The Solemn Bell (23 page)

“No thanks, old bean. Life’s too short to waste good whiskey.” Mr. Lawton placed one crystal glass on the side table at Angelica’s elbow. “Careful, Miss Grey. That one’s for Marcus.”

He left them in peace.

“The thought of that man putting his hands on me…” She shuddered. “It makes me sick.”

“Men will always make advances, Angelica. Some will be forceful. Others will be insidious—and far more effective. Peter made you
think
you wanted him. He knows just how to talk and tease until he gets his way. I’ve watched him convince grown men to destroy their own lives. A sweet girl like you didn’t stand a chance.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sweet.”

“Yes, you are. I thought, at first, that you’d lost that sweetness, that innocence, somewhere along the way. But you haven’t. No matter how many naughty, debauched things you’ve done—or allowed to be done to you—your heart is still as pure as the night I first put my hands on you.”

Angelica lay her head on his the lapel of his soft, wool dinner jacket. “Your heart is pure, too.”

“Think so?”

“Oh, yes. I feel it in your touch, your kiss, and in those moments when you whisper my name. No other man has ever shown himself to me that way. I want it to always be you and me, guarding our hearts against the world.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. “You and me. Always.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

“Listen, Brody, we have to talk.” Marcus caught him at a rare moment away from Angelica’s side. He didn’t want to risk leaving her in Peter’s clutches. Yes, he’d warned the man, but he still didn’t trust him.

He smiled at his brother. “What is it?”

Marcus didn’t smile back. “Let’s step outside.”

The two men left the library, crossed the entrance hall, and stepped out the front doors. Out in the forecourt, the moon was bright. Brody could see his brother’s dire face as clearly as if it had been lit by lights. Whatever it was, this wasn’t going to be good news.

“Alright,” he said, impatiently. “Spill it.”

“I know you’re serious about coming to the office on Monday—”

“Of course. I was dreading it, at first, but now I’m starting to get excited about the idea. I want to make things right with Father, and I want to provide for Angelica and our baby, if there is going to be one.”

Marcus ran his hands through his hair, cursing. “I knew it. I told Father you’d meant it.”

“He knows I’m looking for a job?”

His brother nodded. “It isn’t something we should just spring on him, you know? And, after tonight, I finally got the nerve to say something about your feelings for Angelica. Needless to say, the old man didn’t take it so well.”

“What did he say?” Brody tried to keep his voice calm, but inwardly, he panicked.

“That he offered you work before, and you thought yourself too good to take it. He won’t make that mistake again.”

“But that was morphine-Brody talking. I’ll go in there on my knees, if I have to. I’m not too good or too proud now.”

Marcus shrugged. “After seven years of spitting in his face, the damage has already been done. I think your time would be better spent looking for work elsewhere.”

Brody kicked at the gravel. “I’m not qualified for anything. I didn’t even finish university.”

“Plenty of people lack an education, yet they still find ways of supporting themselves. Live off your allowance for as long as you can while you look for something. Take your time, and do it right. There’s no rush.”

“No rush? What if there’s a baby?”

“If there’s a baby, I’ll be the first one to shake your hand,” Marcus said. “It shouldn’t take you more than six months to find a position. Prove that you can support yourself, and Father is bound to come ‘round.”

Who would ever hire an undereducated, ex-morphine addict? If thousands of honest, hard-working, able bodied men couldn’t find steady employment, there was no hope for Brody.
 

“Couldn’t you get me work elsewhere within the company? Not anywhere that Father might see me, but perhaps at one of the collieries themselves. I’m not opposed to working with my hands—”

His brother hung his head. “I wish I could.”

“All I want is a chance. Let me make things right. Please, Markie, for Angelica’s sake.” Damn, this situation was growing more desperate by the hour. He should have never come here. He should have stayed at Angelica’s house, and told the world to go to the devil. “Because I will never give her up.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“Father does,” he spat.

“Our father is a relic from another time. Remember, they did things differently before the war.”

Brody nodded. “I remember.”

“Good. Then leave the old man to me. You worry about Angelica, and keep yourself out of trouble. Now let’s get back in there. I don’t like the idea of leaving her alone with Peter any more than you do.”

***

“Don’t run, Miss Grey,” Peter said, flopping down onto the sofa beside her. Some of his whiskey splashed onto her skirt as he sloshed his glass. “I promised Brody I wouldn’t lay a hand on you, and I won’t.”

She slid away from him. “I don’t even want to talk to you.”

“That’s a pity. If you’re with him, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

“I don’t know why. You’re no friend to him.”

Mr. Lawton laughed. “I’m the only friend he’s got. He chased away anyone who ever cared about him. Now, the only ones who look him up are those who need something from him—a tip on some morphine, or someone to inject it with. Occasionally, a girl might come knocking, willing to suffer him for a taste of whatever he has on hand.”

“Please, I don’t want to hear any more of Brody’s sexual misadventures.”

“If you think he’ll stay with you, you’re wrong. He always chooses the needle, Miss Grey. Always.”

She shook her head. “He’s better now.”

