The Solemn Bell (21 page)

“I mean it. I know you will never truly understand how beautiful you are, but I want you to know that I was half in love with you before I ever saw you,” he said, holding her tightly to him. “You risked your life to help an injured stranger. You loved and accepted me for the tortured soul that I was. Now, you’re here with me, despite everything that could go wrong.”

“I trust you, Brody. From the very start, I knew you were a good man.”

“To you, I am. To everyone else, I’m a waste of energy.”

She frowned up at him. “Perhaps they don’t know you like I know you.”

“No, they know me. I just don’t think I was a good man before I met you. You make me want to be the way
you
see me.”

Angelica laughed grimly. “Do you want to see how I see the world? Turn me loose, and walk ten paces backward.”

He did as she asked. Brody stood in the middle of the wide expanse of grassy garden, which was surrounded by blooms, boxwoods, and a weathered stone wall. “Alright. Now what?”

“Spin around until I tell you to stop.”

Again, he did as she asked, turning himself in circles. He kept turning until he didn’t know where he’d started.
 

“Stop,” she ordered. “Try to find me.”

Brody stumbled through the garden, trying to avoid trampling the flowers, or stumbling headfirst into a lilac bush. He held his arms out, searching for her. Which way had her voice come from? He resisted the urge to peek. “I know this game. We used to play it as children.”

“It’s not a game to me.” Her voice was very near. “It’s my life, and it’s terrifying.”

He turned, and knocked straight into her. Brody caught her before they both fell over. “I couldn’t imagine.”

No, he could not imagine waiting for all those years for her family, hoping they would come for her. That
he
would come for her. Brody understood why she’d done what she had—in his weakness, he reached for the morphine. For anything to make the next day, the next hour bearable. In her weakness, she had reached out for a man.

Not so very awful, surely.

He knew as well as anybody that the darkness could be a frightening and lonely place.
 

God, if his father would accept Angelica into the family, Brody would have gone down on one knee then and there. But he loved her too much to condemn them both to a life of poverty. Monday, he would go into the office with Marcus and humbly beg their father for a job. When the old man saw how devoted he was to Angelica, and how dedicated he was to his clean and sober life, Father would come ‘round to the idea. Brody simply had to be patient.

Patience was a large part of an addict’s problem. He knew all too well that he wanted what he wanted, and hated having to wait for it. Brody struggled with that mindset, even now that he’d given up drink and drugs. Waiting was difficult. Working for something was unpleasant. Life would be so much better if he could simply get his way.

He’d impulsively fallen in love with Angelica, trading his addiction to morphine for his addiction to her. That had not worked out quite like he’d wanted—she hadn’t conformed to his ideas of chastity, or his dreams of her all-consuming love. She’d shown him that she too was an imperfect person, and that he hadn’t really known her after only one night together. Instead, Angelica had forced him to fall in love with her all over again. Now, he knew her.
 

Because of his patience, his love for her was stronger.

Because of his patience,
her
love for him was stronger.
 

If he could only be patient for a little while longer, their future would be so much better.
 

They needed to leave this enchanted garden before he made a hasty decision they would both regret. “We’ve got a long way to go. Knowing Cynthia and Peter, there will be an hour wait for the shower-bath, and Mother will kill us if we’re late for dinner.”

Angelica slipped her arm through his. “Oh, please, let’s not rush.”

It was such a perfect afternoon. Come to think of it, Brody was in no hurry to get back to the house. Moments like this made him wonder why he ever bothered returning home at all.
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“If you hurry now, Miss,” Bessie said, pulling her toward the door, “the bath is free.”

Angelica wore a high-collared dressing gown over her silk combinations. Although covered from throat to toes, she felt odd and uncomfortable walking the halls in little more than her underclothes. But, that’s how it was done in houses with more occupants than bathrooms. Captain Neill had not lied when he’d said there would be a queue for the tub.

She was beginning to learn her way around the house. Angelica no longer needed an escort to and from the toilet, but the faithful maid led the way, carrying her sea-sponge, soap, and shampoo, as well as towels. It felt nice to be fussed over. She liked having the girl around to bathe, dress, and look after her.
 

