Invitation to Ruin (32 page)

She knew his battle with his inner demon. She knew Anthony was capable of love. He was just—scared …

Anthony was scared of love.

She would teach him. Teach him that there was nothing to fear. Their child would be their savior. Like everything in his life, he battled that which he was afraid of, that which he did not understand.

All she had to do was show him how to conquer his fear. Prove to him that letting love win was not losing—it would bring him more joy and happiness than anything he’d ever known.

He cared too much about people to let his own son become a stranger. Their child would be the solution. Their child would finally open his heart. Their child would win where she had failed.

Her stomach settled, and her breathing no longer caused pain in her chest. She had her answer, her plan.

A small voice inside her head issued a warning. Anthony might come to want his son, but that didn’t mean he’d want her. She refused to dwell on that outcome.

Coming out of her daze, she took stock of her surroundings. She had ridden farther than she had anticipated. Looking around, she was surprised to see a figure sitting atop a black horse on the far side of the field. She did not recognize the rider. She turned in her saddle, confused. She was still on Bressington land. What did this stranger want?

He kicked his steed and slowly made his way across the field toward her. He began to take shape. He seemed somewhat familiar. Where had she met him before?

She became uneasy. Like snowflakes hitting her face, an icy chill seeped into her veins. It was the acquaintance of Anthony’s from the slave auction. Every hair on her body prickled.

Swallowing her fear, she turned her horse and simultaneously clapped her heels to the mare’s flanks. She heard the man curse and yell, “Don’t let her get away.”

Spooked by the man’s bellow, and by her obvious fear and
urging, the mare shot off, streaking across the meadow, parallel to the copse.

The copse seemed to thunder into life as men and horses surged out of hiding.

Heart in her mouth, she swung the mare, cornering around the copse, forcing the men to wheel their horses before they could follow.

Melissa swallowed her fear. She rode with hands and knees, urging the little mare to fly.

The mare was nimble and had a good turn of speed. Melissa choked the reins. It had been years since she had ridden this fast, this recklessly. Fear and desperation pounded in her veins. She sensed the horses gaining on her; she didn’t risk a glance back. If she was unseated, she not only risked them catching her, she might fall and hurt the baby.

She couldn’t outrun them, not with a mare she’d ridden all afternoon. She would have to lose them before the mare lost her strength.

One paddock over was Blackwood Forest. Dense woodland with trees large enough to hide her, or at least give her mare a fighting chance.

She headed toward the woods, her closest cover. Her hands on the reins felt like ice.

She pressed her heels into her horse’s heaving sides. The gallant mare responded as she veered north and tried to pick up the pace, racing as if chased by the devil.

Her hands shook. He was the devil. His men’s curses carried on the breeze.

Facing forward, her lungs tight, she continued to urge the mare on. They were gaining on her, the ground shaking from their thunderous strides.

Sooner than she expected, a line of trees rose before her. She headed for them and swung along the line, searching for a bridle path. For safety.

Her eyes locked on a break in the tree line—an entrance. She was fifty yards from it when she took another look over her shoulder. With a grim grin she knew she’d make it.

Just as she swung her gaze back to the trees she saw the branch, but it was too late. She didn’t have time to duck, and within a blink, pain struck her head and everything went black.

   She didn’t know where she was or how she’d got here. She felt weak, and it was an effort to breathe. A blacksmith was hammering in her head. She tried to sit up and groaned. The room swayed and the floor rushed up to greet her.

She lay back against the pillows. She looked down. Her riding jacket and boots gone, stripped off her while she’d been unconscious. Her uneasiness grew at the thought of strangers undressing her.

Where was she? She was not at Bressington. The room was unfamiliar and looked—different.
Think Melissa. What happened?

Her mind began to clear, but she still felt as if she were—rocking. She heard men calling out, gulls screeching, and the smell of salt and sea overwhelmed her.

She was on a boat. Whose boat?

