Beloved (46 page)

“No.” Ella couldn’t seem to think properly. “No, it’s not true.”

Precious brought her hands in front of her. “
Yes
, it is. And you still are. There are some things you can’t stop being.”

Staring at what Precious held, Ella stepped backward. A gown of flimsy red chiffon trailed from Precious’s fingers.

Ella looked at Milo. “Why is she here? Why is she trying to frighten me?”

“Just do as you’re told, missy,” Milo said. “Remember that snot-nosed brother of yours, and do as you’re told.”

“You’ve got to put this on.” Precious held out the gown and Ella thought the other woman’s face registered something else
behind the malice. “Go on. Take off your clothes and put this on.”

“No.” Ella shook her head and sat on the chaise. “You’re ill, Precious. You must be. How can you be involved in all this?”

“Take off your clothes!”

Ella wrapped her cloak firmly about her.

A stinging slap to her cheek shocked Ella. Shocked and hurt her. She drew away from Precious, who now loomed over her, ugly
patches of red staining her face.

Precious raised her hand again.

This time Ella was quicker. She ducked aside and grasped Precious’s wrist at the same time.

Precious struggled furiously. Words Ella had never heard streamed from the girl’s mouth.

Using both hands, Ella twisted Precious’s substantial wrist. Precious grappled and screeched. “Let me go, whore! Let me go!
Ooh, you’re hurting me!” Under the weight of three ostrich plumes, her elaborate beaded evening hat tipped forward. She dropped
the red dress.

“That’ll do, Ella,” Milo said.

She glanced at him and saw with revulsion that he found the scuffle enjoyable. “I’m a married woman. My husband will punish
you for this.”

Swiping at the ostrich plumes, Precious struggled ineffectually against Ella’s strong hands. “You thought you were going to
be a lady.” She spat in Ella’s face. “Well, a lady is as a lady does, and you’re no lady. And your fancy marriage is over
anyway.”

“How …” Ella couldn’t let go to wipe away Precious’s spittle. “That’s not true. Saber and I have been married a week now.”

“You mean you’ve been rutting for a week,” Precious said. “I know all about it. The marriage is going to be annulled. I don’t
know why anyone wants you … Get Pommy!” she shrieked suddenly.

Ella’s limbs wobbled. “Pommy? Do you mean Pomeroy Wokingham?”

“Of course I do. Get him, old man! Get him now. Tell him he can put the red dress on his whore himself. I’m tired of helping
him with this. He’s got me.” She glowered at Ella through the feathers. “I’m all he needs, but he’s got you in his blood.
So we’re just going to get you out and be done with it.”

She had to be strong. Ella applied another twist to Precious’s arm and produced the expected scream. The girl was physically
soft and weak. Ella had spent most of her life fending for herself, and even in the years at Kirkcaldy, she’d roamed the estate,
more often on horseback or working beside a tenant wife than sipping tea.

Pomeroy Wokingham arrived. His thin mouth drooped petulantly. “You can get out now, scab,” he told Milo. “And don’t come back
unless I tell you to.”

“But the money—”

“I’ve already paid, fool. Get out.”

“But—”

A hard kick, with the toe of a boot, connected with Milo’s knee. He crumpled against the wall.

“Don’t come back,” Pomeroy yelled. “Go on! Go on!”

Whimpering, Milo shuffled away.

“Oh, Pommy,” Precious cried. Ella let her go and she rushed, arms opened wide, toward Pomeroy Wokingham. “Oh, Pommy, she’s
vicious. She twisted my wrist and spat at me. Imagine. She
spat
at me!”

Ella didn’t bother to argue. There would be no point. Any more than there would be a point in asking what Lord Wokingham’s
fiancýs doing here—and in the company of Lord Wokingham’s son.

“She spat, hey?” Pomeroy said with a smile that resembled a snarl. He shook free of Precious’s embrace. “Good. Glad to hear
she’s got plenty of spirit. More fun that way.”

“But Pommy!”

Pomeroy spared Precious a look. His eyes passed over her body but returned to her breasts. “They are your best asset,” he
said, obviously assuming no more explanation was necessary. He used a foot to shut the door. “Yes, your best asset. Why cover
them at all, my dear?”

