Fortune's Mistress (19 page)

“
Women have borne children on the road before this,” he interrupted coldly, “and my need cannot be easily fulfilled without you.”

“
I care nothing for your needs!” she spat at him.

“
You made that quite clear to me in London,” he returned with a chilling smile. “Nevertheless, you will come with me. I have a notion that your reappearance in London will prompt an indispensable infusion of capital to my poor purse.”

Marianne gasped.
“You cannot mean blackmail!”

“
What an ugly word,” he said. “Let us say instead that, for a small price, I will find it convenient to spare our poor friend Cheswick an embarrassment which might prove deleterious to his marriage. And such a thing is so much easier to achieve when incontrovertible evidence is present in the flesh, shall we say? No,” he concluded, “I am afraid there is nothing for it but for you to return to the city with me. You have already inconvenienced me sufficiently.”

Marianne felt her fingers curl into fists as rage as the realization of his perfidy overcame her.
“I will not be a party to this wickedness,” she whispered. “You cannot force me.”

His smile of satisfaction grew wider.
“Ah, but I can. I do not at all like to be unpleasant,” he went on, “but you do not seem to collect the
difficulties
that will undoubtedly accompany your refusal.” He paused a moment, watching her. “Your sister, for instance. It would very likely discomfit her mightily were tales of your adventures— not to mention all these children— to reach the ears of certain parties. She is seen everywhere, and her lord as well. What might her feelings be, were society reminded who and what her sister is?”

Hatred unlike any she had before experienced seethed through her. How could anyone be so wicked? It was as if he had no soul.

“And then there is the matter of this amusing masquerade you have perpetrated here,” he continued silkily. “I think I could not depart this neighborhood without first informing the good parson of your true character—yes, I took the trouble to make his acquaintance and that of his wife today. I am afraid you have little choice, my dear. You may refuse to come with me, but by all counts, you cannot remain here.”

Marianne looked at Stratford narrowly. There was more to this business than he was telling. If blackmail came so easily to him, she was certain he must have hoarded many secrets over the years. It was well known, too, that
Cheswick’s fortune was controlled by his wife’s family. Could it be that his real aim was to ruin two lives?

He threw back his head and laughed.
“Such hatred on your pretty face is unbecoming, Marianne. It is, of course, your fault we have come to this. I believe I told you some time ago that I wanted you. I have a deplorable penchant, you know, for getting my way— by foul means or fair. Or, if I cannot, to make my displeasure felt. You should have obliged me before, in London, and we could have avoided all this regrettable unpleasantness.”

Marianne
felt her heart go numb with increased anger and deadening shock. She knew in that moment that she was capable of murder, had she a weapon or the strength. But she had neither at the moment. She must think. She must take deep breaths and concentrate. Slowly, a stiletto of pain worked its way up her back. Gritting her teeth against it, she schooled her countenance and forced herself to smile.

“
As for the manner in which you have chosen to work your will,” she began, “I will say nothing. I scarcely think you can be shamed by my reading you a scold.”

“
Not in the least,” he returned with a bow. He took out his snuffbox and applied a pinch with insufferable composure.

“
It seems you leave me little choice, but to go with you,” she said quietly, “as I am sure you must know.”

He sneezed delicately into a handkerchief, and smiled again.
“You are very wise, my dear.”

“
Perhaps,” she allowed. “But you may yourself be very foolish.” She allowed him a moment to take this in. The pain raced up her back again, more intensely this time. She felt the perspiration break out on her forehead, but willed herself to go on. “It is unwise,” she continued raggedly, “to make an enemy of someone who has nothing to lose.”

His eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”

“
I mean that you may choose to destroy the life I have built here. But all actions have their consequences.”

She smiled inwardly to see his eyes grow wary.
“I shall warn you but once: when you least expect it, I shall find the means to kill you. You will never again be safe to eat or sleep or turn your back on me. I will be avenged eventually, and you will be very, very sorry.”

She had not known herself what she meant to say until the words formed on her tongue. Having said them, she felt the shock doubly, both by hearing them in her heart and seeing her adversary pale in response to them.
Stratford’s countenance was washed with loathing. Suddenly, it was clear to her: he truly hated her. She could think of no reason, but there was no escaping the conclusion that it had never been her body he truly wished, but dominion over her. He did not so much want
her,
as he wanted to see her broken to his will.

He rose from his seat slowly, like a snake un
coiling, and loomed over her. Violence shone in his eyes. She shrank before his rage, clasping her arms protectively about her.

* * * *

Venables strode along the winding path, the boys trailing behind him. He gathered his greatcoat tightly around him. The storm that had been threatening all afternoon was beginning to bear down, and now it was discovered that Jane and Becky were missing. They were not in the house or the barn; it stood to reason they were at their usual haunt, Rosewood Cottage.

He had been hoping to pay a call there all day, but two e
mergencies had arisen in the afternoon, keeping him occupied until he judged it too late for such an endeavor. Even though he suspected that the girls’ disappearance was linked to their attempts at matchmaking, he was not in the least loath to go in search of them— only the threat of the storm gave him any misgiving at their action. In any case, he would have the pleasure of looking in on Marianne, even if it meant coming home sodden and cold.

Against the horizon, a flash of lightning lit the sky. The thunder followed almost immediately, prompting him to quicken his step.

