Say You Love Me (28 page)

He finally glanced down at Kelsey and revealed to her for a brief moment just how furious he was over what she’d done. She’d managed to hurt him in that fall down the stairs. He probably wasn’t used to his victims fighting back, or at least, not being hurt by them.

But then he smiled at her, that bone-chilling smile. She didn’t need to hear him say that he’d be getting even, and very soon. It was there in his expression and his eyes, and he was savoring the thought.

He motioned for John to precede him. Kelsey was dragged down one set of stairs, then another, then the last, where that horrible stench assailed her again. Behind one of the doors, someone started crying pitifully. It sent shivers down her spine.

“Shut up in there!” John barked.

Silence was immediate. John ruled the cellars, and those who lived there obeyed or else—or else what? Kelsey supposed she would find out.

There was no stopping to chat this time before she was seen to. John didn’t wait for Ashford’s orders; he tossed her down onto that bed as soon as they entered the newly built room. She winced, landing on her bound arms. Enough time had passed that her hands had fallen asleep yet again, and yet again the
pain shot through them as contact with the bed momentarily brought them to life one more time.

So it took her a moment to realize that he had immediately grasped one of her legs and was now wrapping leather around it. She tried to stop him, kicking him with her other foot, hard, again, again. He didn’t seem to notice. The strap still went on—and was fastened.

She paled. She felt sick to her stomach. That strap put an end to whatever hope she had clung to. But she still tried to roll off the bed, panic making her desperate. Her other foot was caught, the grip on it so hard she moaned. She guessed he had felt her kicks after all. And within seconds, the other strap was in place.

She noticed Ashford then, standing there beside the bed. He was smiling down at her, and she could almost read his mind. He was relishing her helplessness and her fear, anticipating what was to come. Now? Would it happen now?

“The same rules, m’lord?”

The caretaker’s question drew Ashford’s eyes away from her, and his expression turned almost indifferent again. “Yes, you aren’t to touch her until I’ve sufficiently broken her in, but then she’ll be yours to do with as you please, just like the others.”

“And the blonde who’s had yer attention lately?” John asked hopefully.

“Yes, yes, you can have her back now,”
Ashford said impatiently. “It will no doubt be quite a while before I’ll want her again, now that I have this one to amuse me.”

“Thank you, m’lord. I have to admit, the blonde was my favorite, though I’m sure this one will be—soon as yer done with her. I like the new ones best and trainin’ ’em. Withhold their food for a few days and they’re happy to make old John happy, however I wants.”

Ashford chuckled. “And I’m sure there are many ways to make you happy.”

“Oh, aye, m’lord. I thanks the day ya offered me this job, indeed I do. All these pretty wenches that would never have let old John even gets near ’em, they change their tune once they’re down here. And this pretty, ya wants me to prepare her for ya now?”

“Actually, I’m rather famished,” Ashford said. “I believe I’ll have a bite to eat before I initiate her. I’ve been looking forward to this one. I don’t want anything to distract me from my pleasure once I begin. I trust the kitchen is still well stocked?”

“Aye, ya’ll find all yer favorites there, just as ya ordered.”

“Good, good. But you can finish the restraints. I don’t want there to be any possibility that she won’t be here when I return shortly.”

“She’ll be here. You’ve my word on it.”

Ashford nodded, smiling at his caretaker. “I do depend on you, John, indeed I do. I will see to the rest, though. I’m looking forward to
that as well. Oh, and fetch my tools for me,” he said as an afterthought. “I don’t want to be bothered unlocking the blonde’s cell to get them.”

40

Tools? What tool? That sounded too much like
instruments of torture, in relation to what went on down here. Or did he just call his whips tools?

Derek’s words came back to haunt Kelsey.
He whips them until they are covered with blood. Apparently, he can’t have sex with them without the sight of that blood
.

God, why did he have to tell her? She would have preferred not to know what was going to happen to her until it happened. Not knowing would have been frightening, but this? Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge, in this case, was absolutely terrifying.

