Vixen (45 page)

Chloe had said almost nothing since she’d awakened, disoriented, in the cold dawn. For a few seconds she had
no
idea where she was. Her arm was stretched out away from her body and she tried to pull it back. Something tightened around her wrist. It all came back then. She turned her head on the pillow. Jasper seemed to be asleep beside her, but the belt was wound several times around his wrist and the tie clasped in his clenched fist.

She lay still again, remembering everything he’d told her last night. She had the secret now to Hugo’s painted devils. Why hadn’t he told her himself of the desperate part he’d played in her own life … how inextricably he was bound up in the coils that had determined her lonely childhood. Hadn’t he trusted her enough? But of course she knew the real answer. He hadn’t loved her enough. He hadn’t loved her enough to trust her with his soul.

The manner of her father’s death didn’t overly trouble
her. Judging by Jasper’s description of the Congregation’s activities, Stephen Gresham’s death was no great loss to the world. She minded much more about her mother … that Hugo hadn’t told her he’d loved her mother with a love so deep and abiding that he was prepared to risk his life for her. If he’d told her everything, told her about her father—the kind of man he was—then she would have understood about her mother’s withdrawal from the world. She would finally have understood why Elizabeth had seemed to reject her daughter. There would have been a reason for the bitter loneliness Chloe had endured throughout her childhood in the hands of indifferent caretakers, and she would have been able to lay to rest the bleak assumption that there was something lacking in herself that had made her unsuitable company for her mother.

But he hadn’t cared enough for her to see that.

And it was all irrelevant now. Once she was wedded to Crispin, nothing would matter anymore. And Jasper was going to make that happen unless she could escape. But she felt small and powerless and knew herself to be so when pitted against the combined strengths and resources of her brother, his stepson, and Denis.

Feeling sick with hunger and in serious need of the commode, she pulled tentatively on the belt, hoping to wake her companion without giving him the impression she was trying to escape. She was not prepared to do or say anything that might result in the loss of her breakfast.

Jasper sat up in one movement. He was not disoriented. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I need the commode,” she said meekly.

He glanced at the clock. “It’s time we were moving anyway.” He released the belt from their wrists. “Hurry up and get dressed.”

An hour later Chloe stood in the freezing courtyard, her breath steaming in the frigid air as they waited while the horses were put to the chaise. Denis stamped his booted feet and blew on his hands, rubbing them together for warmth. Crispin leaned against the wall of the inn, his mouth thinned with impatience at the fumbling of the ostlers’ frozen fingers.

Chloe glanced toward Denis. For an instant his eyes lifted and met hers. Then he turned away with an abrupt movement of his head. This was the man with whom she’d danced and laughed, flirted and played silly games. And now he wouldn’t even meet her eye. Guilt at his betrayal? Somehow Chloe doubted it. He was a member of the Congregation. He and Crispin would both have the snake pricked into the skin above the heart. Guilt was not something they would feel.

Escape would be impossible with all three of them watching her. Perhaps, if she offered no resistance or hint of provocation, even to the loathsome Crispin, she would lull them into complaisance. But she knew this was a forlorn hope.

She looked toward her brother. Jasper was not going to relax his vigilance. His mouth was a thin slash in the slight heaviness of his face, his jaw jutting aggressively as he cursed the slowness of the ostlers, slapping his silver-knobbed cane into the gloved palm of one hand.

Chloe shivered, and immediately he shot her a swift, appraising glance from his pale, shallow eyes. He knew she was frightened; even though she pretended she’d shivered with cold and huddled into her cloak, she hadn’t deceived him. His mouth quirked with a sardonic satisfaction.

“Get in,” he ordered, gesturing with his head to the chaise.

Chloe obeyed without an instant’s hesitation and sat
in her corner, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head to cover her cold ears.

Jasper watched her through half-closed eyes. He hadn’t expected her to be so compliant so quickly. From what he remembered of her as a child, she’d been stubborn and quick to anger; a passionate girl whose emotions were easily roused. He didn’t think she’d changed that much, so this meek acceptance of her fate was interesting. He hadn’t hurt her much. A few threats, an empty belly, and a couple of slaps were not enough to intimidate such an obstinate and emotional creature. Since severe physical punishment wasn’t possible on such a public journey, when they were frequenting inns, he had intended to keep her sedated if necessary. No one would question a drowzy young woman being carried from a chaise. But so far she was making such a precaution unnecessary.