“Charlie! George!” he called over his shoulder. “Try to keep pace with me, or I shall be sorry I brought you along!”

Hurriedly, they came up beside him. As they rounded a bend, they came almost immediately upon the huddled forms of Jane and Becky, looking back over their shoulders in the direction of Rosewood Cottage.

“Here you are!” Venables called. When they turned to him, he could see that Jane’s face was pale and wide-eyed, while tears coursed down Becky’s cheeks.

“
What is this?” he asked, kneeling beside them.

“
Please, we didna like to go from her, doctor,” Jane said, her small voice wavering. “Only she commanded us to and, oh, we are so feared for her.”

Venables felt his heart grow still.
“Why? What do you mean?”

“
It is a man,” Jane cried.

Becky tugged at his sleeve.
“A man who is wicked,” she whispered.

Venables broke into a run, leaving the children to trail behind him. As he raced toward the cottage, the sky suddenly opened, and thick slanting sheets of rain began to pour down on him. He did not know what he might find, but his heart had frozen at the recognition of fear in Jane’s and Becky’s faces. This was no mere machination to place him at the widow’s door.

The wind tore at him furiously as he reached the door. He flung it open and all but threw himself in. Annie greeted him with shocked sur
prise.

“
Why, Doctor Venables! What? Out in this storm? Whatever are you about?”

“
Where is Mrs. Glencoe?” he gasped.

“
Why, she is in the drawing room, I suppose— “

“
Take your shawl,” he interrupted. “The children are just down the lane. Take them to Mrs. Maiden as fast as you may.”

He did not wait for an answer, but made his way quickly to the drawing room. From inside, he now heard the sound of furniture falling and Marianne
’s low cry. Near blind with apprehension, he jerked the door open with such force it nearly left its hinges. Before him he saw Marianne, trying desperately to protect herself from an assailant.

Her face already bore the mark of a cuff, and the man was raising his hand yet again. Venables catapulted through the door, took the cur by the shoulders, and threw him bodily to the floor.

Marianne stared in horror at the scene before her. Stunned, Stratford moaned as he attempted to recover from Venables’s sudden assault. When he looked up, his face registered a look of astonished incredulity as he took in the sight of the doctor looming over him.

“
I see you have found another protector, Marianne,” he managed at last, his eyes dark with rage. He glanced again at Venables. “I wonder what she has told you?”

Marianne stiffened.

“Not another word,” Venables said, “or you will know what it is to be silenced with your own teeth.” Marianne was shocked at the violence in his voice. It was as if a sudden unsuspected aspect of his soul had been bared by the brutality of the scene he had interrupted, and a dragon had emerged.

Keeping a watchful eye on Stratford, Venables asked,
“Are you much hurt, Mrs. Glencoe?”

“
Is that what you are calling yourself these days, Marianne?” Stratford muttered insinuatingly. “A widow, I take it. How I should like to have been able to see you through what I am certain must have been an exceedingly dark period of mourning.”

Venables jerked forward, but Marianne stayed him.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, no more.”

Stratford still had not moved from the floor, but his eyes now glittered treacherously.
“She is not worth it, you know,” he said. “Were I you, I should not trouble myself with the slut—or her bastard.”

Stratford
’s words assailed Marianne with the shock of yet another blow, and, simultaneously, a band of agonizing pain seized her.

“
No!” she gasped weakly, but Venables had already lunged at Stratford. The doctor’s face was white, as he hauled the man to his feet and dragged him through the door. She was in too much agony to protest further, but she could hear the front door open, and Stratford’s curse become one with the howl of the storm.

She concentrated on her pain, glad in one sense of a way to remove herself from the worse agony of the scene she had just witnessed. Life mirrored natur
e. The storm which had just broken in her consciousness threatened to be far more destructive than the one which raged just beyond her window.

In what seemed a mere moment, Venables was at her side again, his presence now not in the least comforting. Stratford
’s words could not have left any doubt in the doctor’s mind of who and what she was. If only she could persuade him to go away, that she might be left alone with her pain and disgrace.

He settled his arm gently about her.
“Do not worry— I have sent the blackguard into the night with a fair expectation of what he might receive were he to return. Are you injured?” he whispered.

The pain had subsided again. She shook her head, as the tears began to slide down her face. Stratford
’s words echoed in her mind. Slut, Bastard. That Venables should have heard him outweighed the torment of physical pain. It was as if she had been ruined again.

Still, he held her, and his voice was gentle. She
searched her mind for words that would explain everything, would make the shame go away, but none would form. She was now weeping uncontrollably, and only her shuddering conveyed the least whisper of what she wished to convey.

Venables stroked her hair and made soothing noises, as if she were a child who had taken some hurt.
“My Marianne,” he whispered.

Her heart was torn asunder by his tenderness, his goodness. Surely he must have heard, must have understood the import of Stratford
’s vicious revelation. But perhaps goodness could not comprehend evil. Perhaps he simply did not believe it of her.

All at once, she was racked with another series of pains, and she doubled over, trying desper
ately not to cry out.

“
Dear God!” Venables cried. “How long has this been going on?”

She shook her head. She had no clear idea how much time had passed.

“Do not be afraid,” he said gently. “The shock has prompted a premature labor. Let me know when the pain subsides, and I shall carry you up to your chamber.”

She was torn between the desire to send him away and the fear for the child she carried, when suddenly she remembered.
“What about the girls?” she whispered.