Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy (32 page)

There were bars on the windows, and the individual rooms were little more than cells. The patients and prisoners couldn't be trusted with more than a cot and a chamber pot. Lest they hang themselves in despair, there were no hooks on the walls. They'd taken her clothes; they'd taken her jewels; they'd taken her only pair of shoes!

The property was situated in the middle of nowhere, and it rained all the time, so the roads were a mire of mud. If she could have found a carriage to steal—there wasn't one; she'd checked—it would have bogged down in a trice.

She would die in such a despicable place! She would absolutely die!

Jamie chuckled. "It's so amusing to see you beg."

"You swine! You churl! How can you be so cruel?"

"Actually, it's comes quite naturally."

"I didn't harm your precious Anne. It's absurd to punish me. I'm completely innocent."

He arched a skeptical brow. "Fine, let's just say I'm an unconscionable boor and I'm torturing you for sport."

"Oh, you ... you—"

She broke off. She had to calm herself, had to try a different tactic. He was such a brute that insults didn't faze him. Pleading didn't faze him. Nothing bloody fazed him!

She smoothed her features into an expression of extreme regret.

"I'm sorry," she said.

His chuckling metamorphosed into outright laughter. "You've never been sorry for anything in your entire life. You don't know the definition of the word."

"I am sorry," she lied. "I didn't realize Percy would behave so horridly. I swear it!"

"Do you think I haven't spoken to Anne? Do you think I'm unaware that you helped Percy tie her to the bed?"

"But he was merely going to scare her. How was I to predict what he'd do after I departed?"

"Have you any remorse for shooting off your brother's balls?"

"Of course I do," she falsely insisted. "I feel terrible. It's my temper. It often runs away with me."

"It certainly does."

"He might recover."

"Not his balls! They don't grow back."

"I mean he should live," she petulantly fumed. "The doctors all say there's a good chance."

"He may survive, but being a male myself, I can attest that there will be many days he'll wish he hadn't. He'll blame you, and you'll deserve his scorn. I'll return in six months to see how his wrath is settling on you."

He sauntered toward the door, as if he'd walk out that very second, and she hurried after him and grabbed his arm.

"Jamie!"

"What?"

"You can't abandon me." "I believe I already have."

Using Edith and Percy as his witnesses, Jamie had had her declared insane. He'd had himself installed as her guardian, too, and he could do anything to her without penalty—as he'd proven repeatedly.

After she'd wounded Percy, Jamie had pummeled her to the floor, then locked her in a closet until some burly men took her to a prison in London that had been filled with whores and criminals. Ultimately, she'd been shipped—in chains—to the rural, isolated sanctuary where she now resided. She'd been callously tricked, assuming that she was being sent home, only to find herself incarcerated against her will, with Jamie claiming it would be forever.

"Take me to Gladstone with you," she implored. "No."

"Then buy me another house. In London or anywhere. I'm not choosy." "No."

"Please!" she wailed.

"I know you'll be surprised to hear it, but I've noticed that you're dangerous. You can't be out among normal people."

"My brother attacked Anne! Not me! Why can't you understand?"

"Percy may have attacked her, but with his cock blown off, I doubt he'll assault anybody ever again. Besides, he won't ever leave this hospital. With the stories of his castration being bandied in town, he's a laughingstock."

"He wasn't castrated," she seethed.

"I guess it's all in the eye of the beholder, but I'm not worried about him. You, on the other hand, are a different kettle of fish."

Furious, exasperated, she studied him, wondering how to make him relent. She laid a palm on his chest.

"How can I change your mind, Jamie? I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Yes. Just name it. You can't hide the fact that you desire me. Set me up as your mistress. You could love me; Percy always did. You'd be so happy."

She snuggled herself to him, letting him feel her lush torso, and for a moment, she thought she was getting through to him. He smiled at her; then the smile became a scoff.

"You're crazier than I suspected," he charged. "With

every word you utter, I'm more convinced that I made the appropriate decision by keeping you here."

He started out, and she screamed, "Jamie! What is wrong with you? I'm not mad."