She remembered racing across the fields. A pain swamped her tired body, and she gave a low groan. She moved her hand and placed it tenderly over her stomach. A more paralyzing fear gripped her, making her chest contract so hard she could not breathe. What if she had lost the child? She felt between her thighs. There was no blood.

She heard footsteps steadily nearing her door. Her lips trembled, and she willed the choking panic to disappear. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the edge of the bunk and ignored the dizziness and light swaying. She had to remain calm. She ran her hands over her hair, which was still held in place by her combs. Apart from her clothing, she seemed to be all in one piece. She folded her hands demurely in her lap. All she wanted to know was whether she was still with child.

The door opened. It was the man from the slave auction, the man who’d stared at her on her horse. “Good, you’re awake.”

Her pulse raced even though the man did not appear to be too frightening. He was of average height, not much taller than she, and lean of build. His brown hair was cut short and hugged a noble head. His lips were full and his nose straight, adding to his aristocratic bearing. He was obviously a member of her class. A man of Society. She wondered why that frightened her more.

His face was quite alluring, classically chiseled, and his high cheekbones drew an onlooker upward to eyes of pale blue, the color of frozen ice. They were hypnotizing, framed by thick chocolate lashes, giving his face an air of femininity. Most women would find him very attractive, until they looked deep into those eyes.

Melissa’s breath caught in her throat; they were eyes filled with pure evil. There was not one drop of humanity radiating from within their steely depths.

He advanced into the cabin and closed the door.

She went on the defensive. Her mouth was so dry she could barely form words. “How long have I been here?”

“How interesting. Not where am I, but how long have I been captive? It never ceases to amaze me how ladies of the
ton
hold their reputations in greater stead than their safety.”

“Without our reputations what do we have?”

His laugh, as brittle as broken glass, filled the small space. “I do admire a woman who is direct. You have been in my keeping for a few days. The fall was not as bad as I’d expected. You landed on a thicket of small bushes. They miraculously broke your fall. You have a small bump on your head, that is all.”

She gripped the bedcovers, willing her hand not to move to her stomach. Her child was safe—for now.

He smiled. Menace poured into the cabin with that smile, so much so that Melissa jerked backward on the bunk.

“Do you know who I am?”

Melissa still could not get a word out. She simply shook her head.

“But you recognized me. That is why you ran.” His smile
widened and became somewhat grotesque. “I am Philip Drake, Baron Rothsay. I’m surprised your husband did not tell you about me. We were friends, once inseparable, sharing everything—and I mean everything. Ah, happy memories of the many times I have shared a bed with Anthony and one or two of his strumpets.”

Melissa’s face remained blank. She would not let his crudity shock her. She tried to remember, but she was certain she’d never heard the name. She’d only glimpsed him briefly at the slave auction.

“However, I am quite sure he would not want to share you—his wife.”

Melissa’s head jerked up, and a sliver of fear began to smother her.

Lord Rothsay laughed, the sound harsh and ugly. “When I said friend, I meant business rivals. Although we were friends once, a long time ago. I could tell you things about your husband that would make you wish you’d never met him.”

Perhaps if she let the Baron know she and Anthony did not get on, he’d not be able to use her to whatever end he envisaged. “I already wish I’d never met him.”

He laughed. “This is not about who loves whom. It’s about possession. About ownership. These are what a man like Wickham understands.”

Melissa glared at the man who was enjoying toying with her. “What do you want with me?”

He moved with calculated grace until he stood directly in front of her, staring down, his eyelids never blinking. He reached out his hand and trailed a finger down her left cheek. She had to tighten every muscle in her body to stop herself from flinching at his touch.

His head bent toward her face and unable to help herself, she turned her head away. He moved so close she could feel his breath against her ear, and he softly uttered, “I want revenge.”

He said the words as if they were a caress. A promise of what was to come. Melissa’s bones filled with dread. She
stammered, “I—I do not understand. Revenge for what? I don’t even know you.”

