Cheryl Holt (33 page)

Was stubborn, headstrong Charles as angry as she? Or had he calmed to where they could parlay over this new circumstance? What would he do if she sent a message, mandating his presence in the downstairs parlor?

She laughed. He’d tear it up.

Well, she’d have to go to him. She’d swallow her pride, and propose on bended knee, for she was positive that she’d already received the sole offer she’d ever get from him. If she wanted him for her own, she’d have to grovel, would have to force the issue.

He had a strange code of honor, but at heart, he was a gentleman, and he wouldn’t abandon a lady in distress. Before the hour was up, she would be engaged! By eleven on the morrow, she could be standing in front of the vicar!

Rushing to the wardrobe, she grabbed a shawl, as she
contemplated whether she should change her clothes into something more dramatic to befit the occasion, but she couldn’t tolerate any delay. She raced into the hall and down the stairs.

As she reached the foyer, the door opened and Stephen came in. For a second, she considered taking him with her out to the stable, making him a witness or an accomplice, but she discounted the idea. If Stephen were in attendance, Charles would do whatever Stephen commanded him to do, and she had to garner Charles’s acceptance without Stephen’s assistance. He had to consent of his own accord and not because Stephen had pressured him.

“My goodness, Eleanor,” he noted, “you’re glowing. You must be feeling better.”

“I’m so happy!”

“Where are you off to?”

“I’m about to speak to that rascal, Charles Hughes. He’s deserved a piece of my mind, and I’ve decided to give it to him.”

Stephen halted, frowned. “Charles?”

“Yes.” He looked stricken, and she paused, a glimmer of alarm sounding. “What is it?”

“I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“He’s gone.”

“When will he be back?”

“He’s not coming back.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s off to try and link up with our old regiment.”

She blanched. He would return to the Continent? To soldiering? Was he insane? He’d sacrificed a limb to the Crown. How much more could one individual be required to forfeit? Was he determined to kill himself?

“You’re joking.”

“No. He left yesterday.”

“But he’s crippled. How could they possibly allow it?”

“There are many chores he can manage besides fighting. And if he can’t rejoin them, he’ll sell himself somewhere else. There are many armies that would snatch him up.”

“The man is a lunatic! A certifiable maniac!”

“He’s proud, Eleanor. War is all he knows, all he’s ever done. He feels compelled to earn his keep, even though he’s maimed.” Stephen rested a hand on her shoulder. “He couldn’t stay here. Not when it was so clear that he wasn’t wanted.”

So . . . Charles must have mentioned their quarrel, or perhaps, Stephen had heard of it from their father. What was Stephen’s opinion of her wild escapade? He wasn’t the sort who would condemn or judge her, but did he believe her mad? Incautious? Reckless? Wise?

“Were you aware that Charles is a widower?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“Were you acquainted with his wife?”

“No. She died long before I’d met him.”

“What type of husband do you suppose he was?”

“The very best,” Stephen proclaimed without hesitation. “Why?”

“I was just curious.”

“Any
personal
interest you’d care to share?”

He was much too pleased with his deductions, and she wished she had time to slap his cocky smirk off his face.

“Your moronic companion, Mr. Hughes, has no business hieing himself off to Europe.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He has responsibilities here in England, primarily that he’s about to become a father.”

Stephen was a tad slow on grasping her intent, but as the significance sunk in, he grinned from ear to ear. “Are you saying . . .?”

“In which direction was that scoundrel traveling?”

“To Southampton. Some acquaintances of ours are mustering a ship to Portugal.”

“I repeat: the man is a lunatic!” Stomping off, she started up the stairs. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Where are you going?”

“It occurs to me that I must take a sudden journey to the south coast. If anyone needs to contact me, I’ll be at my estate in Romsey.”

Before he could reply, she marched away and locked herself in her bedchamber, shutting him out so that he couldn’t follow and enumerate all the reasons she was as deranged as Charles.

 19 

Willie McGee drove his prisoners’ wagon to Anne’s house and halted at her stoop. The yard was quiet, the property appearing sloppy and deserted. Her business had fallen off during Captain Chamberlin’s stay, and it hadn’t yet picked up, though Willie was unconcerned as to her loss of income or clients.

He had other, bigger plans for the erotic pool, and they had naught to do with Anne nursing the neighborhood invalids. He didn’t give two figs about the elderly crones who sought her help. Let them expire! The mysterious grotto was wasted on them!

The magic of the water had been proven. How else could one explain the recent rash of carnality he’d witnessed?

His precious Anne had metamorphosed into a harlot, disposed to commit any foul deed. His own sister—circumspect, sensible Prudence—had soaked in it a few times, and had been transformed into a lesbian. That she could be stricken so horridly, and so quickly, underscored the presence of a dire alchemy.

The rumors were true. The pond changed ordinary people into raving, wild beasts, so intent on fornication that
they would risk any hazard in order to copulate.

He still couldn’t believe what he’d seen Prudence doing with that human cow she fancied, and as he climbed down from the box, he glanced around, wondering where she was. Without a doubt, she was hiding nearby, having sneaked to the feminine lair of abomination the moment he was away, but he was temporarily disinterested as to her whereabouts.

Later, he would deal with her, would ensure that she received sufficient discipline for defying him.

As he rapped on the door, his mind whirled with the revisions he would instigate posthaste. There were so many intriguing possibilities.