"Anne might have an alternate opinion. Shall we ask her? Or how about Sarah? What would she say about you?"

Ophelia gnashed her teeth. Anne and Sarah. Anne and Sarah. Who gave a rat's ass about them? After she sneaked to Gladstone and murdered Jamie, they'd be next!

"I was simply trying to help Percy regain his heritage," she grumbled. "Why is that a crime?"

Weary of dealing with her, Jamie sighed. "I keep talking to you, Ophelia, but you don't listen. So I'll say this one last time. Pay attention. You will stay here until—"

Like a spoiled toddler, Ophelia clamped her hands over her ears, and he grabbed her wrists and pulled them away.

"You will stay here," he began again, "until I'm persuaded that you've reformed sufficiently to be released. Should that day ever arrive—and I admit I'm dubious that it will—you will be transported to Australia on the first available prison ship."

"And Edith and Percy will remain in England as if they played no part in events?"

"Yes."

"But I can't bear being trapped with them. I'll end up killing them."

"You'll do nothing to Edith," he warned. "She will be safe around you, and should she so much as trip on the garden path, I'll come after you."

"And what about Percy? I suppose if he croaks, that will be my fault, too."

"Yes, but I won't care so much. He tried to rape Anne, so he shouldn't expect any mercy from me. Then again, a man who loses his privates to a deranged, gun-toting female has suffered plenty."

"So you won't mind if I finish him off?"

"It's your neck, Ophelia"—he smirked, looking evil and resolute—"and the hangman's noose is very tight. You might wish to consider the consequences before you act."

"Bastard!" she hurled.

"I'm many things, but I'm not a bastard. Our father married my mother, remember? That's why you're in this fix." He knocked for the guard. "I'll check on you in six months."

"As if I need a nanny, you contemptible lout."

She was so angry that she picked a figurine off the table and threw it at him, but as with so much of what she'd done lately, she missed. The figurine thudded into the wall and tumbled to the floor, but it hadn't the decency to break, so she didn't even receive the satisfaction of a loud crash.

"By the way," he mentioned as the door swung open, "I've provided Edith with several boxes of stationery. She's to write me once a week to inform me how you're behaving."

"She can sod off. You can, too."

"Have you ever been to Australia? The climate is very hot—sort of like Hell is purported to be. I don't imagine you'd like it there."

He marched out, the guard quickly securing the lock. With so many barricades in place, she couldn't follow Jamie, but that didn't prevent her from pounding and pounding on the door. She screeched his name till she was hoarse, sounding every bit like the demented shrew he insisted she was.

Finally, worn and exhausted, she slumped to the rug. Footsteps echoed behind her, and she peered over to see Edith watching her. Her mother's expression was much more lucid and clear than Ophelia could ever recollect it being.

"Go away, you crazy loon," Ophelia hissed.

"No, you little sinner," Edith responded. "I've organized a Bible study group, and you'll be required to attend every meeting. Class is about to start. Come."

"I won't participate in any stupid Bible reading with you."

Edith grinned a nasty, malevolent grin. "It appears I'll be using Jamie's stationery much earlier than I thought."

She spun and walked away.

Twenty-Four

Anne tarried in the woods, listening to the quiet. Snow was falling, huge flakes drifting down. Off in the distance, the manor beckoned, the windows twinkling in the dim light, smoke curling from the chimneys. It was such a pretty picture, like a scene in a painting, a fantasy spot that no humans inhabited, and often that's precisely how it felt. Everyone had left her.

Sarah had gone to London to find Jamie but had found Jack and Tim, instead. She'd stayed on to marry; then the three of them had moved to the other side of England to build a new life. Anne had no idea when she'd see her sister again.

Edith, Percy, and Ophelia had been whisked away to a private hospital, but with the local surgeon having originally tended Percy's wounds, there was no keeping the type of damage a secret. The injury—and the means by which he'd received it—was so shocking that the rumors never ceased.

