Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  "I'd heard," he said, "that Percy had claimed this room. Were you sleeping in here with him? That seems a little perverted—even by your low standards."

  "Of course I wasn't in here with him," she vehemently declared. "How could you presume something so ludicrous?"

  Jamie shrugged, acting as if he had entirely too much knowledge. "Have you any idea where your mother is?"

  "My mother! Well... she's in London."

  "Were you aware that she's been staying with me?"

  "With ... you?"

  "Yes, and she's told me the most intriguing stories." "Were you aware that my mother is a demented witch?"

  "Really? At times, I've found her to be quite lucid."

  "And I've found her to be quite deranged."

  He wasn't paying her nearly enough notice, so she climbed to the floor and snuggled herself to him, but it was like hugging a slab of marble.

  "Aren't you curious," she asked, "to find out what it could be like between us?"

  "No."

  "We could be so good together. We could rule Gladstone."

  "I already rule Gladstone."

  "I could help you."

  "I don't need your help."

  "But I could prove to be invaluable."

  She slithered down the bodice of her nightgown so that the fabric was bunched at her waist. Her bosom was bared, her breasts pressed to his chest.

  He surprised her by grabbing her nipples and pinching hard. She'd had sex with Percy often enough to have figured out how to pretend arousal, and she moaned with feigned ecstasy.

  "Is this what you want?" he murmured. "Is this what you need?"

  "Yes, Jamie, yes!"

  "Well, I don't. In my opinion, you're one step down from a harlot. At least they state their price up front. What's yours?"

  He shoved her, and as she stumbled away, she struggled to straighten her negligee. Why did she allow him to continue humiliating her? If he didn't want her, if he couldn't see what he was missing, to hell with him!

  "How dare you insult me!" she huffed.

  "What's it been like," he replied, "humping Percy all these years?"

  Damn Edith! Why couldn't she keep her bloody mouth shut?

  Ophelia tried to appear hurt. "What are you implying?"

  "Give over, Ophelia. Edith told me everything."

  "I have no idea what you mean."

  "I understand about being close to your twin, but for pity's sake! If /—with all my faults and vices—am shocked by the information, your behavior is really disgusting."

  "You think that Percy and I... that we ..." She managed a credible sob. "Is that why you're being so awful to me? If you've spent time with Mother, then you know what she's like. You can't believe her horrid lies."

  "I've wondered why you were so hot to crawl between the sheets with me and you made a pass at Jack, too. Have you a fondness for fucking your brothers?"

  "What a ghastly accusation! If you were any kind of gentleman—"

  "But I'm not and never have been. Our dear, departed father saw to that. Now then, where's Percy?"

  "Percy ... oh my." She forced down a grin, faking distress. This was going to be so easy! "Don't ask me, Jamie."

  "Why not? Where is he?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "Humor me."

  She walked to the window and stared out at the night sky, acting as if she were torn over her choices, when in reality she was simply hoping Percy was ready.

  She might lure Jamie into the trap, but Percy had to spring it, and he'd only have one chance. He seemed more capable lately, but Jamie was no drawing room dandy. If Percy didn't kill him the instant he entered the cottage, Percy would be dead, instead of Jamie, and Ophelia couldn't guess what would happen to her then. If Percy failed, she couldn't claim that she'd been ignorant of his intentions. Anne would tattle, and Ophelia had no desire to incur Jamie's wrath.

  He might not care about Anne, but he would fight to protect what was his. Ophelia felt as if she were about to leap off a high cliff. Anything was possible, any ending likely. A reckless wind blew through her, and she whirled to face him.

  "Sit down, darling," she coaxed.

  "No."

  "It's such bad news. I'm not certain how you'll take it."

  "Just tell me." "It's Anne."

  "What about her?" he casually inquired.

  Ophelia had thought he was indifferent to his irksome wife, but there was a tension in his shoulders. His fists were clenched, the air surrounding him lethal with menace.

  So ... she'd been correct. If Anne was in danger, he would do any wild thing to save her.

  "You've been gone so long, and she decided you were never coming back."

  "And ... ?"

  "You taught her to enjoy having a man in her bed. In fact, you taught her a tad too well."

