A Whisper in Time (25 page)

The bike wobbled. One of her feet went down to the pavement. She panted, mouth open.

“Do you trust me, Susanna?”

“Yes.” A small, squeaky sound.

“I won’t let you fall.”

She gave a jerky nod and put her foot back on the pedal.

“Now close your eyes.” Her gaze slid sideways to mine. “I have you. I’ll move the bike around. Concentrate on the feel.”

“Of the seat?” Her voice was tight.

“Yep, and the pumping of your legs.”

We stopped after her first loop around the cul-de-sac. “What do you think?”

“Good.” She frowned at her feet. “It is a bit difficult to pump my legs.”

“It’s the skirt. Pants make it easier.”

She exhaled noisily. “I shall make do.”

“But it would be easier—”

“Hush.” She gripped the handlebars, snapped her eyes shut, and nodded at me impatiently.

We completed two more loops of the cul-de-sac. “Better?”

“Yes.” A hesitant smile appeared. “This is lovely.”

“Okay, let’s do it with your eyes open now.”

We’d made it halfway around the loop when she said, “It’s harder with my eyes open.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a requirement to ride the bike.”

She laughed.

“Let’s get bold. Turn the handlebar to your left.”

She turned it sharply. The bike jerked, and she went tumbling sideways. I caught her by the waist, holding her free of the bike as it fell. She locked her arms around my neck and banged her helmeted head against my shoulder.

I bit back a curse, eased her into a more comfortable position and said in a calm tone, “You’re good. You didn’t fall.”

“Did I break the bike?”

So that was the real problem. “No. Mountain bikes are designed to take a lot of abuse.”

She tensed at the word
abuse
. Damn, I needed to watch what I said.

I lowered her until she supported her own weight, but I didn’t let go. I loved the feel of Susanna’s body. She still had the strength of her previous life, but weeks in our century had allowed her to fill out a bit, particularly in the places that I appreciated most.

She watched me anxiously. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. I like it when you make mistakes.”

“And why is that?”

“Then I get to save you. It means I get to touch you anywhere I want, and it’s all in the name of safety.”

She smiled. “You’ve never shown a reluctance to touch me.”

“Yeah, but now I have an excuse to go public.” I dropped a kiss on her mouth, and I liked that one so much I dropped another one, deepening it when her lips moved beneath mine.

She broke it off. “Mark,” she said with a laugh, her cheeks turning red. She glanced around the street. “We are in view of your neighbors.”

“They’ve seen people kiss before.” I gave her one more, just to prove my point, and bent over to pick up the bike. “Back on. We’re trying that again, but this time
barely
turn the handlebars.”

It didn’t take her long to catch on. She did great, crowing at her own success. As her instructor, I was prepared to take the next big step. “This time around, I’m letting go.”

She jammed the brakes and almost went flying off the bike.

“Susanna,” I said as patiently as if she were a child. “Watch that, okay? Gently squeeze.”

“I’m not ready for you to let go.”

“Yes, you are.” It wasn’t unusual to hear her say that. She was overly cautious about a lot of things. But on this issue, I was the expert, and I knew she was ready. “You can do this.”

“Perhaps we should end today’s lesson.”

“Not until you’ve ridden by yourself.”

“I am weary.”

I shook my head and held the bike steady.

She put her feet on the pedals and exhaled with attitude.

“I promise you, Susanna, this will work. You’ll go slowly. I’ll drop one hand and then the other. You won’t even know.”

“I’ll know,” she said through clenched teeth.

We took off, faster than I anticipated but I wasn’t going to rock the boat at this point. I dropped my lead hand first and then the other.

She wobbled, corrected, laughed, and pedaled away. Two laps later, she turned to look at me. “I’m doing it.”

Shit. She was paying attention to me, not the road. “Susanna,” I yelled.

Too late. She ran into the curb and sailed into the yard in a heap of body and machine.

I took off at a flat run to where she lay motionless in the grass and flung myself down. “Susanna, are you okay?”

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. “Biking is delightful.” She sat up and dusted off her skirt. “I shall enjoy doing this with you.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-T
HREE

B
ROKE
THE
C
HAINS

My birthday had been wondrous beyond measure. The day that should have meant my release from servitude had become a day of pure joy.

