“Mercy, please,” Victor said, grabbing her shoulders and whirling her around to face him. “You have to listen to me. Give me a chance to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” she said, struggling to break free. “You’re a disgusting pig! You pretended to care about me to get what you wanted. Well, it didn’t work. Oh, how you must’ve squirmed, wondering when the potion would wear off.”
She laughed and laughed until she fell against his chest. His musky scent filled her nostrils, and she clung to his arms. The strong arms that had cradled her last night and made her feel cherished and safe.
“It was all a filthy lie,” she cried, pounding her fist on his chest. “Last week, last night, it was all a lie, you bastard!”
He clasped her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his gaze. “Don’t say that, Mercy mine. It wasn’t a lie. Look at me and tell me last night wasn’t real for you, because it was real for me.”
His words were like a knife to the heart. “I’m not yours, Victor. I’ll never be yours.”
“Oh, but you are. Last night was magical,” he rasped, pressing his forehead to hers. “Every single minute. You’re carrying my child. Please, give me a chance, Mercy. Give us a chance. We can be happy together if you let us.”
His words rang with sincerity . . . except . . . something niggled under her skin. Was he weaving another web of lies to get that which he desired most? Damnation, she could not think clearly with him so close. “Let me go. I need space.”
He dropped his arms and stepped back, pinning her with pleading eyes.
Taking a deep breath, she replayed in her mind every precious moment they’d spent together. Victor had treated her with the utmost respect from the minute he proposed marriage until the minute her world came crashing down. He even refused to steal her virginity . . . until last night. Why had he finally caved to her wishes to make love after a week of denying her request?
Something wasn’t right.
She shook her head again, focusing on the words he’d said moments before. “‘You’re carrying my child.’ Why would you say that?”
“We made love last night,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes. “When a man and woman join, a babe is often the result. You could be pregnant.”
“That’s not what you said.” He’d spoken with conviction, after a single night of lovemaking. It was possible but by no means certain. Unless . . .
“Tell me you didn’t use the fertility serum.” Wrapping her arms around her waist, she hugged herself as she stared into his guilt-ridden face. “You used it last night? In the wine? I prayed for a son! Oh, please, no. What have you done?”
Turning, she bolted to the edge of the forest and dry-heaved. A cold sweat broke out over her neck, and waves of dizziness assailed her.
“Dominick did it without my knowledge,” Victor said, rubbing her back. “We can get through this together. Please, trust me.”
“Trust you?” she shouted. “You killed my mother, abducted me from my home, threatened my aunt and uncle if I refused to help you, and drugged me with my own love potion. And when that scheme fell through, your friend laced my wine with a fertility drug so you could rape me!”
His face turned ashen, and he snatched her wrist. “Dammit, I know you’re upset, but don’t drag us through the gutter. What happened between us last night wasn’t rape, and you know it.”
She ripped her wrist from his hold and stalked in the direction of the castle. “I know nothing,” she said over her shoulder, “except that I will never trust you again.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A howl of frustration hurled out of Victor as he stared after Mercy. What the fuck had just happened? Everything was going swimmingly this morning, until she’d held those damned stones! This wasn’t at all what he had imagined would happen when she woke from the potion’s effects.
Dammit. He was not done speaking with her on the matter. This was not his fault. He hadn’t drugged her with the fertility serum, and he certainly hadn’t raped her! His blood still boiled under her accusation. Maybe Dominick was right and he’d been a fool to believe she was capable of forgiving him, that she’d grown to care for him. But it had felt so real. It was real, dammit. She was simply hurting. Once the reality of their situation sank in, she would do what was right for the baby, for them.
Or would she? He couldn’t wait to find out. This was too important. He charged after her but came to an abrupt halt when Hatchet caught one of his arms.
“Let it go for now, mate,” his friend said, grabbing Victor’s other arm, locking him in place. Victor struggled to break free, but Hatchet tightened his hold and said, “She needs to process everything. That’s serious shit between the two of you. There is nothing you can say or do that’ll break through her barriers, so back off, man.”