  "Your point?"

  "Percy was here, and you weren't, and he reminds her so much of you."

  "What are you suggesting, Ophelia? And please get on with it. I've had enough of your drivel."

  She sauntered over, oozing concern. She laid a hand on his stomach and stroked in slow circles.

  "They're lovers, Jamie."

  "For how long?"

  "For several months."

  "Where are they?"

  "Oh, I can't bear to tell you." She groaned in agony and spun away so she could bite down another grin.

  Tm sure you'll find a way."

  Was that sarcasm in his voice? Was he laughing at her? She peeked over, but he seemed stoic as ever.

  "They've built a little love nest."

  "A love nest."

  "Yes. In an old cottage out in the woods. They were carrying on in the house, but I insisted they stop. You should have heard the servants gossiping!"

  "Where is it?"

  He went to the window and gazed out toward the dark forest, the night seeming unusually ominous. She stood next to him and indicated the path that would lead him to his doom.

  "There."

  "I know where it is. I've been by it before."

  He whirled to depart, and suddenly she was panicked by all the things that could go wrong, by how Percy was destined to screw up.

  "Would you like me to show you the way?" she offered.

  "No."

  "I could assist you. I could go in first. I could speak to Percy and advise him that you've arrived. I could try to talk some sense into Anne."

  "Thank you, but you've done more than enough."

  He started out, halting at the last second. He glared over at her in a manner that made her blood run cold.

  "Be here when I return," he said. "If you're not, I'll find you—no matter where you hide."

  Quiet as a mouse, Jamie tiptoed to the cottage, pleased to discover that there was no guard posted. Whatever Percy was doing, the fool was doing it alone. The door was closed, the sole window nailed shut with some old boards, a shaft of candlelight gleaming through.

  At contemplating the ambush Jamie's half siblings had orchestrated, a bitter fury washed over him. They would both pay forever. He only hoped that Anne had survived unharmed.

  At the notion that she might not have, that they might have hurt—or even killed!—her, he was so enraged that he could have murdered every person in the land.

  Anne was his! He cherished her in ways he didn't comprehend and hated to acknowledge.

  To quell his desperate need for her, he'd fled Gladstone, but it hadn't worked. He was more obsessed than ever. He'd toyed with the prospect of leaving England altogether, had almost sailed away a hundred times over, but he couldn't take the final step that would put an ocean between them.

  Did he love her? Was that why he was so overwhelmed? He couldn't quit thinking about her, couldn't cease wondering how she was getting on without him. He was sick with wanting her each and every day.

  When would it end? How would it end?

  He walked to the window and peeked through the slats.

  "Jamie took everythi
ng from me," Percy was saying. "So I intend to take everything from him."

  "This is so unnecessary," Anne replied, and on Jamie's realizing she was alive and well, his knees nearly buckled with relief. "He doesn't care about me!" she declared. "He won't be bothered by anything you choose to do."

  "... I want him to go to his grave," Percy boasted, "wretched because I had you in every way that counts."

  There were some muttered words, then the ripping of fabric, followed by Anne's soft cry of distress.

  Like soup in a pot, Jamie's ire bubbled up and overflowed, his anger so potent that he felt he possessed the strength of ten men. He would tear Percy's head from his body, would slice off his cock and shove it down his throat.

  Jamie marched to the door, planting a swift kick to the rotten wood. It flew to pieces, and like a wrathful demon, he loomed in the opening.

  He hadn't known what he'd stumble upon, but the sight of Anne—shackled, her garment in tatters, Percy hovered over her and eager to rape—was the most despicable, most galling spectacle Jamie had ever witnessed.

  "Get off the bed!" he bellowed. Percy frowned and paused, so absorbed with his filthy deed that he couldn't focus on anything else. He

  sat back on his haunches, pinning Anne to the mattress as he peered over.

  "Jamie!" Anne breathed.

  Percy said the same, though Jamie's name was imbued with a bit of alarm. "Jamie? What are you doing here?"

  "Get off the bed," Jamie barked again, approaching.

  "Sorry, old fellow, but we weren't expecting you. Anne and I were about to ... to ..." Percy smirked. "I guess you can see for yourself."

