Wicked (23 page)

“Did you survive?” he asked.

She grinned, not wanting him to discover how undone she was by the event.

“Hale and hearty,” she replied. “I’m not a virgin anymore, am I?”

“No.”

“Good. I didn’t need that silly old chastity anyway.”

“I’m delighted you gave it to me.”

“So am I.”

He rolled her onto her side and spooned himself to her back. The room was quiet, and she reveled in the silence. She hadn’t known it would be so intimate afterwards, hadn’t known it would be so spectacularly charged with emotion. Tears swarmed to her eyes, but she couldn’t fathom why.

She wasn’t sad. She was very, very happy. Perhaps they were tears of joy.

“I have a confession,” he whispered in her ear.

“What is it?”

“You arouse me beyond my limit.”

“I’m a vixen, am I?”

“Yes. There at the end, I should have pulled out.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand what that means.”

“A man spills a seed in the woman’s womb. That’s how a babe is created. But if he pulls out…”

His voice trailed off, and she completed his sentence for him. “He won’t sire a child.”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have finished that way.”

“Could I be…with child now?” The possibility left her absolutely breathless. If she was increasing, he’d have to marry her. He’d have no choice.

“No, no,” he hastily responded. “It can’t happen from just one time. Well, it
can,
but it’s very rare.”

He reached over her shoulder, took her hand, and kissed her palm.

“You’re wonderful,” he said, almost as if he was surprised.

“If you continue complimenting me, I’ll get a big head.”

“We can’t have that, can we? I’d better keep my flattery to myself.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t you dare stop. I’m a glutton for your adulation.”

“Then, Miss Ralston, I shall persist until you’re sick of hearing my praise.”

She’d never grow tired of it. Never.

Behind her, he yawned. She sighed with contentment, visualizing their future, where they would fall asleep in each other’s arms every night for the rest of their lives.

“You wore me out,” he claimed. “I need a nap.”

“I do too.” She yawned, as well. “You can only doze, though. The maids can’t catch you in here in the morning.”

“They won’t. I’ll go in a bit.”

She wished she was shameless enough to have him stay, to let the maids catch him. It would be one more nail in his coffin toward a leg-shackle, but Rose wouldn’t flaunt their relationship in front of Mr. Oswald for she didn’t want to ever have to admit how they’d misbehaved under his roof.

She wanted to travel to London with James, to wed him there where they would be far away from Mr. Oswald and their union accomplished long before he ever learned of it.

“Everything will be all right now, won’t it?” she inquired.

“Yes,” he promised.

“We’ll always be together?”

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“And we’ll have to work out our differences with Mr. Oswald, so he’s not hurt or angry.”

A snore sounded, and he didn’t reply.

Sighing again, she lay very still, listening to him breathe, feeling his large, warm presence curled around her. She was ecstatic and wistful and blissfully in love, and she couldn’t imagine she’d ever suffer a more perfect moment.

She must have slumbered, for when she opened her eyes, dawn was breaking. Birds were chirping, the sky lightening.

Without glancing over her shoulder, she knew he was gone, but she looked anyway. He wasn’t there.

Though she’d hoped and expected it, there was no rose on her pillow.

Veronica tiptoed into her bedchamber without making a sound.

It was very late, and the vicarage was a creaky old house. The slightest weight on the wrong floorboard would produce a screech like a banshee. But she was an expert at sneaking out and sneaking in, could come and go without a trace.

“Where have you been?” a voice suddenly hissed behind her.

A candle flared to light, and she whipped around to find her stepfather seated in the chair in the corner.

“Papa Oscar!” Her mind whirred frantically as she sorted through the ramifications of discovery.

“Where have you been?” he repeated as he rose to his feet.

“Why are you up?” she replied, stalling. “I know how you hate to miss your sleep.”

“I will not ask you again.” He approached, the flickering candle enhancing his features so he looked utterly demonic.

“I was hungry. I went downstairs to get a glass of milk.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he bellowed.

