Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy (28 page)

He rose up, slowly, deliberately, precisely as Jamie might have done it, and he came to her and seized her wrist. She tried to pull away, tried to run, but Percy wrestled her onto the mattress and pinned her down.

"Don't ever tell me no, Anne." He was totally immersed in their fantasy. "Don't ever assume you can escape me. You can't."

His cock was harder than it had ever been, and Ophelia rippled with lust, certain it would be their best fornication ever, but he was so wrapped up in his vision of her being Anne that he merely rammed himself between her legs and thrust with a vigor he'd never exhibited prior.

He took her in a coarse, despicable way, and she was irritated to discover that he'd found the notion of copulating with Anne—instead of herself—to be incredibly stimulating. He quickly flexed to the end and finished with a loud grunt. Then he rolled away and went to preen in front of the mirror again.

"Jamie couldn't have done it any better," he boasted.

"Jamie would have taken his time."

"Shut up." He admired his reflection. "I wonder what he'd do if I raped her. He'd be so angry."

Ophelia simmered with jealousy. "Anne? You want to rape Anne?"

"Of course. I always have. You know that. Would you like to help me? You could hold her down while I proceed."

"You're going to murder Anne," she tersely reminded him. "You're not going to have sex with her." "Perhaps," he aggravatingly mused. "Percy!"

He glanced over and chuckled. "I was joking, darling. I've never desired anyone but you. So... when should we expect Jamie to arrive from London?"

Sarah had done them such a favor by totting off to London to fetch him. It would make everything so easy, would bring about a conclusion that was nice and tidy.

"Maybe tomorrow or the next day." Percy strutted before her. "Will I pass for Jamie or won't I?"

The wig and the rough love play had altered him, and he was starting to walk differently, to speak differently, as if he were gradually becoming Jamie.

"You'll pass," Ophelia said. "Anne will never suspect that you're not her husband."

"Until it's too late."

"Yes, until it's much too late."

Twenty-One

“What do you mean, Edith? You're babbling again." "Sin and damnation," Edith said. "That's what's coming to them."

Jamie laughed at the older woman. She wasn't nearly as crazed as she seemed, and she provided the most interesting messages, but they were always extremely subtle and convoluted.

"Cease with the biblical chatter. You know I can't stand it."

He went to the sideboard, filled a glass of whiskey, then handed it to her. She downed a hearty swig.

He wasn't sure why he'd let her stay with him at his town house, but he supposed he felt sorry for her. She'd been shipped to London by Ophelia, and was to have visited friends, but shortly after Edith had arrived, her hosts had fled to the country.

Edith had shown up on Jamie's stoop, a tad befuddled and thinking the residence was still Percy's. She—the former countess, his father's wife!—had wanted to return to Gladstone but hadn't had the funds

to go. Jamie would have gladly sent her home, but she hadn't seemed in a hurry to leave, nor had he been in a rush to kick her out the door.

In the weeks she'd been living with him, she'd developed an affection for his favorite Scottish liquor, and he wasn't about to tell her to moderate her intake. She was so irritatingly religious and had so few vices. What harm could there be if she became an elderly sot? She couldn't possibly grow more annoying.

"You shouldn't trust Ophelia and Percy," she said.

"This is not news to me, Edith."

"Bad blood. Bad blood in all of them."

"I can't argue with you."

"Your father spawned devils” She frowned. "But Sarah was no angel, either, so perhaps there's something in the water at Gladstone that causes people to constantly transgress."

His curiosity was piqued. "What did Sarah do that was so wicked?"

"Well... the baby. The boy."

"What baby?"

"Her little bastard."

"Sarah had a child? Out of wedlock?"

Edith stared him down. "Did I say that? I must have misspoken. I'm not aware of any child being born."

Jamie chuckled. "You're sly like a fox, you old bat. Why don't you just come out and share all your secrets at once? Why reveal them one at a time, in riddles?"

"No one can ever know."

"Right."

So ... Sarah had an illegitimate son. Was he still at the estate? Or had the Merricks sold him into slavery? There was probably another lost, disavowed boy traveling the globe on a sailing ship. Then again, they might have saved themselves the trouble and simply drowned him at birth.

