A Father's Insistence (Dark Sovereignty Book 3)

by Anna Edwards

  I push aside the book I’ve been engrossed in for the last hour—reading provides the only form of sanity I’ve not been deprived of, yet—and getting to my feet, I stretch my legs and arms. The steak was far too rich for me, and my stomach still doesn’t feel right. I’m rubbing it to relieve the discomfort when I hear my door being unlocked, and Camilla comes barging in. Without saying a word, she grabs me by the wrist and drags me from the room.

  “No!” I try to force my feet into the ground, but she’s too strong.

  “Shut up,” she shouts at me and whips her hand across my face. I reel back in shock. Although I’m used to beatings, I wasn’t expecting that tonight. Camilla is joined by a man who lifts me off my feet and carries me down the hall. I initially panic before a calm sense of fate descends over me. This must be it…the moment I die. Why do I feel so happy? I surely shouldn’t. After death, there is nothing: no coming back, no feelings, no pain. The. End.

  I’m deposited into a room where the Viscount is already standing. It figures he would want to be the one to finish this. I kneel down before him as I’ve been taught.

  “I warned you the time was approaching for you to fulfill your destiny, didn’t I?” He informs me, patting the top of my head.

  “Yes,” I reply quietly. A speck of dust catches my eye on the floor, and as I let out a breath, the dust flutters along like an angel on a floating cloud. I wonder if I’ll get wings? I must have earned them. Death can’t be it…all there is left when life in this world ends. I’ve always believed in some sort of afterlife. Men like Viscount Hamilton deserve it, so they can be punished for their atrocities in this life. They can’t just end. I have to know that somewhere they’ll suffer for what they’ve done. My breath catches at the thought of there being nothing. This being the end for me. My twenty-two years on this planet equating to little more than an abuse victim who dies at the hands of her tormentor. I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe when the first punch comes. Any chance I had of getting air into my lungs is ruined when pain explodes into them, instead. Several more hits rain down on me, and I curl into a little ball, desperately trying to protect myself. It doesn’t work, though, and I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow…if I’m still alive. I’m pulled to my feet by my frizzy, blond hair. My father always hated my hair with its natural curl. He said it left me looking like a wild child who’d been dragged through a hedge backward—an image I most definitely resemble, currently.

  “You remember what you’ve been taught. I’m going to have to trust you from this point on, but remember I’ll always be watching. I’ll be there should you falter, ready to bring down hell upon you if you ruin this. I’m your master, your ruler, your everything. Without me, you’d be dead,” Viscount Hamilton spits into my face. “Get her dressed,” he orders, and my clothes are ripped from my body. Red marks, precursors to bruising, litter my porcelain skin. I’m forced into a white linen dress like the one I wore the night I was given to Nicholas Cavendish. I’ve traveled full circle. I’m back there, waiting to discover what my future will be, and only too aware of the trials. I’d been taught about them as I’d grown up, but my part in the Oakfield Society was short-lived. I was not one of the chosen girls, and I was sold off instead. I sometimes think the trials would have been easier than this existence.

  Camilla grabs my hair out of the hands of the man who’s been holding it tightly and rips a brush through the dry and tangled ends. I have my own shower, so I am able to keep clean, but the products aren’t really suitable for my type of hair. I need a good haircut and conditioning treatment. I suppose, if I’m to die, it doesn’t really matter. From the little I know of God, I don’t think he’s the type of person to judge someone for the style of their hair as they enter through the pearly gates.

  Viscount Hamilton looks down at his phone when it makes a sound.

  “He’ll be here soon.”

  Camilla finishes re-arranging my hair and pushes me back down to my knees in front of Viscount Hamilton. The man who’s terrorized every moment of my last year, both awake and asleep, pulls my chin up, so he can bore his penetrating gaze directly into me. I want to shut my eyes, but I know I can’t, and even if I did, I couldn’t block him out, because he’s burned into my senses: I can see the little curl of his lip when he’s enjoying what he does to me, I can hear the grunts of his exertions, and I can smell the foul stench of his breath as he kisses me all over my face. The steak sitting in my stomach bubbles, and I can’t stop myself from heaving and then vomiting on the floor.

  “What the fuck?” Viscount Hamilton steps back to avoid getting any on his designer leather shoes. “I was being nice to you and have provided you with a good meal, and this is what happens. You better not mess up your task, Joanna. You’ve been prepared. You’ve been trained, and you will lead us to untold power.”

  My head is spinning from the sickness and the beating. I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.

  “My son is nearly here. He’ll be your husband within the hour, and you will take him straight to your room and make a child. You’ve been left in peace the last few days because your contraceptive injection ran out. He’ll take you tonight, and together you’ll make a boy capable of ruling over the Oakfield Society. One who will run it properly, not like the Cavendish brothers.”

  A bell sounds somewhere in the house.

  “Get her up.” I’m dragged to my feet, and a blanket is wrapped around me. Camilla brings me into her arms and buries my head into her chest. It’s almost as if she’s comforting me, but I know the things this woman is capable of, and it’s nothing of the sort: it’s an act. Everything happening here is designed for a purpose. The beating, the outfit, the fake show of sympathy are all part of a show. The game continues, and I’m still a pawn in it. I’m not going to die today, but something much worse is about to happen: I’m about to be married to a man who doesn’t have a clue about the world he lives in.