“Ah, my sweet, not revenge against you, revenge against your husband.” He reached up and withdrew the combs holding her hair, and using both hands, he loosened her tresses until they flowed down her back. “Unfortunately, you are simply a means to an end. A very beautiful means.” He kissed the top of her head. “If you do not fight me, you may even enjoy our time together. I have many things I wish to teach you. When I return you to your husband, I want you to show him what an adept teacher I have been.”

Her racing heart suddenly stilled. He was going to have his revenge on Anthony by hurting her. The irony of that was not lost on her. Little did the Baron know, her husband did not value her. If Lord Rothsay destroyed her reputation, Anthony would have the ammunition to divorce her. Anthony would likely thank him.

This time he held her chin in a vicelike grip and took her mouth in a bruising kiss. She tried to break his hold, her hands tugging at his, but he tightened his grasp until she thought her jaw would break. Her lips parted to let out a shriek of pain, and he took immediate advantage, sweeping his tongue so far inside her mouth she gagged.

Instinct took over, and she kicked out at him, catching him hard on his shin. He tore his lips from hers. “Oh, kick me harder, I love pain.” Shrugging his shoulders he added, “You shouldn’t fight me though, I like my women willing. Perhaps it’s best to teach you immediately what happens when you displease me.”

He turned from her and began removing his jacket. Icy fear gripped her innards.

“You can beat me all you like, but I will not submit to you.”

He moved and opening the cabin door yelled, “Johnson, bring the child up from the pen.”

Melissa’s hand immediately went to her stomach.

Lord Rothsay turned back to face her. “There is nothing to
gain from beating you into submission, Lady Wickham. When I pleasure my women”—he raised his eyebrow at her look of disbelief—”you will feel pleasure, I assure you, my sweet. I prefer them to be beautiful, not a mass of cuts and bruises.”

With a show of defiance she said scornfully, “I will never submit willingly to your touch, and I certainly won’t feel pleasure.” She stood up from the bed. “You are stronger than I and can no doubt take my body, but I will never give you what’s inside. I shall lock my feelings away. It will be like taking a dead body.”

He laughed. “Such an innocent. No one can resist my brewed aphrodisiac.” His eyes narrowed and hardened. “I have many things to teach you, Melissa, and your first lesson is—you must learn never to say never.” He moved quickly and pulled her tight into his embrace, pinning her arms to her side, locking his thighs about her legs so that she was unable to move. For such a slight man he was very strong.

“I have seen and done things that would make your skin crawl, my sweet. Most of them with your husband in our younger days. I’ve learned that anyone will do what you ask of them if the right pressure is applied.” And he bent and took her mouth in another kiss, a kiss that was meant to brand her and scare her into submission.

Melissa simply froze and refused to respond.

He lifted away from her as the door behind them swung open, and a man entered dragging a little Negro girl of about ten.

The child was wide eyed and extremely scared.

“This is where things get interesting, Melissa. I shall give you a choice. You will agree to lay with me, to act as my lover, to perform as my mistress without damage to my person, or I shall take this girl instead … while you watch.”

Melissa’s mouth dropped open in horror. The smirk on the face of the man called Johnson told her Lord Rothsay was deadly serious. Melissa put her hands up in front of her. “But she is only a child.”

Lord Rothsay’s expression did not alter. “Yes, I enjoy them this young. They scream in pain, which I also enjoy, but being so small they are easy to overpower. After a while the screams of agony are a bit off-putting, but I simply clamp a hand over their mouths when it gets too much.” He did not blink. “But for you, my dear, I shall not silence her. You may find her screams intolerable.”

Melissa died inside. She’d never felt so powerless. Numbness engulfed her. She knew he would do what he so casually described, knew he would enjoy it, and knew she could not bear it.

She was so deep in shock, she could not answer. She never fathomed such evil existed in the world.

“By the way, there are ten more girls where she came from. I am sure by the third girl you will come around to my way of thinking.”

Still she said nothing.

Sighing, Lord Rothsay signaled to Johnson as he began to unbutton the placket of his trousers. Johnson grabbed the young girl, and with two hands, he ripped the thin dress she was wearing off her body.