The corridor outside Angelica’s bedroom was twenty paces long. The bathroom sat exactly in the middle, on the right side. She counted the length as she walked, and then reached for the door. As soon as her fingers touched the knob, it jerked from her grasp.

Angelica stumbled forward into the space. For a moment, she was disoriented by the blast of warm, steaming air, and an overwhelming scent of shaving lotion. A man’s hands grabbed her shoulders, steadying her.
 

He laughed. Angelica’s blood went cold.
 

Peter Lawton held her firmly in his grip. “Why, Miss Grey. How clumsy of me.” His fingertips dug into the padded sleeve of her dressing gown. “Did you enjoy your stroll with Brody? I say, he’s turned into quite the gentleman! One would almost think him in love with you.”

“Is that so impossible?” she asked, trying to wrench herself free of his grasp.

“Oh, I don’t know. Certainly makes a chap wonder… You put up such a fight, yet I’m sure you’re no blushing virgin. Knowing Brody, that’s not his style at all—he’s rather depraved. I can’t count the times I’ve seen the poor chap with a needle in his arm and a whore’s finger up his arse.” He laughed, cruelly. “Tell me, Miss Grey, what do you think of your tender protector now?”

He’d tried to shock her. If she hadn’t already been intimate with Captain Neill, Mr. Lawton’s words might have scared her, but Angelica didn’t blink. She knew enough about sex and pleasure not to be deterred. Besides, it was none of her business what Captain Neill had done in the past. Only his future concerned her.

“Do you think by putting him down, it will make me want you?”

Peter Lawton pinned her to the back of the door, idly toying with the sash of her dressing gown. “I see the way Brody looks at you. Judging from your lack of response to my news, I know he’s already had you. He wasn’t even your first, was he? Not by a long shot.”

The man tugged open her dressing gown, letting the heavy fabric hang from her shoulders. Angelica stiffened. She expected him to fight her, to hurt her—like Mother said men would. Instead, he pressed his lips to her throat in an almost reverent kiss. While he worshipped her neck, his hands roamed her body, cupping her backside, and squeezing her breasts through the soft silk of her combinations.

“You are exquisite, Miss Grey.” His hot breath heated her skin.

She did not want this man. She didn’t want his touch or his kisses, yet her body responded to his every caress. Perhaps she truly was a whore, craving the attention of any man who would have her. “Mr. Lawton, please…”

Angelica felt her legs slacken. She opened for him as his fingers danced on her inner thigh. Thoughtlessly, he touched the place where he’d pinched her. She lurched, and pushed his roaming hands away.

Peter Lawton stepped back. “You’re quite the little tease.”

“I love Brody. I want to be true to him.”

“No, you don’t.” He laughed, softly. “Pull your drawers to the side, and let me show you what you
really
want.”

Without waiting for her cooperation, he slipped his hand beneath the silk, probing her with two slender fingers. His nails were sharp, and she winced as he worked them in and out of her. She didn’t want him there. This wasn’t right. But when his thumb pressed against her—oh, God,
there!
—Angelica couldn’t help herself. She began to ride his hand.

“Oh, you are a dirty little whore. Has Brody seen you like this? Somehow, I doubt it.” Mr. Lawton licked up her neck to flick his tongue in her ear. “He’s not very good at this sort of thing, is he? Try as he might, he can’t quite get you there.”

Mr. Lawton was wrong. Captain Neill was the only one who’d ever…gotten her there. The only one she ever wanted to. Now, this man was trying to take that from her. She could not let him!

Angelica tore his hand from between her legs, yet her body cried out at the absence. Her knees buckled. She swayed against Peter’s chest, sobbing Captain Neill’s name over and over again, imagining the man she loved as she desperately fought back an orgasm she didn’t want.

Peter Lawton hauled her off him. He grabbed her face in his hand, squeezing her cheeks until her jaw ached. Again, she thought he meant to hurt her, but his words were oddly soft. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Angelica shook her head against his grip, hot tears sliding over his knuckles. “I don’t deserve
him
.”