  I shift my head just in time to see two men enter the room, dragging a comatose body between them. A priest follows behind with his long garments flowing along the floor, and a bible in his hand. I would expect him to look shocked at the situation he’s seeing, but he looks all too accepting and comfortable. He’s clearly been hired specifically for his ability to turn a blind eye to the half-asleep groom and the battered bride.

  “Theo,” Viscount Hamilton addresses his son. I recognize him vaguely from society functions we both attended growing up. He was always one of the confident men in the background, surrounded by women but not particularly interested in anyone. It appeared to me his behavior was guided by his responsibilities to his family name. He was never one to use his future title to advance himself, though. Not like Nicholas Cavendish who used his on more than one occasion to get a girl into bed.

  The men lower Theo into a wing-backed chair, and I can see he’s trying his hardest to open his eyes.

  “Father?” he groans and rubs his face. “What’s going on?”

  The Viscount brushes his hand against his son’s shoulder, pretending to be the kind and caring father.

  “I’m sorry for the subterfuge, my boy, but it’s all necessary. I’ll explain later. First, we need to make sure that this woman is safe, and there’s only one way to do that. You need to marry her.”

  “Marry her?” Theo looks up confused. His eyes keep opening and closing. He’s struggling to come out of whatever drug-addled state they’ve put him in. “I don’t understand.”

  “I couldn’t save your sister, Theo, please. We have to save Joanna.”

  I’m thrust forward nearer to the father and son who are currently engaged in a conversation, which will shape my future.

  “Joanna?” Theo rubs his head again. “Can I get water?”

  The Viscount nods at one of the other men in the room. Minutes ago, they were beating me, but now they look as though butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. They are devils in disguise. A glass of water is brought over to Theo, and he drinks it down before trying t
o focus more fully on me, standing before him. I look down at my hands, and I realize they are shaking. I try to control them, but my body acts like it’s not attached to my brain.

  “Theo, this is Joanna. My men have just rescued her. She’s been held captive by the Cavendish brothers for over a year now.”

  I raise my eyes from the son to the father. Shock should probably register on my face, but my body is numb to anything by this point. This is the plan, and I must follow it.

  “Is that true?” Theo asks, his words still slurred, and his eyes still closing every now and then as he fights to stay alert.

  “Yes, sir,” I reply like a programmed robot. Viscount Hamilton smiles at me from behind his son’s back.

  “We don’t have much time, Theo. The Cavendish brothers will be searching for us. I need to send them a message.”

  “Can I just get my head straight? Why did you have to drug me?”

  “I didn’t want to. I didn’t have time to explain. I had to get back here.”

  Theo pushes gingerly to his feet and sways. He keeps one hand on the chair but reaches out with the other to me.

  “Do you understand what’s happening?” he asks as his hand rests on my shoulder. I can feel weight behind it and know he’s using me, as well as the chair, for support.

  I flick my stare quickly to the Viscount, and his eyes darken with the promise of a fury so great it will eclipse anything that has occurred before should I not give the correct answer.

  “I don’t fully understand anything at the moment. All I know is I don’t want to go back into that room. I don’t want to be tortured the way I was. I want help, and if what everyone is telling me will give me that, then I’ll do it.” My voice breaks with the honesty of my words and the lies mixed in. A lone tear trickles from the corner of my eye and tumbles down my cheek, following a path of guilt and utter bewilderment at the situation.

  “Do it,” Theo instructs the priest without any further thought. He lets go of the chair, and testing how close I’ll let him come to me, he brings me into his arms. We support each other as the priest carries out the ceremony to make us man and wife. Theo signs the marriage documentation with effortless ease, but my hands shake so much my signature is barely legible.

  “You’re safe, now,” Theo reassures me. He is becoming more alert as time passes. I want to scream at him that he’s being played for a fool by his father, but I know I can’t. It’s too late to stop what is already in process.

  The priest proclaims us man and wife, and the ceremony ends with subdued cheers from the gathered witnesses. It’s not how I pictured my wedding when I was younger. There’s no rejoicing crowds, beautiful bouquets, or a luxurious white silk dress. I don’t love my husband, and I’m terrified of what comes next. Mind you, that’s probably the same for any virgin bride, not that I’m a virgin anymore. I was when this all started, but that changed the day I was bought.

  “You should take your wife up to your room to rest,” Viscount Hamilton advises my new husband.

  “What?” Theo blinks at his father.

  “I’m not sure when she last slept properly.”

  “Of course.”

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

  I look at the grandfather clock standing in a corner of the room when it starts to chime, and I notice it’s just gone past midnight. Three hundred and sixty-six days in captivity, and yesterday wasn’t my last day on this Earth.

  Theo takes my hand and stumbles in a dream-like state from the room with me following, and Camilla leading the way. I turn my head back to take one last look at the Viscount before the door closes. He purses his lips together and mouths one word that sends shivers down my spine.

  “Baby.”

