Salvation

by Smith, Carla Susan

  Giving Grace a reassuring smile, Catherine put her finger to her lips. “We’ll say no more about it,” she whispered softly as the sound of a key turning in the lock made them turn their heads toward the door.

  Phillip entered, smiling when he saw the empty dish on the tray. “Much better,” he said. “You may take it away, Grace.”

  She scurried to do his bidding, her eyes darting nervously to Catherine as she picked up the tray. Giving Phillip as wide a berth as possible, she headed out of the room. Once Grace was safely away, Catherine stood by the side of the bed and looked at her cousin. Her expression was calm and her eyes clear, and she showed no sign of the fear that Phillip craved. He in turn became thoughtful as he looked at her. His goal was to have her cowering before him in abject terror but, he reasoned with himself, perhaps this show of defiance was not such a bad thing. It would make the effort of breaking her that much more rewarding. The result so much sweeter.

  The door opened and two men came into the room. Presumably these were the two new arrivals Grace had told her about. She was not surprised by the hip bath. They were in use at both the townhouse and Oakhaven, but she was surprised Phillip had one. Vaguely she recalled Lettie mentioning something about the desire to bathe in private being one of her husband’s peculiarities. It was a shame she had not thought to mention his other ‘peculiarities.’ Forcing herself to show no emotion, she watched as the bath was deposited in the middle of the room.

  The men’s rough, unkempt appearance suggested whatever talents they possessed were probably better suited for more reprehensible undertakings. They spoke not a word as they busied themselves with buckets of water which were dutifully poured into the bath. Finally, their task complete, they stood on either side of the door, awaiting further instructions. Phillip moved toward Catherine.

  “I am quite distressed by your…disarray.” He gestured to her appearance with a wave of his hand. “It would give me great pleasure to have you bathed and perfumed. These gentlemen”—the word rolled off Phillip’s tongue with heavy sarcasm, and the glance Catherine gave both men told her the mockery was meant for her—“are to ensure that once released from your restraint, you do not attempt anything foolish. Such as attacking me.”

  Leaning over her, he took a small key from his vest pocket and unlocked the heavy iron manacle, opening the two hinged halves and enabling her to slip her hand free. She rubbed her wrist gingerly, grimacing at the ugly red welt that had formed. The protective strip of petticoat had been taken along with her hair.

  Settling himself comfortably in a chair, Phillip gestured toward the hip bath. “If you don’t mind, my dear.”

  Holding her wrist, Catherine moved around the side of the bed and walked over to the waiting water. In a show of willful insolence she stepped directly into the bath, sitting down in a gold cloud as the skirt of her gown billowed up around her. Phillip’s face turned almost purple with fury as he struggled to bring himself back under some measure of control. Then he gestured to the two men.

  “Strip her,” he ordered, spitting out his command between clenched teeth.

  Catherine was grabbed roughly by her upper arms and hoisted her to her feet. Tearing at the lacings of her bodice, the men quickly ripped the beautiful gown from her body, leaving her clad in her petticoats and chemise. They paused, wisely looking to Phillip for direction. “All of it,” he instructed in a cold voice.

  Though eager to follow Phillip’s command, both men relished the opportunity to fondle her body with their rough, calloused hands. They took their time, but when they saw her back, Catherine felt them hesitate. She couldn’t tell if the sharp hiss of breath she heard was in admiration or disapproval at the scars she bore. Once she was completely naked, and her clothing piled in a sodden mess on the floor, Phillip got up from his seat and came toward her. Their chore complete, the rough men resumed their place by the door. The look on each man’s face was enough to suggest that Phillip had promised them a great reward for their part in his obscene, perverted scheme.

  Slowly Phillip circled her, stopping to admire his previous handiwork. He clucked his tongue loudly. “I must be losing my touch. I really would have expected more show for my previous efforts, although”—he reached out and traced a finger down the long ridge of mutilated skin before declaring arrogantly—“this signature of mine is quite magnificent.”

