by Cheryl Holt
"Couldn't let such a reprobate be the earl," Edith muttered. "It would be a sin."
"What do you mean? You couldn't let him be earl?"
"Why ... the papers. The hidden papers."
"Edith, are you telling me that you're the one who came forward? Are you the one who told what had happened to me and Jack?"
She grinned a cunning grin that could have indicated anything, but Jamie was beginning to unravel how her strange mind worked.
"Your father was an asshole, Jamie Merrick."
"Edith! Such language!" He laughed and laughed.
"I never liked the man."
"Neither did I, and I never met him. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be married to him." "It was difficult."
Which had to be putting it mildly. He studied her, pondering her peculiar ways. Was her curious behavior simply a wall she'd erected to protect herself? Had she survived by keeping a mental barrier between herself and her cruel family?
"With me installed as earl, he's probably rolling in his grave."
"He probably is."
She appeared dreamy, as if she was merrily picturing her deceased husband's fury in the afterlife. "Thank you," Jamie murmured. "For what?" Her blank look returned. "You know for what. I'm grateful. I'll always take
care of you, Edith. I'll make sure you're safe and that there's someone to watch over you."
"The Lord's will be done."
It sounded as if it had been the Lord's will, with a little help from a demented woman. Who would have thought?
The discovery certainly sucked the wind from Jamie's sails. He'd been strutting around London for months, insulting his father's peers, gambling, and cheating them out of their money and property. Though Jamie couldn't describe why, he'd been driven to determine who had revealed the secret that had brought him to England. Stupidly, he'd hoped that by inflicting himself on them, he'd learn what he was dying to know.
The lawyers claimed the papers had been delivered to their office anonymously, but Jamie had been positive that if he identified the informant he'd find the answers he sought. Absurdly, he'd yearned to ascertain that somebody had been worried about him, but evidently, it had been naught more than a senile woman's quest for revenge.
He sighed, dismayed at realizing how fruitless it had all been.
The longer he'd stayed in the city, the more lonely he was, and it was increasingly obvious that he'd made all the wrong choices. Anne and his brother—the only two people with whom he'd formed any attachment— had been at Gladstone, but having repudiated them, Jamie was too proud to admit his mistake and go back.
Even when Anne had come to London and tried to lure him home, he'd refused to grab for what he truly wanted. He'd convinced himself that he didn't need the ties she offered, but after spending the summer with her, he'd changed. He hated to be so alone, hated to acknowledge that there was no one in the world—save for Jack—who cared if he drew another breath.
And now, he'd even pushed Jack to his limit. Jamie had only rambling, bewildered Edith Merrick for company. No one else could stand him, which was a sorry state of affairs.
He was such a fool!
Why was he in London? Why continue to remain with nothing to show for himself but a shrinking bank account and a constant hangover? He was no better than Percy—who was now ensconced at Gladstone because Jamie was too lazy to keep him away.
Perhaps Edith wasn't the crazy one.
Needing solitude to fret and stew, Jamie spun to flee, when Edith suddenly, lucidly, nagged, "Don't you ever wonder how your wife is doing?"
"I think about her occasionally."
"I can't believe you left her with Percy and Ophelia."
Jamie glared over at her. "What are you trying to say, Edith?"
"They don't like you, so they don't like her."
"Would they harm her?"
"How would I know? I'm just their mother. What could I have overheard?"
He felt as if he'd tumbled off a high cliff. His half siblings loathed him, but the prospect that they might hurt Anne in his stead had never occurred to him.
Would they dare?
His wrist began to ache, his old childhood worry about his nearly severed hand suddenly plaguing him. He rubbed the throbbing spot, his mind awhirl with dread.
He'd sworn to Anne that she'd be safe at Gladstone, and he'd persuaded himself that simply by establishing her at the estate, with a huge allowance, he was giving her all she needed.
What if something happened to her? What if Percy or Ophelia did something horrid? How would Jamie live with himself?
