He rose and stretched. He really had to decide what he was going to do now. It was a pity he hadn’t discovered the purpose of the game with him, but he would, he didn’t doubt it for a single moment.
Uncle Theo was waiting for her in his study. His face was pale and his hands were shaking slightly. He wore no kindly gentle mask for her. She knew fear, and kept as much distance as she could between them. She shut the door behind her and watched him slowly rise.
“Where the devil have you been?”
She expected this, and recited in a low voice, “I awoke in the cottage, naked in the bed, quite alone. I had to know what happened so I rode to Kimberly Hall. Ryder said he’d taken me since he was my lover, and what was all the fuss about.
“I accused him of drugging me. I started to tell him I was a virgin but I didn’t because I knew he wouldn’t believe me.”
“He drugged both of us, the damnable bastard!”
At that, Sophie felt a fierce joy, despite what Ryder had done to her. It was over now, finally over.
“Damnation! How did he know? None of the others ever wondered about a thing.”
“I don’t know.” But he saw she was lying, and knowing there was no hope for it, she said quietly, “Very well. He said he knew that the breasts of the woman of that night weren’t mine. He had fondled me before, twice, seen me, felt me. That was how he knew. He said all women were different from each other.”
“That’s absurd! He knew Dahlia’s breasts weren’t yours!” he cried, his words slightly slurred because his tongue was thick with rage. “Ridiculous. You’re lying, damn you, Sophia!”
Theo Burgess stopped cold, whirled about and stared at his niece. “By God,” he said very quietly, “you told him, didn’t you? You went to him and you told him. You fell for his charm and his man’s body and you told him!”
“No! I despise all men! He is no different.”
“You hate me so you used him to get back at me. Well, it won’t work. I’ll figure something out and you’ll do as you’re told. Oh no, it’s not over, Sophia. It won’t be over until I say it will.”
“It is over. He knows. Not all of it, but he knows enough. He will do something and you can’t stop him.”
“He knows because you told him. Don’t lie to me further, you damned little bitch!”
She saw the darkening of his eyes and knew what was coming. He was on her in an instant. He struck her hard and she slammed against the doorframe. She grabbed the knob to keep herself upright, then wished she hadn’t, for he struck her again. Rage flowed through her, rage and strength she didn’t know she possessed. The pain disappeared, leaving only the rage. She whirled away from him, regaining her balance. She picked up a lamp from a table and hurled it at him. It struck his arm.
He was screaming at her, cursing her, and she knew that if he got to her again, he wouldn’t stop until she was dead.
A slave’s face appeared at the veranda window, then quickly disappeared. She ran behind his large desk, grabbing books and throwing them at him, but he kept coming, closer and closer, and his fists were large, his knuckles white with the strain, his face brutal.
She saw the letter opener. She didn’t think, she was beyond thought. She grabbed it and ran straight at him.
“I won’t let you hit me again! Never again! I hate you!” She struck as hard as she could. She felt the end of the blade slide into his shoulder with sickening ease.
She was crying, her vision blurred. She looked at the letter opener, the mother-of-pearl handle sticking obscenely out of his flesh. She watched him look from her to the letter opener. His expression was bewildered.
“You stabbed me,” he said slowly. He looked up at her again and he screamed, “I’ll take care of you now, you damned little bitch! I’ve given you everything, you and that miserable little cripple. Stab me, will you.”
He caught her arm, bent it until she knew it would snap, then released her, shoving her hard against the wall. She was trapped now in the corner of the room, and he was on her, hitting her again and again ... her ribs, her face, again and again.
Until she slumped unconscious onto her side.
When she came to, she was still lying on the floor where she’d fallen, sprawled on her side. The pain drove all efforts at coherent thought from her head. Her body clenched and twisted in on itself; she moaned softly, unable to keep the sounds to herself. At least he hadn’t killed her. Nor was her arm broken. That was something.