Before Precious could respond, and while Ella cringed, Pomeroy Wokingham tore open what there was of Precious’s bodice, revealing
her big breasts balanced atop a very uncomfortable-looking corset contraption. Stiffened buckram cups presented their jiggling,
brown-tipped offerings rather like milk-jellies decorated with large spoonfuls of damson jam.

Precious batted coyly at Pomeroy but made no effort to cover herself. Rather, she put her hands on her hips and strutted before
Ella. “She’s scrawny, Pommy,” she said. “Not like me. We could do it right here, if you like. In front of her. Come on, Pommy,
I’m ready for you. I’m always ready for you.”

“In time,” Pomeroy said, with eyes only for Ella. “Pick up the gown,” he told her.

Sickened, she pressed her lips together and didn’t move.

“Oh, we’re going to be difficult,” Pomeroy remarked. He crossed his arms and checked his fingernails. “I like that. So much
more of a challenge. Things that come too easily can become boring.” This time he did give Precious his attention. He tucked
two fingers into her corset, between her breasts, and hauled her to him. Very deliberately, he squeezed each of her breasts
hard, and laughed when she moaned with pain.

“Don’t,” Ella said. “Don’t. You’re hurting her.”

“You shut up!” Precious told her. “And do as you’re told. I’ll help you, Pommy. You know I’ll always help you.”

His response was to pinch the silly girl’s nipples viciously.

Ella turned away.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Pomeroy move toward her. “I’ve changed my mind, Precious. Get out.”

“Pommy!”

“Get out!”

“But you promised. You said I could be here.”

“Well, you can’t. To keep you quiet, I pretended I’d let you stay—I was afraid you’d bring Father here at a run.” He sneered
at Precious. “Won’t be able to do that now, will you? He’d only have to take one look at you to know what you’ve been up to
with me. Just do as you’re told and I may not tell Father what a little slut you really are. Now, stay out of my way. I’ve
waited a long time to get what’s mine, and I’m not sharing it—with anyone.”

It
. He referred to her as “it.” Ella tried to be calm, tried to gauge her chances of making it to the door without being stopped.

No chance at all.

“Pommy, I don’t want—”

“I don’t care what you want, you stupid jade. I’ve shared everything for too long. Get out into the passageway and make sure
no one comes in here.”

Still half-naked and sniveling now, Precious did as she was told.

Leaning forward from the waist, Pomeroy approached Ella until he could poke his vile face into hers. “At last,” he said.

“We’re going to be alone, my gypsy. After so many years of waiting, you’re going to do what I paid for.”

Years!
She avoided his pale, flat eyes. Only inches from hers, they gleamed almost opalescent.

“I won’t look, you know,” he said.

Ella didn’t move. What was he talking about?

“Not until you’re ready for me. Wouldn’t want to spoil it.”

With Precious gone, the odds for an escape were slightly better.

Pomeroy thrust the chiffon gown at Ella. “Go over there and change. Behind the bed curtains.” He smiled, and trailed the back
of a finger along her jaw. “So beautiful. You’re going to dance for me, my beautiful gypsy.”

She would not allow herself to flinch away from him. Instead she forced a little smile.

Pomeroy’s smile widened. “That’s the way. Be good to Pomeroy. He’s earned it after all these years of waiting.”

Again he referred to waiting a long time for something, something to do with her.

“Go along,” he said, his tone singsong. “Go and do what Pomeroy tells you. I’ll make things nice for us while I wait.”

Panic dried Ella’s mouth. She couldn’t make her feet move.

Pomeroy gave her a little push. “Go along, now. Take everything off, mind you. I want you just the way you were when I first
saw you.”

Ella froze.

“Aha!” He capered, grinning and rubbing his hands together. “Now you know, don’t you?”

“No,” she managed to whisper. “No, I don’t know anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. When Saber—”

“Don’t speak his name to me!” The grin died. Pomeroy’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all over. A little mistake I’ll forget if you’re
a very good girl.”

Ella threw the chiffon gown aside. “I shall certainly speak my husband’s name. I’ll speak it as often as I please.”

Pomeroy’s features twisted. He bared his stained teeth and advanced on her. “You have no husband. You’re mine. I bought you.”

Her heart missed beats. She grasped one of the bedposts.

“That’s right. I bought you in this very house. Mine was the highest bid, but Hunsingore stole you. For what? That’s what
I’d like to know. You don’t think I believe he just wanted to
save
you, do you?”