  Chapter Three

  Theodore

  I’m not entirely certain whether I’m awake or still in a dreamlike state after being injected with that drug. This should be a dream because otherwise, fuck, I just married a stranger. However, the ice-like hand of the tiny woman who’s following me into the grand bedroom of a house I’ve never seen before is all too real. I’m married. Shit! I don’t understand any of this, but the instant I saw Joanna’s hands shaking with fear, I knew I had to protect her. She’s little more than a bag of bones with fading bruises that shadow her eyes, and I’m sure under the white linen dress she’s wearing there’ll be more. She’s broken. I only need to see the distance in her eyes to know that. What she must have suffered is beyond comprehension to me. There is a part of me that wants to run from the room, find Nicholas Cavendish, and murder him with my bare hands. But the sane part, which is probably still a little worse for wear from the drugs, knows I can’t do that. I have to stay here. I have to protect her. I have to give her life again…if that’s even possible.

  I let go of her hand, and she goes over to the bed. It’s king-sized, covered in freshly laundered sheets. She looks at me and then at the bed. I watch her, still unsure of what is real and what is a dream. Slowly, she lifts the linen dress over her head and underneath, she’s naked. I can see old and new bruising to her body. Scars from wounds mark her perfect skin, and I fight hard to tamper down the rage surging through me. She drops to her knees and bows her head.

  “How would you like me, sir?” she offers in a voice so delicate it snaps my resolve.

  “I don’t!” I tell her and stomp forward. I grab her arm, and she whimpers. My head is screaming at me to calm down and be level-headed around her, but my heart is filled with fury, overruling any sensible thought. This girl has been through so much and has just offered herself to me.

  “I’m your wife. We must do…” She tries her hardest to express what should happen next, but she can’t. The words seem to stick in her throat—the mention of what normally comes after a wedding, silencing her. I throw her onto the bed, and as she parts her legs, ready for me, I turn away.

  “Put the covers over you.”

  “Please,” she pleads, and I can’t hear any movement of her doing as I ordered.

  “Joanna, cover yourself up.” I swallow deeply. “Now!” The word leaves my mouth as an authoritative order, and I instantly hear her scrambling to do as instructed. I turn back to find her sitting in the bed with the sheets pulled up to her neck. “Thank you…stay here and get some sleep. Nobody except me will be allowed in here. I’ll be back later.”

  “Where are you going?” She shifts to try and get out of the bed, but I put my hand up to halt her.

  “Stay.”

  “I have to…”

  She starts, but I cut her off.

  “You don’t have to do anything but sleep. Get some rest.” I find myself at her side. I stroke my hand down her cheek, and she lets me without showing any fear of the possible consequences in her sorrow-filled eyes.

  “Ok.” She slides down into the bed. I flick a switch on the wall beside her, and the main lights in the room turn off. The only illumination in the room comes from a bedside lamp beside her. “You’ll come back?”

  “I’ll be back in a little while. Sleep. You’re safe in here. Nobody will hurt you.”

  She shuts her eyes, and I watch her for a few minutes. The feeling of protectiveness I have over her is strange—it’s strong for someone I’ve only known for less than an hour. I need to make sure she’s going to be all right, but the only way of doing that is to find out what is going on.

  I quietly leave the room and go in search of my father. I find him sitting in the drawing room of the unfamiliar house with the lady who was comforting Joanna earlier.

  “Theo?” my father asks quizzically when I enter the room. The woman jumps to her feet and bows toward me even though she doesn’t have to. My father dismisses her with a wave of his hand. “I thought you would be resting.”

  “Not until I know what is going on here.”

  My father gestures for me to sit, and I do so in the chair vacated by the woman. He indicates to a brandy decanter, sitting on the table next to him.

/>   “I think I’ll pass. I’ve drunk my fair share this evening already, and mixed with whatever you drugged me with, I’ll be asleep in a few minutes. I need to know what is going on. I’m married to a woman because it’s the only way to save her, evidently. What is going on father? How much trouble are we in? What is happening with Victoria? Is she likely to end up as broken and bruised as Joanna is in a few months?”

  “That’s a lot of questions.” Without lifting his head, my father talks into the half empty brandy glass he’s holding.

  “That’s less than half of the ones I’ve got floating around in my head at the moment.”

  “Ok. I owe you an explanation. I had hoped to do it with a fresh head in the morning, but I guess it can’t really wait. You remember how I told you I had to give Victoria to Nicholas Cavendish, or he would’ve destroyed our family name and killed me?”

  “Yes.” I say, sitting with the foot of one leg resting on the knee of the other.

  “Joanna’s father was forced to offer her up as well. Nicholas was given five women that night. His right, he insisted, based on years’ old rules. I tried to argue they could no longer be valid in this day and age, but I was shot down by those who support his rule. Out of those five girls, only two are still alive: Joanna and your sister. Unlike Victoria, Joanna was not put forward to participate in the trials. Instead, she was sold to a mystery buyer and then disappeared. Victoria’s story, you already know. She ended up married to Nicholas, and is now the mother of his daughter. A couple of days ago, my men got word of where Joanna was located. It’s been exactly a year ago tonight since we started searching for her. We put together a plan and managed to rescue her.”