The Solemn Bell (12 page)

Brody stared at her, struck dumb. She was so angry. Where did this rage come from? When he didn’t move, Angelica turned away from him. As if the very thought of him repulsed her.
 

Trembling, she added, “I never judged you for having other women, but because I cannot come to you a virgin, I’m somehow no longer worthy of you. You hate me for the same thing you seek from those other women. It’s cruel, Brody.”

He’d been unfair to her. He’d put Angelica Grey on too high a pedestal, built on an unsteady base. Of course it would topple. Of course she would fall.

Tonight, Brody wanted a woman. The first one he could find. He did not want to know her name, or anything about her. He simply wanted to empty the loneliness, disillusion, and heartbreak inside her. To forget for an hour what his life had become.

Where in that scenario was he better than Angelica for doing the same exact thing?
 

He was no virgin, and neither was she.

With a growl, he crossed the room and hauled her into his arms. He came at her like a beast, no longer frightened of her delicate, maidenly sensibilities. This was a woman who had known a man. And, now, she was going to know another.

Angelica stripped him out of his greatcoat. She dragged it down his arms and slung it carelessly into the corner. Free of it, Brody slid his hands up her body, bunching her nightdress as he went. Her skin was soft and milk-white beneath it. She wasn’t quite as thin as he’d expected her to be—her thighs were gently rounded, and her backside surprisingly plump.
 

Someone had been feeding her.

He dragged his fingers between her legs. Angelica leaned into him, grinding against the heel of his hand. She moaned, kissing him deeply.
 

Her tongue searched for his, finding him, tasting him. She drew it into her mouth and sucked hard. It was wanton and vulgar. His knees went weak. Brody grabbed Angelica’s backside, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Locked together, they sank onto the floor, he on his back, she writhing on top of him.
 

Angelica reached beneath her thighs to work the buttons of his fly. She was bared to him—open for him—with her silk nightdress rucked up over her belly. This was not his sweet shadow-angel, timidly panting at his gentlest caress. This was a confident, sensual woman who knew exactly how to work a man.
 

When she freed him from his trousers, she pumped him roughly. He watched her raise her hips and slide him in. Angelica took him deeply, fully. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, rolling it across her shoulders as she rocked her hips. She might have moaned, but the roaring in his ears was deafening. His mind was lost to anything beyond the swaying of her body as she rode him.
 

Brody reached for her, greedily pulling her down against his pounding chest. He nipped her neck, and licked her ear, whispering, “Not like this. I’ll finish too soon.”

Angelica slipped him out of her. “Like this, then.”
 

She crawled onto her hands and knees, tipping her hips for him.

Brody raked his hands up the backs of her thighs, gripping her hard. “Is this how my girl likes it best?”

She nodded, breathless, and he drove into her. Angelica cried out. She lowered down on her elbows, widening her legs to fully take him. With every thrust, she threw her hips back at him. Harder. Harder. Faster.
 

Her lover had taught her well.
 

Brody was close—so close. Angelica’s fingernails clawed the rough, woven floor covering as their bodies pounded against one another. She was so shamelessly, desperately aroused. He could have easily slipped his hand around her hip and stroked her, but they both knew this wasn’t about her.

Instead, she reached between her legs, searching through the gaping fly of his trousers, to press and rub between his. Her touch sent him curling into her, desperate and seeking.

His own orgasm was a shock to him. He was sure he had never come so hard. Brody strained, breathless and panting, shuddering, and swearing. He pulled Angelica back against him, kissing her fiercely. Never in his life had he had it this good. He writhed into her, fighting the last flashes of pleasure coursing his veins.
 

He did not want it to end.

Utterly wrung out, he collapsed to the floor. “My God, Angelica. My God…”

She sat up, sweeping her dark hair from her sweat-drenched face. Her ghostly blue eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. He saw her for the first time then—what she truly was, what she had always been.
 