If the acreage was managed correctly, with the goal being maximum profit, he’d be rich, more affluent than any of the nabobs who flaunted their pilfered East Indian loot, more prosperous than the land-poor lords he was compelled to assist. He was eager to begin accumulating his fortune.

He would never allow females to avail themselves of the bewitched location. The havoc the spot had wreaked on Prudence provided ample proof of the pool’s dangerous aspects. Males were better built to handle the stimulation, and they would be his customers, primarily the well-to-do, who would pay any amount to dip their wilting wicks.

After an experience or two, gentlemen would become obsessed. Like opium addicts, unable to resist, they would visit despite the cost, ready to cough up a bundle for the privilege of bathing.

The residence would be converted to one of ill-repute, where the prettiest, youngest girls would entertain his titillated swimmers. He’d arrange various frolics with the favorite strumpets, would schedule private parties, cater special events.

Through his policing activities, he was regularly thrown in contact with trollops, and he’d discovered that it was easy to coerce a female into behavior she’d normally refuse to
attempt, if she was threatened with suitable punishment. Loss of a child, termination of employment, deportation, an asylum, were all perils he had no qualms about raising.

So many hideous prospects could be dangled to reduce them to quivering, begging lumps that it was almost humorous to learn how far he could push them. In particular, he relished those who started out adamant and strong, who thought they could withstand his tortures. It was amusing to bend them to his will, and he always succeeded, so he would have a constant flow of new talent to incite his guests.

He would promise the women protection from their criminal charges, and freedom from incarceration, if they worked for him. Flat on their backs! As he was a master at persuasion, they would all agree. The sole caveat would be that he enjoy the girls first. The other men would have to wait in line, would have to sample the wares after Willie had feasted.

Knocking again, he was rewarded by a maid ushering him into Anne’s parlor. After studying the salon, assessing the furnishings, curtains, and rugs, he decided that the decor was too feminine and would have to be replaced. The expense would be covered by the remuneration Anne had obtained from the Chamberlins for tending her brave soldier.

She would forever rue the day she had reached so high above her station that she had shunned him for Stephen Chamberlin.

“Whore!” he muttered, and his fury was so vehement that he took many deep breaths, calming himself, not wanting Anne to have a hint of what was coming. Her future was winging toward her like a runaway carriage. She couldn’t avert it, couldn’t alter it. She could only hold on and float with the rising tide of despair that was about to wash her away.

Eventually, she showed herself. She was thinner, pale and wan at having been abandoned by her lover, but her looks hardly mattered. As happened with all the harlots he ravished,
he would grow bored of her, but he would have the wenches in his brothel to keep him satisfied. Anne had a different role to play.

At the outset, he would ascertain which carnal antics she abhorred the most, and when she merited castigation, he would seek her out, would constrain her to perform those exploits she detested.

“Hello, Willie.” Her smile was tepid, her welcome cool. “You haven’t stopped in ages. What brings you by?”

He saw no reason to delay or skirt the issue with polite conversation. “Several times now, I’ve asked you to marry, but you’ve spurned me.”

“Willie, please. We’ve been through this before, and you embarrass me by—”

He cut her off. “I won’t listen to another repudiation.”

“Then why are you here? Why torment yourself with this fruitless quest?”

“I have sworn out a warrant for your arrest.”

“What?”

“I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“Because I won’t marry you?”

“No.”

“Then on what grounds?”

He pulled out the document and commenced reading. “ ‘Public Fornication, Nudity, Lewd Conduct, Encouragement of Homosexuality,’ which by the way, is a capital offense, ‘Illicit Sexual Intercourse, Inappro—’ ”

“That’s the most ludicrous nonsense I’ve ever heard.” Her mouth was gaping open and shut like a fish tossed on a river-bank. “Who’s making these charges?”

“I am.”

“On what evidence?”

“I’ve received numerous complaints as to the debauchery you permit, so I’ve been watching myself, and I’ve viewed rampant episodes of lechery.”

Visibly shaken, she blanched. “How dare you! Get out! Right now!”

What a ninny she was! Did she suppose she could order him about? That she could snap her fingers, stomp her foot, and send him packing? She had no concept of the power he was prone to wield, the devastation he could wreak, but she was about to find out.

“I’ve been fond of you”—he ignored her command that he depart—“so I will give you a choice: You may marry me, and the accusations will disappear, as will the witnesses I have against you. Or you may proclaim your innocence, and endeavor to fight me.” He paused, letting the gravity of her situation sink in. “Of course, if you’re convicted, you’ll be branded a felon. As a result, you’ll lose your property, and your obscene business will be shut down. You’ll be either imprisoned or transported, perhaps even executed if I produce a strong enough case.”

She was bewildered by his malice. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I proposed to you in good faith. I was prepared to honor you by allowing you to become my bride. Instead, you have prostituted yourself with Captain Stephen Chamberlin, and who knows how many others.”

“This is about Captain Chamberlin?” At the realization that he’d exposed her repeated ignominies, her legs grew weak, and she collapsed onto the sofa.

“You have scorned me at your peril.
Your
punishment shall be that you will be my obedient, dutiful wife, where you will have many years to rue and repent your behavior.
My
reward, for suffering the shame and indignity you have heaped upon me, shall be the ownership of your precious farm, which will be mine as soon as we are wed.”