Claiming the Courtesan (28 page)

He came to a furious halt in front of her. “But I was wrong, wasn’t I? You’re not leaving because you want to. It’s what you’d like me to believe, but it’s not the truth, is it?”

“Kylemore, don’t,” she pleaded, vulnerable to this sudden attack.

He ignored her entreaty. “Tell me, Verity—back at the glen, you said you wanted me. Was that true?” His eyes burned in his pale face and a muscle jerked in his cheek.

“There’s no point in this.”

“Was that true?”

“Yes, it was true. You know it was,” she said wearily, unable to lie, although it would have been better for both of them if she had.

“You still want me. Tell me I’m mistaken, Verity.”

She bent her head, unable to bear the stormy torment in his eyes. Why was it so hard to do what was right?

“No, you’re not mistaken,” she whispered and lifted a hand to ward him off as he made a convulsive move in her direction. “But it’s more complicated than what we feel. You’re a duke. I’m a whore.”

“For God’s sake! You’ve had three lovers. My mother goes through more men in a week. And she’s received everywhere.”

Regretfully, Verity shook her head. “My protectors paid to use my body. The whole world knows it and condemns me.”

“I don’t,” he said steadily.

“Perhaps not. But that doesn’t mean there’s any future for us. You must marry and have an heir, Kylemore.”

“You’re the only woman I want to marry,” he said gravely. “Verity Ashton, will you grant me the unparalleled joy of consenting to become my wife?”

She fought back another searing flood of tears. “You do me too much honor.”

He stood straight and oddly still as if any untoward movement might startle her into running away. “If your fear is I’ll tire of you and abandon you in favor of another, it’s misplaced.” Then on a burst of feeling, “By my soul,
mo cridhe,
I have wanted you without ceasing from the first moment I saw you. Surely you cannot doubt my steadfastness.”

The strange thing was, she didn’t.

In spite of the dissolute habits of the society he moved in. In spite of his charm and manifold attractions.

She’d accepted that what he felt for her went far beyond physical desire, powerful as that physical desire was.

But still, it wasn’t enough.

She shook her head. “I cannot marry you, Kylemore. Our children would be outcasts. You’d be a pariah.”

“Society can go to hell,” he said shortly.

“You say that now. But you’ll repent giving your name to a woman like me. I couldn’t bear to cause you harm. It’s better we separate now.” Her voice broke on a sob, although she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. “Don’t press me, I beg of you. I’ve told myself a thousand times we can defy the world and live for ourselves alone. But we can’t! We can’t, Kylemore. All I ask is that you don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He finally came to rest near the windows. He looked strong, controlled, arrogant. Infinitely dear.

How can I bear to leave him?

Because it’s what I must do for his sake.

“I’ll give you the world if you stay.” His voice was low and laced with deep feeling. “My God, woman. Don’t you know I’d lie down and die for you if you asked?”

Yes, she knew now that he cared for her. She found it in herself to wish he didn’t care quite so much, even while her heart opened to every ardent declaration.

“I don’t want anything from you,” she said sadly.

“Except your freedom.”

“Yes,” she said, drawing on the core of steel that had helped her survive as Soraya.

“I can say nothing to change your mind?” he whispered despairingly.

“Nothing,” she confirmed in a husky voice. Then, summoning every shred of her courage, she looked directly at him. “Don’t bid me a decorous farewell outside. I…I couldn’t bear it. Let’s finish everything here. Good-bye, Your Grace.”

His eyes darkened to navy as he registered her use of his
title. But she was determined to remind him of the gulf that gaped between them, a gulf nothing as fragile as love could ever cross.

She watched acceptance seep into his features, along with a deathly bleakness that made her stomach cramp with wretchedness. He bowed his head in her direction but mercifully didn’t touch her.

She’d been brave enough to kiss him farewell back in Kensington. She couldn’t kiss him now. If she did, she’d shatter beyond repair.

She took one last, longing look at him.
Good-bye, my love.

“Good-bye, Verity,” he said softly, then turned back to the window as if he couldn’t bear to watch her walk away.

“V
erity lass, will you tell me what happened?” Ben asked softly from beside her on the curricle’s padded bench.