Chloe closed her eyes again. For some reason she felt less vulnerable, less exposed to them with her eyes shut. What did Hugo think had happened to her? Had Persephone taken to the wet nurse? Dante would be pining … had anybody remembered to let Demosthenes off his chain for a run in the yard? The stable hands were all terrified of him…. The desolate litany went around and around in her head as the chaise bore them north.

H
ugo and Samuel picked up the trail at St. Albans at mid-morning. The landlord of the Red Lion, where they stopped for breakfast, informed them that three gentlemen and a young lady, the sister of one of the gentleman, had lodged overnight and left at eight o’clock that morning.

“How did the young lady seem to you?” Hugo gazed
into his coffee cup as if the question were of little importance.

“Quiet,” the innkeeper said, filling a tankard of ale for Samuel. “She’d not been feelin’ too well … them coaches can give a bumpy ride. But she ate an ’earty breakfast this mornin’.”

“With anyone else, that’d be a good sign,” Samuel remarked to no one in particular.

Hugo smiled faintly. Samuel’s companionship was keeping him on an even keel. “When the horses have baited, we’ll be on our way.” He cut into his platter of sirloin.

“We’ll likely catch ’em by nightfall,” Samuel said quietly as the innkeeper bustled around the taproom. “If we change the ’orses in a couple of hours, we’ll make much better time than a chaise.”

“True enough, but I don’t want to catch up with them,” Hugo said.

“Oh?”

“I don’t intend to catch them at all,” Hugo said slowly. “It’s time this tale came full circle, Samuel. Jasper and I have a meeting ahead and a long-delayed vengeance.” His voice was quiet, the words without emphasis, but his companion felt the ice of conviction, the force of purpose, and he knew that this was the last thing remaining to restore Hugo Lattimer to full health and sanity.

“You’re not afraid for the lass?”

“I know the role they have in mind for her,” Hugo responded, his mouth hard, his eyes green glaciers. “They’ll not harm her before then.”

They stayed on the heels of the chaise all the way to Shipton. For all Hugo’s apparent confidence that Chloe was in no immediate danger. Samuel noticed how drawn his face became when he asked the routine question
at each stage of the trail: Had the young woman seemed well?

The answer was invariable. Quiet, travel weary, but nothing untoward.

As they rode into Lancashire, the air took on its familiar crisp clarity, the moorland stretched on either side of the road, the bleak winter brown hidden beneath a glistening coat of snow.

Samuel visibly relaxed as the terrain became familiar. His chin came up out of the folds of his muffler and his body moved more easily with the gait of his horse. Hugo, in contrast, tightened like a bowstring. He sniffed the air, his eyes moving restlessly from side to side as if on the watch for some predator.

They had kept two hours behind their quarry, staying in neighboring inns, so that at all times he felt close enough to Chloe to keep his anxiety in check. The knowledge that he only had to put spur to his horse and he would reach her enabled him to keep his head clear as he formulated and refined his plan.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon of the seventh day when they reached the turnoff to Shipton on the Manchester road. Hugo continued on the road to Denholm.

“Thought we was goin’ to Shipton,” Samuel commented.

“Tomorrow” was the short answer. Tomorrow night was Friday. Only on Fridays was the crypt used. Jasper wouldn’t wait for another week. He’d be assuming that Hugo would at some point put two and two together and he’d want Chloe irrevocably tied to Crispin before there could be any possibility of interference.

T
he chaise drew up on the gravel sweep before Gresham Hall. The surge of energy that went through the three men was palpable to the still figure, huddled
in her cloak in the corner of the vehicle. Terror threatened to overwhelm her. There had been no opportunities for escape. She had been watched constantly and each night slept tethered to her brother. At least Crispin had kept his distance and she’d managed to avoid further punishment at Jasper’s chillingly insouciant hands.

But now they were on Jasper’s land, surrounded by his people. There were no strangers to tell tales, no reins he need put upon his actions.