I didn’t want it to end.

After my bike lesson and a pizza supper, Mark took me to see a Disney film at an old, nearly-empty theater. He picked this movie, he’d claimed, especially since I was having a princess birthday.

It was a peculiar tale. A common house servant, who wished to be a princess, traveled to a ball inside a pumpkin, which thankfully had been cleaned of its seeds and slime. Inexplicably, she wore glass slippers. Did she not worry they might break and shred her feet? Perhaps so, for she left one of them behind at the ball. Still, she did marry her prince. A charming ending, if not realistic.

We were silent on the ride home. Mark walked me to the apartment and hesitated on the landing outside my door. “It’s late. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Please stay.”

“Are you sure? It’s been a long day.”

“Please.”

“You’re the birthday girl. Whatever you want.” He followed me in.

I stood in the middle of the room with my back to him, not sure what should happen next. Would he misinterpret why I had asked him to stay?

Why
had
I?

There was a simple answer, of course. I wanted him to know how happy I was—how much this birthday meant to me. I didn’t want our special date to end.

Perhaps we could talk. We could sit on the couch and speak of many things.

We could discuss the film.

No, perhaps not.

I could thank him again for my bike. It was lovely, sturdy, able to withstand…
abuse
.

I hated that word. Truly hated it.

It might be best to sit down and let Mark choose the subject. Yes, that was what we should do.

But first, I must clean. We could not enjoy a pleasant conversation with the apartment in such disarray. It demanded immediate attention.

I plumped up the cushions on the couch and shut the door to the closet. I folded the washcloth on the counter. Then I crossed to the table, closed the open lid of the laptop, and straightened the stack of books.

“Hey. What’s going on?” His voice was directly behind me.

When I turned to face him, he was a bare few inches away, reaching for me. My breath quickened painfully. I tried for calm.

I wanted this day to be the beginning of
more
, but I didn’t know how. My past had trained me too well.

Mark had once told me that he controlled the possibilities, and I controlled the limits. Yet I had set prudish boundaries, and yearned now to ease them.

Raising my hands, I placed them on his shoulders and gazed anxiously into his face. I wanted more for us. The way I felt about him was not dishonorable. I wanted to be brave.

Mark was tall and strong. His body blocked the light. He seemed to surround me. I edged backward until the table prevented my escape.

There had been another moment like this, not very long ago, when I’d been trapped between a table and a strong man—a man who had been intent on hurting me. He’d locked my wrists behind my back. I had been helpless.

No
. I must stop thinking about that. Mark would not hurt me. There was nothing to fear. I had invited him in. I wanted him to touch me.

His hand gripped my waist. Memories of that other day flooded through me.

Panting breaths. Hard hands. The smell of sweat and purpose.

Revulsion crashed in my brain, overwhelming in its power. I strained away from the shame and clawed at those vile groping fingers.

“Susanna, what’s wrong?”

The question seemed to come to me from a distance. My chest heaved with the effort to draw in air. “My master…”

I didn’t want to remember but the memories wouldn’t stop. The rip of my shift. The smirk as he gazed at me. “Please let me go.”

“Okay, Susanna.” His warmth left along with his hand. “I won’t touch you. I promise.”

Breathing through my open mouth, I squeezed my eyes shut in a vain attempt to hide from the images of that horrific moment three months ago.

“Whatever you want, Susanna. You’re in control…”

I forced my mouth to close. I was in control.

“Tell me what you want me to do…”

I had choices. My fingers uncurled from the fists I couldn’t recall jamming against my cheeks.

“Do you want me to stay? Do you want me to leave—?”

“Don’t leave me, Mark. Please.”

“Fine. I’m right here.”

“My master…” I had tried hard to put it from my mind, by sheer strength of will. I reached out, my hand connecting with Mark’s chest, the beating of his heart steady and sure.

I could share this tale. Truly, I could. “In July, when I went to old Raleigh, I was away from the Pratts’ farm…” I shuddered.

“You were with me and your mother. To take Phoebe.”

“Yes.”