What had happened? Nothing out of the ordinary. She’d fallen in love, that was all.

Hardly worth the fuss she made, she thought, staring dry-eyed into the woods they passed in their hired carriage.

“Verity?” her brother prompted. They’d traveled for several hours, and he hadn’t pressed her for details. She appreciated his consideration, but even Ben’s patient silence couldn’t last forever.

“I…I promise I’ll tell you everything.” A lie. She could never tell him everything that had happened in Kylemore’s hidden Highland valley. But she could say enough to make Ben understand, she hoped. She turned to face the brother who’d endured so much for her sake. “Just not now.”

They were the first words she’d spoken in over an hour, since Ben had leaned down to broach the basket the butler at
Kylemore Castle had pressed upon them. She’d refused to share the lavish provisions.

The idea of food still sent nausea coiling through the leaden sorrow in her belly. A logical part of her mind knew that one day she’d talk and laugh and eat and sleep and act like a real person again, but her grieving core as yet couldn’t believe it.

“Just tell me one thing.” Ben’s massive hands were white-knuckled on the reins, and he stared with a rigid jaw at their horses. “Did he hurt you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

She fumbled desperately for the gray mist of apathy that had gripped her since she’d left her lover, but its protective edges became more ragged with every moment that passed.

“Lord in heaven!” Ben wrenched their vehicle to a shuddering halt and whirled to face her. “I’ll lay charges against him at the first town we come to. I care nowt that he’s a sodding duke. If he hurt you, he’ll pay for it, lass.”

His rage scorched away the last of her numbness. A massive wave of agony rushed into her soul. She dragged in an unsteady breath.

“No, you don’t understand, Ben.” Then she spoke aloud the truth she’d repudiated for so long. “I love him.”

“Love? What damned twaddle is…”

Even in her misery, she saw Ben’s fury fade into angry bewilderment, into denial. Then his expression became ineffably sad. He knew her so well, this brother who had given up his own hopes and ambitions—and, yes, pride in his manhood—to watch over her.

He knew just what this unwelcome love would cost her. Had already cost her.

“Oh, lass, I’m that sorry.”

Yes, he knew indeed. She managed a shaky smile. “I am
too.” She reached out and took his hand where it held the reins across his knees. “But least said, soonest mended.”

One of their mother’s favorite sayings. She saw the last of the tension drain from his face, leaving only compassion.

“Aye, lass, that’s true. I’ll get you back to Whitby and you’ll forget what you’ve been through right soon enough.”

He was wrong, but she honored his attempt to cheer her. “We can’t stay in Whitby, Ben. The scandal of the false Mrs. Symonds will still be the talk of the town.”

He urged the horses to walk on. “Then we’ll buy a sheep farm where no one’s any the wiser about who you are. We’ll get Maria out of that school and have her live with us. Don’t you fret owt, lass. Good Yorkshire air will bring the roses back into your cheeks. This won’t seem so bad when your family’s around you.”

“Yes, Ben,” she said, although she didn’t believe it.

She stared over the horses’ flickering ears and told herself the pain would pass. One day. When she was very old.

When she was dead.

They drove on in silence, while Verity tried not to remember. Remembering hurt too much.

But she couldn’t help it. And her starkest memory was of Kylemore’s face when he’d asked her to marry him today. He’d looked as though her refusal had crushed his last hope.

Ben intruded into her private hell when he shoved a crumpled white handkerchief in her direction.

“What’s this for?” she asked unsteadily.

“You’re crying, lass,” he said in a gentle voice.

“Am I?” She raised a shaking hand to her face and found it soaked with tears she hadn’t known she’d shed.

No, she’d never forget. Not even when age turned her hair gray and lined her face. She didn’t want to forget, however much remembering tortured her.

Silently, she wiped her face and stared ahead. She gave up
her futile battle with herself and began to revisit each precious moment of the last weeks.

The cruelty, the violence, the sadness, the sweetness.

The overwhelming love.

Beside her, Ben clicked his tongue to encourage the horses to a faster pace.

“What the Devil?”

Ben’s muttered imprecation stirred Verity from her stupor of exhausted misery.

