by Jade Lee
And so, it was done. Wendy had chosen. The woman he’d adored since he was a young man had chosen someone else. She was—in fact—completely different than what he’d expected.
“Come along, Radley,” his sister said as she touched his arm. “There is nothing left here for us.”
Radley didn’t move. He couldn’t unfreeze his body enough to shift. Then Lord Hartfell spoke, his tone brusque.
“Dangerous to wait. Stupid to remain for no point.”
They were right. He had to go. But…
The kiss continued with no signs of stopping. If things went on this way, Damon would have her skirts at her waist in another five minutes. He shouldn’t see this, didn’t want to see it.
Then the two broke apart. Damon lifted his mouth enough so that both could breathe. Radley could hear the rasp of the man’s breath and see the way his body tightened, even as he pressed tiny kisses along her cheek.
Then Damon turned Wendy in his arms. It might have been a casual movement or done with deliberate intent. Either way, he turned her head to the light. The emerald flashed in the lamplight before Damon’s lips engulfed her lobe.
He was kissing the earbob. And, as he did it, Wendy released a slow moan. Despair or desire—he didn’t know. Nor did he care. He’d built an image of Wendy in his mind. He’d remembered her from that day on the docks when he’d first shipped out. He’d drawn her likeness, envisioned them together, and created a dream with her face on it.
And now, he was shocked when the reality didn’t fit the illusion? What a fool he was. What an idiot to think after one week that he knew her secrets.
He hadn’t known how she got the money to start her business. He hadn’t known to whom she owed money. And he sure as hell hadn’t realized she could kiss him with abandon one night then show the same ardor with someone else on the next.
He hadn’t known then, but he did now. So with a grunt of disgust, he pulled out his purse. In it were the coins he’d promised. All the money she owed to escape from Damon. The idea disgusted him now. It made no sense, but in his mind, these coins were tied to her. So he tossed them away. A single flick of his wrist, and the purse dropped with a thud.
He knew she heard the sound. Saw her body flinch, but she didn’t turn his way. Had he been hoping for more of a response? Some sign of gratitude for the hundred and twenty-one quid he’d thrown at her feet?
He was a fool.
So he turned and left.
***
Damon kept her locked in his arms well after Radley had left. She might have minded if she hadn’t gone numb. If she could feel the way his touch made her skin crawl, if she knew the putrid horror of his tongue in her mouth. But she had blocked her mind out of her body. She had inch by inch let her consciousness climb the walls, until she felt as if she were perched in the rafters looking at the tableau beneath.
She saw herself kiss Damon as if she were a harlot after a coin. She knew when Radley cut free his purse and tossed it at her feet. Payment, she supposed, for his night with her. And she shrunk against the ceiling while Damon caressed her body through her clothes, a foretelling of what he would do to her soon.
Not here, of course. He had been sure to claim her in public, but the intimacies would be in private. The depravities too, she supposed. She had heard whispers of that as well and didn’t want to guess at what was to come. Then he finally stepped back. He set her aside as he settled on his couch and smiled in triumph.
“We shall have to announce the banns as soon as possible.” He glanced to where one of his guards stepped out from the hidden room. He had three such doors in this upper deck. Places for guards to hide or doors through which to escape should disaster strike. “Is Father Wollet here?”
The guard nodded. “At the hazard table.”
“Tell him I require him to announce my forthcoming marriage to Miss Wendy Drew. Write it down. Make sure he understands it is vital that it is announced this Sunday.”
The guard nodded and left. Wendy’s mind watched the exchange from her perch high up along the ceiling. Her body, of course, hadn’t moved from where it stood—swaying slightly—near enough to the railing to be seen by all.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why we are to be married?” he asked.
“Why?” she asked, her voice surprisingly clear.
“As your husband, I shall own A Lady’s Favor, the premiere dress shop to the ton. You have built yourself a luscious place, my dear. My world gives me the secrets of men, but yours has proved quite rich with the secrets of women.”
If she doubted his words, he carefully pulled out a few of her recorded secrets. The ones learned from ladies at the shop—the things that women revealed to their closest friends that might not be whispered among men.
“I don’t own the shop,” she lied. “It’s really Helaine’s.”
It was a fool’s game. He knew the truth. She was co-owner, and he was smart enough to turn half of a successful business into a place as seductively poisonous as his gaming hells.
He didn’t bother responding to her lie. What was the point? They both knew her evasion for what it was. Meanwhile, he sauntered leisurely to the railing. He looked down at the gaming floor, closing his eyes and tilting his head as he often did when standing there.
“Secrets,” he said. “The whisper of secrets amidst the snap of cards, the roll of the dice, and the clang of coins. It is the secrets that I love the most.”
She knew it was true.
Then he turned to her, his expression jovial, even though his eyes were hard. “I will have it all now,” he said sweetly. “I will have your hand in marriage, your business as my forfeit, and your body for my pleasure. Everything I want.”
She closed her eyes. If she had simply taken off her earrings as Radley asked, it would have been a death sentence for her brothers. Perhaps Radley was safe with his dukedom and his fighting skills, but Henry and Bernard were more vulnerable. And they were her brothers.