As much as Victor wanted to tell his friend to go to Hell, he didn’t, because Hatchet had the right of it.
The progress he’d made with Mercy over the course of the last week had gone astray in a matter of minutes. Goddammit, but it hurt. Every rational part of his brain had suggested she would be furious when she learned he had used the fertility potion, yet a small part of his heart had hoped she might remember what it felt like to lie in his arms and love him.
“All right, let go of me,” he grumbled.
Hatchet stepped back and lifted his hands in the air, offering him space. “I’m on your side. Always have been, always will be. But you have guilt plastered on your face, and I’m willing to tell you like it is if you confess your sins. No bullshit and no mincing words. You want to talk and get it off your chest?”
Victor sighed and ran his hands through his air. He could always count on his friend to share his candid opinion. The man didn’t bother with parlor talk, and he didn’t give a shit about what others thought of him.
“Hell, yes, I do,” Victor said, tossing his jacket aside and unbuttoning his shirt sleeves. The pent-up energy vibrating through his body was screaming to be let out. He’d been dealt one shitty blow after another for the last month, and he was damned tired of it. Nothing would ease his tension better than a round with Hatchet. “Are you game for a bout of boxing while we’re at it?”
Hatchet laughed as he shrugged out of his coat. “You want a piece of this, boy? That’s fine. But I’m not going to go easy on you because you got your heart trampled on.”
“Son of a bitch,” Victor said, curling his hands into fists. “You’re going to pay with your front teeth for that one.”
A slow grin lifted Hatchet’s lips, and he jabbed once with his left hand. Victor leaned back, avoiding an iron fist to the chin by an inch. Blood thrummed through his veins, and he cut low and hard at Hatchet’s stomach. But the old man was damned nimble and sidestepped before Victor could make contact. Being ten years Victor’s senior, Hatchet should’ve been panting by now, but the bastard wasn’t.
Heat radiated from Victor’s body with every punch . . . quick step . . . duck of his head. He felt alive, and so damned glad to focus on nothing more than the task of saving his own ass from a beating. But after five minutes of harmless jabs and a few upper cuts, he was ready to take Hatchet down. He wound up his right fist and put his whole weight into landing his next punch, but he found his fist deflected and his arm wrapped behind his back in a painful hold seconds later.
“Get ahold of yourself,” Hatchet growled in his ear, shaking him hard once. “Can’t you hear your sister shouting after you?”
Victor stopped struggling and glanced up. Cora sprinted across the lawn, shouting his name. He shared a questioning glance with Hatchet before he retrieved his jacket and jogged toward her.
“Victor, come quickly,” she said, panting. She bent with her hands on her knees. “Mimi is dead! Mother is hysterical, Father has his hands full with her, and the other servants are useless. Please come.”
Sweat poured out of Victor’s pores, though whether it was a result of his sparring with Hatchet or the dreadful news, he
could not say for sure. Mimi was dead? That couldn’t be. He’d seen her after breakfast that morning, in the kitchen, where he’d snatched the last of her biscuits. What in the dickens had happened?
“Hatchet?” he barked.
His friend shrugged into his coat and nodded. “I’m hard on your heels.”
Victor clamped his hand around Cora’s arm and pushed her in the direction of the castle. “Tell me everything,” he said, careful to match the length of his strides with hers. “I cannot believe it. She looked healthy as a horse when I saw her this morning.”
“Well, it isn’t entirely clear. Mary found the poor woman at the bottom of the stairs, her neck twisted at an odd angle. Oh, those glassy eyes. I’ll not be able to sleep for a fortnight without seeing her horrible, blank stare.”
Victor’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at his sister. “And there wasn’t a single witness? She must’ve shrieked and made a terrible racket as she fell.”
