Pain overcame her subconscious resistance to reality, catapulting Angela back into the tangible world amidst a maelstrom. She was being fiercely raped by a fiend; she didn’t know who or where, only that he had no right to be where only Scott should be. With a deeply indrawn breath Angela started screaming like a banshee, clawing and biting in an effort to free herself of the unwanted presence. But the man only gave a loud triumphant laugh and continued.
Jane’s head jerked sharply off Owen’s shoulder and he said, “What is that?”
The screaming continued in a long unbroken chain and Owen ran for the door only to find that Jane had been quicker and stood barring his way.
“No, don’t go.” There was a strange, sad half smile on her face. “Everything is all right.”
“All right! It sounds like someone is being murdered!” Owen tried to push Jane out of the way but she clung determinedly to the doorknob.
“It’s Angela. Keith is with her. He had a plan to bring her out of her decline, and it must have worked.”
“What? Well it sounds as if he’s killing her in the process. I’ll see if I can help or get the doctor.”
“No, please Owen! No one can help. Just let them alone for a while. See the screaming has stopped.”
Angela wept hysterically into an already sodden pillow. She hurt all over but the pain in her heart was much worse, eclipsing anything Keith had done to her. The floodgates of her grief had finally burst and whenever he tried to touch her, comfort her, she thrust him away. There was nothing else he could do so Keith got dressed and left, fleeing past a questioning Jane and a suspicious Owen without answering.
“Did you see him?” shouted Owen. “He looked like he had been through a battle. What went on up there anyway?”
Jane looked from Owen to the open door speechlessly. Keith’s cheek from eye to chin was bloodied with four long gouges and his mouth was bitten. What could she say? That her brother had just raped her best friend. She saw a horrified comprehension dawning on Owen’s face and turned, starting upstairs for Angela’s room.
Owen caught her arm and spun Jane about so that she lost her balance and fell against him. He held her tightly looking down into her frightened face.
“You knew! Hurrying the children out of the house and trying to get me to go too, not letting me go to Angela when she started screaming. And all the while Keith was upstairs raping her!” His face wore a disgusted sneer and he shook Jane. “How could he—how could you? You must be two of a kind plotting such a despicable. . .”
“Owen, wait! It wasn’t that way at all,” Jane pleaded in earnest, suddenly frightened; knowing she must exonerate herself somehow. “Keith only said he was going to do what Scott would have done and then he locked me out of Angela’s room. Scott was a very violent man and I knew that I must get the children out of the house. It was only later when I thought about it, that I realized. . .”
“Why didn’t you do something then?”
“Because it was too late!” Jane jerked away from him backing up the stairs. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault!”
“Isn’t it—partly?”
“No, no! It’s not as if it hadn’t happened before!”
Owen’s anger burst forth. “And does a woman ever get used to being violated?” He grabbed her again and Jane sat down abruptly on a step, suddenly weak-kneed. “You should be a procuress, you would do quite well with your innocent air.”
“Don’t you dare say such things to me!”
Owen was beside her pressing her down on the stairs, his body half over hers and his eyes blazing. The stairs cut into Jane’s back and she struggled in amazement as his mouth possessed hers as hard and unyielding as stone. His tongue pillaged her mouth and when his hand slipped into her bodice hot against the bare skin of her breast she began fighting in earnest.
“How do you like it?” he snarled. “Do you like being forced to do something against your will, to be hurt?” He bit the side of her neck and heard her gasp.
His mouth burned against her breasts and his hand slid up her thighs beneath her skirts. All this time Jane had thought he just wanted to drive home his point of view, but now she was terrified that Owen had lost all control.
“Stop it!” Her frightened voice was a mere whisper and tears spilled from her blue eyes. “Is rape infectious? Because if it is then you have caught the disease!”
Owen released her, appalled at his actions, and helped Jane to her feet. “I’m sorry,” he began seeing the shocked tears. “I didn’t mean to. . .”
His apology was rudely interrupted as Jane slapped him as hard as she could, hurting her hand in the process. “I will never forgive you for what you almost did, the way you treated me, the things you said!” Then she flounced upstairs as fast as her shaking legs would carry her. Owen stood there looking after her for a long time after she had disappeared. He had ruined everything by losing control of his usually well-kept temper. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before and he began to believe that this whole household was quite mad, including himself!
To have to contend with the real world again when she felt a grief beyond expression was almost too much for Angela. She spent days closeted in her room streaming with tears until not one drop was left to flow down her cheeks. She felt drained of all emotion, even her anger at Keith over what he had done.
The house was like an armed camp with Angela and Keith antagonists, and Owen and Jane warily skirting around each other. Only the children seemed untouched and they all sought out their uncomplicated company for a respite from the everyday tensions.
Angela walked into their playroom one evening to find Owen down on his hands and knees with Robert on his back and Lorna urging them on approvingly. She couldn’t help laughing at the wry picture they presented, the first time she had smiled in a long time.
Owen got up grinning broadly and said, “Welcome back, Angela. I don’t think I could have borne it if you had gone the same way as Beth.”