He turned her loose to wrench open the door. “Be sure to wear nothing under your dress at dinner. It’s going to be a long night.”

He pushed her into the corridor, stepping out behind her. Angelica couldn’t know if anyone had seen them—or possibly overheard them—but, by the flush of her skin and her sodden combinations, she looked positively defiled. No one would believe that she hadn’t let Peter Lawton have his way with her.

The floor shifted from somewhere to her left. She was not alone.
 

Angelica fumbled blindly for the doorknob. She didn’t care that her dressing gown was open and hanging off her shoulders. She didn’t care that whoever it was could see her twisted underclothes, or the evidence of what Mr. Lawton’s advances had done to her traitorous body. She only wanted to hide—to retreat into the shadows as she’d always done.

Yet, the voice at her side stopped her. “Angelica?”

***

Thank God for Bessie. When she’d come beating on his door, screeching about Angelica being raped, Brody could hardly believe his ears. He had sprinted down the hallway just in time to see the woman he loved roughly handled by a man he’d once considered his friend.

If the old Brody had witnessed the scene, he’d have doubted Angelica’s fidelity—hadn’t she told him, the night he had first discovered her betrayal, that she would gladly give herself to any man who’d throw his attention her way? The old Brody would have judged her, and found her guilty.

Yet the new Brody trusted her love. He saw her tears, and the panicked look in her wide, blue eyes. She was his girl. She would never willingly give herself to another.
 

He reached for her. She flinched away from his touch.

Finally, she found the knob, and pushed the door open. Before she could lock him out, Brody stepped into the steamy bathroom behind her. It was so hot, he could hardly breathe. What in God’s name had Peter been doing in here?

Angelica gripped the marble sink top, hanging her head. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you think.”

“Oh, please go away. I can’t talk to you.”

“Why? Did something happen with Peter?”

She rounded on him. “Were you there, listening? Did you have your eye to the keyhole, watching the whole sordid thing?”

“Angelica…”

“You’re not shocked. Not even angry! Were you testing me? Did you put him up to it, to see if I would—”

“I’d never do that!” he hissed. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Then why were you there? Why didn’t you help me?”

Brody wanted to reach for her, to comfort her, but let his hand drop. She didn’t need to be touched just now. “Your maid ran to find me. I came as soon as I heard. My God, Angelica. When I thought that Peter might hurt you…”

She sobbed. “He
did
hurt me!”

He saw her gaping dressing gown. The way her skin was splotched red. He saw the slackened strap of her lingerie, and the way one breast had been rudely pulled from its support—he’d never even seen her breasts, but apparently Peter Lawton had weighed them in his vile hands. Brody’s throat went tight as he took inventory of her body, noting the purpling bruise on her soft, rounded thigh.

“I’ll kill him.”

Angelica cried out, blocking the door. “No! I’m not worth that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t stand for anyone hurting you. Now, step aside.”

“I liked it! There’s no use in hanging for something I probably would have done anyway.”

Brody grabbed her. “Not two hours ago, you said what we had was special. That it was worth fighting for. No woman—especially you—would take another man after what we pledged to one another.”
 

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “But I won’t deny that I felt…aroused…when Mr. Lawton had his hands on me. Don’t do anything rash on my account. I love you, Brody, but I’m always going to be a whore.”

He knew her better than that. Whatever her body felt for Peter Lawton, her heart was fully his. He too had done things he regretted, all in the name of pleasure. The mind did not have to be a willing participant for the body to reach for what it craved. Angelica loved him. Peter had hurt her, and no matter how strongly she tried to convince him otherwise, Brody knew she had not consented to another man’s touch.

She was confused. She was also trying to protect him.

“If I swear not to kill Peter, will you tell me the truth?”

Her blank eyes fell to his chin. “I told you…”

“Peter can be very persuasive. He knows how to play right into one’s weaknesses.”

“I didn’t want to be unfaithful, but I didn’t fight him. My head was spinning, and before I knew it, my legs were open for him. Oh, Brody, I’m so ashamed! Another stranger!” she sobbed. “It was a miracle he stopped. I would have gladly let him have me, rather than call for help.”