Highest Stakes (62 page)

  "Consider it done, sir. If you will excuse me, I shall attend to the matter at once." Edmund finished his drink in another swallow, relieved to have some excuse to part company from his insufferable father-in-law. He went to his rooms where he could brood his next move in peace.

  Edmund had formed some powerful connections in the Upper House of Parliament, Lords Gower and Cobham among others. The House of Lords frequently presided over civil issues, including acts of divorcement; surely they could also overturn a will.

  Surely, he might yet manipulate matters to his advantage. He'd be damned to let the despot rule him from the grave as he had in life. It was time he departed for London.

"What do you mean I am to remain at Hastings?" Beatrix wailed. "You can't keep me here! I have been months in this wretched place with not a soul for company aside from Mama. You said I should stay for my confinement. I have done as you wished. 'Twas no fault of mine it was a girl, but the child is legally yours, and you promised to honor and protect us. You cannot punish me by leaving us here!" She choked on her words.

  "You will not leave until you have fulfilled your one duty in this marriage, that of producing an heir."

  "Marriage? This is no marriage. What manner of husband have you been? I've scarce laid eyes on you in four months. Tell me the truth, Edmund," she demanded, "did you want me only because Philip did? Was it jealousy because you knew I was his?"

  He erupted with a mocking laugh. "You vain, insipid cow! I never
wanted you
to begin with. You were nothing more than a means to an end, but since you have failed, here you shall remain."

  "But you can't keep me prisoner. If you won't take me back to London with you, then I shall go to Wortley with Mama. Indeed, I shall. Then you will be sorry." She stilled her weeping as realization dawned. "If I go to Wortley, then what of your precious heir?"

  With his barely discernible wince, Edmund betrayed himself. He had revealed the chink in his armor.

  She spoke her thoughts aloud. "You need me, Edmund, don't you? You need me in order to become the earl. You need me, or you shall lose everything!" She laughed aloud at her epiphany. "I am not nearly as stupid as you think!"

  Edmund's eyes narrowed in an icy and penetrating stare.

  Beatrix advanced seductively toward her husband, boldly pressing her abundant breasts to him. She whispered tauntingly, "You need me, Edmund. You must have an heir to become the earl, but you have yet to come to my bed."

  Edmund shuddered involuntarily, turning white about the mouth as she breathed these last words into his ear. He tensed when she moved against him, speaking in her breathless whisper, "How can you possibly get an heir and your earldom if you are in London and I am wasting away here?"

  Edmund's only betrayal of emotion was a telltale muscle twitching in the left side of his jaw. Did she actually think to manipulate and control him?

  "You ignorant, bovine slut!" His blow sent her sprawling onto the bed. He pounced on top of her, muffling her cries with his mouth.

  Pinned helplessly, Beatrix utilized the only weapon at her disposal. Biting as hard as she could, she viciously tore at his flesh.

  "Stupid bitch." He struck her again and wrestled her onto her stomach, pinning one arm beneath her body while twisting the other agonizingly behind her back. Drowning her efforts to scream, he shoved a thick feather pillow under her face.

  It seemed he meant to suffocate her, until he tore at her dressing gown and exposed her from behind. He forced her legs apart with his bony knee. "So, you pine for my attentions, do you? I'll give you what you want." As he fought her exertions, his breath was hot and moist on her neck.

  Beatrix bucked and twisted in hysterical expectation of his imminent and degrading invasion. But it never came. He cursed vilely and threw her to the floor.

  Beatrix sized him up contemptuously, growing braver with the knowledge that he could not violate her, though he had tried. "I begin to think the getting of an heir might present quite a dilemma for
you
, my lord. Mayhap you should have Philip take care of the matter for you? But you had already thought of that, hadn't you? Philip shall produce the only heir in the end. You shall see, and Philip will inherit all." She laughed in his face, realizing too late that her final taunt had pushed him over the edge.

  Edmund ignited. Seizing her white shoulders in a biting grip, he lifted and thrust her against the corner of the bed frame. Twisting her hair around his hand, he snapped her head back. As her skull cracked against the wooden frame, Beatrix gasped with a flash of white. His sinewy frame held her captive. Her spine bore into the post, and he growled in her ear, "You would conspire with Philip against me, you treacherous whore!"