He raised his hand, and she only had an instant to see that he was clutching his riding crop. He slapped her with it, across the arm and shoulder—not the face—so there’d be no visible marks.

“I’m not lying.”

“You would stand here, in my home, under my roof, and blatantly tell untruths? You would dare?”

“I would never be untruthful. I’m a good daughter. I am!”

“I watched you leave!”

Damn!
She’d been positive he was asleep. His snoring had rattled the rafters. What had awakened him? Why had he bothered to glance out the window?

He hit her over and over, and briefly, she considered grabbing the whip and turning the tables on him. She’d like to give him a hard whack so he’d realize what it felt like to be struck.

But she didn’t. For all her bluster, he thoroughly intimidated her, and she hadn’t a clue how to openly defy him. In that regard, she was very much like her poor, beleaguered mother who’d never stood up to him, either.

He seized her by the scruff of the neck, his fat fingers squeezing tight. He was bent over her, his disgusting lips pressed to her ear.

“You will apologize at once!” he ordered.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry.”

“You will beg my forgiveness.”

“Of course. Please forgive me.”

He tightened his grip, pushing her down and down until her forehead was touching the floor. Her knees were already screaming in agony, her back too, and she wondered how long he’d hold her before his rage was spent. Sometimes, he could continue for hours.

“I ask you again,” he seethed. “Where were you?”

She’d been at the spot by the pond that she’d shown to Lucas Drake. Several young people from the village had met there for a party. One boy’s father owned the tavern in the village, and he’d stolen some ale, but only a small amount so they’d each been able to have just a few sips.

The entire affair had been so boring that she should have stayed home. It certainly hadn’t been worth this trouble. Oscar’s temper and penchant for punishment were legendary, so she’d never hear the end of it.

Mentally, she reviewed her choices. What should she confess? She wasn’t a tattle, so she’d never mention the party or the pond or the people who’d attended.

He was ranting from Scripture about the sins of Eve, the wickedness of women, but she was barely listening. As he droned on and on, the most marvelous idea occurred to her. It was the answer to all her prayers and would bring about the perfect conclusion.

“Who were you with?” he shouted.

“James.”

There was a thrilling, exhilarating pause, then he demanded, “Who?”

“I was with James Talbot.”

He shoved her away as if she was unclean, as if she had a fatal disease that might be catching. She crumpled to the rug, but didn’t attempt to rise. With the state he was in, movement would encourage another lash of his riding crop.

“What were you doing with him?”

She peeked up, trying her best to appear shy and maidenly.

“We were…kissing and…other things.”

“What other things?”

“I really can’t say it aloud. Don’t make me.”

She stared at the floor, a veritable model of contrition and remorse, but actually, she was hiding a grin.

“You were with James Talbot,” he muttered.

“Yes.”

“Shaming yourself. Disgracing yourself. Dishonoring my good name.”

“I’m sorry. When he asks me to go off with him, I’m afraid to refuse.”

He gasped. “It’s happened before?”

“Yes.”

“How many times.”

“Three?”

“Harlot!” he charged. “Daughter of Eve! Spawn of the devil!”

He grabbed Veronica’s hair and yanked her up so she was kneeling in front of him. He slapped her once, and again and again.

“One time for each ignominy,” he explained. “One blow for each of your adventures, but trust me, there will be much more castigation before you and I are through.”

If three firm clouts were all it took to get a proposal from James, it was a very tiny price to pay.

“What about James?” she inquired. “What will you do? I hate to cause him any difficulty.”

“That shall be your greatest punishment of all. You shall have the reprehensible libertine as your husband, and it will be a penalty to make you recall—for the rest of your days—that the wages of sin are very high indeed.

“I don’t believe James wishes to marry me,” she tentatively said.

“After this humiliation, he has no choice.”

“What do you mean?” She pretended to be confused, but she simply wanted to be very clear as to Oscar’s intent.

“I will speak to Stanley first thing in the morning. I will apprise him of all that’s transpired, then we will send a messenger to London to obtain a Special License. You and James will be wed at once.”

“At once!” She tried to look shocked, but could barely conceal her glee.

