Patricia Rice (10 page)

Casually straightening his rumpled lace and examining his
cuff as if Duncan’s proximity were a mere nuisance, Rupert inquired, “Oh? Then
I trust you won’t repeat it.”

“No, but before you go up to my sister, you’d damned well
better deny it.”

Duncan’s tone was menacing as he repeated the sordid tale he’d
heard. Rupert kept an anxious gaze to their surroundings to be certain no one
else listened. Who had repeated this story to the marquess, and why? There wasn’t
a soul in this room who knew the truth. Somewhere, there was a traitor.

When the sodden marquess hiccuped to an end, Rupert summoned
a chilling smile and signaled to a servant for another glass of champagne. “Don’t
be ridiculous, Eddings. Would I have settled that kind of sum on you if that
were the truth? Have a drink and wish me happy. Your sister will not regret
your choice of husbands, you’ll see.”

When the marquess wandered off with his drink, Rupert clenched
his fist until the stem of his goblet cracked. Flinging the shattered crystal
at the wall in much the same manner as another man in another house not so far
away, he signaled a servant waiting near at hand.

In furious whispers he sent the man scampering into the
night.

Caught up in her own problems, Cassandra listened to the
drunken revelry in the rooms below her new bedchamber. She recognized the last,
dying chatter from experience. The male laughter from her father’s all-night
card parties and, later, Duncan’s, had always ended just so: riotous roars,
breaking glass, a few loud arguments, and then the drunken farewells. Rupert
would be upstairs soon. Her husband.

Nervously she turned and contemplated the expensive full-length
mirror between the dresser and the wardrobe. The gilded frame glittered
garishly in the light of the crystal chandelier. She had never seen a mirror so
large, nor a chandelier in a bedroom. She didn’t know if she ought to call a
footman to douse the candles or leave it as it was. She preferred the light.

The rest of her life depended on her performance tonight.
She must think of herself as invincible.

She tugged the spun gold of her wedding dress upward, but
the bodice wasn’t cut to completely cover her breasts. Damn Duncan and his disreputable
modistes.

Cassandra opened the wardrobe and found her shawl upon a
shelf. The servants had already unpacked her meager belongings, but that didn’t
make this strange room any more hers than before. The chamber was as cold and
unpleasant as her husband. She would cast them both off shortly. She just
wished the servants hadn’t unpacked her things and taken away her trunk.

It didn’t matter. She had done her duty. Duncan could no
longer threaten to expose her mother’s shame now that Cass wore a husband’s
name. A married woman had freedom.

No longer would she rely on anyone but herself. If her own
brother could sell her into a life of bondage, then there wasn’t a man alive
who could be trusted. For the first time she was beginning to understand what men
saw when they looked at her, and she didn’t like it a bit. Even Merrick had
treated her as if all she were was a body to ease his desires on.

Cassandra ground her teeth and tried not to think about her
mother’s warnings of the physical side of marriage. She still didn’t know where
kisses led, but her mother had made it clear it wasn’t necessarily pleasant and
had to be endured, that a husband would expect it.

That was what Merrick had been trying to tell her. She would
have to give him credit for being honest, but if she did so, then she would
have to acknowledge that Rupert had done the same, only in a less polite
manner. Rupert’s bruising kisses held none of the gentleness of Merrick’s.
Perhaps that was all the difference she could expect by a choice of husband.
One would be cruel, the other tender. But both would want the same thing, some
unspeakable violation of her body.

She didn’t intend to linger long enough to learn more. Once
she was free, she would buy a burlap gown that swathed her to the ears.

Her thoughts had distracted her sufficiently so she didn’t
hear her husband’s footsteps until they were almost to the door. Cassandra
swung around, her heart pounding wildly as the door opened.

Rupert was not a tall man, but he possessed the wiry grace of
an athletic physique. Garbed in starched cravat, black tailed coat, and silk
knee breeches, he was the epitome of a fashionable gentleman. Had he the
character to match his wealth and looks, he could have had any woman he wished.