“Oh!” The curricle lurched to an ungainly halt and threw her hard against her brother’s side. She clutched at his shoulder as the horses neighed and plunged in their traces.

“Someone’s blocked the road, Verity lass,” Ben said, peering ahead.

“Blocked the road?” she repeated dazedly.

Before she could gather her thoughts, rough hands grabbed her and hauled her from the carriage. Surprise more than terror made her scream for her brother as her assailant hurled her to the road. She landed painfully on one knee and threw out her hands to save herself from sprawling flat.

“Verity!” Ben shouted as two men dragged him from his seat and flung him to the ground beside her. She struggled to rise, ignoring the way her grazed and bleeding palms smarted.

“Don’t hurt him. I’ll come willingly,” she said sharply.

In spite of the harsh treatment, joy flooded her heart. This wasn’t some random robbery. Kylemore must have come to get her and take her back to the valley.

She didn’t care if they couldn’t be together forever. She didn’t care that what they did was wrong. She’d be with him now. That was all that mattered.

She looked up at the brawny men in nondescript clothing
who surrounded her, expecting to recognize a Macleish or two.

But the men who encircled her in the late afternoon light were strangers. Desperately, she tried to see past them to where Kylemore must wait for her.

“I’ll kill the bastard!” Ben staggered upright. “I told you not to trust him, lass!”

“Get down!” The largest of their captors aimed a kick at Ben’s legs. Her brother collapsed with a groan. “Tie him up.”

Verity was confused. The orders were delivered in an English accent. In Scotland, the duke always relied on local retainers.

“Kylemore?” she called in a puzzled voice. “I won’t fight you. You must know that.”

The man who had spoken reached down to grab her arm in a bruising grip. “Shut your gob,” he growled, wrenching her to her feet.

“I told you I won’t resist.”

She stumbled before she regained her balance. Surely, her lover knew he had no need to force her to go with him. They’d moved on so far since Whitby.

Hadn’t they?

Foolish to be frightened. He’d never hurt her. He’d sworn that, and she believed him. But chillingly, she remembered his anger when she’d refused his proposal then abandoned him in London.

Hadn’t she done exactly the same this afternoon?

Her heart thundered with wild apprehension. Trembling and at last completely alert, her eyes raked the deserted stretch of road. Deserted except for four men, the hired vehicle, a makeshift barricade of rocks and branches, and an elaborate closed carriage a few yards away.

Ben still fought to break free, but, as at Whitby, sheer
numbers made it impossible. He swore savagely, but the devils restraining him paid no attention while they trussed him and left him prone under the trees that crowded the roadside.

One of the men left Ben and hurried to open the coach’s door, which was painted with the familiar golden eagle of the Kinmurries. By the time the occupant emerged, Verity’s wits had returned and she experienced no jolt of surprise.

“Well done, Smithson.” The Duchess of Kylemore sent a heartbreakingly lovely smile to the huge brute who loomed beside Verity.

“My pleasure, Your Grace.” The man bowed briefly. “Shall we dispose of them? It will look like an attack by footpads.”

“No!” Verity gasped, beginning to struggle in earnest. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, when she’d relinquished her powerful lover so he could follow the dictates of duty. “Ben’s done nothing to deserve this!”

“Quiet, bitch.” Smithson slammed his free arm across her throat and yanked her back against his coarse linen shirt. Her head swam with the stench of stale sweat, and she gave an involuntary moan that squeaked into silence as his arm tightened.

The duchess’s cold, cold eyes settled on her. Verity shivered at the absolute hatred in those indigo depths.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side since my son first saw you,” the duchess said, her tone as pitiless as her gaze.

“But I’m leaving him. You know I’m leaving him,” Verity gasped, fighting for breath.

She squirmed to loosen Smithson’s hold, but to no avail. She raised her hand to claw at his hand. He gave a satisfying grunt of pain, then jerked hard against her throat, making her gag.

“Stop that, you poxy trull,” he muttered. “Stay still or I’ll hurt you in earnest.”

He released the punishing pressure on her airway and the blackness gradually receded from her vision. As the pounding blood rushed back into her bruised flesh, it throbbed painfully.

