Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

“Richard,” she pleaded. “Please, I beg of you, don’t do this. You will regret it when you are sober.”

He laughed, a warm pleasant sound that chilled her to the bone.

“You’re wrong, Beth. I’m not drunk, and I will most certainly not regret it in the morning. Although I think you now regret defying me for so long. You have left it a little late to beg,” he said. “But it’s still good to hear.”

He felt her trembling helplessly beneath him. The tears filled her eyes, such beautiful eyes, sparkling on her lashes and spilling down her temples. She would not fight him now. He had done it. After this, she would do anything he wanted, anything, without question. He moved his knees off her splayed legs, kneeling between them, and released her wrists while he pulled his shirt over his head, confident that even if she did try to escape him, which was unlikely, he could catch her before she reached the door.

The miracle had happened.

In one convulsive movement, Beth drove her heels into the mattress and threw her body up the bed, plunging her hand beneath the pillow in search of the object that she had kept there since her father had died and she had realised that she was alone, and therefore more vulnerable to burglary. In less than a second she had located it, and before he had done more than raise his arms above his head, a fistful of shirt in each hand, she had lunged forward and grabbed hold of his testicles with one hand, pressing the blade against the skin of the scrotum with the other.

“Now you be still, you bastard, or I swear to God I’ll geld you.” Her voice shook with the residue of terror and rage. He felt the steel cold and sharp against the delicate skin, and froze, his hands still above his head. He couldn’t see anything because of the shirt. The lust vanished in a second, overridden by his survival instinct, and his mind cleared. Shame surged through him at what he had been about to do, mingled with anger at the position he was now in.

His erection vanished instantly, surprising her with the abruptness with which his penis shrivelled away to almost nothing. She had never seen a naked man before, although she had assumed that they had balls, like every male animal she had ever seen, and that they would not be happy at the thought of losing them.

“Beth...” he said, his voice muffled by the folds of linen.

“Don’t move an inch,” she said coldly. “Keep your arms where they are. Now you might be thinking that if you move quickly, you can disarm me.” That was exactly what he was thinking. “But I warn you, I keep my knife razor sharp. You could shave with it. Are you willing to take the chance that you can take it from me before I can cut your balls off?”

He didn’t answer her, but neither did he move. After a moment, she spoke again.

“Now, you are going to keep your arms above your head, and keep hold of your shirt, and you are going to, very slowly, move off the bed, towards the door.”

She heard him swallow.

“I cannot see,” he said. “If I miss my footing...”

“Then you will never have children. So you had better be careful.” The icy rage in her voice left him in no doubt that she would carry out her threat if necessary.

It took nearly a minute for him to get off the bed, and to the door.

“Now keep your right hand and the shirt above your head, and reach down slowly with your left to open the door,” she said. She did not want to even give him that opportunity, but had no choice. Both her hands were occupied. She squeezed her left hand slightly, and felt him tense at the uncomfortable pressure on his testes. He did as she had said.

“Open the door, and step out backwards into the hall,” she instructed.

“Beth,” he tried again. “I’m sorry.” He was. He was appalled that he had almost ravished his own sister. He was sorry that he had drunk enough brandy to deprive him of his decency. But most of all he was sorry that he had allowed her to get him in the ridiculous position he was now in, standing naked on the landing with his shirt above his head.

“To paraphrase what you said to me earlier,” she replied. “You have left it a little late to apologise. But it’s still good to hear.” She hesitated a moment, looked back at her room. Three steps away, and the door was wide open. She braced herself, then pulled down sharply with her left hand, squeezing as hard as she could at the same time. He screeched like a banshee, and doubled up instantly.

She leapt backwards into the room, slammed the door and locked it in one movement. Then she ran across to the heavy carved oak chest in which she kept spare bedding and with a strength born of desperation, pushed it across the room to barricade herself in. Once that was done, she felt reasonably safe against any attack he might make on the door during the night.

