Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (66 page)

Bethlyn learned that her month was ended on the day of a masked ball Thomas intended to throw for his guests’ amusements. A “Bacchanalian feast” Thomas had leeringly termed it when he’d told her about it, setting her teeth on edge and her heart to plummet along with her hopes of escape at his obvious meaning.

She’d spent her days and nights in her room, not allowed a breath of air except for the window. Sometimes despair drove her to consider climbing onto the casement and flinging herself from it, but she couldn’t end her own life, not when her child depended upon her. Her only course of action would be to please Thomas in bed and, after she’d gained his trust, she hoped he’d grow lenient with her and not constantly threaten to send her baby away if she didn’t obey him. Perhaps she could turn Thomas’s lust for her to her own advantage by lulling him into a false sense of security with her body. He couldn’t keep her locked in here for the rest of her life. People outside of Woodsley knew of her existence now, and this thought caused her to think about Jeremy.

He was her one grasp at freedom. She surmised Augustus had relayed her message to him; otherwise, he wouldn’t have shown up at Woodsley. However, Jeremy hadn’t been back, and she wondered what lies Thomas had told him to keep him away, reinforcing her desire to be free. If Jeremy couldn’t help her, then she had no one but herself to rely upon. From the unlikely source of Grace she had learned that Thomas had badly beaten Tessie on the night of the aborted escape attempt, and only within the last few weeks had Tessie been able to get up and help in the kitchen. However, the old woman’s movements were closely watched by the kitchen staff and anything she said or did would be dutifully and promptly reported to Thomas. Thus, Bethlyn was prevented from seeking Tessie’s help again — not unless she wanted her harmed on her behalf once more.

The sounds of excited and lyrical laughter from the “women of Woodsley,” as Bethlyn derisively named them, floated down the hallway and gained her attention. No doubt they were getting ready for the large ball and the later entertainment, both in the ballroom and the bedrooms. Bethlyn grew sick with impotent rage to realize what her home had become and to know that the man who’d caused it all was the man whose filthy, lecherous hands would soon touch her as her husband.

Husband
. The word sunk into her brain, hitting her with its intensity of meaning. Thomas was her husband. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t relate this word to the man, because in her mind her husband would always be Ian.

“Ian, Ian,” she said softly, tears misting her eyes. “We wasted so much time when we could have been together.”

~ ~ ~

The night of Bethlyn’s concubinage as Thomas’s wife, and this was how she thought of it, arrived. With each passing hour, a feeling of dread grew within her and threatened to suffocate her. Like a trapped bird, she paced the floor, so agitated that she screeched at Grace when the woman brought her supper to her.

As the hour neared eight, Grace entered the room and on her arm was a deep sapphire-blue velvet gown, the color of the ocean. The tight-fitting sleeves ended at the elbow and were trimmed in silver, as was the neckline of the snug and very low-cut bodice. Grace placed the gown on the bed and stepped back to admire it.

“Thomas said you are to wear this dress tonight.”

Bethlyn barely looked at the gown. “Is that a command?”

“I fear it is.”

Shrugging, Bethlyn began to undress, not caring what she wore for her first night as Thomas’s bride. In fact, she wondered why he wanted her to dress at all when clearly he’d made it quite plain that he preferred her naked and panting beneath him.

After Grace had helped her fix her hair into a becoming mass of curls on top of her head, Grace stepped back and smiled. “You’re quite beautiful, Mrs. Eversley. Thomas is lucky to have you for his wife; however, I don’t think you feel you’re fortunate that he is your husband.”

“I hate him!” Bethlyn spat out, suddenly not caring if Grace reported to him.

Grace didn’t reply. Instead, she turned and left the room, leaving Bethlyn to wonder if she was going to inform Thomas what she’d said. Minutes later Thomas entered the room without knocking, and from the delighted expression on his face, Bethlyn realized Grace hadn’t said anything to him.