Had Jack learned of the lad's existence? Was the situation at the root of Jack's problems with Sarah? After Jamie's last quarrel with Jack, it was likely Jamie would never know the answer.

Jack was leaving, and Jamie couldn't convince him not to go. Jamie had been able to deal with Jack being a long horseback ride away at Gladstone but couldn't bear to envision his brother across the ocean, in some unknown, godforsaken place.

A wave of grief swept over Jamie, but he pushed it away and had another drink. He poured one for Edith, too.

To hell with Jack! If he wanted to act like an idiot, he could. Jamie wouldn't beg him to stay. Jack could dig any damned hole he pleased, and Jamie would happily furnish the shovel.

"What is it about Ophelia and Percy that keeps you in such a dither?" Jamie asked. If Edith was in the mood to spill her guts, why not let her? "You're always haranguing about them. Why are they so awful?"

"Fornicators." She nodded as if that explained it all.

"I figured Percy was, but Ophelia? I thought she was a spinster." The remark was a bald-faced he. Ever since the night Ophelia had slithered into his bed, he'd known she was as experienced as any courtesan. "Who is her lover? Or has she had many?"

"Fornicators," Edith repeated, and she made a crude gesture with her fingers that could only be interpreted one way.

"Fornicators ... as in Percy and Ophelia... together?"

Jamie assumed he'd heard it all in his life, but this was definitely something new. But then, he wasn't that surprised. From his own relationship with Jack he understood how close twins could be, but apparently, his half sister and half brother had taken the word close to a whole new level.

"Couldn't let such a reprobate be the earl," Edith muttered. "It would be a sin."

"What do you mean? You couldn't let him be earl?"

"Why ... the papers. The hidden papers."

"Edith, are you telling me that you're the one who came forward? Are you the one who told what had happened to me and Jack?"

She grinned a cunning grin that could have indicated anything, but Jamie was beginning to unravel how her strange mind worked.

"Your father was an asshole, Jamie Merrick."

"Edith! Such language!" He laughed and laughed.

"I never liked the man."

"Neither did I, and I never met him. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be married to him." "It was difficult."

Which had to be putting it mildly. He studied her, pondering her peculiar ways. Was her curious behavior simply a wall she'd erected to protect herself? Had she survived by keeping a mental barrier between herself and her cruel family?

"With me installed as earl, he's probably rolling in his grave."

"He probably is."

She appeared dreamy, as if she was merrily picturing her deceased husband's fury in the afterlife. "Thank you," Jamie murmured. "For what?" Her blank look returned. "You know for what. I'm grateful. I'll always take

care of you, Edith. I'll make sure you're safe and that there's someone to watch over you."

"The Lord's will be done."

It sounded as if it had been the Lord's will, with a little help from a demented woman. Who would have thought?

The discovery certainly sucked the wind from Jamie's sails. He'd been strutting around London for months, insulting his father's peers, gambling, and cheating them out of their money and property. Though Jamie couldn't describe why, he'd been driven to determine who had revealed the secret that had brought him to England. Stupidly, he'd hoped that by inflicting himself on them, he'd learn what he was dying to know.

The lawyers claimed the papers had been delivered to their office anonymously, but Jamie had been positive that if he identified the informant he'd find the answers he sought. Absurdly, he'd yearned to ascertain that somebody had been worried about him, but evidently, it had been naught more than a senile woman's quest for revenge.

He sighed, dismayed at realizing how fruitless it had all been.

The longer he'd stayed in the city, the more lonely he was, and it was increasingly obvious that he'd made all the wrong choices. Anne and his brother—the only two people with whom he'd formed any attachment— had been at Gladstone, but having repudiated them, Jamie was too proud to admit his mistake and go back.

Even when Anne had come to London and tried to lure him home, he'd refused to grab for what he truly wanted. He'd convinced himself that he didn't need the ties she offered, but after spending the summer with her, he'd changed. He hated to be so alone, hated to acknowledge that there was no one in the world—save for Jack—who cared if he drew another breath.