She dropped the knife on the bed, and leaned against the chest, panting for breath. She stood that way for almost a minute while her breathing slowed. Then the reaction set in. Her knees turned to water and her legs buckled beneath her. She just had time to crawl to the chamberpot that was kept under her bed before she was violently and copiously sick. After that she lay on the polished wooden floor for what seemed to be hours, grey and faint, the icy sweat of terror and despair soaking her shift. Finally, shivering with cold and reaction, she managed to pull the clammy cotton of her shift over her head, and drag herself into bed, where she lay staring at the chest that blocked the door, and, long after the candle had guttered and failed, continued to stare unseeingly into the dark.

* * *

Dear Cousin Richard,

I cannot tell you how delighted I was to receive your letter, which arrived by yesterday’s mail. We are all so pleased that you and Elizabeth wish to re-establish contact with your family after so many years.

Beth gritted her teeth in anger. So he had had the cheek to write on her behalf as well as his own, without even bothering to inform her that he had done so.

Not surprisingly, she had not slept at all during the night, but had lain awake pondering the various options open to her. She had been both surprised and relieved that Richard had not attempted to force his way back into her room.

As soon as dawn broke she opened the shutters, and was now sitting at her writing table reading Isabella’s letter in the thin grey early morning light. She leaned her elbows on the table and continued reading.

I am sorry to hear that your house is in such a bad state of repair, and will need extensive renovation before it is fit for you to live in or receive visitors. Of course I know that Uncle Henry was ill for some time before his tragic demise, and it is understandable that Elizabeth would have concentrated all her attention on caring for him rather than maintaining the house.

We would not hear of you staying in a hotel, when we have so much room here. My sisters and I would of course be overjoyed if you and Elizabeth would come to stay with us for a time. We live quietly here in Ardwick and have few visitors, so your company will be most welcome. Of course we will be removing to our London house for the season in the New Year, when life will be much more hectic. I have consulted with my brother, who says he feels it would be better if you could visit next week, in order that we may become re-acquainted, and we can then discuss the practicalities of your making an extended stay. We are at home each day from 10am until 2pm, and will expect you daily.

With very warmest wishes, both to you and dear Elizabeth,

                                         Your cousin, Isabella.

Beth sat back in the chair. Her brother was not stupid. By saying that the house was in a dilapidated condition, he had both avoided the chance that the cousins would visit unexpectedly before he could reconcile her to them, and had managed to secure an invitation for them both to stay with their wealthy family, albeit a provisional one.

Beth scanned the letter again. Reading between the lines it seemed that her female cousins were bored with their life in the country, and would welcome the diversion of visitors. Cousin Edward was clearly more cautious and wanted to vet her and Richard before he consented to allow them to insinuate themselves into his household. Which Beth had to allow was understandable, although she still resented it, especially as she strongly suspected his reservations were about her rather than Richard.

Her father would not have hesitated to open his house to any relative in need, without feeling it necessary to meet them first. Her mother would, and indeed had, allowed any traveller who found himself stranded without a bed for the night to stay at the house. She had explained to Beth that in the highlands of Scotland where she was born, no traveller who requested hospitality was turned away, not even an enemy, although the guests were expected to reciprocate the treatment given by the host and behave in an honourable manner. Henry’s illogical complaint that they would one day wake to find they had been murdered in their beds had cut no ice with his wife, and the worst they had suffered was the loss of some fine silver candlesticks.

A sudden flash of colour outside diverted Beth from her reminiscences, and she looked out of the window to see what it was, shrinking back when she saw her brother coming out of the stables accompanied by Graeme, who was leading Richard’s horse. Once in the yard they stopped, and Richard took the reins, put his foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. Beth, watching from behind the curtain, noticed that he sank into the saddle slowly and carefully, and felt a surge of satisfaction that in ejecting him from her room she had caused him some lasting, if temporary, damage.