He circled her like a vulture coming in for the kill as he nodded his head at the beautiful picture she made in the gown he’d had specially designed for her. His perusal over, he flashed her a lecherous smirk which was becoming all too familiar to her. A chill rushed through her, turning her heart and soul to ice, hardly aware when he withdrew a box from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Opening the silk-lined box, he held out an exquisite diamond and sapphire choker accompanied by matching earbobs. Not allowing her to touch them, he took it upon himself to place the earrings on her lobes before possessively clasping the choker on her neck. His fingers intimately brushed against her skin, but she somehow managed to quell the shiver which sliced through her, praying she could be an expert enough actress to live out the next few hours, days, weeks, or months until she and her child were free.

“Do you like my wedding gift to you?” he asked, and led her to the mirror.

Gain his trust, she reminded herself. Gazing at her reflection, she smiled warmly, but her insides felt as cold as the stones against her flesh. “They’re quite lovely. Thank you, Thomas.”

He placed his hands on her naked shoulders, seeming pleased with her response. “May I have a kiss of thanks?”

She felt surprise that he asked for one, but she knew now wasn’t the time to resist him. When she turned her head in his direction, his lips immediately contacted with hers. The feel of his mouth, the way his tongue crept between her lips to collide with her own tongue disgusted her. She didn’t want to push him away, fearful of what might happen if she displeased him, but her hope of a short kiss dissolved when he forced her to open her mouth to him and pulled her roughly against him.

Not able to breathe and totally repulsed, she began to wriggle. “Thomas, please, not yet. Not now.”

“When?” he rasped, and his abrupt breaking away gave her the chance to take a deep breath.

‘‘I’m dressed to go downstairs. I’m not ready … now.”

He snickered. “I doubt you’ll ever be ready. Didn’t Briston teach you about passion at all? I don’t believe he did an adequate job, but then I always wondered about his prowess. You’re like a lump of coal, but I warrant before this night is out, you’ll be hotter than one thrown into a furnace. I think you need some inducement, my love.”

Grabbing her by the wrist, Thomas pulled her from the room and down the hallway, not bothering to tell Bethlyn where they were headed.

Dragging her behind him, they finally halted by an iron grillwork balcony which overlooked the ballroom. Below, the gaily gowned women of Woodsley mingled with the well-dressed gentlemen, their faces hidden behind colorful masks.

“Notice the women and learn from them,” he commanded. His breath and the feel of his hands upon her shoulders felt poker hot as he positioned himself behind her. “They have no fear of lovemaking or men.”

“They’re whores.”

“Yes, they are, but they’re the finest whores in all of England, perhaps the Continent. The men who frequent them are among the wealthiest and aristocratic, as you well know. They pay any price I deem high enough, as each woman is more than adept at pleasing each man, knowing the gentleman’s own peculiarities.” Thomas pointed to one woman in particular who was being held in an intimate one-armed embrace by a portly man whom Bethlyn recognized immediately as Lord Hoxton despite his mask. Hoxton’s coat sleeve was tucked into the front of his jacket, since he had lost his left arm in a hunting accident some years ago, but the whore encircled by his right arm didn’t seem to mind.

“That woman’s real name is Maggie,” Thomas droned on in her ear. “But here, she is called Selina, a name she chose for herself because it makes her feel beautiful. She can forget that she grew up in an orphanage and was initiated into womanhood by a cruel rape, perpetrated against her by a man who was a trustee. When Perkins found her, she was living on the streets and selling herself for pennies.

“Granted, she is a whore. But you see how Lord Hoxton dotes upon her, how he even now offers her his cup of wine and kisses her with such tenderness. If she was only a whore, Hoxton wouldn’t bid so highly for her when she is placed on the auction block. Because of Selina’s life in an orphanage, she was forced to care for deformed children. Hoxton’s loss of an arm isn’t repulsive to her. With Selina, he is a whole man and not a cripple, something ladies in the ton will not allow him to forget. So, you see what a needed service we’re performing here at Woodsley.”

