The Lady and the Lawman (38 page)

“
I
should beat you within an inch of your life for disobedience. But, I
need you pretty for the theater and I can’t have you looking
anything less than beautiful for the ceremony tomorrow.”

He
pulled her to her feet by her elbow, opened her bedroom door and
shoved her into the room. She stumbled to regain her balance and held
one hand over her ribs and belly.

“
You
have two hours until we go to the theater.”

There
were too many things she needed to b
e
ready
for.
The theater was nothing in comparison to spending the rest of her
life married to a dangerous, ruthless man. Of course, her life might
be very short-lived if he was able to succeed with his plan.

Deep
down in her heart, she was waiting for Grant. Tomorrow she and
William were to marry in a simple ceremony. But it would be a wedding
nonetheless, and the outcome would be the same. She still held hopes
Grant was alive and would somehow come for her.

She
took in her surroundings, noting the furnishings, not remembering
them being so extravagant and overdone before. Her months in Cranston
had subdued her tastes, making her take note of the im
portant
things, craving soft comforts of home only a husband could give. All
of the expensive fabrics and antiques didn’t create the feeling of
home like the joy of sharing a cozy bed with Grant, or the soft
breeze blowing over the prairie.

She
ached with homesickness. Climbing gingerly into bed and curling into
herself, she sank in to the depression that was slowly claiming her.
Tears welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, wetting the curls
about her face. The pain in her side was nothing compared to the pain
in her heart.

Two
hours later, she was still crying. Servants had delivered a dress for
her to wear, a special request from the
modiste
upon
their arrival home. It was beautiful green silk, but the company she
would be wearing it in all but ruined it. It had taken her most of
the time allotted to don the dress, the buttons quite difficult with
her sore side. A knock on her door brought her out of her melancholy.
“Yes?” she asked, as she wiped the tears from her face.

“
Are
you ready to go, my dear?” He asked through the door.

She
wanted to scream at him, claw his face and run from the house, but
couldn’t. Painfully, a hand covering
her bruised ribs, she climbed from the bed and answered him. “Of
course. Just give me a moment.”

Touching
her hands to her hair and glancing in her mirror one last time, she
checked for loose pins. He didn’t like her hair unkempt, and she
wasn’t in the mood for his tirade over wayward curls. Her strength
to fight him, to hold him and his marriage off, was weakening. At
least the theater was a public place, where many eyes would be on
her, anticipating and talking about her impending wedding, and he
would have to maintain the appropriate distance permitted a fiancé.
Opening the door to the crisply dressed man, she plastered a fake
smile on her face and took his arm.

***

The
theater had been a blur. She could barely remember which Shakespeare
play she’d sat through. Her own little play was turning into a
Greek tragedy, with the villain being the proud William preening in
front of all of Philadelphia society. Smiling, making small talk and
accepting congratulations were in order for the intermission and
their exit. William squeezed her waist, prompting her into
conversations. He knew his hold was painful, getting her in the exact
location he’d kicked her earlier. It was a reminder to Margaret of
his control over her.

All
too quickly, the evening was over. They were once again alone in his
house. She had been escorted once again to her room, but this time
William didn’t leave her at the door. He followed her inside.

The
room was large. It had a fireplace filling one wall, surrounded on
both sides by paintings depicting summer landscapes of the
Pennsylvania countryside. The floors were oak, with a beautiful
Persian rug covering the glossy surface. A large canopied bed with a
thick comforter and lush pillows filled most of the room. The
windows were closed, probably locked, even with the stifling summer
heat circling about them.

She
gulped at the room’s closeness, of her surroundings, of her whole
predicament. In another situation, she would have found this room to
be romantic and enchanting. Spending the evening in such surroundings
with Grant would have been a dream.

She
remained quiet, fear paralyzing her where she stood. Would she have
to go to bed with William? Would it be tonight? Now?

“
My
dear, why don't we share some champagne?” He directed her to a
high-backed chair in front of the unlit fireplace. Commanded into
action, she moved and took the offered seat. He sat opposite her and
began to pour the golden liquid for both of them.

She
gave furtive glances toward the empty bed, aware of it looming in the
room—and in her mind. She thought back to moments when Grant had
merely to brush a hand over her skin, jolting warmth through her.
Looking to William, however, only brought a sickening feeling to her
stomach. How was she expected to do the wonderful things she had with
Grant, her husband, with this man? Would she ever feel such
incredible pleasure from a man's touch again? Margaret slowly sipped
at her bubbly drink, hoping it would calm her nerves.

“
May
I propose a toast? To tomorrow, when you will make me the wealthiest
man in the world.” He raised his glass.

She
tried to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks.
She refused to believe Grant was dead, and in a mere twelve hours,
she’d be married to this monster.

When
William completed his toast—she had barely touched hers—he stood
and offered his hand again. How could she keep him away? Her mind
drew a complete blank.