Confused, torn by what he wanted, by what he should do, he walked to the stairs and climbed to his room.
Anne!" Anne forced herself awake and stared at the ceiling. It was so dark that she couldn't see the clock, but it had to be very late. She thought someone had called to her, but she'd been sleeping so hard. It might have been a dream.
"Anne!" the soft cry came again. She crawled out of bed, went to the hall, and peeked out, but no one was there, so she hastened to the window and peered down at the moonlit park. There seemed to be a man hiding in the shadows, and she pulled open the window and leaned out into the cold night air.
"Who's there?" she whispered. "Anne, it's me. I'm home."
Jamie stepped out from under a tree, the moon shining fully on him. A corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.
After her failed seduction in London, she'd been positive she'd never see him again, and her heart pounded with equal parts excitement and perplexity.
"Jamie?"
"Will you let me in? The doors are locked, and I didn't want to bother any of the servants."
She hesitated, but only because she was afraid that she'd blink and he'd disappear.
"Yes, of course I will. I'll be right down."
She paused, watching him, and a spurt of gladness shot through her. She would always love him. Always. It was like a curse that couldn't be lifted. No matter what he did, no matter how he acted, or how he treated her, she would never move beyond that one true fact.
She grabbed a robe and tugged it over her heavy winter nightgown, but the garments provided scant protection against the frigid temperature. She drew on some woolen socks, too, then flew down the rear stairs and burst outside, but she couldn't locate him anywhere.
"Jamie?" she murmured. "Where are you?"
"I'm here. Down in the yard."
She proceeded toward the sound of his voice. There was a surreal quality to the moment, the shadows seeming very threatening. Her breath swirled about her head. Icy blades of grass crunched under her heels.
"Jamie?" she said again.
"Hush!" he cautioned. "I'm here."
"Where?"
He was down the path, lurking behind some hedges. She didn't understand why he hadn't approached the manor, or why he wanted her to be silent, but she was so surprised by his arrival that she wasn't about to question him.
She continued on till she was a few feet away, then she halted, and oddly, she didn't feel any compulsion to get nearer. In the past, she wouldn't have been able to maintain any distance, and she was saddened to admit that perhaps her attraction was finally waning.
He extended his hand.
"Come with me."
"To where?"
"To a cottage out in the woods."
"Why not just come inside?"
"I have to deal with Percy and Ophelia, and it won't be pleasant. You should be away from the house while I get things under control."
"But I'm in my nightclothes. I don't even have on any shoes."
"It doesn't matter. Let's go."
"Is Sarah with you?"
"Yes, and we found Tim. They're both waiting for you at the cottage. I brought a carriage and some men. The three of you will be escorted to London, and I'll join you there."
She yearned to do as he demanded, but she was unsure of whether she should. It was all too bizarre—the late hour, the chill, the intrigue—
and he was different somehow, but she was anxious to please him. With it being his first visit in months, she couldn't have him thinking her obstinate or stubborn. If he grew annoyed, he might depart before she had a chance to spend any time with him.
"I have blankets in the carriage," he coaxed. "You'll be plenty warm."
She vacillated but ultimately replied, "All right."
She took the last few, faltering steps, and he clasped her wrist, spun, and hurried them away without another word being exchanged. Anne could hardly keep up with him and hoped she didn't fall into a hole or crash into a stump.
Shortly, they reached a clearing, and she could see the decrepit cottage he'd mentioned. The door was ajar, a candle burning in the interior and giving off an eerie glow. The threshold loomed, looking like a ferocious beast that was about to devour her.
"Jamie, stop." She was out of breath, uneasy, and she tried to dig in with her heels, but he was practically dragging her along.
"Come on. Almost there."
"Where's the carriage?"
"Out on the road. Where would you suppose?"
He sped inside the hovel, and with a quick yank he hauled her in, too, and hurled her into the center of the only room. The door slammed, and she whipped around, expecting to see Sarah, but being stunned to find Ophelia, instead.