And now, he'd even pushed Jack to his limit. Jamie had only rambling, bewildered Edith Merrick for company. No one else could stand him, which was a sorry state of affairs.

He was such a fool!

Why was he in London? Why continue to remain with nothing to show for himself but a shrinking bank account and a constant hangover? He was no better than Percy—who was now ensconced at Gladstone because Jamie was too lazy to keep him away.

Perhaps Edith wasn't the crazy one.

Needing solitude to fret and stew, Jamie spun to flee, when Edith suddenly, lucidly, nagged, "Don't you ever wonder how your wife is doing?"

"I think about her occasionally."

"I can't believe you left her with Percy and Ophelia."

Jamie glared over at her. "What are you trying to say, Edith?"

"They don't like you, so they don't like her."

"Would they harm her?"

"How would I know? I'm just their mother. What could I have overheard?"

He felt as if he'd tumbled off a high cliff. His half siblings loathed him, but the prospect that they might hurt Anne in his stead had never occurred to him.

Would they dare?

His wrist began to ache, his old childhood worry about his nearly severed hand suddenly plaguing him. He rubbed the throbbing spot, his mind awhirl with dread.

He'd sworn to Anne that she'd be safe at Gladstone, and he'd persuaded himself that simply by establishing her at the estate, with a huge allowance, he was giving her all she needed.

What if something happened to her? What if Percy or Ophelia did something horrid? How would Jamie live with himself?

Confused, torn by what he wanted, by what he should do, he walked to the stairs and climbed to his room.

Anne!" Anne forced herself awake and stared at the ceiling. It was so dark that she couldn't see the clock, but it had to be very late. She thought someone had called to her, but she'd been sleeping so hard. It might have been a dream.

"Anne!" the soft cry came again. She crawled out of bed, went to the hall, and peeked out, but no one was there, so she hastened to the window and peered down at the moonlit park. There seemed to be a man hiding in the shadows, and she pulled open the window and leaned out into the cold night air.

"Who's there?" she whispered. "Anne, it's me. I'm home."

Jamie stepped out from under a tree, the moon shining fully on him. A corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

After her failed seduction in London, she'd been positive she'd never see him again, and her heart pounded with equal parts excitement and perplexity.

"Jamie?"

"Will you let me in? The doors are locked, and I didn't want to bother any of the servants."

She hesitated, but only because she was afraid that she'd blink and he'd disappear.

"Yes, of course I will. I'll be right down."

She paused, watching him, and a spurt of gladness shot through her. She would always love him. Always. It was like a curse that couldn't be lifted. No matter what he did, no matter how he acted, or how he treated her, she would never move beyond that one true fact.

She grabbed a robe and tugged it over her heavy winter nightgown, but the garments provided scant protection against the frigid temperature. She drew on some woolen socks, too, then flew down the rear stairs and burst outside, but she couldn't locate him anywhere.

"Jamie?" she murmured. "Where are you?"

"I'm here. Down in the yard."

She proceeded toward the sound of his voice. There was a surreal quality to the moment, the shadows seeming very threatening. Her breath swirled about her head. Icy blades of grass crunched under her heels.

"Jamie?" she said again.

"Hush!" he cautioned. "I'm here."

"Where?"

He was down the path, lurking behind some hedges. She didn't understand why he hadn't approached the manor, or why he wanted her to be silent, but she was so surprised by his arrival that she wasn't about to question him.

She continued on till she was a few feet away, then she halted, and oddly, she didn't feel any compulsion to get nearer. In the past, she wouldn't have been able to maintain any distance, and she was saddened to admit that perhaps her attraction was finally waning.

He extended his hand.

"Come with me."

"To where?"

"To a cottage out in the woods."

"Why not just come inside?"

"I have to deal with Percy and Ophelia, and it won't be pleasant. You should be away from the house while I get things under control."

"But I'm in my nightclothes. I don't even have on any shoes."

"It doesn't matter. Let's go."

"Is Sarah with you?"

"Yes, and we found Tim. They're both waiting for you at the cottage. I brought a carriage and some men. The three of you will be escorted to London, and I'll join you there."