  His hand closed like a vise about her windpipe.

  She twisted and writhed frantically in a vain attempt to free herself. Struggling for what may have been seconds but seemed eternity, her body, quickly exhausted from its futile exertions, went limp. Blackness closed in.

  She had nearly given herself completely up to the darkness when the iron-like grasp gave way. She slumped, clutching at the post, gasping, choking, and sucking in air, precious air, while Edmund regarded her with a speculative gleam, perhaps realizing just how near to death he had actually taken her.

  Wild-eyed, confounded, and speechless, Beatrix stared back at him, as with cool composure he buttoned the flap of his breeches, straightened his waistcoat, and smoothed back his hair. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at his torn, bloody lower lip and strode abruptly past Charlotte, who stood dumbly in the hall.

Having fulfilled her obligation to stay for the christening, Charlotte was anxious to return to her quiet life at Cheveley. After notifying Letty of their morning departure, Charlotte finished packing and headed to Beatrix's rooms for a parting word.

  Approaching the door, she prepared to knock, but her hand was stayed by raised voices. She froze at her cousin's distinct tone of distress, but silence ensued. Charlotte turned to go, but Lord Uxeter barged out of the room, brushing by her without a word, a bloody handkerchief pressed to his lip.

  Wide-eyed, Charlotte entered her cousin's rooms, finding Beatrix lying on the floor, shaken and disheveled. Red bands surrounded her throat, blood trickled from her nose, and a welt covered the entire right side of her face.

  "Good God, Beatrix! What has that beast done to you?" Charlotte exclaimed in horror. "I heard you arguing. If only I had interrupted…"

  "I r-refused to obey, to stay at H-hastings. I d-despise this wr-wretched place, and he…" She inhaled deeply with a cough. "He never w-wanted me, Charlotte." Her voice quavered.

  "Shhh. Hush now. Don't try to talk anymore."

  "He only w-wanted an heir, and I wanted to be a countess," Beatrix continued softly, as if to herself. "But I am nothing to him, less than nothing, now I failed to give him a son. He loathes and abhors me, but it has taken me a beating to see it. I have been so very stupid!" She hiccoughed, and her tears began anew.

  "You are not stupid! You were deceived, as any woman might have been. I will get Aunt and Uncle at once! They must take you away from here and back to Wortley."

  "But he is my husband! What can they do?"

  "No man, not even your husband, has a right to abuse you. You must tell your father. He is the only one who might make it right. You must tell him everything."

  "You are right." Beatrix nodded. "I shall tell all I have suffered, and they will take me back home, where I need never set eyes on that vile creature again! I am going home, Charlotte." She sniffed and gently blew her nose.

  Charlotte helped her trembling cousin to her bed and set out in purposeful strides to locate her aunt and uncle.

  If only she were a man, she would have surely dealt Edmund Drake his comeuppance.

  For the second time in her life, first with Philip and now with his brother, Charlotte was emotionally charged enough to commit murder.

H aving spent
another six fruitless months in Flanders, stymied at

every effort, Field Marshal Wade was all too happy to call an end to the campaign, and with it, an end to overall command of what he had long referred to as the "Pragmatic misalliance."

  His reputation tarnished by such an inglorious campaign, Field Marshal Wade promptly tendered his resignation, eager to pass the baton to some other poor sod willing to risk his career on such a futile command.

  However thankful the commander in chief may have been at his homecoming, his aide-de-camp, Major Drake, would much rather have stayed abroad than return shamefaced after a third toothless season. Besides, an extended stay on the Continent would have provided him excuse to defer facing his personal troubles, which had in no way alleviated in his absence.

  He had had many frustrated months to reflect on his discontent. His career was a disappointment. He was trapped in an unwanted marriage with Charlotte, in which he had seen to all of her needs while receiving precious nothing in return. Although he had promised a union in name only, he vowed that circumstances must change.

  He had given her ample time and space to accept her lot. Now it was time she fulfilled her singular obligation in their union. He had bedded and satisfied—he smugly confessed—scores of women, and she would hardly find the experience unpleasant. If she would only come about, they might actually be able to make their inconvenient arrangement somewhat more tolerable.

  His deliberations were interrupted by one of his adjutants.

  "Major Drake, sir.' He saluted.