Ophelia grinned. "I guess you were correct, Percy. She was foolish enough to follow you."
"Like taking candy from a baby," Percy agreed as he removed a black wig.
Anne's beloved Jamie wasn't Jamie, at all, and her spirits flagged.
"Where's Sarah?" Anne asked.
"I haven't the foggiest," Percy said. "Lie down on the bed."
Anne glanced to the corner where there was a rickety bed, with a lumpy mattress, a tattered quilt tossed over it.
"Why?"
"Just do it, Anne," Ophelia snapped. "We're not about to stand here debating with you."
Ophelia snatched Anne's arm, and Anne jerked it away.
"What are you doing? What do you want from me?"
"From you? Nothing." Ophelia chuckled. "Now what we want from your husband is another matter entirely."
Ophelia positioned herself in front of Anne as Percy closed in from behind, so that she was trapped between them. The feeling of menace was extreme, the interlude absurd and seeming too strange to be real. Her two cousins, with whom she'd lived all her life, were mad as hatters.
"You can't mean to keep me here," Anne blustered.
"Why can't we?" Percy inquired.
“I’ll be missed."
"Not for hours," Ophelia responded, "and by then, it will be too late."
Percy gripped Anne by the waist, his loins disgustingly pressed to her bottom. He spoke to Ophelia over Anne's shoulder.
"Why don't you head back to the manor?"
"No. I'm staying. If you're intending to hurt her or scare her, I want to watch."
"Jamie could arrive at any second," Percy claimed. "You have to be there to intercept him."
Ophelia scowled. "Why would he show up in the middle of the night?"
"The man's a lunatic," Percy asserted. "Who can predict what he might do?"
"Before I go," Ophelia grumbled, "at least let me help you tie her to the bedposts."
"Fine," Percy consented.
"Are you insane?" Anne gasped.
"No," Percy replied. "I've never been more lucid."
He lugged Anne toward the bed, and she panicked and began struggling. She was kicking and scratching, swinging her fists.
"Grab her hands, Ophelia," Percy instructed. "She might land a lucky blow, and I'd end up bruised, which would be difficult to explain."
Ophelia seized Anne's wrists, and in a trice the deranged pair had her wrestled onto the mattress. There were ropes affixed to the bed frame, despicable evidence of how meticulously they'd planned. As Percy pinned her down, Ophelia swiftly knotted the ropes at Anne's wrists and ankles so that Anne was trussed like a hog at slaughter.
Anne screamed, and Percy clamped a palm over her mouth and nose. Rapidly, she ran out of air and felt as if she was suffocating.
She stopped fighting; she stopped yelling.
"If you promise to be silent," Percy said, "I'll let go."
Anne nodded, and he pulled away. The instant he did, she resumed screaming, but the ruckus was cut off by his clamping down again.
"Stupid bitch!" he seethed.
"Percy, you are such a trusting idiot," Ophelia scoffed. "She's never listened to you her whole life. Why would she start now?"
"She'll listen to me," he vowed. The cold gleam in his eye was terrifying. "My words will be the last she ever hears. Now get out of here."
"Spoilsport," Ophelia complained.
She leaned over and snuggled herself to Anne, and she studied Anne as if memorizing the details. Then she laid her hand on Anne's chest so that it was resting on Anne's breast. Anne didn't think the casual touch was an accident, but she didn't react to it. She was frozen in place, wondering what Ophelia might do.
"You're too beautiful, Anne," she peculiarly said. "I always hated you."
"Why? What did I ever do to you?"
"Nothing. You did nothing, and I hated you anyway." She laughed, and it was the sort of cackle a witch stirring her cauldron might have emitted. "Good-bye, and don't worry about Jamie. After you're gone, I'll comfort him for you."
She narrowed the distance between them, her fingers taking a furtive squeeze of Anne's nipple. Anne was still as a statue, desperate to keep from screaming again, to keep from spitting in Ophelia's face.
To her surprise, Percy saved her by shoving Ophelia away.