In the end, she had sold the possibility of a life with Radley for the certainty of her brothers’ survival. That had been her choice, and she would make the same one again. But the cost had killed her soul. Not her body. She feared that would continue for a long while yet—that, and her pride, which kept her lips sealed.
Damon came closer. “Think of this. He would have married you. Radley Lyncott, Duke of Bucklynde, would have made you his duchess, despite all the pressure to marry a society virgin. He wanted you. And do you know why?”
She didn’t move. She couldn’t, even though she strained with everything to block out his next words. She didn’t want to hear because in her heart, she knew it was true.
“Because he loved you. He. Loved. You. And now, he doesn’t.”
She bit her lip, the reality of everything that had just happened hitting her hard. It began in the pit of her stomach then swelled upward, outward, until it consumed every part of her. But she held it back. If she gave voice to it, then it would be real, and she would be utterly destroyed.
Damon didn’t say a word. Not a single word, but he leaned close. He set his hand near her ear and snapped his fingers. A pop, sharp enough to make her jolt. And, in that moment, all her strength shattered.
She screamed.
Nineteen
She sat beside him for hours. Damon held court as always. Wendy sat through supplications and negotiations. She barely heard any of it. She simply watched—as if disembodied and sitting in the rafters—as the minutes ticked by.
He played with her hair. She noted that and couldn’t stir to fight him. Occasionally, he would tug on her bloody ear. It was a petty cruelty or an attempt to rouse her from her stupor. She didn’t even blink. What was a tug when she’d lost Radley?
Eventually, the evening slid into night then early dawn. He pinched her awake. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep when she felt an agonizing pain in her nipple. She jolted upright, a cry on her lips. He chuckled, and she curled her arms over her chest. It wouldn’t
save her, she knew, but she was hurting, and so she did it. Watching the movement, his eyes lightened in amusement.
“You like seeing me in pain,” she said.
A statement of fact.
“I like seeing a lot of people in pain,” he answered honestly.
“Why?”
He frowned, his mouth open as if he intended to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. A moment later, he spoke, but his tone sounded a little lost. “I don’t know. I just always have.”
She tried to understand but couldn’t. “Is there nothing else you enjoy?”
He grinned. “Oh yes,” he said, the tone lascivious. But then his expression clouded. “Though it’s usually entwined with pain.”
She straightened slowly, her mind struggling to find clarity. “Do you like receiving pain too?”
His body stilled, and his nostrils flared. For a moment, she thought she had pushed too far, but then she realized he was aroused by the idea. Then he smiled.
“I shall enjoy our marriage, little Wendy.”
She wanted to look away from his dark gaze, but knew that would be a mistake. He would sense her revulsion and her terror. In truth, she didn’t fully understand the game he played, but she had worked in his hell for months now. Some whispers reached her ears whether she comprehended them or not. Enough whispers had given her a picture she thought was depraved, even as part of her thrilled to the play of power.
That was the real shock. Her soul was barely back in her body, and it understood a little more of this man who tormented her. Just as she collected secrets, Damon collected power games. Pain was his game of choice, but power—dominance—was the currency. And in such a game, he would give as well as receive.
That was the key to him, she guessed. The driving force, as he looked for a woman who would dominate and surrender in a constant dance of lust and power.
“I cannot be what you seek,” she said honestly. “I am not the woman you need.”
He stepped forward, looming over her in menace. “Are you sure?” he growled.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, though she desperately wanted to. “I am sure.”
He grabbed her chin in a bruising grip, tilting her face up. He didn’t need to. She was already looking at him, but he needed to hurt her while he tried to read her mind. She remained as calm as she could while he glared at her.
“You can be trained,” he finally said. “There is promise in you, my dear. Something that can be nurtured.”
She shuddered at his words. He was probably right. She might not have all the tools, but her heart beat hard in her throat and her hands were slick. Terror? Absolutely. Interest? Perhaps. A tiny part of her wanted to know more about what he offered. No one else wielded power so effortlessly. To learn such a thing interested her.
It was the cost that horrified her—the immersion in pain that was part of it—her own and another’s. Could she swim in those waters and not change at a fundamental level? Probably not. After all, she remembered when Damon had once been sweet. Nearly two decades ago when he had laughed at something fun, at a shared joy untouched by darkness. And now, he didn’t even remember that time.
“I don’t want to learn,” she finally said.
“I don’t care,” he answered.
And that was also truth.
But something in their conversation must have affected him. Something made him gesture to his guards as he reached for his drink. It was late, even by his standards, but he showed every appearance of settling in for longer.
“Take her home. Make sure she doesn’t leave.”
Wendy swallowed, feeling his chains tightening ever closer. “I have to work. A Lady’s Favor won’t be a premiere dress shop for long if I don’t sew the orders.”
He didn’t even look at her. “You’re exhausted. Sleep. You can work tomorrow.” Then he turned to flash her a dark smile. “Sew your wedding dress.”