She shook her head. “At least not that anyone is willing to admit. I don’t understand it. Mrs. Duncan has worked here the whole of her life. She knows that castle better than anyone, except perhaps our father. It doesn’t make sense that she would fall.”
“No, indeed,” he said, rubbing his forehead.
“The servants are up in arms,” she continued, increasing their pace. “Saying it is the ghost of Elizabeth Thorne come back to haunt us. Her portrait fell from its perch at the head of the stairs, and now the housekeeper is dead. Servants and their silly superstitions. They blame it on Mercy for discovering the missing stone of Freya.” She lowered her voice. “I heard one of the maids say it’s unnatural the way your fiancée was able to locate the stone. They’ve remained hidden for centuries, and Mercy is here the whole of two days, and already she has discovered one of them.”
“Both of them,” he corrected. “We found the second stone this morning in Vivian’s coffin, as Mercy predicted.”
Cora shuddered and squeezed his arm. “What say you?”
He snorted and shook his head. “Utter nonsense, Cora. Please tell me you do not believe a single word.”
“Of course not,” she said, nibbling on her lip. “Though I must confess it does seem odd that Mercy found the stones with ease. But the speculation about Elizabeth”—she waved her hand in the air—“that is rubbish, nothing more than superstitious rantings.”
Well, thank goodness they could agree on that. Inside, they were greeted by a veritable circus. His mother laid weeping on the floor beside Mimi, while his father tugged gently on her shoulders, trying to convince her to accompany him to the parlor. Servants milled about, staring and talking but generally not offering any real assistance, as Dominick and Eveline attempted to herd them into the kitchen and away from the scene.
It struck him that Milton was nowhere to be found. Where was the man when you needed him? He was the most levelheaded of all the servants; Victor would appreciate his assistance at the moment.
As it was, he turned to Cora. “Mother will listen to you more than she will Father, so get her out of here. She can wait in the parlor while someone rides into town to get the constable. Has anyone notified the police yet?”
“My husband rode out at the same time that I ran in search of you. With any luck, they should return within the hour,” she said, kissing Victor’s cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here. I knew you would bring order to this chaos. Let me see to Mother.”
“We need to clear this area,” Hatchet said, surveying a group of servants that lingered in a corner of the foyer.
Victor nodded his agreement. “But the authorities will want to speak with anyone who was within earshot of the accident. Can you work with Dominick to identify those who were near the scene at the time? Put them in the library for now.” Hatchet began to walk away, but Victor grabbed hold of his arm. He lowered his voice. “Ask Eveline to find Mercy and keep her company. I don’t want her to be alone. Perhaps it’s best if they remain abovestairs until we have the situation under control.”
“Understood,” Hatchet said then strode away.
With the various tasks delegated to his family and friends, Victor surveyed the scene one more time. Other than his mother, who Cora managed to convince to vacate to the parlor, no one seemed inclined to linger within a ten-foot radius of Mrs. Duncan’s prone form. He truly didn’t wish to examine her body any closer but felt compelled to do so. She’d been a kind woman and a proficient housekeeper who would be sorely missed.
The police would arrive soon and conduct a full investigation, providing a report afterward. But Victor could not fathom what had caused the accident that led to her unfortunate death, and he did not entirely trust the investigative methods of the police to identify the root cause.
He inhaled sharply and stiffened his spine before kneeling beside her body. She had landed on her back, and a small pool of blood had gathered where her head met the wood floor. Her neck was contorted at a disturbing angle, as were most of her limbs.
“Do you see anything out of the usual?” Dominick asked, kneeling beside him. “Besides the obvious, that is.”
Victor scowled at his friend, but the death of a trusted servant had a way of putting things into perspective. He may hate Dominick in this moment, but he still respected his friend and welcomed his assistance.
He perused the housekeeper’s black uniform and sturdy shoes, noting nothing of interest. She wore the same broach at her collar that he remembered when he was a lad. Her brown hair, streaked through with gray, rested atop her head, except for a few tendrils that had strayed near the bottom.