Cassandra forced herself not to retreat. He did not appear
to be pleased to see her still fully clothed, in a circle of chandelier light. As
he loosened his cravat, his gaze flickered to the covers Lotta had turned down
earlier.

“I did not take you for the missish type, my lady. My
apologies for lingering overlong with our guests. Shall I send for a maid to
help you undress, or will you allow me that pleasure?”

Unctuous
. That was
the only word she could think of to describe his voice. Trying to hide her
shudder, she eased toward the dresser and away from her husband.

“There is something you must know, Rupert,” she said,
keeping her chin high and allowing defiance to creep into her voice.

Amused, Rupert cast his cravat aside and began unfastening
his coat. “Pray, inform me, wife.”

“I do not intend to be your wife,” she said curtly.

He shrugged out of his coat. “You should have thought of
that before you said the vows in church. It’s too late to change your mind.”

Cassandra shivered despite herself. “I didn’t change my
mind. I never wanted to marry you, but Duncan forced me to. I daresay he lied
to you about my willingness. He never let me near enough to you to explain my
feelings.”

He continued undressing as she spoke. The sight of his bare,
lightly furred chest struck her with nausea, and she steadied herself against
the dresser. “I never meant to cause anyone any trouble, but you really should
have asked me first, Rupert. Then we wouldn’t have to have this discussion.”

Rupert eyed her dispassionately. “What discussion? We are
married. You are nervous. I didn’t expect it of you, admittedly. I thought you
a trifle more experienced, but I find I prefer it this way. Before the night is
over, you will be my wife. In the morning, we shall be on our way to the
pleasures of Paris. I will see you gowned in the latest fashions. We will
frequent the halls of the highest society. With your name and rank and my
wealth, we should even be welcome in the Bourbon palaces. What is there to
discuss?”

Cassandra took a deep breath. He was entirely too close for
her comfort, but at least he was being reasonable. That was more than she could
say of Duncan. She sought for the words that would make him understand her
plight.

“I am sorry, Rupert. I’m certain there are more willing
women who would gladly accompany you to Paris. I don’t want the latest
fashions, and I’m not entirely certain I even know what a Bourbon palace is.
All I want is to go home to Kent and make a home for my mother. I don’t want a
husband. So I thought... I mean, I talked to someone who knows, and they
said...”

Cassandra stumbled over the words as Rupert lifted the shawl
from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. She was grateful for the length
of silk covering her as his hand closed about her upper arm, but it wasn’t
sufficient to protect her from the coldness of his grip.

“Stop prattling, Cassie. We’re married and there’s an end to
it. Now, kiss me as a wife ought.”

She swerved her head to avoid the smell of liquor on his
breath, but Rupert caught her jaw with his other hand and pulled her around.
She gagged on the fumes, but his grip forced her lips to part. His tongue was a
punishment, not a sweet enticement, and she felt a sweeping dread as he crushed
her back against the dresser and plundered her mouth. This wasn’t how it was
supposed to be.

As his hand released her jaw, Cassandra jerked her head away
and pushed at his chest. “Stop it! Can’t you see I don’t want to be your wife?
Let me go now, Rupert, before Duncan steals any more of your money in exchange
for favors I don’t intend to give you. I’m trying to help you get the best of
the bargain. Why won’t you listen?”

“Because I have what I want, Cassie. Now, be a good girl and
get in bed and I’ll show you that you have nothing to fear from me. I’m said to
be an accomplished lover. You needn’t worry about any old wives’ tales of our
marriage bed. You’ll be begging for more before the night is done.”

Rupert kneaded her breasts as his mouth covered hers again.
Cassandra knew an instant’s panic as she realized he was thoroughly inebriated.
She had meant to argue this out with a rational man, but she knew from bitter
experience that a drunken man was beyond reason.

She reacted insensibly then. She had meant to be calm and
sympathetic and agreeable and show Rupert how he was being cheated. But fear
and loathing replaced all thought as he jerked her bodice down as if she were a
whore.

With all the strength she could muster, she brought her knee
up in a trick her father’s mistress had once taught her. Her aim was poor, but
her intent was obvious. Rupert yelped and jumped back, covering his bruised
parts as Cassandra shoved from his grasp.