His calm voice gave me strength. I opened my eyes. He stood before me, arms loose at his sides. He gave me a solemn nod of encouragement.

“My master was very angry.” I cleared my throat. “His son had seen us together in an embrace.” Our first kiss had been a thing of beauty.

“I remember.”

I lifted my hand—it felt shockingly heavy, as if weighted down by chains—and linked my fingers with his. I kept my gaze on our clasped hands. “He accused me of an improper relationship with you. He sought to uncover proof.” I couldn’t bear to go on and I couldn’t bear to stop, as if driven to see this story through to its bitter end. “My master was sure that you had left scratches on my skin. He was determined to see them, wherever they were.”

Mark inhaled a sharp breath.

“He undid my bodice and pulled out my stays. He inspected my body.”

A sound slipped past Mark’s lips, half-moan, half-growl. I collapsed against him, the tears that had not come that day overflowing. The echoes of sheer terror and powerlessness had me trembling. “Hold me.”

He enfolded me into a warm and gentle embrace. “I have you, Susanna. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you. Ever again.”

I wept in the secure cocoon of his arms, dreading what must come next. I’d left out part of the story, and I had to say it while I still had the courage. “Mr. Pratt says I have the plump breasts of a cheap whore.”

“Bastard,” Mark said, deep loathing in the crisp precision of the word. “You are beautiful in every way. Forget him.”

He held me for long moments, murmuring in his soothing voice, reassuring me that I was safe and loved. At last I believed, the truth of it seeping into mind and heart. Once the tears stopped, I pressed my wet face to his chest, spent and sad.

“Tell me how to help you, Susanna.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

“You’ve got me. As long as you need.” His hands splayed across my back, bringing a lovely sense of comfort, yet our embrace remained chaste. “Remind me to beat the shit out of him one day.”

His words surprised a quick bubble of laughter past my lips. “It’s my sincere desire that neither of us see him again.”

“I like that plan too.”

* * *

A faint light teased my eyes, urging them to open. I blinked slowly, disoriented. The door to my apartment stood slightly ajar, the light from the stairwell visible.

I lay at the edge of my bed, tucked snugly under the covers. Yet I had no recollection of how I had gotten here.

From behind me came the rhythmic breathing of another person sleeping.

Carefully, I turned. Mark lay huddled in the middle of the bed. He was still in his jeans and dress shirt, now hopelessly wrinkled. A quilt bunched beneath him.

Memories of last evening returned. Mark had promised to stay until I fell asleep. He had succumbed himself. It warmed my heart to see him.

Slowly, I flipped a spare blanket over him. He stirred and then flopped to his back. I wiggled to my side and drifted away.

* * *

I awakened at dawn and watched Mark sleep. Even in profile, he was beautiful.

His eyes fluttered open. Closed. Open again. “Am I in your room?”

“Yes.” After the pain of telling my story, the joy of this morning was deliciously sweet. “You slept here all night.”

His head turned my way. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.”

“Good. My mom won’t be up yet.” He rubbed his face. “I have to get out of here before she figures out we broke the big rule.”

“We did nothing wrong.”

“No, but I’m sure she wouldn’t see it that way.” He rolled to his side and dropped his hand over mine.

We lay there, watching each other quietly.

There were, of course, some things that must be said, as much for the person who said them as for the person who heard. “Thank you for being with me. For not being disgusted.”

His brow creased in bewilderment. “Disgusted? About what?”

I dropped my gaze to his hand over mine, nestled in the sheets. “Perhaps you might think I didn’t fight him hard enough.”

“You didn’t stand a chance against him. He’s huge. I should know; he’s taken a swing at me before.” Mark tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Hey, babe, look at me.” When I did, he watched me steadily, his eyes wide and clear. “He’s a vicious asshole. He is one-hundred percent to blame for everything that happened.
Everything
.”

I wanted desperately to believe Mark. “Mr. Pratt called me a cheap—”

“Stop.” Mark pressed his thumb across my lips. “Don’t repeat his lies. Don’t even think about them. That worthless piece of shit was scared of losing the most amazing person in his life. He wasn’t going to let go easily.”