This man had been there—on that horrible night. “Papa,” she said faintly. “He is the kindest of men. He took me—and he took
Max—because he is generous. Just as Mama is generous and Uncle Arran and Aunt Grace. And Uncle Calum and Aunt Pippa. You know
nothing of such people.”

“Because they’re better than I?” His face drew together in a fearsome glare. “They are no better than I. They merely hide
behind their elevated titles and reputations. But I am beating them all tonight. When I have finished with you, they will
be glad to get rid of you.”

“Saber …” She could not finish her thought, or make more words.

“Lord Avenall is a madman. But I should thank him for that. Had he not been so, then your beloved relatives would not have
done me the favor of returning you to London—and your dim-witted brother could not have been persuaded to trap you into coming
here.”

“Let me go.”

“Never. Never again. This is to be our little ceremony of joining. Afterward I will take you away.”

Ella rallied. She drew herself up. “It is you who are mad. How can you imagine that my husband will not look for me?”

Pomeroy took off his coat and set it on the chaise. The black and orange striped waistcoat he wore showed off the narrowness
of his chest and shoulders. “I have it on the best authority—your brother’s comments to the old man—that Lord Avenall is safely
under lock and key. Enough of this! Do not spoil something so special. I do not wish to have to undress you myself.”

When she didn’t move, he picked up the gown and threw it onto the bed. “Put it on. I shall deal with the lights.”

He went about lighting red candles he produced from a box on the mantel. All other lamps he extinguished, until a crimson
glow washed the awful purple room.

When he’d finished, he looked at Ella as if she were a bad child. “Come, come now—”

“I shall do nothing you ask of me,” she said clearly. “Nothing. Anything you take from me will be taken, Mr. Wokingham. I
shall give you nothing.”

He dithered, walking closer, and backing away again— then making half-circles in front of her, watching her all the while.

Ella felt cold, but clearheaded. He could do terrible things to her body, take her body, but he could not touch her mind.
He could not put his fingers upon her heart or her soul. In those places her hatred for him would be strong. In those places
she would guard her love for Saber no matter what happened to either of them.

“You break my patience!” Pomeroy darted at her. He snared the collar of her cloak and the clasp opened. As he pulled the garment
away, she spun around, then steadied herself on the bedpost once more.

A surge of energy dulled Ella’s fear. “You will never get what you want,” she told Pomeroy. “Never. You tried to buy a child
here in this house, but it didn’t work. You want me now, but it still will not work.”

He lunged.

Ella darted aside, and Pomeroy’s head slammed into the bedpost where she had been.

“Bitch!” He flung himself around. A wide cut had opened on his brow and blood began to seep toward his right eye. “You’ll
suffer for that.”

She saw the fire poker.

Pomeroy noted the direction of her glance and rushed to cut her off.

Ella all but threw herself toward the fire. Her hands closed on the wooden handle of the tool.

Pomeroy’s hands closed on top of Ella’s.

They fell and rolled, over and over. The stench of Pomeroy’s drink-laced breath brought Ella’s stomach roiling into her throat.
She gritted her teeth and fought him.

With strength she’d never known she possessed, she clung to the poker.

Pomeroy took one hand away and dragged up her skirts. “You want it this way? Good enough, madam. Good enough.” She felt his
clammy fingers tearing at her drawers.

With all the power she could muster, Ella heaved, thrust a knee free, and struck at whatever part of him she could reach.

Pomeroy screamed. Tears bubbled in his eyes. His mouth opened wide, and he howled.

Pleased with her success, Ella repeated the blow with her knee.

Like a cornered animal, he lashed out, crying and screaming all the while. He blubbered, and while he did so, he destroyed
every part of Ella’s clothing he could snatch.

She willed her mind free of her body’s struggle, and applied her knee yet again.

He struck her face. And he jerked, drew his knees up to his chest, and gasped. A table crashed on top of them, then splintered
against the hearth tiles.

His next blow was to her shoulder. He pounded the fine bones there with as much force as he could summon. Ella heard the impact,
and felt her arm grow numb. Their two hands, one of hers, one of his, still held the poker.

“That is all,” he told her through his teeth. He sat astride her and pounded the back of the hand that held the poker against
the floor. Again and again he pounded, until, at last, she could hold on no longer.