Ashford had left to go eat his meal. Something so normal as that in the midst of her nightmare. Was he a fast eater? Slow? How much time exactly would she have until he returned to
initiate
her?

She’d delayed him only a little while when she had run from him. But he’d wanted her to do that. It was part of his overall entertainment. Since this delay was only for his own
comfort, he could actually be back in a matter of minutes.

John was still there. He’d been told to finish putting on her restraints and he did just that, rolling her to the side so he could untie her hands, twisting her actually, farther than her muscles wanted to allow. And he kept her in that position while he strapped the leather about one wrist, because it kept her other arm from interfering, still trapped under and behind her as it was.

Not that she could have done anything to prevent those last straps from going on. One more time, her hands had gone numb from the tight cords, and her arms as well were sore from being twisted behind her for so long.

He left the room when he was finished, but he didn’t go far. She could hear him working the lock on one of the other rooms, and the crying that started up just in anticipation of being visited, great wails that didn’t stop until that door was locked again.

Kelsey shivered. Dear God, the terror she had just heard just because one of those women thought that Ashford or his caretaker was going to visit. Kelsey wouldn’t last there, she knew she wouldn’t. She would go quite mad if all she had to look forward to each day was pain and more pain.

John came back into her room. Across her stomach he laid three whips of different designs and lengths—and a knife. Ashford’s tools. The ones he was going to use on her. She’d lifted her head to stare at them, couldn’t
take her eyes off them. She was going to be sick.

He chuckled at the look in her eyes. “There will be enough left of ya when he tires of ya, girlie, to suit me,” he assured her. “I ain’ts particular.”

Her eyes went to his. She saw that they were blue, actually a pretty shade of blue. It wasn’t easy to notice with his misshapen face.

She had forgotten about hearing Ashford say that she would be John’s later to do with as he pleased. Would she even care by then?

The caretaker didn’t stay to gloat. And he closed the door behind him as he left, though he didn’t lock it. The lamp was left behind. So she could continue to stare at what he’d brought her?

Kelsey heaved her back off the bed the second that door closed, to knock the whips and the knife onto the floor. But getting them off her body didn’t get rid of them. She shivered again, feeling even sicker. And she wondered whether, if she didn’t still have the gag in place, she wouldn’t start screaming herself the next time that door opened. She might anyway.

The straps wouldn’t give. She twisted and yanked and strained, but there wasn’t the slightest bit of slack. She couldn’t possibly work loose from them, or pull them free from however they were attached to the bed.

The door opened again, too soon, in what seemed like only a few minutes. It was Ashford. He’d rushed through his meal after all.

Kelsey’s muscles went rigid with fear. He glanced at his “tools” on the floor and tsked. He sauntered forward to pick one up. It was the knife. Kelsey blanched. It came to her cheek. A tug, and she was able to spit out the sliced-open gag. She didn’t thank him. She knew damn well he wanted it off so he could hear her screams.

But she wasn’t going to scream. She was going to use her wits and talk herself out of this. It was the only chance she had left. He wasn’t sane—not completely. If she could push him enough to snap the rest of his mind, perhaps he would leave her alone, maybe even let her go. It was a wild hope, but the only one she had.

“Release me now, Lord Ashford, before it’s too late. You shouldn’t have taken me, but I won’t say anything about what you’ve done if you—”

“I didn’t take you to release you, my pretty,” he said as he walked to the end of the bed.

“But why take me at all? You already have other girls here. I heard them…” She managed to refrain from saying “crying.”

“Yes, homeless urchins for the most part, that are never missed and don’t have any friends who care what happens to them. Though I do have one other here that I bought at auction, just like you.”

“Why do you keep them here?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Do you ever let them go?”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that. Once they come here, they can never leave.”

“But they don’t come willingly!” she cried. “At least I didn’t!”

“So?”

“Why do you need so many?”