Sitting astride the grey stallion, resplendent in his scarlet and buff uniform, Richard looked the picture of the refined gentleman soldier, his sole purpose in life to protect the country and its people from enemies, and Beth marvelled at how it was possible for someone to be so different in nature from what their physical appearance suggested.

I have lived a sheltered life,
she thought.
I must become accustomed to meeting people who present a façade of themselves in public, when the reality is something else entirely. Indeed, I must try to learn to do that myself.
Richard spurred his horse forward and walked sedately out of the yard. He was not even out of sight before Graeme spat contemptuously onto the cobbles where the horse had stood just seconds before. Then he turned and walked back into the stables.

Beth had no idea where Richard was going, or how long he would be out. She did not think he would ride very far; clearly he was in some discomfort. As was she. Her wrists were swollen and black with bruising, her arms and shoulders ached, and the muscles of her thighs were stiff and sore. She had washed herself thoroughly several times with a cloth and water from the ewer and bowl in her room, but still felt soiled. A bath would be wonderful, but she did not have the time for that now.

She dressed quickly, cursing the current fashion that meant dress sleeves ended at the elbow, from which a series of ruffles covered part of the forearm but stopped well short of the wrist. She needed to speak to the servants, to tell them of the decision she had made, but she did not want them to see her injuries. She delved into the drawer where she kept her small collection of fripperies, withdrawing a pair of old-fashioned silk gloves. They would look a little strange but hopefully the news she had to impart would divert their attention from her appearance.

To her annoyance, when she tried to move the oak chest so that she could get out of her room it would not budge, and she had to resort to emptying it of its contents. Even then it took all her strength to push the heavy piece of furniture back to its normal place several feet along the wall, and she marvelled at the desperation that had enabled her to move it the night before. No wonder her arms ached, she thought.

When she reached the kitchen, Jane was the only occupant, although the pile of freshly baked bread rolls on the table, a large pat of butter and a slab of creamy white cheese told Beth that the others were expected at any moment. Jane turned from the fire and smiled when she saw who the visitor was.

“Richard has gone out,” Beth said. “May I join you for breakfast?”

Jane laughed. “Since when did you have to ask such a question? Sit down. I’m a little late this morning, though. Sarah is ill, it seems, and is staying in bed. I’ll go up to her later, but I haven’t had time yet.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Beth asked.

Mary answered from the scullery where she was up to her elbows in hot water, washing dishes. Small for her age, she had to stand on a box in order to be able to reach into the sink, and Beth smiled as she saw her standing on tiptoe.

“She said she had a terrible headache and a bad stomach, Miss. She wouldn’t even let me open the shutters, said the light would kill her, she did.”

“It’s come on very sudden,” Jane said sceptically. “She was fine last night. If she’s shirking I’ll give her a bad head later, for certain. More likely she’s been entertaining your brother, the little slut, begging your pardon, Beth, and wants to sleep late.”

To Jane’s surprise Beth whirled from the room without a word, and taking the stairs two at a time did not stop until she was outside Sarah’s room. She stopped to catch her breath, and then without knocking, opened the door and walked in. The room was very dark, only a tiny amount of light showing at the edges of the ill-fitting shutters.

“Sarah?” Beth said softly, then listened. There was no reply, but she could tell by the irregular breathing coming from the bed that the maid was not asleep. She walked across to the window and fumbled to locate the latch of the shutters.

“Please don’t open them, Miss,” came the voice from the bed. “My head’s aching something awful.”

Beth ignored her and flung the shutters wide, letting light flood into the room. When she turned round, Sarah had pulled the sheet up over her head. Beth moved across to the bed and sat down gently on the edge of it. When she touched the sheet in an attempt to pull it down, Sarah gripped it so tightly her knuckles whitened, and she made an inarticulate sound of distress. Beth withdrew her hand. She was certain now that her suspicions were well-founded, and she hesitated before she spoke.