She lay there for several more minutes, not moving, scarcely breathing. She had learned to deal with pain but it was more difficult this time. He’d showed no restraint at all. He’d beaten her here in his study, a room that the slaves could enter at any time. Usually he was so careful, waiting until she was in her bed and coming into her room and beating her there with little to no chance of discovery.
Had he beaten her so badly because he had no intention of continuing his gentle, kindly fiction to anyone, the slaves included? Did he finally accept that it was over and he simply no longer cared? Even had she not stabbed him, she knew he still would have beaten her badly.
Perhaps he was dead. If so, she was a murderess.
Sophie tried to sit up. The pain was bad but she managed it. She couldn’t remain here. If a slave came in and saw her, the truth would be out all that much sooner, and then Jeremy would find out as well and her mind balked at that. He wouldn’t keep still. He would try to protect her. He would attack Uncle Theo. She saw both of them in a heap with their few possessions in a pile of refuse in the middle of Montego Bay. Oh, Jeremy, oh no, not her little brother. She’d been responsible for him for four years. She would be until she died.
No, she had to be wrong. Uncle Theo wouldn’t do anything immediately. No, at the very least, she’d wounded him. He would be too weak to do anything yet. But he’d sworn to her that it wasn’t over yet. He’d beaten her because he’d been so furious at Ryder Sherbrooke. No, he’d try to continue the fiction, he simply had to. Yes, she was wrong.
She drew a deep breath, gripped the edge of the desk, and pulled herself to her feet. She felt dizzy and nauseous but finally she managed to control it. She had to get out of here until she could keep from crying out in pain. She would need all her cosmetics this time to hide what he’d done to her.
She passed a mirror but didn’t look at herself. She crept out the side door of the study, holding her sides. She walked the near mile to the cottage, bent over like a frail old woman, breathing in short, jerking gasps.
It was too much. This time she had to do something. It had to end. Either she did it or Ryder Sherbrooke would. But she didn’t think she’d have time to take action. She hurt too badly. Time seemed to stop. She wondered if she would die. She thought of Ryder. He was furious and primed for revenge. What he’d done to her was just the beginning, and that gave her hope.
When she finally reached the cottage, she began to cry. She couldn’t stop crying nor did she try. The tears burned down her bruised cheeks.
She staggered into the cottage and, very slowly, walked to the bed. She eased herself down on it and let the pain flood over her in relentless waves.
Ryder wanted more answers. He was through with games. He rode to Camille Hall. Sophia wasn’t there. The house slave didn’t know where she was. The slaves he saw were acting strangely but they wouldn’t tell him anything. Uncle Theo wasn’t there either, not that Ryder was ready to face him down just yet.
Ryder paused a moment at the end of the long drive, wondering where she could have gone after she’d ridden away from Kimberly Hall. Then he knew. Without hesitation, he directed his horse to the cottage. If she wasn’t there, she’d probably ridden to Penelope Beach, her private place, she’d told him.
At first he thought he’d been wrong. There didn’t seem to be anyone about. He walked through the door and became very still.
She was lying on her side on the bed, fully dressed, her legs drawn up. She appeared to be deeply asleep.
Ryder walked
very quietly to the bed and stared down at her. He took her arm and pulled her onto her back. He sucked in his breath in disbelief. All burgeoning ideas of further punishment fled his mind; incredulity took its place, then a rush of sheer rage. He stared down at her face; he couldn’t believe it. Jesus, what had happened to her? But of course he knew. Uncle Theo had beaten her.
Even her heaviest cosmetics wouldn’t cover these bruises. He realized his hands were fisted. She moaned and he saw her hands flutter about her chest.
As gently as he could Ryder undressed her. He guessed that she was as much unconscious as she was asleep. When he got her gown and slippers and stockings off her, he was still left with her chemise.
Again he drew his knife and cut if off her. The sight that met his eyes made him go very still. From just beneath her breasts to her belly she was covered with ugly bruises. Uncle Theo had hit her hard many times. He’d shown no mercy. It came to Ryder then that the night before when he’d stripped her, it was possible that there had been remnants of bruises over her ribs. But he couldn’t be certain. The light had been dim. But now the evidence was there for all to see.