He shrugged again. “Scars tend to inhibit bleeding.”

He said that so dispassionately, yet he was the one who caused the scars. It really didn’t bother him, what he did here. He felt no guilt whatsoever. What she had heard only confirmed what she had already guessed.

He stuck the knife he still held under her skirt then and drew it toward him, opening the material. She gasped. He smiled.

“Don’t worry, my pretty. You won’t need these clothes anymore,” he said, and ripped the rest of the skirt up to her waist, then moved up beside the bed again to examine the sleeve of her spencer. “You whores are always taking them off, countless times a day, so down here, we are kind enough to save you the trouble.”

He laughed at that, finding it quite amusing.

“I’m not a whore.”

“Of course you are, just like
she
was.”

There was that mention of another woman again, in a tone that implied that particular woman was the worst sinner in the world. “Who is she?”

A cold flame leapt into his eyes just before he slapped her. “Don’t
ever
mention her.”

Her face had been turned away from him
with that slap. The knife slipped under her sleeve and began cutting before she turned back to glare at him.

“Or what? You’ll beat me? Isn’t that what you already intend to do?”

“You think there aren’t ways to make you suffer even more, just like she did? I assure you, only these other whores down here will hear your screams.”

God, they each could hear the other’s pain. But she knew that, had already heard the sounds of their suffering. Only now they would hear hers, too.

Was that intentional, one more thing to add to the terror of every woman who was brought down there? He did seem to do things intentionally, as if he had played the same scene on this stage many times before. There was only one servant on the premises—and he was wholly devoted to Ashford. There was no one, nor ever would be anyone, to carry tales of the atrocities that went on there.

How many years had Ashford gotten away with this? How long had some of these women been down there already? He whipped tavern women so badly that they were scarred for life. That was what Derek had witnessed. But those women still had their freedom after he was done with them. What about the women in the cellar, though, who were never let go to be able to tell? Were even worse things done to them?

She had to keep him talking. He stopped cutting on her clothes each time he said some
thing. But she hesitated to mention “her” again.

“You have stolen me from Lord Malory. You think he won’t know that and come after you?”

He paused. Just a trace of worry entered his expression, but he quickly shrugged it off.

“Don’t be absurd,” he admonished. “Whores run off all the time.”

“Not when they don’t want to, and he
knows
I wouldn’t. And he’s not stupid. He’ll know exactly where to look for me. Your only hope is to let me go.”

“If he comes, I will kill him.”

“
When
he comes, he will kill
you
,” she stressed. “But you already know that, Lord Ashford. It’s quite brave of you to court death like that.”

He paled, but not nearly enough. “He won’t do anything without proof. And he’ll never find you here. No one knows of this place, no one ever will.”

He had answers for everything. Mentioning Derek wasn’t working. He feared him, yes, but he considered himself safe from Derek’s retribution.

He moved to her other sleeve and began cutting it up to her shoulder. She was fast running out of time. She had to risk mentioning that other woman again. It was the only thing that really disturbed him.

“Did you bring
her
here?”

“Shut up.”

She had jarred him, enough that the knife
slipped, cutting her arm. She flinched, but she couldn’t let that deter her. At least he hadn’t slapped her again.

“Why do you hate her so?”

“Shut up! I don’t hate you. I never hated you. But you shouldn’t have run off with your lover when Father found out you were a whore. He beat me instead, because you weren’t there. You should have just let him kill you as he wanted to. You deserved it. I didn’t want to do it for him when I found you, but what choice did I have? You had to be punished. You still have to be.”

Oh, God, he thought
she
was that other woman now—his mother. He’d killed her, and he was going to kill her again when he was done “punishing” her for her sins, just as he had been punished for her sins. She had just condemned herself to much more pain than she would have been given—if she hadn’t pushed him to the other side of his insanity.

41

The rented hack had stopped in front of them. Derek’s
carriage drew alongside it. “What have we stopped for?” James called out.