The Winter Rose (23 page)

"Tell me, Gem..." he whispered, thrusting into her. "Say you want me."

"Fuck you, Freddie."

He laughed. "Exactly."

He ground into her. Slowly at first, then faster, until he felt her
move with him, heard her moan and swear. And then he suddenly stopped.
Her eyes, pleasure-dazed, half-closed, opened wide.

"Tell me," he said, an edge of menace to his voice. When she would not, he bit her shoulder, breaking the skin.

"Ouch! You little shit!" she cried.

She struggled, got one hand loose, and slapped him. He grabbed her by
the throat and squeezed, just slightly. He kissed her again, but she
bit his lip, drawing blood.

"Bitch," he whispered, squeezing harder. Tears leaked out of the
corners of her eyes. He kissed them away, savoring their bitterness,
then he moved inside her again, slowly, deeply.

"Tell me..."

He felt a shudder go through her. And then another. "Yes," she
finally gasped. "I do. I do want you, Freddie... now. Oh, God... now
..."

She drowsed in his arms afterward. He stroked her hair, twining his
fingers in the long brown tresses. He felt sated, exhausted, relieved.

He'd come to her flat to plead with her to take him back. They'd
argued a few weeks ago. She'd found out about India, that he was
engaged. She was furious and said she never wanted to see him again.

He'd brought flowers and chocolates, a bottle of champagne, and a little present.

"I miss you, Gem," he'd told her, standing in her doorway. "Don't you miss me, too? Just a bit?"

"Not at all," she'd said, trying to shut the door on him. "Leave, please."

But he hadn't. He'd handed her the roses instead. Yellow for
forgiveness. And then he'd sweet-talked her into letting him come
inside, just for a minute, to share some champagne. For old times' sake.
He'd poured her a glass and then another, and then he'd moved close to
her on the settee where they were sitting and slipped a gold ring on her
pinkie. It was a twining serpent with an emerald eye.

"A snake," she said. "How appropriate."

It didn't take much after that to get her into bed. Jewelry always
soft-ened her. He was glad she hadn't refused him. He wanted her back.
He would have her, too. Soon. He would find her a nicer flat than this
one and fill it with pretty things--furniture and flowers, paintings, a
Victrola. He would buy her jewels, one bigger than the next, and she
would fuck him silly. As soon as he was married.

He thought of India, his future wife. He hadn't seen her for days,
but would in a week's time at Longmarsh. And he would get a wedding date
out of her there, too. One way or another.

Gemma stirred in his arms, nestling in closer to him. He kissed the
top of her head. He was happy here, in her rumpled bed. Drinking
champagne in the twilight.

He would never be like this with India. He would never show her his
heart. He knew that. He could only ever show that to Gemma. For hers was
even darker.

Do you love her, Freddie? Gemma had asked.

He had told her no, but long ago, had he been asked the same
question, he would have answered yes. He had loved India. Once upon a
time. When they were children and innocent. Before they had changed.
Before everything had changed.

She was beautiful as a child. And good, so good. He remembered now
how she was forever rescuing injured animals. Birds with broken wings.
Or-phaned squirrels. Tiny, blind moles. Keeping them in a makeshift
animal hospital in the stables. She'd had an enormous heart. He knew she
did. She'd shown it to him one summer at Blackwood. The summer before
he killed his father.

He was twelve then, and India ten. They'd all been catching frogs by
the edge of the pond with their butterfly nets, all of them except
Daphne, who was in the nursery because she was little, and India, who
refused to catch anything because she thought it was mean. Wish, tiring
of frogs, suggested they go in the water and catch minnows instead. He,
Bingham, and Hugh quickly rolled up their trouser legs and chucked their
shirts. Maud and Bea knotted their skirts and waded in holding hands.
The pond was shallow and they were all soon far from the bank.

Freddie sat down to roll up his trousers, too. He started to unbutton
his shirt, forgetting for a minute that he mustn't. By the time he
remembered, it was too late. India, who'd decided to sit on the bank in
protest, was looking at him. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. He
tried to button his shirt up again, but she wouldn't let him. She
opened it and peered at his body, at the ugly bruises staining his
chest. She touched her fingers to them--with infinite gentleness--but he
still winced. It was the shame of it that hurt most.

