Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two (18 page)

“You have given me much to consider, Mrs. Wright.”

“I would hate to see a woman such as you, Clarissa, already beginning to lose the bloom of youthful beauty, forego an opportunity at happiness and harmony that marriage to one such as my son could bring.” She watched me with sharp, hawklike eyes. “For these types of opportunities will not be plentiful for a woman like you.”

“I understand, Mrs. Wright.” I clenched my hands in the folds of my skirt, my tea sitting in its teacup, untasted on the low table in front of me.

“Excellent. I am glad we are in agreement.” She shared a triumphant smile with Mrs. Smythe. “I shall tell my son to call within a few days. I am sure he will be most eager to speak with you, Clarissa.”

CHAPTER 15

“CLARISSA!” MRS. SMYTHE’S VOICE screeched up the stairs.

I rose, slowly making my way downstairs. I paused near the bottom of the stairs and gripped the oak balustrade for a moment to paste on a placid smile before descending the remaining few stairs and entering the parlor.

“Ah, there she is,” Mrs. Smythe simpered as I entered the parlor. “Clarissa, how fortunate you are to have Mr. Wright call.”

I forced a smile as I faced Cameron. “Hello.” I sat on a nearby lady’s chair, having no wish to sit next to Cameron on the settee. Cameron wore an impeccable black suit with indigo waistcoat and white shirt. Emeralds glinted from his cuff links and a gold pinkie ring caught the late afternoon sunlight.

I wrinkled the skirt to my gray-blue velvet dress with pearl buttons down the front in my agitation at listening to Cameron and Mrs. Smythe’s conversation. Mrs. Smythe sat in her comfortable satin lady’s chair, her tan brocade dress highlighting her figure, once again trim after the birth of her daughter five months ago. We sat in the central part of the room, near the fireplace, away from the door.

I attempted to take calming breaths as Cameron and Mrs. Smythe spoke around me about mutual acquaintances. After a few minutes Mrs. Smythe rose on the pretense of finding a recipe for Cameron’s mother. I turned to study Cameron, a fissure of unease running through me at our isolation at the front of the house with the staff in the basement and Mrs. Smythe absent.

“Ah, darling Clarissa, it is wonderful to have time alone with you at last,” he said with a broad smile. “I am hopeful that soon we will have a life to fill with such moments. I heard about the delightful tea you had with my mother a few days ago.”

“Cameron, I’m sorry if you have the impression I would be amenable to a suit—”

“Don’t you see, Clarissa,” Cameron said interrupting me, “we will have a perfect life. You will make me an ideal wife. We will have an inviting home with presentable children.”

“Cameron, you know I am not that woman. I do not see myself at home, waiting for you, idly passing the day. I need a purpose to my life.”

“You will have one,” he argued. “Our life. Our family. Our home. You will ensure I want for nothing. Isn’t that what you desire?”

“No, not with you,” I said.

“It’s not as though you would want to continue with those suffragettes or your teaching. Your life will finally have the purpose it was meant to have. As my wife, and as a mother to my children.”

“You must desist speaking in such a manner. We are not to marry.”

“I can’t imagine any woman, given the opportunity to live a conventional life, would want to continue on the dangerous path you have started down, Clarissa,” Cameron said. “I can’t imagine what your father was thinking, condoning such behavior. He waited for too long to heed Mrs. Sullivan’s faultless advice.”

“I believe he was concerned for my personal happiness.”

“As if that path ever leads to lasting happiness. You must realize by now that it is best to allow men to ponder the truly weighty matters of the world. It does you no good to worry about what you cannot change.”

“But it is acceptable for you to worry about such things?”

“Of course. I have the mental capacity and preparedness from years of study and cultural advantage.”

“One could argue that I have studied extensively,” I said.

“Yes, but only on a limited amount of subjects. You should never overtax your tender sensibilities. I would hate for you to have an attack of hysteria,” he intoned.

“Cameron, you must realize I am not as weak as you portray me.”

“You are a woman, thus you have delicate sensibilities. I am surprised your stepmother, the estimably proper Mrs. Sullivan, hasn’t taught you this. I must know, Clarissa, that we are of one mind on this. It is paramount that, as my wife, you agree with me on all things.” He watched me closely, studying my reaction. “You will marry me, won’t you?”