  Fear and revulsion at Phillip’s touch made gooseflesh rise on Catherine’s body. She sat in the water and began lathering herself with the scented soap. If she could have scrubbed the skin from her bones, she would have gladly done so, but Phillip, observing the furious movement of her hands over her skin, ordered her to stop. She scowled, her mouth set in a tight line.

  “Think of Grace,” he warned.

  With one fluid motion Catherine stepped out of the hip bath, and stood dripping water. She took the towel Phillip handed her, and wrapped it around herself. The hip bath was now considerably heavier, and the two men grunted as they carried it from the room, sloshing a good amount of water over the sides as they did so.

  “Perfume and prepare yourself,” Phillip told her, “and make sure you wear this for me.” He picked up a handful of sheer material that had been draped across the back of the chair where he had been sitting. “I shall return shortly.”

  Tremors racked her body as Catherine sat before the dressing table. She held out her arms, gripping the edge of the polished wood, waiting for the spasms to pass. She was surprised Phillip had not cuffed her with the manacle, but then he had Grace to use against her if she did not cooperate, and she was certain the two thuggish henchmen would not be far away. A shiver of loathing ran through her as she recalled the feel of their hands pawing at her flesh. Phillip would not make the same mistake twice. Escaping would not be such an easy matter a second time.

  In the mirror she looked at the tattered remnants of her ball gown. It had been a lovely dress, and she had felt beautiful wearing it. Tears filled her eyes as she saw Rian’s face swimming in front of her. Where was he? Desperately she wondered how long she would be able to keep Phillip at arm’s length, because in her heart she knew Rian was searching for her. And God help Phillip when he found her.

  Chapter 25

  The carriage came to a halt at the entrance to a secluded square where half a dozen elegant houses sat back from the street. The destination took Rian by surprise. Hearing John Fletcher calmly discuss the manner of man his wife had been turned over to, Rian had expected the surroundings would be as filthy as the man’s intentions. But this was no squalid hovel.

  It had been almost impossible for him to sit and listen to Isabel’s brother speak without wanting to reach out and crush the breath from him with his bare hands. Each word that fell from John Fletcher’s lips was another drop of poison turning his world a little darker. Rage burned through him, making him curl his hand into a fist. If such knowledge was having this effect on him, how much worse had it been for Catherine, experiencing it firsthand?

  Only Liam’s words, falling like a cool spray of water, had kept his temper in check.

  “Remember, he knows where Catherine is,” Liam had cautioned though his tone was urgent and fierce. “Getting her back safely is the only important thing.”

  The carriage came to a stop. John Fletcher leaned forward and pointed out the house where Phillip Davenport lived. “He brought her to his home?” Rian asked skeptically.

  “Of course, why would he not?” John answered. “He believes he is safe. The only people who know he has your wife are as guilty as he. Betraying him would mean revealing their own involvement.” The matter-of-fact manner in which the explanation was given grated on Rian’s already taut nerves. Leaning forward, John opened the carriage door. “I trust we will never see each other again,” he said, pushing the door with his foot until it swung open.

  “There’s just one final thing I ought to mention.” Rian paused, the muscle in his
jaw working furiously. Liam would have recognized the warning sign that said his brother’s temper, while not at the exploding point of uncontrollable fury, had nevertheless reached the point where release of some kind was needed. John Fletcher, for the first time in his life concerned with another’s safety, had no idea the jeopardy his words had put him in.

  “Yes, what is it?” he asked irritably, oblivious to the danger sitting across from him.

  With lightning fast reflexes Rian reached out, and slammed him against the back of the seat. His fingers closed around John Fletcher’s throat, threatening to crush his windpipe. “Be assured that if I ever see you again, I will snap your neck and throw you in the gutter to rot like the filth you are,” Rian snarled, flexing his fingers. He squeezed, and then shook the helpless man, much like a terrier with a rat. “Do I make myself clear?”