"Freddie, how did this happen?"

"My father," he said tersely.

"He...he beats you?" she whispered.

"Why do you think we always come here for the summer? And you never
come to Longmarsh? Our mother sends us to keep us out of his way. If
we're not there, he can't beat us. Only his horses. And her."

He had looked at her then. Her eyes were full of tears. For him.

"Don't, India, please," he said. "I can't bear it, your pity."

"It's not pity, Freddie," she said in a broken voice. "It's grief."

She'd wiped her tears away and said no more, but she'd taken his hand
in hers and held it and they'd sat that way for quite some time.
Together on the river bank in the quiet of a summer evening. It was the
only time in his entire life he had not felt alone.

He had loved her then as a child loves, but as he grew older his love
had changed. During the summer of his nineteenth year, and her
seventeenth, he had loved her as a man loves, and had come to Blackwood
in the hopes of making her his wife.

Things had changed by then, of course. Their group no longer played
as children do. They'd grown, and this was to be their last summer
together. Maud and India had made their debuts into society, and Maud
was being courted by half a dozen titled men. Bea was working in the
house as a par-lor maid. Hugh was a groom. Wish would start at Barings
in the autumn. Bingham was doing his best to manage Longmarsh.

Maud and India had greeted them all with warmth, and had been eager
to spend time with them, but Freddie had sensed a distance in India
right from the start. She seemed distracted, her thoughts forever
somewhere else.

He was in his room one night, sitting by the window and brooding over
her strangeness, when he suddenly saw a slender figure, a woman, dart
across the lawn below. The moon was full and it shone on her,
illuminating her pale face, her blond hair. It was India. She was
heading in the direction of the stables.

Surprised and worried--for it was past midnight--he left the house
and followed her. By the time he reached the stables, she was already on
her way into the wood, and she had company--Hugh Mullins, one of the
grooms.

Freddie could not believe what he was seeing. Determined to find out
what was between them, he followed them in the darkness, careful to hang
back and walk quietly. India and Hugh walked hand-in-hand through the
woods to Dyffyd's Rock, India's favorite place. Hugh climbed up the huge
boulder and pulled India up after him. When they were both seated, he
kissed her. He pulled her close and kissed her, and Freddie felt his
world fall apart. He crept closer, desperate to hear what they were
saying.

"I'm so glad you were able to come. I wasn't sure if you would. I have competition now, don't I?" Hugh said.

"Competition? Who?"

"Freddie. I've seen how he looks at you. He's in love with you."

India had laughed at that. "Don't be ridiculous!" she'd said.
"Freddie's not in love with me. If he feels anything for me at all, it's
the love one feels for a sister."

"He's the one you should marry, India."

India shook her head. "Freddie will marry someone as golden and
daz-zling as he is. Not me. I'm far too plain for him. And anyway, I've
set my heart on someone else."

She had taken his face in her hands then and kissed him, tenderly, pas-sionately. "Make love to me, Hugh. Here. Now," she said.

"On this bloody hard rock? Are you barmy?"

"In the woods then, under the trees."

"Not until we're married. It's not right."

"Prude!" she teased, giggling.

"Hussy."

Watching her, Freddie had realized that he no longer recognized her.
She had never been like this with him, with any of them. She wasn't the
quiet, stified girl that she was inside the house. She was laughing and
happy. She was free. Hugh made her this way.

She leaned against Hugh, lifting her face to the stars. "Oh, I can't
wait until we're married! We'll live in a cottage like your mother and
father. With a fire in the grate. And a kettle on the hob. And stories
and songs in the evenings. And our lovely children all around us."

"India," Hugh said, his voice solemn, "you know that if we do marry,
we'll never be allowed to come back here. To Blackwood. Your father will
probably disown you."

"Do you think for a second that I'd want to come back here? To this
un-happy house? I want to leave. I want us to go far away. I would go
anywhere with you."

