and mighty man! Thinking to gift poor little Brandy with a tongue-slicing. Why…ye’d be near the tenth gent that’s suggested that very thing. ‘Course ye’d need to get past me teeth first, and Lordy, I’ve felt this sickness coming on…. It comes and it goes—”
Her words cut off as he moved, shocked and propelled by her deliberate gagging. It took a second or two to comprehend that he held her neck between his fingers, squeezing her flesh. Gil was shocked. Totally. That’s what made his next words whispered and harsh.
“Have a care, Brandy-love. It wouldn’t take the slightest effort on my part to end my own misfortune. Right here. And right now. There’s not a soul that would blame me, either. You understand?”
He watched her eyes clear as she blinked. Then he felt her slender throat swallow against his palm.
“Yer…loving…leaves me breathless…M’Lord.” She choked the words out although it had to hurt.
Gil opened his fingers, cursing beneath his breath. He couldn’t meet her eyes, and focused instead on her nose. And then he stood, towering over the bed.
“Forgive me, Helene. I don’t know what came—”
She interrupted him. “Don’t call me that, dream man. Ever. Helene’s gone. She’s gone and buried in gay Paris, she is. But don’t fret none. We’re well-rid of her. She was a stupid twit, all airs and girlish nonsense. Not at all like Brandy. Now, that chit’s got sense. She just hasn’t got any luck, poor thing. Poor little thing.”
Gil watched her dab her eyes with the edge of the coverlet, acting so much like Mrs. Wright he almost smiled.
“Poor thing. Poor little thing…”
She was rocking and crooning and directing her words to the coverlet at her cheek.
“They should’ve silenced you the moment you arrived at the sanatorium.”
The look she gave him was one of such pure agony he could almost feel it. The weak side of her face fell.
“Do you know what happens to the quiet ones?”
Gil swallowed, disbelieving he’d just heard such a clear, aristocratic voice coming from her lips. He knew he was finally hearing the real Helene Marguerite and she sounded completely sane. He shook his head.
“Why…that’s just what Brandy suspected, Guv, so it is. Do you think you can separate that Mrs. Wright from her hanky long enough to come and visit Brandy? Tell her Brandy’s right sorry she’s been extra work. And Brandy understands work. What will the neighbors say?
“In between their arguin’ and lovin’, they run mightily to tellin’ tales, iffen ye knows what I mean. Now, run along my handsome dream man. Brandy will be just fine now. You’ll see. Brandy just wishes she’d met up with all this a bit sooner. That’s it. That’s all it is.”
She sat, shaking her head sadly as Gil stumbled backward. Once again she made him escape. Hell. He was almost running. His eyes blinked rapidly as he turned back at the door.
“You have a care now. You hear?”
She lifted her head and blew him a kiss making the gesture randy and lewd. Gil yanked open the door and fled.
***
Brandy shivered in her silken drawers, heavy muslin nightgown, and embroidered bed-jacket and wished she was back in bedlam where she belonged.
The bed’s softness made her legs and arms numb if she lay too long in one spot, the candle didn’t shed enough light on the bounty all about her eyes, and that Mrs. Wright and her battalion of maids were so kind, it was hard to bear. On reflection, she knew she’d never experienced such misery. Bone-wracking cold should be freezing her limbs into a ball instead of a feather mattress, goose down pillows, and God help her if these weren’t real, finely woven linen sheets.
She was in heaven…but it wouldn’t last. Brandy didn’t deserve such molly-coddling. She knew better than to enjoy it because it wouldn’t last. She’d be cast out. And soon. And that would be pure hell. Pure. She didn’t know if she could bear it. A body shouldn’t have to experience such luxury just to know it would end. She wondered if such bliss would be worth the pain when the good lord Gillian Tremayne tired of her game and ejected her.
Brandy looked about what she could see of the room. It might actually be worth it. She didn’t have enough experience to know how it would feel. She watched the room waver with tears she couldn’t send back before turning her face into a pillow.
Her cousin, Helen, was a fool.
***
“You know, Gill…I heard the strangest tale yesterday. Wouldn’t you know, but the listening sent me post-haste out here to discover the veracity myself.”
“I didn’t think loss of my company was enough to bring you all the way from London, Reg, but I’m grateful. You wouldn’t believe how grateful. Witherspoon? Would you see to fetching another bottle of brandy—“
Reginald Dunston, third Marquis of Dunsberry and Gil’s best friend, stared in amazement as Gil appeared to breathe his spirits in rather than drink them. He didn’t think Gil would choke to deat
h on a bit of brandy, but rose to assist. He was waved aside as Gil managed to get a breath. Reginald returned to his chair and regarded his friend for a bit before speaking again.
“Brandy would be appreciated. Especially after that long drive. I’ll thank you in advance, my good man. A swig or two from your excellent cellar would be a perfect restorative.”
Gil motioned Witherspoon off on the errand and Reg watched as he wiped at his cheeks. Nobody said anything for long moments. And then Reg spoke again.
“Very well. I’ll just say it. You certainly seem miserable enough to be married to Helen.”
“Of course I’m married! You attended the nuptials, for Christ’s sake!”
That outburst was impressive. Reg sat back with great satisfaction. Only marriage to that harlot could trigger such a vehement reaction. He’d known his wager wasn’t in jeopardy, but it was always good to check.
“I’m sorry to hear of your wedded bliss, but that does make me especially glad I came. I can’t wait to see Runyon’s face when I call for my wager.”
“What wager?”
“Well…it’s a bit of a misunderstanding, old chap, and I wouldn’t want you to take this wrong…” Reg put an index finger under his cravat and pulled on it, making it easier to breathe while Gil glowered at him. “You being on your honeymoon and all. I…well, I wouldn’t want you to take offense.”
“Blast it all, Reg. I’ve had a gullet-full of purported bliss and honeymooning. I’ve never seen you so cagey. What the hell did you wager and why should I even care about the answer?”
“It’s nothing. Really. I have my answer and didn’t even have to ask. Only marriage to Helen Bingham could make you this…happy.”
Gil choked on his swallow. Again. Reg wasn’t the only one watching with interest. Witherspoon had entered with a decanter and also waited as Gillian finished coughing. Then he spoke.
“Begging your pardon, My Lord, but the French stuff is all gone. I took it upon myself to bring you the finest Scot whiskey. I hope I haven’t overstepped.”