“I see that you’ve turned my home into a brothel, and that every time one of these creatures is auctioned off you earn a hefty profit!” Bethlyn’s breasts heaved with emotion, her usually pale face turning a becoming shade of peach. “No matter what you say, or how noble you want me to envision your women, they are still whores.”

Thomas’s eyes glittered with rage, but also with such intense desire that he did the unforgivable in Bethlyn’s mind by placing his hands upon her breasts and massaging the protruding nipples through her thin gown with his thumbs. “You, my honey-haired aristocrat, are one, too.”

“Stop touching me like that, you hateful, disgusting man. I don’t want you to touch me — ever!”

“I shall touch you whenever and wherever I like, my fine lady,” he hissed. “And you can’t stop me, because I am your husband. Your master.”

This blatant reminder caused her to shake with humiliation and anger, because no matter how much she detested Thomas, no one would intervene if she fought him. She was his wife and was in an all-too-subservient position. She saw the futility of fighting him, deciding to conserve all of her energy and keep her wits if she and her child were ever to escape Thomas’s clutches, but she was afraid her own heated words may have ruined any chance to earn his trust.

Taking a deep breath, Bethlyn forced herself to appear contrite. “Forgive me, Thomas. I … I didn’t mean that.”

“Certainly you meant every word of it, my love. However, sometimes I enjoy that flash of fire within you, and it is exactly such passion I wish to see tonight.” Thomas smiled suggestively. “The evening’s entertainments are about to commence. I trust you shall watch and learn well.”

What Bethlyn learned was that men were base creatures at heart. As each woman was placed on the small stage in the ballroom where countless times over the years an orchestra had played for her parents’ parties, the masked men bid against each other until the prices were up so high that the lucky gentleman with the most money won the woman of his choice for a night of private entertainment.

Bethlyn couldn’t believe that these same men were men she’d known in London, men whom she’d spoken to or admired over the years. To see them in the throes of a bidding war for a woman’s body was almost as repulsive to her as Thomas holding her tightly before him and rubbing his burgeoning manhood against her backside. Every so often he’d whisper obscenities into her ear, reminding her of what he planned to do to her, and those things he expected of her, when they were alone later.

Despair shot through her, causing a tear to form in one of her eyes and mark a watery path on her skin as it slipped down her cheek. The second she raised her fingers to wipe it away she noticed a man staring up at her.

She’d been vaguely aware of him when the bidding started, having observed him with two other men. She’d remembered being struck by his tallness and the fact that he was dressed entirely in black as were his two masked companions. However, they weren’t as tall or broad of shoulder, nor as mysterious-looking. Despite the ebony silk mask which hid his face and the black cape thrown carelessly over one shoulder to reveal equally dark clothes, Bethlyn discerned that this man would be formidable no matter what he wore.

His slitted gaze impaled her, and an electric jolt shot through her. The very arrogance of his stance and his endless staring unnerved her. Somehow she felt she was on the auction block and he was the eager buyer. It was his very rudeness which caused her to cease feeling sorry for herself and she trained her eyes on him to stare him down. Finally he grinned, and motioned to one of his companions. The man turned to Perkins, who was slithering his way among Woodsley’s much honored guests like the snake he was when Bethlyn turned her attention to the stage where the last of the women was being auctioned off.

Thomas placed his hand around her waist just as a hearty cheer went up for the young aristocrat who’d snagged the latest offering with his hefty purse.

“I trust the auction has whetted your appetite for the feast I plan for us tonight.” His voice was seductively low and unbearably intimate. “I’ve waited so long for you, Bethlyn, and I’ve given you much more time than I intended to have you come willingly to me. Nothing will keep me from you now that the moment is upon us. Not even your own unwillingness, my dear.”

She understood his hidden meaning. Rape, as well as murder and kidnapping, wasn’t foreign to Thomas, and she didn’t wish to be forced or beaten into submission, as any physical violence would weaken her. The strength to endure all for herself and her son drove her to nod woodenly and give her hand to him.

“Sir, I need a word with you.” Perkins dashed over to them, appearing most flustered and out of place in his plain clothes.