"Get out of here!" he griped. "Go to the house." "I'm having too much fun. I don't want to leave." "If you screw this up—after all my hard work—I'll kill you."
"You haven't the nerve."
"I have the nerve. After tonight, I'll have the courage to do anything I please. I won't be foiled ever again."
"From your lips to God's ear, Percy."
She slipped off the bed, and with an amused glance at Anne she left. The click of the door shutting was like a death knell.
"Be quiet," he ordered, "or I'll gag you."
He went and peeked out to ensure that his sister had truly departed. When he turned back toward Anne, he looked dangerous, demonic even, and she jerked on the ropes, but the more she yanked, the more taut the knots became.
He grinned down at her, enjoying her bondage, which was so at odds with the person she knew him to be. He was her oldest male relative, her guardian and benefactor, and she couldn't understand from where this unhinged villain had sprung. She had to reason with him.
"Percy, why are you doing this to me?"
"You know why." "No, I don't."
"I'm very sorry that it has to end like this." "Like what?" Anne demanded. "What are you planning?"
"You have to die, Anne." "Die! You're mad."
"No, not mad. Your husband shouldn't have come to England. He shouldn't have poked his nose in where it didn't belong."
"But what has Jamie to do with your bringing me to this cottage?"
"He has to die, too."
Her heart lurched. She couldn't imagine vibrant, charismatic Jamie dying.
"You're going to kill him?"
"No, not him. I'm going to kill you, then make it appear as if he did it."
"No one would believe he'd kill me!"
"Wouldn't they? Everyone in London gossips about how enraged he was when he thought you were having an affair with his brother. And Ophelia and I will swear that you were having an affair with me, too." He feigned a sad expression. "You'll pass away with the whole world assuming you're a whore who'd have sex with anyone. Poor thing."
She frowned. "But how will any of this result in Jamie's death?"
"He's a jealous maniac. I'll claim that he found out we were lovers, that the news goaded him to a homicidal frenzy, and he murdered you. He'll be hanged for the crime." He smiled with glee.
"I won't have to do anything. The precious legal system he used so successfully to steal my tide will do it all for me."
"You'll never get away with it," she insisted, though she wasn't nearly as confident as she should have been.
Jamie was renowned for his violent temper, and he had no associates in High Society who would support him in a crisis. He would be deemed capable of murder, and he'd have no allies and no way of proving his innocence.
Percy crawled onto the bed.
"What now?" she asked, though she was afraid she knew.
"I'm going to rape you."
"Percy!"
"You shouldn't have spurned me, Anne. The other day, you shouldn't have told me no."
"Percy, you're my cousin! You're my friend! You're like a brother to me."
"A brother, yes, but haven't you heard? Incest is extremely satisfying."
"You can't do this!"
"I can. In fact, I have to. I've craved it for years, and I'm not about to strangle you before I find out what it's like."
"No!"
"Yes! Jamie took everything from me. So I intend to take everything from him."
'This is so unnecessary. He doesn't care about me! He won't be bothered by anything you choose to do."
"Oh, he'll be bothered, all right. He may not be fond of you, but he holds his possessions in a tight fist. I want him to go to his grave wretched because I had you in every way that counts."
He stretched out on top of her, and though she struggled mightily, she couldn't escape. He untied the belt on her robe, pushing at the lapels, so that the only barrier between them was the flannel of her nightgown.
He bent to kiss her, and she turned her head to the side, so that he grazed her cheek, instead. At her petty rejection, he chuckled.
"I don't have to kiss you to get what I want."
He gripped the front of her nightgown and ripped it down the center.
Twenty-Two
Jamie! You're finally home." "Ophelia, what are you doing in here? Last I knew, that was my bed and this was my bedchamber."
Ophelia stretched and preened, the strap of her negligee sliding down to reveal a perfect breast.
"I've been waiting every night," she purred, "for you to come back."
She thrust out her chest, practically begging him to look, but the bastard's eyes didn't dip the smallest inch.