Then in spite of the children’s presence she found herself folded closely in his strong arms, a comfortable secure feeling. She hadn’t felt so safe in ages. The door opened and Jane stood agog at Angela and Owen in a close embrace. With a strangled exclamation she fled, not stopping until she reached her room.
“Whatever is wrong with Jane?” asked Angela looking at Owen’s austere face.
“We are on the outs,” he explained drawing her over to the window away from where Lorna and Robert were playing.
“What happened?”
Owen actually blushed and countered quickly, “We had a difference of opinion. Jane said she would never forgive me.”
“Over just a difference of opinion?” Angela smiled knowingly. “She’s jealous! She saw us and thought the worst. Why don’t you go after her, Owen?”
He sighed dejectedly. “It would do no good. Jane will hardly speak to me and I can’t say I blame her after my abominable behavior.”
“Just what did you do? No, don’t tell me. I can guess. But, Owen,” Angela suggested, “sometimes it’s better not to talk and argue the point. A woman doesn’t want apologies but positive action. You would be surprised how a kiss can end even the most violent arguments. Believe me—I know.”
“I love her but I don’t think Jane feels the same.”
“Tell her! It will do no good to keep it to yourself.”
“The time isn’t right. I don’t know if it ever will be!”
“Now I’ve upset you. A fine pair we are moping around over lost dreams.” Angela’s bottom lip trembled, on the brink of another outburst of weeping. “Let’s do something wild and gay, forget everything for a few hours!”
“Yes,” he agreed seeing how she rallied. “Madame Saisset’s! And tomorrow I will fight a half dozen duels.”
“No, there will be none. I will be on my best behavior, and I don’t even care if we run into your brother!”
Angela was a vision in apricot silk, with the huge diamond Percy
had given her glittering against the smooth skin of her bosom. Once again all eyes fastened greedily on her as she and Owen entered the gaming hall. The women, for practically none of them were ladies, gazed enviously at her jewels and the perfection of her glowing complexion. Many of them used paint and powder to achieve what Angela did naturally. As she passed by they clung possessively to the arms of their escorts, as if Angela were a threat and out to capture them all for herself.
Thurston Vaughn, always cool and efficient, overturned his wine glass spoiling the card game, but amidst the confusion he had eyes only for Angela. So, here she was at last and with his brother again! He had despaired of ever seeing her again after she had dropped mysteriously out of sight. The unexpectedness of her appearance and the fact that he had given up the search for her, only to find her again excited him beyond endurance.
He wanted her more than ever; the feeling only intensified by her elusiveness and long absence. As if reading his thoughts the tall redhead he was with dug her nails viciously into his bicep through the velvet of his coat. She smiled sweetly but her eyes flashed a warning that he could afford to ignore now that he had found the woman of his dreams once more.
Shaking off the clinging hand Thurston said cuttingly, “Remember, my dear, who pays the rent and buys all those fripperies you crave. If you don’t behave yourself you could find yourself out in the street!”
Duly warned Monica drew in her claws but carefully watched the progress of the newcomer and the reaction of Thurston through veiled green eyes. The woman was a mere child and skinny, but why did the eyes of every man follow the swing of her hips as she walked? Thurston’s black eyes were glued to the swell of bare flesh above her bodice and Monica knew the answer to her own question. She exuded sensuality; it followed her like a cloud of perfume, nebulous but instantly recognizable.
Angela concentrated every effort on keeping a straight face as she was introduced to Chevalier d’Eon. She had heard about him before; the famous fencer and diplomat who was now considered fit for Bedlam. But coming face to face with the athletic, six and a half foot tall man dressed as a woman and wearing an elaborate wig was almost more than she could bear.
She bit the inside of her cheek and Owen saw the telltale flare of her delicate nostrils as Angela fought back the laughter this ridiculous man invariably caused. Then in the room beyond she saw the Duke of Remington and her amusement was extinguished as quickly as a fire doused with cold water. She knew she would see Owen’s brother again and one look renewed her feeling of instant dislike as he acknowledged her with a smile of his wet, red lips. But this time she refused to become agitated by the man. Let him stare! She was here to enjoy herself and forget, and Angela would not let him spoil her evening as he had before.
Once again Owen refused to gamble but stood watching as Angela played faro and won a large amount. Whether she won or lost was of no consequence to her but her apparent boredom with the game seemed to irritate the lady sitting next to her. The woman bent her ear about her recent admittance to the ton and the last ball at Almack’s. She chatted on making several pointed innuendos about Angela’s being a Cyprian and finally asked condescendingly what, if any, exclusive clubs she belonged to.
Tired to death of the woman’s remarks Angela replied in a clear haughty voice, “I belong to the Twenty-Eight Club!”
“The Twenty-Eight Club? Why I have never heard of it!”
“Of course you haven’t! It’s so exclusive that even the Prince of Wales isn’t a member!” She heard a choked laugh from Owen in the absolute silence of the room.
“Why, I don’t believe you!” the indignant lady replied getting to her feet, then sinking back down into her chair and staring openmouthed over Angela’s shoulder.
“She’s quite right, you know. I don’t belong to the club.”