"You don't know what you're saying. You're too young to see the conse-quences."

"I'll be eighteen soon. Old enough to decide for myself what I want.
In two months' time. We'll go then. On my birthday. Promise me, Hugh."

"No, I won't. Because if I do, you'll hate me someday. When you're
missing your home and wishing for things I can't give you. Wishing you'd
never met me, much less married me."

"Don't talk that way. I'll never hate you, Hugh. Never. Now promise me we'll go away together. Promise me, Hugh Mullins."

"India, you have everything to lose."

She touched a finger to his lips. "I have everything to gain," she said. "I have you."

Hugh had taken her in his arms then. "I love you, India," he said.

"Promise me."

"I promise, you stupid, stupid girl. ...I promise."

Freddie had turned away then. He'd heard enough, seen enough. The Red
Earl's words came back to him. Would'st be king? First, rip out thine
own heart....He thought he had, the day he'd walked down the stairs at
Longmarsh to view his father's broken body. But he was wrong. A small
piece of it was still there, still alive. He knew because he'd just felt
it shatter.

He walked back through the woods, to Blackwood, the love he'd felt
for India turning into something else now. Something black and hateful.
Rage and jealousy whirled about madly inside of him. The pain was
staggering. He thought that night that he would not survive it, but he
had. And only a week later, the pain had served him well. It had made it
easy to do what he'd done. Easy to hand Hugh Mullins the hair comb.
Easy to hurt India as badly as she had hurt him.

Gemma stirred again now. "What time is it?" she asked.

Freddie squinted at the clock on her bureau. "Half seven," he said.
He would have to get moving. He was due at a dinner at half eight.
Another political dinner. This time with the local leadership of the
dockers' union where he would have to practice the politician's art of
offering much, but promising nothing. They were a tedious lot, union
types, with all their damned questions on strikes and wages and
shortened working days, and he was not looking forward to it.

Thank God the Stronghold debacle had been contained. That, at least,
would be one less thing they could grill him over. The robbery had made
all the papers, but happily, so had the arrests of Sid Malone and two of
his men. Donaldson had taken them in. True, they'd hardly spent any
time in jail at all, and Malone, ill in the hospital under India's
care--India, of all people!--didn't spend any time in a cell, but
Freddie had glossed over that unfortunate fact by saying that the
investigations were continuing, evidence was being gathered, and justice
would shortly be done. Not a perfect outcome, but at least he'd limited
the damage. All things considered, he thought he'd come out of it
looking rather good--swift, tough, in control.

He extricated himself from Gemma's embrace now. "Must be off, old
girl. I've a dreary dinner to attend," he said, getting out of bed. He
ducked into the loo to wash his face and comb his hair, then he gathered
his clothes off the floor and quickly dressed. Before he left, he bent
over the bed and kissed Gemma, still drowsing, goodbye.

"I'm awfully glad we're back together," he said.

Gemma opened her languid cat's eyes. "Who said we were? We're not, Freddie. I'm with someone else now. I told you that."

Freddie sat down. He took her hand in his. "As soon as I'm married, things will be different. I promise you."

"I need something more than promises, Freddie. Promises don't pay my dressmaker's bills."

"Gemma--"

"Goodbye, Freddie. Come back after your wedding... or not at all." She closed her eyes and rolled over, her back to him.

Freddie wanted to argue with her, but he had no time. If he didn't
leave, he'd be late. He hurried out of her flat and trotted down the
stairs to the street. She lived on a quiet street in Stepney. He knew he
would never find a cab on it, so he hurried south toward the Commercial
Road.

A week's time till we're all at Longmarsh, he thought. Only seven
days. No matter what it took, he would pin India down to a date then. He
would pull out all the stops--declare his undying love, say he couldn't
go on living without her, tell her how much he longed for children, and
all that rubbish--and if that didn't work... well, there was always
another way. A way that would all but guarantee a wedding.

As Freddie turned the corner onto the Commercial Road, his hand
raised to flag a hackney, he smiled grimly, more determined than ever to
marry as quickly as he could, for he desperately needed to gain a
wife-- and keep a mistress.