Hideous and beautiful, all at once.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Angelica woke aching. She’d gone to bed aching, too, and clamped her thighs together in a desperate attempt to staunch the need. Captain Neill had not offered her release. He had not kissed and petted her like that first night in her kitchen. All this time—even after her rough initiation—she still believed him when he’d said lovemaking would be beautiful. Sacred. Perhaps that was what men told virgin women, a lie to convince innocents to give up their chastity. Or, perhaps, gentlemen did not bother to pleasure whores.

That was what she was to him. A convenient place to spend himself for the night. But that kind of crude copulation was all Angelica knew. It was the only way she felt in control. Because she’d taken him, just as surely as he’d taken her.
 

She’d loved every hot, breathless minute of their exchange. The feel of him beneath her. Behind her.
Inside her.
Angelica had dreamed about it for so long that she hardly believed it had actually happened. In a move of desperation, she rocked her backside against the mattress, wincing as the sheets rasped her sore, bruised flesh.

Yes, she’d fallen on her bottom in the bath, but she hadn’t hit her head. Last night had been real. Not simply another one of her lonely, kitchen-pallet fantasies. She had…fucked…Captain Neill. What did that mean for her now?

Hopefully, they could move forward.
 

Come to some sort of understanding.

“Good morning, Angelica.” He was awake. He was up and dressed. He was…packing.

Today, he would take his whore to meet his family.

She sat up, groaning. The pain was as acute between her legs as her very first time. “Good morning.”

Captain Neill dug through the wardrobe, folding, rolling, and stuffing her belongings into a canvas bag. She heard the rustle of tissue paper as he unwrapped box after box of skirts, blouses, and brassieres.
 

He must have noticed her listening. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d do it for you.”

“Are we in a hurry?”

“No, not really. I’m just anxious. Nervous, maybe. I’m not sure how we’ll pull this off.”

She fussed with the lace strap of her nightdress. “Why even bother? Surely, after last night…”

“Last night,” he smiled as he spoke, “You were magnificent. Divine. I knew it would be good, but I did not expect it to be
that
good. You rocked me, Angelica. I’m still weak-kneed.”

Thank God, because she’d put a great deal of effort into it. If that wasn’t the best orgasm of his life, her pride might never recover.
 

“We could do it again, you know. Take me as your lover—as your mistress—and you can always have it that good. I’ll do anything you want. Any way.” They could get a flat here in Shrewsbury. Sleep together every night, live off fidget cakes and cider, and do as they pleased.

Captain Neill was silent for a long time. Finally, he fished in his coat pocket, and then placed a cool, tin square into her palm. Angelica ran her fingertips over it. The writing was slightly raised, but she couldn’t make out the words. She turned it over in her hands, puzzled. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She flipped the lid and pressed her fingers inside. Three rolls. Thin rubber. The texture made her squirm. “What are they?”

“Condoms. Sheaths. For the prevention of pregnancy and disease. They were offered during the war, and I’ve come to rely on them ever since,” he explained. “I bought those yesterday. Point is, I could have worn one with you, yet I chose not to. Since you’ve most likely already fallen pregnant—”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“For your sake, I sincerely hope you aren’t. But, if I’m going to set you up somewhere, pay for your care and a child’s, I’d rather there be some small chance that the baby is mine. Once is all it takes, you know.”

Angelica had not known. Not really. But she still clung to the belief that she could never conceive. Shaking her head, she handed the box of condoms out to him. “I think, for a man, uncertainty would be worse.”

“Either way, the deed is done. And if you are expecting, I shall raise the child as my own. You have my word.” He took the tin from her hand. “If you’re not, then we’ll have both dodged a bullet.”

All these adult concerns were so foreign to her. Angelica missed the days when all she worried about was feeding herself and avoiding the asylum.

When she didn’t say anything, he sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “Isn’t that what you want, Angelica? Or would you rather go home, and take your chances with the first chap who had you?”

His words were cutting, but it was a fair question. “I want to be with you.”

“Good. Because I’ve never had a mistress before.” Captain Neill lovingly stroked her hair. “I’m rather looking forward to it.”