“Then I’m afraid you will be disappointed on a daily basis,” I snapped. “I will not be told what to believe, how to act, or with whom to associate. I will have my own thoughts and ideas.” I took a deep shuddering breath. “And, no, I will not marry you.”

“Ah, Clarissa, that is one of the reasons I love you. Your naive optimism that life will continue as you wish.” He rose and moved to the door. I sighed with relief that he was leaving but rose from my seat in alarm as he shut and locked the parlor door.

“Cameron, you know this is improper and you must leave. Now,” I insisted, hating that my voice wavered.

“No, Clarissa, I mustn’t,” he said as he walked toward me. “What I must do is ensure that you understand I am your only option.”

“Cameron.” I tried to evade him, but he reached out and clasped my arms in a painful grip, tugging to hold my hands behind my back with one of his. His other hand grasped the side of my neck, preventing any movement. I tried to break free, but his hands were like steel manacles.

“I have spent months attempting to show you how well we suit. Yet you cling to your disgraced carpenter. I am disappointed in you, Clarissa. I thought you had more sense. He’s never coming back for you. He doesn’t want you. He probably never did.” He gripped my chin in a painful grasp between two of his strong fingers and his intense brown eyes gleamed with lust. “
I
want you.”

“How dare you speak of Gabriel in such a manner?” I said wriggling in an attempt to free myself from his tight grip of my arms as I fought panic. My futile movements only pushed me off balance and made it easier for him to maneuver me toward the settee.

“I would like to have a summer wedding. In order to not cause a scandal, we must become engaged soon, Clarissa. It is April,” Cameron said as he pushed me onto the settee.

A few of the buttons from the front of my dress popped free from the pressure he exerted, and I struggled against him. I tried to twist, to turn, but had no ability to move. Finally I bit him on his nose, which earned a grunt of displeasure from him and the tightening of his hand at my neck to the point I almost blacked out. His hold on my arms did not lessen.

“You will be mine, one way or another,” Cameron growled. When he relaxed the hand from my neck, I lay pliant, gasping for air. I was enveloped in his cologne, a deep bay rum, and I tried to turn my head to escape the scent. As he gripped the neck of my dress, more buttons were torn away. “What the hell is this?” he demanded as he saw Gabriel’s necklace and grasped it.

“A gift from a friend,” I said, grimacing as the chain bit into my neck. “Please, stop, you are hurting me!”

He succeeded in tearing it from my neck and threw it onto the floor. “You’ll have no need of that necklace, nor of any memories of that worthless laborer after this afternoon.”

“Cameron. Cameron, no!” I pleaded, unable to yell through my tears and sore throat.

“Soon you will realize I am your only option,” Cameron ground out. He reached toward his throat, pulling off his tie. He jerked me to a sitting position and lashed my hands together behind my back with his tie. Now that he had both hands freed, he thrust me backward and attacked my dress in earnest. I opened my mouth to scream, but he covered my mouth with his.

I bucked and sobbed, trying to push him off me in any way possible. He chuckled as he raised his mouth and stuffed his handkerchief into my mouth. I nearly gagged. I focused on breathing, on trying to stop crying so I could still inhale through my nose.

I flinched as I felt his hands on my breasts, pinching and bruising. Tears fell unheeded as he lifted my skirts and pushed apart my legs. I heard a ripping sound as he tore my drawers followed by an unzipping. I bucked, using all my meager strength to force him off me.

“Stop fighting me, Clarissa,” he rasped. “You must learn to accept your destiny.” He pressed his forearm against my throat, stilling any further movement on my part as he cut off my access to air.

I tried to meet his eyes, to beg him in any way I could to not do this to me, but he would not be deterred. I felt him poking and prodding at me until I arched in agony as I screamed to the point I thought I would remain hoarse forever. Through it all, I heard his voice.

“You are mine now, Clarissa. No one will ever want you but me.”

***

THE FIRST FEW MOMENTS after Cameron’s attack were chaotic. It seemed as though they were happening to someone else, although some part of my mind recognized I was present. Cameron collapsing on top of me afterward with a sigh of contentment and a kiss to my temple. Me bucking so hard that he finally fell off me. The eventual untying of my hands, the rush to push down my skirts and refasten my bodice. Tumbling off the settee in my desire to flee and finding that my legs had no strength. Seeing the smear of blood on the new upholstery. Watching as Cameron left with a jaunty lope to his step and a contented smile.