What with the furtive, reproving looks of both servants and neighbors, Anne could barely leave her room,

and she definitely wouldn't brave a trip to the village. She wished the entire episode would fade away, but the scandal was too delicious, and the gossipmongers couldn't be silenced. They were having too much fun.

Jamie's disappearance bothered her most of all.

She hadn't had a chance to ask him what had brought him home on that fateful night. By the time Sarah had traveled to London, he'd vanished, so it wasn't Sarah's plea that had spurred him to Gladstone.

So why had he come? Had he missed Anne? Had he hoped to make amends and start over? The likely answers had her abuzz with constant speculation.

After he'd rescued Anne from Percy's clutches, he'd spent several days at the estate, but he'd been distant and excruciatingly polite. Then he'd departed— abruptly and without a good-bye.

She understood that he'd been busy resolving matters with Ophelia and Percy, but would it have killed Jamie to keep in touch? Would it have been too much trouble to inform her of where he was or what he was doing?

As usual, she was left to wonder if he'd ever return, if they'd ever be together again.

In one brief interview, he'd pressed her for the particulars of Percy's attack, and she'd shared every squalid detail, but what if Jamie hadn't believed her? He probably assumed she'd been raped. If so, he'd be disgusted and would never come back, and she was incensed to suppose that she was being condemned for something that hadn't happened.

She sighed, pondering what to do, how it would all play out, and she told herself—as she had a thousand occasions prior—that she was glad he was gone.

Who needed an overbearing lunatic for a husband anyway? Not her! From the moment he'd arrived, there'd been nothing but upheaval and disaster, when she simply wanted peace and quiet. She was better off alone.

She'd reached the stone bridge where she'd first stumbled on Jamieson Merrick all those months ago. It had been such a bright, warm summer afternoon. As she'd watched him survey his property, she'd had such an alarming sense of impending destiny that she'd tried to run from it. At the memory of how she'd tumbled into the stream, how he'd rescued her, she smiled, when she didn't know why she would.

Any fond reminiscence was complete proof that he'd finally driven her crazy. She wouldn't regret his decision to stay away. It was for the best!

Movement caught her attention, and she stood very still, thinking it might be a deer in the trees. She focused in, and to her utter surprise, it wasn't an animal, but her magnificent, horrible, delectable, impossible husband.

He was up on the ridge where he'd initially been, peering out across the fallow fields, and she suffered the worst deja vu—as if Doom was about to chase her down all over again. Her heart pounded, with both joy and dread, and she'd just eased away, anxious to escape undetected, when he spun to face her.

Snow dusted his hair and shoulders, his cheeks rosy from the cold, and—evidence of his improved status— he wore a heavy wool coat and fur-lined boots. In the stark, gray surroundings, his eyes were bluer than ever, and they held her transfixed until he grinned his devil's grin and headed toward her. She knew that look well. It was desire, mixed with some of the false affection he was so adept at exhibiting, and a wave of banked fury washed over her.

How dare he come home after all this time! How dare he absent himself—week after week—without sending word! How dare he blithely show up and expect to be welcomed!

The man was a menace. He shouldn't be allowed to inflict himself on sane, rational people.

"Hello, Anne," he said casually as he approached.

"Hello, Lord Gladstone."

He laughed. The swine!

"Are you still angry with me?"

"I'd have to care about you to be angry."

"But you only call me Gladstone when you're spitting mad."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I live here."

"No, you don't."

"We'll see."

She didn't like the enigmatic retort. It conjured all sorts of happy endings that were an illusion. Did he mean he planned to remain forever? Or merely until he grew bored?

She'd been down too many devastating roads with him, and she was in no mood to hold on for dear life through another tumultuous ride.

He neared, causing her to ripple with panic. If he got too close, she was lost. She had no defense against him. She loved him, she hated him, and she swirled with every emotion in between the two extremes.

"Stay right where you are," she commanded.

"No."

He stopped a few feet away, studying her intently, his torrid gaze roving over her, burning like a brand all the way down.

"I don't want you here," she insisted.

"You're as uppity as you were the first day I met you." "And you're still a horse's ass." He laughed again. "Ah, it's just like old times." "Not quite."