  "You can stand on your own two feet," Jamie seethed, "and die like a man, or you can perish on the bed like a snake slithering through the grass. It's your decision. What shall it be?"

  "Why are you in such a dither?" Percy asked. "We haven't been doing anything Anne didn't want to do." He simpered at Anne. "Isn't that right, darling?"

  "Jamie," she said, "I never would have! Never!"

  "Hush!" he curtly ordered.

  "You've married yourself a real whore," Percy taunted, pointing to the ropes that were cutting into Anne's wrists. "She'll fuck anyone. Even me. While you were gone, she's had half the county."

  "That's not true!" Anne jiggled her bindings, squirming, trying to escape. "Don't listen to him!"

  Jamie didn't glance at her but kept his eyes glued to Percy.

  "She likes it rough," Percy jeered, "but then, you've had her enough times, so you probably already know— shall we call them—her preferences?"

  Quick as lightning, Percy's arm came around, and he was holding a pistol, the barrel aimed at the center of Jamie's heart. Jamie was surprised to find Percy so prepared, but he wasn't afraid in the slightest. Percy was too cowardly to pull the trigger, and Jamie was too tough to die.

  "You're an idiot, Percy," Jamie scolded. "You only have the one shot. Once you fire, I'll slay you with my bare hands."

  "Perhaps," he agreed, "but by then, Anne will be dead. You see, Jamie, she was always the one we planned to kill. Not you."

  To Jamie's horror, Percy yanked the gun away and pressed it to Anne's forehead.

  Percy would murder Anne? He would do it as Jamie watched?

  "No!" Jamie howled like a wounded animal.

  A lethal tempest rushed through him, and in a single bound that defied the laws of gravity, he leapt toward Percy. At the same instant, Anne screamed and bucked with her hips, throwing Percy off balance as Jamie slammed into him.

  Still, Percy was able to squeeze the trigger.

  In such a cramped space, the roar of the blast was deafening. Dust and mattress feathers flew; smoke filled the air, obscuring everything in a murky haze.

  Jamie's momentum carried him across the bed, his fists clutching Percy's coat. They tumbled to the floor, and Jamie punched Percy over and over and over again till the man was naught but an unconscious, battered hulk. Jamie lurched away and rose, kicking Percy in the ribs so forcefully that his torso raised off the ground.

  The smoke was clearing, the ringing in Jamie's ears fading. Terrified as to Anne's fate, he scrambled onto the bed, not knowing if Percy had hit her, not knowing if his jump had been fast enough to deflect Percy's aim.

  "Anne!" he murmured. "Anne! Say something."

  "Is he... is he... dead?" she whispered. Jamie hung his head, offering up the only prayer he'd ever uttered in his life. "No, he's not dead." "Cut me loose."

  He drew a knife from his boot and sliced the cords. Once freed, she curled into a ball, showing him her back, clasping at the ripped bodice of her nightgown.

  "I didn't lie down with him," she said. "I didn't!"

  "I know that."

  "I never would have."

  She started to cry, and he reached out to comfort her, but she flinched, not wanting to be touched by him. He hesitated, then moved away.

  Why should he be the one to console her? Why should he presume any attention would be welcome? He'd always been a brute to her.

  'Take him away, please?" she implored.

  "I will. I will right away."

  He eased off the mattress, and as he gazed down at her, such a wave of affection swept over him that he could hardly function. She was weeping, shivering, and he grabbed the corner of the worn quilt and draped it over her shoulders.

  On the floor, Percy was stirring, and Jamie leaned down, seized the front of his shirt, and hauled him to his feet. Percy winced in agony. His eyes were swelling shut, his nose dripping blood.

  Percy gaped at Anne, who was obviously alive, and he complained, "Dammit! You were supposed to die. Why can't you ever do as I command?"

  With one hand, Jamie lifted him into the air, his toes dangling, and Jamie wedged the tip of his knife under Percy's chin.

  "If you speak to her again, I'll slit your throat."

  In reply, an angry female voice ordered, "Drop the knife, and put him down."