Victor began to shake his head but then paused and leaned forward to inspect Mimi’s neck, where a reddish-brown smudge peeked out from behind one of the stray pieces of hair.
“That looks curiously like a thumbprint,” he said, glancing at Dominick. “What do you make of it?”
His friend leaned in and sniffed the area, careful not to touch the body. “It has an earthy smell, almost like hay or grass. Be sure to point it out to the police. I don’t like the look of it, truth be told.”
“Nor I,” Victor said, standing. The mark was located in the exact position one might find a thumbprint if one were to grasp Mimi by the neck and shove her down the stairs. Quite disturbing, to say the least. “Might I suggest you keep Eveline close by your side during your stay? Or at least in the near term, while we await the results of the investigation.”
“Without a doubt,” Dominick said, his countenance grim.
Victor rubbed his eyes and looked to the top of the stairs in the direction of Mercy’s chamber. He wanted to keep her close by his side as well, though she would not welcome his company. Hatchet would have to keep her within his sights until they were back on speaking terms. Because, whether she liked it or not, he would ensure that she was protected, especially until they determined whether there was someone—or something—they all required protection from. In the meanwhile, he needed to speak with his parents.
Milton burst through the front door and came to a stop directly beside Victor. He gaped at Mrs. Duncan’s body, making the sign of the cross. “So the news is true? I don’t understand. Mrs. Duncan was in excellent health. I cannot believe she is dead. Lord help us all, this place cannot function without her!”
In the wake of the tragic event, it felt wrong to consider such banal concerns. Mrs. Duncan may have been the housekeeper, but she was, first and foremost, a treasured wife to Mr. Duncan, as well as a dear friend. Still, Milton’s cold observation rang true. Victor rubbed his eyes and sighed, turning to Dominick.
“Will you stay here until the police arrive? I must speak with my parents. I’m afraid the task of interviewing and hiring a new housekeeper will fall to me. My mother is in no state of mind to carry out the duty, and my father is useless when it comes to such things.”
Dominick lifted an eyebrow. “What of your sister?”
“She is busy making plans for my nephew’s christening,” he said with the ghost of a smi
le. “And I must agree with Milton; this place cannot function without a housekeeper.”
His friend wouldn’t know the first thing about hiring staff, but Victor was well versed in the skills a reliable housekeeper ought to possess. After tending to Dominick in the capacity of valet at Devil’s Cove Manor for the past several months, he’d become closely acquainted with the staff and each of their general duties. Besides, the task would give him something to do over the course of the next few days while he attempted to give Mercy space before the next full moon, praying all the while that she would find it in her heart to forgive him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“How long do you plan to punish Victor?”
Mercy stared into her teacup, contemplating her answer to Eveline’s question. The gentle crackle and pop of the fire in her bedroom hearth filled the silence between them. It had been a little more than a week since she’d discovered the second amber stone of Freya and Victor’s treachery.
Her blood still boiled every time she thought about the way he’d manipulated her. And yet, in the quiet of her bed each night, she longed to feel his arms cradling her close, taste the warm caress of his lips, and laugh at his teasing ways. Had it all been a lie, or was there some kernel of truth hidden in the small space of time they’d enjoyed in each other’s company?
Despite everything that had happened, she wanted to believe their one night together was truly memorable for both of them. Elizabeth’s love potion suppressed bad feelings to emphasize the good ones. Everything Mercy had felt was real, and those feelings belonged to her. Victor made her laugh with carefree abandon, and yet he had also shared some of his darkest moments with her, spoken from deep within his heart.
His actions and words over the past week had felt sincere, especially when he’d pressed his forehead to hers outside the chapel and begged her to listen to his pleas. Last night was magical. Every single minute. You’re carrying my child. Give us a chance. We can be happy together if you let us.
Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2) Page 19