Jesus, the man was an animal. Lightly, he touched his fingertips to the worst of the bruises, just below her left breast. She moaned softly, flinging her arm out, then letting it fall. She’d come here to the cottage to hide away as would a wounded animal.
He straightened. The first thing he needed was laudanum, explanations could wait. When she awoke he could only imagine how bad her pain would be. He would have to leave her to fetch medicine. That, or he could simply wrap her up and take her back with him to Kimberly Hall.
She began to cry, low deep sobs that tore at him. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes. She was unconscious and still she was aware of the pain to such an extent that she was crying. Was she crying about all the rest of it as well? The months upon months of deception?
Ryder didn’t hesitate. He wrapped her as gently as he could in a blanket and carried her out of the cottage. It was not easy to get her and himself onto his horse’s back but he finally managed it. He prayed she would remain unconscious until he could get her back to Kimberly Hall.
When he arrived at Kimberly Hall, Emile was standing on the front steps, pulling on gloves. He started forward, eyes widening in surprise. “What the hell is this, Ryder?”
“Come with me and I’ll explain what I can. First, Emile, get some laudanum, water, strips of cotton, cream, whatever. If I’m not mistaken, her dear uncle Theo beat the hell out of her.”
“Jesus,” Emile said and hurried away.
Ryder carried her to his bedchamber. It simply didn’t occur to him to take her anywhere else.
He pulled back the mosquito netting and laid her as gently as he could upon her back. He covered her with the blanket. He didn’t want Emile to see her naked.
When Emile came back into the room, he said, “My father wants to know what’s going on. I put him off. You should tell him what you think appropriate.”
“Thank you, Emile. Just leave the things. I’ll take care of her.”
Emile hesitated. “Would you like Mary or Coco to help you?”
Ryder just shook his head. “No, I’ll see to her. I don’t suppose there’s such a magical item as real ice here?”
“Of course. Ah, you want it for her face, to reduce the swelling. I’ll fetch some immediately.” Emile quietly shut the door on his way out.
Ryder peeled the blanket off her and set to work. When he knotted the last of the strips of cotton over her ribs, having made certain they weren’t broken, he rose slowly, studying his handiwork. She was still unconscious.
He had a glass of water with laudanum ready the moment she woke up. He studied her face as he waited. Slowly he reached out and gently glided his fingertips over her brow, her nose, her jaw. He slipped his finger into her mouth and pressed against her teeth. Her teeth were still strong and nothing was broken, thank God. Ah, but the pain she would suffer.
Sophie didn’t want to wake up. She knew if she did, she wouldn’t be pleased about it. And she wasn’t. The pain hit her in vicious waves and she gasped with the force of it.
His voice came from above her. He was saying over and over that she would be all right, that he would make certain Uncle Theo never hurt her again. She was to trust him. “Trust me,” he said yet again.
She opened her eyes then and stared up at Ryder Sherbrooke.
“Trust you?” she said, shuddering with the pain those two simple words brought her.
“Yes, please, Sophia. Trust me. I’ll see that everything will be all right. Here, drink this.”
Ryder saw equal amounts of pain and wariness in her eyes. He understood, he couldn’t blame her, but he was determined. He gently lifted her head and forced all the drugged water down her throat.
He eased her back down. “Now, don’t say anything. There will be time later to find out exactly what happened. No, don’t try to talk. Just listen. Nothing seems to be broken. I’ve bound up your ribs. Your face is another matter. I’m going to wrap ice in a cloth and cover your eyes with it. Hopefully the cold will keep the swelling down, all right? If you feel something very cold, don’t be alarmed. Now, just hold still.”
Her eyes were closed when a light knock came on the door. It was Emile and he was carrying cloths and a bucket of ice chips.
“Thank you,” Ryder said. “If Theo Burgess shows up here, come and get me.”