Angela turned, looking up at the portly prince who in all his splendor looked like a velvet encased sausage. She had committed the ultimate faux pas but instead of apologizing as good manners would have indicated, her laughter rang out musically and the amused prince joined in. Angela rose sinking into a deep curtsy before the prince and the astonished company.
“Ah, Duchess—as irrepressible as ever, I see!” He bowed kissing her hand, noting the mischievous sparkle in her aqua eyes. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm he drew Angela away from the crowd. “I’m having a masquerade at Carlton House next month, surely you will come? But now, tell me all about this intriguing new club and how I can join!”
But of course! How could he have been so obtuse? The infamous Duchess of Brightling, Angela Carlyle Harrington. The lady with a past to her credit that would have satisfied the most avid gossipmonger. Married to an old man, then his son and in between the affairs with a highwayman and the Earl of Osgood, one of the most eligible bachelors in England. If he remembered right she had even been engaged to Montgomery, before her last husband had carried her off. Now Thurston knew where he had seen her—at the trials of Jack Newton and her husband. No wonder her enormous eyes were so haunted, but he wondered how she managed to keep such a look of innocence after all she had been through. What a fascinating woman!
Chapter Seven
The gaming club became an obsession and Angela found herself going more often; several times a week always under the eagle eye of Owen. Each time she had run into Thurston Vaughn, but although his beady eyes made her shiver he was invariably polite. Often they ended up at the same table playing for huge stakes in some kind of a subtle tug of war that he instigated. One night she lost ten thousand pounds to him, the next time she won it all back and more.
Owen just stood in the background shaking his head. The money they threw away would have made him independent for life. Maybe then he would have dared to ask Jane to marry him. As it was now the peace between them was tenuous and fragile, not helped at all when Jane found out about his frequent late nights with Angela. In a way the fact that she was jealous was encouraging, but the next day he would be right back where he had started and the courtship began all over again.
Things could not go on as they had been going and Owen decided he must be bold and decisive with Jane. He had lost at love once before because of inexperience and youth but was determined it wouldn’t happen again. He wanted Jane and would have her. It surprised Owen to find some of his brother’s ruthlessness in himself.
Jane was in the garden enjoying the last of the good weather before winter set in. She wondered if they would spend another season in London or go back home. Restlessly she kicked at the fallen leaves that no amount of diligent raking by the gardeners could keep up with.
She needed a change and longed for something, anything, to happen to change her dull existence. Lively society and balls were a bore and she longed to do something exciting, but most of all to get away. It wasn’t that she didn’t like living with Angela, just that Angela had changed since Scott’s death. She was always seeking diversion and went about the business of living frantically, as if it was her last day on earth.
“Jane.” Owen strode determinedly toward her, “I want to talk to you!”
“Well I don’t want to talk to you!” She dodged around the thick trunk of a gnarled oak tree but he caught her arm.
“We can be alone in the summerhouse.”
He dragged her protesting every step of the way toward the romantically concealed structure, overgrown with vines and surrounded with trees. A late blooming rose nodded in the breeze against a white pillar.
“What is the meaning of this—this abduction?” Jane cried angrily, her bosom heaving beneath the green velvet of her gown.
“Abduction!” he laughed. “If I had that in mind I wouldn’t have brought you here.”
“Let me go this instant or. . .”
“Or what?” Owen taunted watching her cheeks flush angrily. “Will you scream? I doubt if anyone will hear you.”
As fast as a cat she aimed a blow at him but he was quicker catching her wrist and imprisoning it in a firm gri
p. She was helpless with Owen holding both of her arms and with an unknown danger lurking in his green eyes. Well, she sighed inwardly, she was the one wishing for excitement and Owen surely provided that element.
“You struck me once before, but this time I did nothing to deserve such an unprovoked attack.” One corner of his mouth curled up in a mocking half smile as he looked at Jane contemplatively. “At least let me earn a well-deserved slap before you give it!”
Very slowly, inch by inch, Owen pulled her to him, his eyes never leaving hers. Jane tried to resist but he was so much stronger and he seemed to enjoy the game he was playing. She felt powerless, like a snake under the spell of a snake charmer, weaving his hypnotic trance over his unwilling victim. They were quite close now and with one more movement the peaks of her breasts touched his chest.
“No, Owen,” Jane protested finding her voice at last, “what are you going to do?”
“What would you like me to do? Kiss you, make love to you?” She stiffened casting around for help. “You have tormented me and evaded me long enough. Now we will have honesty between us!”
Jane turned her head away from his kiss but one hand fastened in her hair twisting until her trembling lips were within reach, like ripe fruit there for the asking. She thought he would be harsh but his mouth covered hers tenderly, cherishing her lips, awakening a singing response in her blood.
Scott, Scott, she cried silently, it’s you I love, you I'm betraying. But his face faded from her mind as her senses flared into a realization of only herself and Owen, suspended in time in an unforgettable moment of passion. She was the one panting, surging upward beneath his kiss; searching with her tongue, pulling him closer until Owen almost lost control of himself.
It would be too easy to consummate his love here and now in the deserted garden with only the birds looking on. But what would happen tomorrow? Would Jane regret letting him take her? He had to think for both of them, their whole future was at stake and Owen didn’t want to be the one to ruin everything.
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