She didn’t answer, her throat too frozen. A moment later, he turned away, and his guards steered her down the stairs. She moved slowly, her body aching with exhaustion. She’d been more tired other times, she was sure, but the problem now was in her mind. And her heart.
Both were sluggish and cold. It numbed the pain, but did little to help her find a way out of this mess. Had all her struggles, all her manipulations brought her to this? Her dress shop handed over to a monster? Her—married to the man? Is this what she deserved?
She walked in a fog. Her rooms were close—an easy walk—but it wouldn’t have mattered if they intended her to tromp to Scotland. Nothing penetrated the steadily thickening wall of ice around her soul.
Until there was a blur of movement. She heard the thud of blows and grunts of pain. She stopped to look at the guards when she saw the third drop to the ground, blood seeping from his mouth.
All three guards were down? She stared at their prone forms in confusion. Then her gaze lifted to the man standing over them. He wore rough sailor’s garb, but she recognized him immediately. She knew it was Radley, but she could only stare.
What was he doing here? And why had he brawled with the guards? She was still trying to puzzle that out when he spun to her.
“Come on, Wind. We need to go.”
She blinked. Why couldn’t she think? “I can’t. He’ll know.”
He flashed her a grin, his white teeth flashing in the morning light. “Of course, he will. But not for a bit. Bernard says he’s settled in for a dawn of heavy drinking. Says he does that sometimes.”
Wendy wouldn’t know. She never stayed this long at the hell. Meanwhile, her brother stepped from the shadows. Had he been there the whole time? Probably not. Radley was the one who dropped the guards. By himself, too, she thought with distracted pride. He was a strong fighter. No wonder he defeated the pirates and won their ship.
“Come along, Wind. We have to go.” He reached for her then, but she watched his eyes go to her earrings. They didn’t hurt anymore. In truth, she’d forgotten they were there, but at his gaze, her knees went weak. She stumbled, and he caught her. “Wind!”
“He’ll kill them,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“Bernard. Henry. He’ll know and—”
“Bernard is coming with us. Henry is taking watch on The Northern Glory.”
“But—”
“I’ve warned them. And your mother is already at my home. He can’t get us there. Not a duke’s residence in Grosvenor Square.”
She looked him in his eyes. “You don’t know him the way I do.”
His expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth went flat. She knew what he was thinking—that she was Damon’s mistress—but she hadn’t the strength to fight him. She’d lost all will when Radley had left. She hadn’t realized at the time, but now, she saw that she was too frightened to fight, too exhausted to argue.
“Wendy,” he said as he held her upright. “Look at me.”
Had she looked away? Apparently so, because he touched her cheek and brought her attention back to him.
“You’ve spent your life relying on yourself. You managed things for your mother and your brothers. You helped me and Caroline when we had no idea what to do. You built a successful business. Damn it, Wind, for once in your life allow me to help you. Come with me. Have faith in me.”
She looked at his face, at the jut of his jaw and the fierceness of his pose. In her mind’s eye, she remembered him as a young man first stepping onto a boat. He had that same fierceness then. A strength that had surrounded him like an aura as he headed to sea. Not when he’d been looking back at her—that expression had been boyish and wistful—this was later. After he’d been called to work. After he’d started learning the tasks of a sailor.
She’d stood on the dock and watched as long as she could, and she remembered seeing that power. And now, it was directed at her. Now he looked at her in the same way he’d once stared at the open sea.
“You never fail,” she whispered, knowing for the first
time—deep in her soul—that it was true. Not when he had that look. Not when he focused on his goal and made it happen.
“So come with me. Unless you want to stay with him.”
She shuddered. “I want to be with you.”
“Then—”
“But my family—”
Bernard stepped up, his eyes constantly scanning the area. “We can watch out for you, sis. We can do that now.”
Radley touched her cheek. “I can do that too.”
So it was settled. She found the strength in her legs, found the belief in her heart, and most of all she found Radley’s hand. She grabbed it and held on as they took off on foot. Bernard led the way. He wended them through the London streets. She kept track of where they were going, amazed at the byways and alleys that he took. She’d lived in London all her life, and yet her little brother knew better than she did where to step to avoid a clogged street, where to turn to hide in a shadow. The sun was up, though the sky was hazy. They slid through London like a ship silently gliding through fog. And some forty-five minutes later, they arrived at Radley’s Grosvenor Square home.
They entered the kitchen, but quickly moved to the main part of the house. The butler was in the front hallway speaking to Lady Eleanor when they came through. The lady gasped in surprise, her eyes going wide at Radley’s attire. The butler, however, executed a smooth bow.
“Miss Drew’s room is ready.” He looked at her. “I can show you up if you like, and a bath can be brought up.”
Wendy’s mind was quicker now as her gaze hopped from the butler to Radley. “You had a room prepared for me?”
He nodded with a wolfish smile. “I did.”
“But when you left…” She couldn’t finish the question. She remembered how he’d left. She remembered the sound of his coins hitting the floor. The disgust on his face. And the anger.