  The frantic, panicked look in John Fletcher’s eyes was all the answer Rian needed. Releasing his hold, he climbed out of the carriage and walked quickly away. He didn’t look back, but waited instead for the sound of fading hooves to tell him Isabel’s man was gone. Turning his attention to the other houses in the square, he noted the similarity of architecture. All were comparably proportioned, and in more than one he saw a few illuminated windows. It was not so very late, but the day was beginning to wane, and soon the last hour of the afternoon would give way to twilight.

  The Davenport house was cold and uninviting, with no windows offering a warm glow. It seemed to Rian an air of abandonment lingered over the house, and in a strange way it reminded him of his first impression of The Hall. But with Catherine’s home he had felt a residue of happiness. This house, despite the elegant brick and decorative ironwork, spoke of nothing but darkness and sorrow. He proceeded with caution, not knowing what might lie in wait for him. Catherine was so close yet still so far away, assuming Isabel’s brother had not lied to him.

  Isabel’s brother!

  Rian found it difficult to believe, but Liam was convinced of the truth and that was the only confirmation he needed. As he stared at the solid front door a frown wrinkled his brow. Had John Fletcher lied to him? With a decisive grunt, Rian knew he had not. Isabel meant too much to him. Any deceit on his part would put her safety at risk, something Rian knew her brother was not prepared to do. Else why would he have come to them in the first place?

  But now he put all thoughts of Isabel Howard and John Fletcher out of his mind, so he could focus on the house and its surroundings. He kept to the lengthening shadows, using them to hide his movements should one of the square’s occupants happen to glance out of a window. It did not occur to him that he might not be the only watcher in the square. Skirting the perimeter of the Davenport house, Rian made his way around the back, and then nimbly climbed over the brick wall and dropped soundlessly into the garden on the other side. Undetected, he made his way toward the rear of the house, hoping to gain access through the scullery or washroom.

  He listened for signs of movement, and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, advanced to the sturdy looking door that admitted entrance to the lower level of the house. Convinced it would be an exercise in futility and the door would be locked against him, Rian turned the handle anyway. He was surprised when it moved easily in his hand, swung open and revealed the room beyond. He never heard the sound of footsteps behind him, but he felt the whisper of air next to his ear just before an arm came crashing down. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours he took the full brunt of a leather blackjack. This time it struck him above the temple.

  With a grunt, the man caught Rian, turned and hoisted him over one shoulder. After kicking the door fully open, he carried Rian through the kitchen, past the startled cook and scullery maid to the main floor of the house, where he deposited his burden at the feet of his employer. Phillip’s faith in Isabel’s ability to take care of Catherine’s newly acquired husband was nonexistent. It now appeared his intuition had been right. Kneeling next to the prostrate body, he grabbed a fistful of Rian’s long hair, lifted his head and looked at the chiseled features.

  “How wonderfully predictable,” Phillip said, barely able to contain himself before dropping Rian’s head back to the floor. He turned to the man waiting in the doorway. “Secure him, and then bring him to the room,” he instructed.

  Phillip had often wondered how it would feel to have another watch as he satisfied himself, but his potential audience was limited and, for the most part, as depraved as he. Having Catherine’s husband watch as he took her again and again was going to be a thrill beyond his wildest imaginings. Just the idea was making him hard.

  * * * *

  Catherine sat like a statue in front of the dressing table mirror. Wrapped in the filmy silk robe Phillip had told her to put on, she tied the sash firmly around her small waist. She could do nothing but rub her shorn head dry. With an odd prick of feminine vanity she wondered if Phillip might allow her some scissors so she could tidy up the appalling job he had done of cutting her hair.

  “Do you really suppose he’s going to allow anything sharp to fall into your hands? You might get ideas about cutting something else,” her reflection admonished.

  The perfume bottles and pots of powder and rouge remained untouched. She was not going to decorate herself for his pleasure. Whatever Phillip had planned would test her sanity as much as her physical stamina, but what happened to her mattered not. The child was the tool he would use as coercion, and Catherine would do whatever he asked of her if it would spare Grace, even though, deep in her heart, she knew it might not be enough.