Seeing his happy smile brought me back to myself for a moment as anger and shame roiled inside me. As I pushed myself to a standing position on rickety legs, I picked up the settee cushion and flipped it over. Thankfully it was a perfect match to the other side and no one would be the wiser for a while. I walked with an unsteady gait, as though I had injured my hip. I gripped the banister with both hands, heaving myself upstairs with all of my strength.

I passed no one in the halls, and I entered my bedroom with no witness to my bedraggled appearance. The door closed with a soft click behind me, and I locked it before collapsing onto the floor. Tears leaked down my cheeks and soon uncontrollable sobs burst from deep within me. I curled into myself on the floor as I gave myself up to my grief.

After a few minutes, my crying abated, and I rose from the floor. I glimpsed myself in my mama’s vanity and a few more tears fell. I did not recognize the ashen woman with destroyed blue eyes standing in front of me. My dress was torn in numerous places with the buttons misaligned from my frantic refastening in the parlor. I fingered my neck, flinching at the light touch as I traced the bruising.

I turned away from the mirror, walking toward my privacy screen and washbasin. I unbuttoned my dress, in an instant frantic to have it off of me. I heard seams rip and buttons pop as I freed myself from my clothes. I wanted everything from this afternoon far from me. I stood, naked behind the screen, scrubbing myself until I felt my skin rubbed raw. Until I understood no amount of scrubbing or washing would ever remove the memory of Cameron’s touch.

***

“CLARISSA, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Colin asked that evening in the parlor. His light blue eyes watched me. Although I sat across from him near the fire, I shivered and pulled my shawl more firmly around my shoulders.

“I’m fine, Col,” I whispered.

“You don’t look fine,” Colin said. “You look like hell.” His auburn hair glinted red in the firelight. I could not bear to look in his direction, not at that settee. And yet I had sat here because I could not have borne to sit near Mrs. Smythe.

“Clarissa,” Da called out from the other side of the parlor. “Mrs. Sullivan tells me Cameron called today.” He watched me with stormy brown eyes, as though daring me to confirm what Mrs. Smythe had said. His muscular shoulders and arms tensed underneath the fine cloth of his evening suit, waiting my response.

“Yes, Da,” I said in a weak voice. I watched as his face became blotchy as he glared at Mrs. Smythe.

“Did you discuss anything of interest?” Mrs. Smythe asked. She raised an eyebrow expectantly, her brown eyes lit with satisfaction.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Surprise laced her voice. She sat forward and began to fan herself.

“Yes. After you left us alone in the parlor, we did not speak of anything of interest.”

“You left my Clarissa alone with that man?” Da asked with a growl. “What could you have been thinking?”

“I had been under the impression he was to ask her to marry him. And that she was to be a very fortunate young lady.”

“The only good fortune I would have would be to never see him again,” I said as I attempted to stifle a sob.

“Clarissa, you must begin to show reason and realize that he is your only sensible option.”

I blinked furiously in an attempt to prevent myself from sobbing. “No, I never will. I’ll never marry him! Not if he were my only option. I’d rather be alone than with … than with…” I clasped a hand over my mouth to swallow my sob.

“Now, darling,” Da said as he rose and walked toward me. “If you don’t want the man, I understand. I imagine you still love your Gabriel.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “But even if I didn’t have Gabriel, I would never want a man such as Cameron.”

“Then that is that,” Da said as he glared at Mrs. Smythe. “The man is not wanted here and will not be welcomed here for tea or of an evening. I thought I had made myself clear months ago.”

“I cannot agree with that, Sean. Your daughter must begin to show some sense as to her future. Does she want to spend the rest of her life living off the charity of her family? Does she want to become the spinster aunt pitied by the rest of the family because she spurned her only chance at marriage? Does she want to die alone and unloved?”

“How dare you?” I screeched. “How dare you presume to know anything about me and what I dream about?” I took a deep breath as I attempted to calm myself. I looked toward Da. “I’m sorry, Da,” I whispered as I flung myself into his arms. “I can’t remain here. I can’t live with her anymore. I must be free to live my life the way I wish to live it without the interferences of a woman who has no true regard for my well-being. I will miss you.” I clung to him for a moment.