“
Now
my dear, it is late and I still have work to do.”

She
tried to keep from exhaling too loudly.

“
I
can read your thoughts clearly enough. Don't think I wouldn't want to
take you over to the bed right now and show you things I'm sure your
cowboy husband was incapable of. As I said earlier, and instead of
what you might think, I am a gentleman. I will wait until after the
ceremony tomorrow to show you the extent of your wifely duties.”

“
Like
you did that day in the drawing room?”

She
watched Hunt's jaw twitch. She'd hit the target she'd aimed for, but
knew the retaliating wrath could be severe. Why was he waiting now?
He'd had her once, what would keep him from raping her again? She
surmised he wanted the protection of the law and God on his side
before he harmed her. Once they were legally married, there would be
nothing she could do to protect herself from his advances, or
anything other damage he wanted to inflict.

She
couldn’t help herself. She exhaled again with relief, causing
William's lips to press together into a thin line of distaste.

“
Your
dress for tomorrow is in the armoire. Be ready at ten. We are
expected at the church at eleven.” He bowed his head at her
slightly and left the room. She heard a key and the lock turn in the
door.

She
walked over to the door and leaned against it, glad for once there
was a barrier between them.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

The
maids came at eight to assist her with her wedding gown. They fawned
over her, telling her how beautiful a bride she was, how wonderful
the dress was, and so on until Margaret had a
throbbing headache and wanted to scream at the women to leave her
alone. There was nothing she could do but sit and let them tend to
her hair, brushing it out, then fashioning it into a complicated
style, all twists and curls. The pins were tight at the back of her
head, making the pulsing at her t
emples
as loud as her racing heart.

At
ten, she was ready for William. The maids had finally left, and she
was ready. Primped for a wedding she knew to be a sham. Even if it
was legal and binding, in her heart it wouldn’t be real. She
preferred the simple affair she’d had with Grant with flowers from
the rectory garde
n
and simple vows.

She’d
thought of no plan, no way to escape his clutches—or marriage.
She’d all but pushed him to the edge of his toleranc
e.
If she went too far, he would marry her this morning and have her
killed later in the day. Her chances of remaining alive, no matter
how slim that was, would hinge on whether she obeyed his every
command.

“
My
dear, how lovely you look. Shall we?” He offered her his arm. They
stepped into a waiting carriage and were sped toward the church
without haste.

Once
inside the stone walls of the sanctuary, the ceremony went quickly.
It was a small affair, the priest who officiated and several close
friends of William’s as witnesses. He held her arm
,
roughly at
times, to prevent her from bolting.

Run
away she would, if only he’d given her an opportunity. From the
moment they alighted the carriage until they were at the altar, he
h
ad
his grip on her arm.

When
it was time to say her vows, his hold tightened painfully, making her
cry out. The priest laughed at her supposed eagerness and continued
through the remainder of the service. Before she knew what had
happened, the priest blessed them husband and wife, and she was being
led from the church, returning with equal haste back to William’s
townhouse.

As
soon as the horses started to move, he was upon her swiftly, his lips
on hers. He placed his arms on her shoulders, held her to him even as
she struggled from his hold and from the onslaught of his kisses.
When she parted her lips to scream, he took the opportunity to force
his tongue inside. Her skin crawled at the contact.

Trying
not to gag at his foul breath and the tongue that was snaking around
in her mouth, she bit down hard.

Pulling
back, he wiped the back of a hand over his face, his gaze intense and
evil. Before she could move, he struck her across the face. The blow
knocked her to the floor of the carriage. Her hip hurt from the fall
and she held a hand to her cheek. The metallic taste of blood ran
over her tongue, and she dabbed at a cut at the corner of her lips.
The door handle pressed uncomfortably into her back. Turning, she
grabbed it and desperately tried to open it,
without success. His hand clamped down on hers, making the metal bite
into her palm.

“
Struggle
and fight all you want. I actually enjoy it.” William laughed at
her, and she finally recognized true fear.

He
dropped down on a knee, then lowered himself on top of her between
the bench seats, his weight pressing her into the floor. His hands
moved everywhere over her even as she fought back.
Wriggling
from beneath him, she was able to pull herself up and out, but to her
disadvantage. Grabbing a handful of hair, he smacked her skull
against the side of the carriage.

When
she came to, she was slow to remember where she was or what was
happening to her. She felt someone moving over her, between her legs.
She looked down and saw her gown was ripped open, one breast exposed
to a groping hand. Her legs were being pushed wide apart.

All
at once the horses came to an abrupt halt, the door flew open behind
William’s back and his evil weight was lifted from her. Her eyes
still a bit blurry, she vaguely saw William being tossed from the
carriage and to the ground.

“
You!”
she heard William shout.

“
Yes,
you bastard. I came for what’s mine.”