  Catherine would have to strike while she still possessed the strength and mental acuity to do so, and before Phillip was able to restrain her. She couldn’t allow him to break her physically, which meant she had to be ready to seize her moment. And as certain as she was that the chance would come, she was equally positive it would only happen once. Her cousin would not make the same mistake twice.

  Taking advantage of the quiet, Catherine thought back to happier times in her life. Moments from her childhood when her mother was still alive, and her father was full of joy. She recalled family picnics on days filled with the warmth of the summer sun, the thrill of her first pony ride, the sweetness that flooded her mouth from strawberries picked with Ned long before he was ever called old.

  And then her thoughts turned to Rian, and an unexpected gratitude flowed through her. She was grateful to know what it was to love, and be loved in return, by a man who filled her life with happiness in ways she could never have imagined. He gave her life meaning, a sense of purpose that resulted in a deep and abiding contentment. Accepting her completely for who she was, Rian was more than a husband. He was an adoring lover who delighted in showing her how to give and receive pleasure. A mentor encouraging her to fulfill her potential. A confidant she could share her deepest secrets with. He was all these things and so much more. He was her friend, and her soul mate.

  Catherine closed her eyes so she could imagine him standing before her. She pictured the sun highlighting the strands of copper in his dark hair, the crinkles that appeared at the corner of each eye whenever something amused him, the flash of his even white teeth as he laughed out loud. Her days with him were a never-ending adventure of discovery, overflowing with plans for their future. She had no idea what quality she possessed to make him love her with such passion, but she was thankful for whatever it was that bound him to her, and her to him. Visions of him making love to her began to fill her mind, but she quickly shut them away. She would not allow such intimacies in this room, this house. No matter how much she craved the comfort of such moments. She forced herself to lock Rian away in a secret place in her heart.

  Madness, Catherine concluded, was the only explanation for Phillip’s need to hurt her so terribly. Inflicting pain on another living being for no reason other than that he could was beyond her comprehension. Carefully she thought back to everything that had happened from the mo
ment she’d first set foot inside this house. Examining every gesture she had made at that time, every word she had spoken, Catherine tried to determine when or how her actions had offended her cousin. There had to be a reason for his behavior, but if it existed, it was too complicated for her to grasp.

  A small gasp of pain made Catherine whirl around to see Phillip standing behind her with Grace at his side. His fingers were digging into her thin shoulder, and it had been her voice that had startled Catherine.

  “Just a precaution if you will, my dear,” Phillip told her as he relaxed his hold. “While a certain measure of resistance on your part will be delightful, I need to make sure that you remember the consequences should you go too far.”

  Catherine watched as Phillip directed Grace to a seat across the room. Already revolted, she found her disgust for him descending to a new level of abhorrence that made her skin crawl. Wanting another to bear witness to whatever sexual depravity his foul mind conjured up was one thing, but having that witness be a child was the worst type of corruption. Phillip wanted Grace to see Catherine’s fall into total degradation, to witness her complete and utter humiliation at his hand. And it would be complete, for Catherine would not risk any physical harm being inflicted on Grace as a result of her own insubordination.

  “Let the child go, Phillip, I beg of you. She does not need to see this,” Catherine pleaded.

  Phillip looked at her in surprise. He had expected her to beg, but not on behalf of a street urchin she barely knew. “Oh, you are quite mistaken, my dear. It will serve as a valuable lesson for her.”

  “She’s a child. What lesson is to be learned?”

  “Your absolute submission at my hands will reinforce the worth of her own life.” The smiled he gave was repulsive. “Which is, of course, absolutely nothing.”

  Catherine hung her head as Phillip walked past her, his fingers idly stroking the smooth skin of her shoulder through the light fabric of the robe she wore. She shuddered, unable to curtail her physical reaction to his touch, and so missed seeing the cruel gleam in his eyes. He walked over to the bed where her shackle lay on the pillow and picked it up, playing with the length of chain that pooled on the covers. Hearing the now familiar clink of iron, Catherine got to her feet. With one hand holding her robe closed, she held out the other to be secured by the metal restraint.