Angelica couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his soft touch. Her previous lover had never been gentle with her, never been kind. He had also never been cruel, and never once made her cry. The man had simply treated their relationship like what it was—mindless copulation. She had needed that then. Her body had craved attention, and her mind needed distraction. Her lover’s arms had been a safe place to find both. But moments like this, in Captain Neill’s arms, made her yearn for something more.

She tried to smile. This was what she’d dreamed of—being with Captain Neill, making love with him. Possibly making babies with him—something she’d never even allowed herself to dream of. Yet, this wasn’t quite what Angelica had in mind on those long, lonely nights when she’d pleasured herself to the thought of him. Or, if she were completely honest, when she had allowed a stranger to pump himself deep inside her, and somehow still felt empty afterward.

She had finally got what she wanted. Why did her heart feel so empty now?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Neill family estate was situated near the Welsh border. Angelica thought it seemed very wild, very brave for his ancestors to make their home in such a turbulent area. Centuries ago, secluded border towns had been frequent victims of marauders. Those who settled there—and stayed—were rewarded for protecting the King’s interests, and fighting off Welsh rebels.

Captain Neill told her all about it as they ripped down a winding country road. She’d been terrified of riding with him. It was warm enough to have the top down in the motorcar, but the wind in her face, and the hell-for-leather speed at which he drove, made her sick.

Automobiles before the war were cushioned and comfortable. Slow. Leisurely. Perfect for puttering along a country lane. But his Bentley was big and powerful, and built to be driven hard. Angelica felt certain they would crash at any moment. She gripped her seat and clenched her eyes, bracing herself for an impact that never came.

Without the morphine sickness clouding his judgement, Captain Neill was really a very good driver. Or so he promised her.
 

“Relax, Angelica,” he laughed. “Enjoy the ride.”

She couldn’t. Soon, she would meet his family. She would blindly wander the halls of the place he grew up, perpetually lost amongst strangers. He would have to take her arm, and guide her every step. She’d be as helpless as a baby. His family would surely find their relationship odd and unbalanced.

What on earth was a man like him doing with a girl like her? His family could not know the real reason. That he had once loved her, but now only kept her to ease his basest needs. That she had agreed to this because she was pathetic, and desperate, and lonely. She’d do anything he asked to keep him from leaving again.

Captain Neill reached over and took her hand. “They’ll adore you, you know. You’re well-mannered, clever, and beautiful. What more could they ask for?”

“In who,” she balked, “your whore?”

“Oh, Angelica, please. They’ll think you’re my sweetheart. My latest fling.”
They won’t know the truth.
 

He hadn’t said it, but his meaning was implied—or, at least, Angelica thought so. “How will they think we met? We must have a story.”

“We will tell them the truth, except that bit about the morphine withdrawal, and me being sick all over your drawing room carpet. I’d rather leave that out, if you don’t mind.”

She did not care what he told them, so long as she made it through the week with her sanity and dignity in tact.
 

The motorcar rounded a tight corner. Its tires bumped as they left the paved road for a private gravel drive. No turning back now. Angelica steeled her spine for what would surely be the most difficult week of her life.

The Bentley pulled to a stop.
 

Captain Neill shut off the engine. “Ready, my girl?”

No, she was definitely not ready for this, yet Angelica let him come around the car and help her out of the seat. Her shoes met gravel. It felt soft and pebbly, not sharp beneath her soles. Raked and even. He took her elbow and guided her in the direction of the front steps.

“Seven steps up,” he said, quietly. Together, they counted them. If there were servants or anybody else nearby, she couldn’t tell. Captain Neill did not verbally acknowledge anyone, but he also wouldn’t want her to feel embarrassed in front of observers. Even he had to know how awkward it was to be led around like an invalid.

At the top of the steps, he helped her through an open door. Once inside, her heels clicked on polished marble tiles. The entire foyer echoed with every footfall. His house must be very large.