Once alone with her again, Ryder wrapped the ice in the cloths and laid them over her eyes and across her face. She flinched and he said quietly, “Just hold still, Sophia. It will numb your face and the pain will lessen. Also, I gave you laudanum. Don’t worry, please.”
She tried to force the words from her mouth. “Jeremy,” she said, but knew it was but a whisper of sound in her mind. She felt the laudanum pulling at her and tried one more time. “Jeremy.”
Ryder’s face was very close to hers. He made out her brother’s name. He felt a frisson of alarm. If Uncle Theo had beaten her so badly, what would he do to the boy?
“Uncle Theo, I stabbed him. He won’t come here, at least not today.”
“You what?”
“I ...” Her head lolled to the side.
Ryder didn’t hesitate. He found Emile, who was pacing in the front entrance hall downstairs. “Have Coco stay close to her. The laudanum I gave her put her to sleep. Tell James not to allow anyone from Camille Hall in here. No one. As for your father, Jesus, tell him whatever you think best.”
Emile nodded and was gone in an instant. Ryder took his place pacing. When Emile returned, he said, “Now what?”
“You, my friend, you and I are going to beard the lion in his den. Hopefully the damned lion isn’t dead. I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”
Sophie gritted her teeth. The pain kept coming, kept pounding through her, surging and swelling until she thought she couldn’t bear it. Then it would lessen, retreating and flattening as a wave receding from the shore, but she knew it would return again and again and there was nothing she could do about it. It wouldn’t ever stop, not ever. She was trapped in it, helpless, and completely alone. She’d failed and now she was paying with this ghastly pain. There was nothing she could do to help anyone.
“Please don’t cry, Sophie, please. Here, drink some water. Ryder said you’d probably be really thirsty.”
She sipped the water, nearly choking. Then she realized that it was Jeremy who was here with her. Jeremy, her little brother. She raised a hand and pulled away the cloth from over her eyes. She could open her eyes without too much effort. The swelling had gone down. She saw Jeremy was standing there beside her, worry and fear etched deeply into that beloved face.
“I’m all right, Jeremy,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. I probably look much worse than I really am.”
“Shush,” Jeremy said. “Ryder said you’d try to talk to me, and he said I was to tell you to be quiet. He said I could tell you what was happening. All right?”
“You are to lie very still. Ryder said that you’ll be just fine. He said nothing was broken, but your ribs and your face are badly bruised. He said to be very still, Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“Uncle Theo changed,” Jeremy said slowly, and he was frowning as he said it. He didn’t understand, that was clear to her, but she didn’t say anything, merely waited for him to continue. “He saw me come into the house with Thomas and he started yelling. He was holding his shoulder and I saw blood seeping through his fingers. He screamed at me that he was through with the two of us.”
“He didn’t hit you, did he?”
“Oh no. He just told Thomas to lock me in my bedchamber. He said he’d take care of me later. He didn’t hurt me like he did you. But he was very angry and he was calling you a liar and a slut and a whore and other words I didn’t understand. He said I was nothing but a crippled little bastard and he’d see to it that I never, ever inherited Camille Hall or got control of our home in Fowey. He said he’d see you in hell where you belonged.”
Oh God, Sophie thought, wishing she could reach out and fold Jeremy in her arms. Yet he sounded very calm, detached, as he spoke, and that frightened her even more.
“I was going to climb down the trellis off my balcony when the door burst open and Ryder came in. He said we were leaving. He said you were here and he was bringing me to you. He said everything would be all right.”
“Uncle Theo?”
“He wasn’t there. I guess he went off with Thomas to see to his shoulder. Did you hit him, Sophie?”
“Yes, I stabbed him with a letter opener.”
He seemed to take her bald words quite in stride. “I was afraid, Sophie,” Jeremy said after a moment. “I was afraid that he would send in Thomas with his whip and he would whip me like he does the slaves. And I didn’t know where you were or what he’d done to you.”
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