The footstep was lowered and Jasper jumped down. “Out!” he beckoned Chloe.

She moved to obey. Crispin unnecessarily put a hand in the small of her back and pushed her so she half fell down the steps. Jasper caught her, and it occurred to her with a fresh surge of terror that only he stood between herself and Crispin’s unbridled appetite for cruelty. Jasper was vicious, but it was purposeful. Crispin enjoyed inflicting pain for its own sake.

She hadn’t been inside Gresham Hall since she was a child, but it seemed as oppressive as ever when she stepped into the hall. The air was musty. Though Denholm Manor had also been unkempt and neglected, it had felt different. Or perhaps it was only her experiences of the two houses that was so different.

“Jasper …”

A tentative voice came from the shadows behind the stairs, and Louise moved hesitantly into the dim afternoon light. “Chloe … I didn’t know …”

“Don’t be a fool, of course you knew,” her husband snapped, pulling off his gloves. “I told you to have the west attic chamber prepared.”

“Yes … but … but you didn’t say why.” Louise wrung her hands, gazing at the still figure of her half sister-in-law. “Chloe dear …” She held out her hands in a ludicrous gesture of welcome.

“Louise.” Chloe inclined her head in brief acknowledgment.
She knew no evil of Jasper’s wife, but then, she knew no good of her either. A passive partner in evil was still an enemy.

“You must make your farewells to Denis, little sister,” Jasper said, mockery lacing his voice. “You’ll not see him again until your wedding night. After such a close friendship, I know you’ll wish to bid him farewell with all due courtesy.”

Chloe didn’t deign to reply, but she stared full into Denis’s eyes, hoping that he could read her contempt. He had that rather smug smile on his face again and an anticipatory gleam in his eye that brought a resurgence of the cold fear she fought so desperately to keep below the surface of her thoughts.

“Crispin, take her up and lock her in.” It was a sharp order.

So now Crispin was to come into his own. Chloe swallowed hard and stiffened her spine as Crispin seized her arm. “I don’t need help,” she said clearly. “I’m quite capable of mounting the stairs alone.”

“Move.” He twisted her arm behind her back and she bit her lip on the pain, moving ahead of him without another word.

“Come straight down.” Jasper spoke from the hall when they were halfway up the stairs, and relief washed through her. Jasper had not yet abdicated control.

The west attic chamber was a small room under the eaves with a grimy round dormer window. The other attics in the west wing were all used for storage, and when the sound of Crispin’s feet had faded from the passage, Chloe could hear no signs of life at all.

The room held a poster bed, a dresser, an armless chair. There was cold water in the ewer, a chamber pot beneath the bed.

So now what? She sat down on the bed and wished she had Dante with her. She’d never felt as alone as she
did now. Even in the lonely wasteland of her childhood there’d been animals … always someone worse off than she was. Now there was nothing.

Tears tracked down her cheeks, and for a while she indulged them. Then she heard steps in the corridor outside. She hastily rose to her feet, splashed water on her face, and sat in the chair, her face turned toward the window so the traces of tears wouldn’t be immediately visible to whoever entered.

It was Jasper, accompanied by a servant, who put down the portmanteau she’d used on the journey. He left immediately, closing the door. Jasper turned the key and stood regarding his sister for a moment.

“Louise will find you a change of clothes,” he said. “Otherwise, you have everything you need.”

“Thank you,” she said, hearing how ridiculous it sounded.

“Let me make a few things clear to you.” He came over to her chair. “Stand up.”

Chloe did so. What choice did she have?

“Look at me.”

That was harder. She didn’t want him to see the tracks of her tears. Then Jasper made it simple. He slapped her face again and any tears could be easily explained. She raised her head and looked at him.

“That’s better. Tomorrow evening, you will be married to Crispin—”

“No!”
She winced in expectation of another blow, but it didn’t come.

“Don’t interrupt,” he said in ah almost bored tone. “As I was saying, tomorrow evening you will be married to Crispin. Afterward, you will be presented in the crypt, as your mother was. What she failed to do, you, her daughter, will make up for. It is the way of the Congregation,” he added with a rich note of conviction. “We do
not leave things unfinished, and I’ve waited nigh on fifteen years to fulfill the obligation.