She dragged reviving air into her lungs and focused on the duchess. Smithson was merely a bully. The real danger stood before her in the person of this beautiful, perfectly dressed woman with frozen eyes. Fear made Verity’s head spin, but she fought to hide her spiraling terror.

“I’m never going to see His Grace again,” Verity rasped out. Talking scraped painfully at her abused throat.

The duchess’s eyebrows arched with patent disbelief. “I know my son. Justin won’t accept his dismissal so easily. I shudder to recall the laughingstock he made of himself when you left London. I could hardly hold my head up in society.” Her voice rang with self-righteous outrage. “I’m afraid you’ve aroused my displeasure, Soraya. And you must pay.”

Verity stood perfectly still in Smithson’s hold and raised her chin.

“Kill me if you must,” she said in a low, shaking voice. There would be no escape. She could see that the duchess’s calcified soul held no mercy for a recalcitrant harlot. Still, she had to try and save Ben. “But my brother has done you no ill. Please let him go, Your Grace.”

The duchess’s stained lips curved in a disdainful smile. “Oh, very moving, my dear. I should have guessed that more than just your pretty face drew my son to his downfall. He’s always had such pathetic admiration for courage.”

“There’s nothing pathetic about the duke,” Verity snapped unwisely.

The duchess stepped forward and slapped Verity hard across the face. “You will address me with respect, slut.”

Verity would have crumpled under the blow if Smithson hadn’t gripped her arms so tightly. As it was, the left side of
her face felt like it was on fire. She lifted a shaking hand to her cheek and adopted a more conciliatory tone in spite of how it galled her.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said, while every particle of her wanted to spit disgust into the woman’s exquisite face.

“That’s better.” The duchess’s expression changed from displeasure to gloating expectancy. “And you mistake me. I have no intention of killing you or your pimp. I want you to remember the day you crossed Margaret Kinmurrie. And live to rue it.”

“Let her go, you bloody witch!” Ben rolled in the dirt, kicking and pulling as his powerful muscles strained against the ropes.

“Silence the fellow,” the duchess said negligently to her henchmen. Her glittering gaze didn’t shift from Verity. She looked ruthless. She looked excited. The violence had triggered something primitive and uncontrollable in her.

Sickened, Verity closed her eyes.

The duchess continued in the same idle tone. “But don’t make him insensible. I want him to witness the consequences of presuming above one’s station.”

A scream tightened Verity’s throat, but she fought to contain it.

Screaming would do her no good. There was nobody to help her, just as there was nobody to help Ben.

The men clustered around Ben hid the beating from her, but his grunts of agony rose above the sickening thud of fists on vulnerable flesh.

She craned and twisted against Smithson’s imprisoning grasp to see what they did to her brother. Nausea rose as she instinctively but uselessly tried to wrest herself free and dash to his aid.

Eventually, she gave up in panting exhaustion and sagged
in her captor’s grip. Her puny strength was no match for the duchess’s thug.

“No, please. Your Grace, Ben’s done nothing to harm you,” she pleaded, her throat still raw. Then, even though her pride revolted at the words, “I beg of you, Your Grace. Let your anger fall on me, not on my brother.”

Amazingly, the duchess smiled, even while her bullies kicked and punched an innocent man toward unconsciousness. “I have anger to spare for both of you, whore.”

Ben’s groans became softer and more intermittent. Again, the duchess spoke without looking in his direction. “Don’t forget, I want him aware. He must see every detail of his sister’s punishment.”

Thank God the beating was over. It had seemed to last an eon. Verity forced herself to take an unsteady breath. Agonizing certainty grew within her about the duchess’s intentions.

“You mean these villains to rape me,” she whispered.

Horror swelled up to choke her. She needed Smithson’s cruel hands to keep her from collapsing as images of unbearable pain and shame flooded her mind.

“Yes. Eventually. An extra lover or four to a trollop like you makes no matter,” the duchess said lightly, then her voice hardened. “But before that, I’ll make sure you never bewitch my son—or any man—again.”

“I’ve renounced my life as a courtesan,” Verity said, although she saw that nothing would sway the duchess’s purpose.

“Oh, I can guarantee that.” Finally, the duchess looked across to where Ben lay in shuddering pain. “One of you, prop him up so he can watch. The rest, I need you here.”