  Jamie spun to see Ophelia, who was over in the doorway and brandishing a pistol of her own, and he cursed his folly. He'd been so concerned about Anne that he'd forgotten all about Ophelia, and at the moment he hadn't the patience to deal with her. She'd be lucky if he didn't march over, snatch her gun away, and shoot her where she stood.

  "Get out of here, Ophelia," he said. "I won't tell you twice."

  "Drop the knife. Release him"—she gestured toward Percy with the gun—"then step away."

  Jamie didn't budge, and she shouted, "Step away!"

  Usually, Jamie wouldn't have listened to her, but Anne was still in the room, so he wasn't taking any chances. He wasn't worried that they might kill him, but he sure as hell wouldn't let them kill Anne.

  He tossed his knife and shoved Percy to the side.

  "Ophelia," Percy piped up, "thank God you arrived."

  "Why wouldn't I come? I knew you'd mess it up! I knew it!"

  "I didn't mess it up," Percy huffed. "I was... distracted."

  "By what? All you had to do was strangle her. You had her alone and tied up, yet you couldn't manage to finish the job."

  "Shut up!" Percy retorted.

  Ophelia ignored him, her weapon remaining pointed at Jamie, which was right where he wanted it. The second it looked as if she might swing it toward Anne, Ophelia was dead. He had another knife tucked in the waistband of his trousers, and before she could blink, he'd throw it straight through her heart.

  "I'm sorry, Jamie," Ophelia explained, "but your inopportune appearance has altered the conclusion we'd envisioned. We were just going to murder her, but now, I'm afraid we'll need to stage a murder-suicide."

  "What?" he asked, frowning. The woman's mind was a mystery he didn't care to unravel.

  "We were about to kill her, then claim you did it in a jealous rage—so you'd be hanged. Instead, we'll murder you both, then claim you caught her with Percy and were so grief stricken that you killed her and yourself, too."

  "Very convenient."

  He pretend
ed to rest his fists on his waist, but his fingers were slowly sliding to retrieve his knife.

  Suddenly, Anne sat up. "No, Ophelia. You will not do this! I forbid it!"

  "You forbid it!" Ophelia scoffed. "Oh, that's hilarious. Do be silent, you stupid cow."

  Ophelia adjusted her aim at Jamie.

  "Ophelia!" Anne wrenched her legs over the edge of the mattress. In her haste, she was off balance, and the quilt flopped down, revealing her torn nightclothes. Desperate to conceal herself, she clasped at the fabric.

  Scowling, Ophelia studied the ruined bodice, struggling to make sense of what it indicated.

  "What happened to your nightgown?" Ophelia queried.

  "Percy tried to rape her," Jamie said. Ophelia gasped. "He what?" "From how aroused he was when I first walked in," Jamie added, "he was extremely eager, too." "That's a lie!" Ophelia insisted.

  "Is it?" Jamie taunted. 'Tell her, Anne. Tell her what he did."

  He nodded at Anne, with that quick motion imparting what he wanted from her. She understood immediately, their strong mental connection not having waned in the least.

  "It's true, Ophelia," Anne concurred. "Percy said he's always desired me. He even said that he liked me more than you, and he wished we were married."

  Ophelia whirled on Percy, her glare spiteful and livid. "You were planning to have sex with her? Her?"

  "Well..." Percy sheepishly responded.

  "You're mine! You can't give away what belongs to me."

  "Don't flatter yourself," Percy had the temerity to mutter. "I'm your brother and your elder. I can do as I please, and I've never needed to answer to you."

  Ophelia was so irate that steam was practically coming out of her ears. "When I think of how I stayed with you, how I sacrificed for you, how I suffered under your obnoxious authority!"

  "Get a grip on yourself," Percy admonished. "You sound like a shrewish fishwife."

  "How many others have there been?"

  "Really, Ophelia," Percy chided. "You're trying my patience."

  "How many?" she shrieked.

  Making the worst mistake of his life, he grinned through bruised lips. "A gentleman never kisses and tells."

  Ophelia yanked the gun away from Jamie and pointed it at Percy's chest. For a hesitant instant, it wavered there; then she growled like a rampaging bear and lowered it—to his crotch.