“There will be no delay. I will see to it. In my congregation, no man is permitted to salaciously fornicate. It will not stand!” he thundered. “Now say your prayers.”

“What should I pray about?”

“Pray for forgiveness. Pray for guidance. Pray for the strength you will need to be James Talbot’s bride, for there is no heavier burden a woman could assume than to be his wife.”

Veronica folded her hands, bent her head, and began.

The ordeal might last for hours, until dawn, or he might make her keep on until he left to talk to Stanley.

For once, she didn’t mind a bit.

* * * *

“Where have you been?”

“Have you become my nanny?”

“I asked you a question. What is your answer?”

Stanley glared at James, not surprised in the least by James’s sharp tone. James had never liked to be interrogated as to his whereabouts or any other topic. His attitude hadn’t mellowed with age.

They were in James’s bedroom suite, and he’d just slinked in from a clandestine visit to Miss Ralston. James wanted Stanley to think their bargain terminated, but Miss Ralston was very pretty and very lonely, and James never had been able to resist a conquest.

Stanley’s only regret was that he couldn’t watch them together awhile longer. Their carnal escapades were extremely erotic, yet all good things came to an end. Some sooner rather than later.

“I ask you again,” Stanley said, “and I don’t have time for lies or evasions.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Stanley, it’s nearly dawn. I can’t see why we must quarrel when I’ve been up all night and I’m exhausted.”

James went over to the sideboard and poured himself a whiskey. He glowered at Stanley—as if he could force Stanley out with a mere scowl—and Stanley simply sighed and relaxed in his chair.

James stomped over and slouched into the chair across. He was sipping his drink, studying Stanley with what had to be an incredible amount of distaste, perhaps even hatred. Stanley supposed he deserved it.

He’d never been kind to James, but then, Stanley firmly believed that hefty doses of discipline and disdain made a man out of a boy. Stanley’s own father had raised Stanley in similar fashion, and Stanley was shrewd and tough because of it. There’d been no reason to coddle James, and Stanley never would have. And look at the man James had grown to be!

When James was older, when Stanley was dead and buried, James would be grateful for his stern upbringing. Stanley was convinced of it.

“I’m not here to pester you, James,” Stanley said, “and I won’t beat around the bush.”

“Praise be. Maybe I’ll get some sleep before this night is through.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

Stanley rose and poured his own drink, then sat back down. He assessed James, pondering the future and how it would unfold. As he’d initially plotted over having James deflower Miss Ralston, he hadn’t peered down the road to the end. He hadn’t fully considered the ramifications.

He’d simply thought to pay James for his assistance, then set him free. But he hadn’t counted on James’s affection for Miss Ralston.

One fact was clear: James couldn’t stay at Summerfield.

Miss Ralston had developed her own infatuation, which had to be quashed. Otherwise, she might start hoping she could wed James, but she belonged to Stanley, and James couldn’t have her.

During the past few days, Stanley had been fretting over how to crush their flirtation, and this conclusion was for the best. He really didn’t have to do anything at all. Fate had already determined the finale. Stanley only had to guide the players on their proper paths.

“I will ask you once, James, and you can’t dilly-dally or falsify.”

“Yes, yes. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Were you with Veronica this evening?”

James couldn’t completely stifle a gasp. “Veronica?”

“Yes. Were you with her in ways you shouldn’t have been? I’m certain you’re smarter than that. Tell me the truth.”

James scoffed, appearing disgusted at the very idea. “No, I wasn’t with Veronica. What an absurd notion.”

“I expected that as your reply, but I had to inquire.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s accusing you of misconduct.”

“The little trollop.” Two red slashes colored James’s cheeks.

“My feeling exactly,” Stanley concurred. “I won’t ask you where you actually were, but I assume you were with a woman?” James hemmed and hawed, and Stanley said, “I don’t have to know her identity.”

“Yes, I was with a woman,” James carefully admitted.

Stanley nodded. “So we can’t use the truth as your defense. It would bring Oscar’s wrath down on an innocent party. Here is what we will do instead.”