Not injured severely enough to remain still, Rupert leapt
after her, grabbing her arm and flinging her toward the bed with a strength she
would not have thought of him. She stumbled on the length of her gown and heard
it rip as she fell. Before she could right herself, he was upon her.

Crushed against the bed by his heavy weight, she screamed.
Rupert caught her wrist in his hands and smothered her with his punishing
mouth. His hard masculinity rubbed between her legs. When Rupert bit her lip
and began to rock against her, she panicked. She fought one hand free and
grabbed Rupert’s hair and yanked until he yowled with pain.

“Bitch! I’ll teach you...” He grabbed her wrist and with his
free hand smacked her across the cheek.

The world whirled and went black for a minute, but the
scrape of Rupert’s hand across her bare breast as he ripped at her clothes gave
Cassandra strength to fight the nausea. Again she brought her knee up. This
time, her aim was better.

He howled, and she shoved him backward, hearing his thud
with satisfaction as he toppled against the washstand. Grasping at her torn
gown, she dragged herself from the entrapment of the feather mattress and
groaned as she tried to straighten and stand.

She could hear him staggering to his feet. It was too late
to salvage the evening. Far from being rational, her husband was more animal
than Duncan, and with a greater power to harm than her brother had ever
possessed. It was late to learn that, but with the feral caution of a cornered
creature, Cassandra ran.

There were servants clearing up the wreckage of the public
rooms downstairs, but none stood in her way as she fled down the stairs in her
tattered wedding remnants. Without orders to the contrary, they merely gaped as
she struggled with the huge front door. A tall, cadaverous man stepped out of
the shadows to wrench it open for her. With gratitude, Cass fled into the
night.

The cold evening air struck her with the same force as
Rupert’s blow, tearing her breath away. She had no wrap to protect her bruised
flesh, but already she heard Rupert’s furious shouts behind her. With frantic
speed, she raced down the empty street.

Her only goal was to lose Rupert. Unfortunately, these were the
broad gaslit streets of Mayfair and not the narrow alleys of the East End.

Rupert’s shouts echoed eerily between the tall brick
edifices, as out of place in these elegant environs as a jaguar’s cry. He was
drunk enough to beat her right here on the street, and not a single window
would open to investigate her cries for help.

Her breath hurt in her chest as she raced faster. The pain
in her jaw ached, but not so much as the rasping gasps for air and the sharp
pangs in her side as she fought to outrun her pursuer.

She would never make it. Her narrow skirts hindered her pace
despite the tear that had ripped one seam and left the hem flapping. Her thin
slippers were already destroyed by the rough stones.

When she stumbled, she could hear Rupert’s leather shoes clatter
close by. If only there were a hackney, some innocent passerby, some witness to
protect her from his fury. She took a breath, righted herself, and ran on.

And collided with a solid masculine chest that teetered,
then caught her as he fell back against the gate from whence he had just exited.

“Dashitall!” The words emerged in a whoosh as they struggled
in a dance for balance.

The curse sounded hazily familiar, and Cassandra dared to
look instead of run. In the darkness, she could see little more than a blond
halo and broad shoulders, but that was sufficient to jog her memory.

“Thomas! Thank God, Thomas! Help me. Hide me. Please.” The
grating gasp of her own voice terrified her, and Cassandra clung unsteadily to
the youngest Scheffing’s coat front.

“Lady Cass?” Thomas barely had time to identify her before
the shouts and pounding footsteps approached.

Cassandra squealed and tried to break away from the young
man’s steadying embrace, but it was too late. Rupert’s ragged curses breached the
air. Faint with fear and pain, Cassandra still attempted to seek the gate that
Thomas had come through.

“Let her go.” Rupert almost managed the tone of cold
authority that normally served him.

Cassandra felt more than observed Thomas’ puzzled glance, but
the state of her gown told the tale that she could not. He placed her firmly
behind his broad back.

“You’ve insulted a lady.”

Cassandra shuddered at this dangerous approach. All she
needed was the bulk of his physical protection. But Thomas was young and
hotheaded and not very sensible.