“You think I don’t know all about his little hospital jaunt? A man doesn’t simply disappear for three months without somebody asking questions. I believe he genuinely does want to get better for you, but I’m sorry to say it won’t work. Sooner or later, the morphine will call to him, and he will answer.”
 

Peter Lawton leaned into her. “We are kindred spirits, you and me. I recognized it instantly.” She scoffed, but he continued, “You enjoy sex. Not like these other girls, who only enjoy the
idea
of sex. You feel empty without a man inside you, and will do anything to fill that void. When Brody is back on the morphine, with no interest in what’s between either your legs or his, I am hoping you’ll remember me.”

“I wouldn’t if you were the last man standing.”

He laughed. “That’s not what you were saying earlier, when I held your cunny in my hand.”

She grit her teeth, and snarled, “Do not ever talk to me that way!”

“Now, now, Miss Grey. Don’t cause a scene. Naturally, I thought Brody spoke to you like he would any other woman he—”

“He doesn’t, because he respects me. You see, I am beginning to learn the difference.”

Captain Neill must have entered the room, because Mr. Lawton shrank back. “Just remember what I said. When he turns to his injections, you will be the furthest thing from his mind. He will lie, cheat, and steal from you to get what he really wants. His mother and father have been dealing with it for years. As have Marcus, Mary Rose, and the rest of us. You’re merely his latest victim.”

Footsteps approached. “What’s this?”

Angelica breathed a sigh of relief. She’d never hated Peter Lawton more than now—and he hadn’t even lain a finger on her. “Brody, thank goodness. I’m exhausted, and this…music…is giving me a headache. Would you be so kind as to help me upstairs?”

“Of course.” He took her hand and helped her from the sofa. When they were out of earshot, he whispered, “Peter wasn’t harassing you again, was he?”

“I’m not afraid of him anymore. He might have been able to deceive me once, but now I see through his game.”

“Good. Chaps like him are ten a penny in this world, and I won’t always be there to protect you. It’s important that you see them for what they are, and learn to protect yourself.”

She turned her face in his direction. “Where will you be?”

“I might be down in the bloody pits for all we know.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Peter Lawton had been telling tales. Brody could tell by the troubled look on Angelica’s face—try as she might, she couldn’t hide it from him. Well, so long as she knew better than to believe them, there was nothing he could do. Honestly, Peter Lawton was the last thing either of them should be thinking about in bed together.

He snuggled Angelica against his bare chest. He ran his fingers through her black hair, kissed her, and caressed her. Anything to take that lost look from her eyes—yes, he was even learning to read her blind, unfixed eyes.
 

She’d sensed that Markie had given him bad news. Thankfully, she hadn’t pried. Brody wasn’t sure he could tell her without breaking down from the sheer impossibility of it all. Stress like this had once driven him to the needle. Peter was just down the hall. Knowing him, the devil had a Gladstone bag full of cocaine, morphine, opium, and heroin.
 

If Brody looked hard enough, he could probably find a syringe that he’d hidden away for a rainy day. He liked to do that—send little presents to his future self, knowing he’d be either too doped or too desperate to think about such things in the moment. Now, his foresight might be his downfall.

He stirred, but Angelica’s head resting on his heart stopped him. She needed him. She trusted him. Damn, the woman
loved
him.
 

Brody could not let her down. He couldn’t become what everyone had always accused him of being. He could not betray Angelica, Marcus, or Mary Rose. They had stood up for him in front of Mother. Angelica had stood up for him in front of Peter. And Markie had fought for him so many times behind the scenes, when Father had sworn to wash his hands of his wastrel son. They all deserved better from him.

“Shh,” Angelica purred. “Be still, Brody.”

Her long, dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks. She was so young and beautiful. There wasn’t a line on her face. Despite seven years of hardship, there wasn’t a grey hair on her head. Give her seven years with him, and she’d be a tired, downtrodden woman. She’d likely look twice her age then.

“Sometimes, I think you’d be better off if you had never met me.”

Her blue eyes shot open. “Why would you say that?”

“Think about it, Angelica…”

“Oh, I have! Without you, I’d still be sleeping on my kitchen floor, hiding in fear whenever someone entered my house on a whim or a dare. I’d be a lonely virgin, listening behind the walls as young people from the village made love in my childhood bed,” she explained. “Without you, Brody, I’d still be a girl trapped in a woman’s wasted body. Now, I know about love—I never thought I’d find someone who would love me.”

“Peter almost raped you. It is my fault you were assaulted.”

“No, that was my fault. I didn’t know any better. But now I do, thanks to you. The next time anyone puts their hands on me, I’ll have the strength to say no. I will know that I have the right to say no.”

He shook his head. She didn’t understand at all. “I will ruin your life, Angelica.”

“You
are
my life.”

Damn her. He was trying to do the right thing, and she wasn’t listening to his warning. “While we were lying here—just now—I was thinking about morphine. I was wondering how I could get it without you noticing.”

“Who put these thoughts into your head?” she asked, sitting up. The silky strap of her night dress fell from one shoulder. Her left breast threatened to spill over the slackened neckline. Her hair was wild, and her eyes glittered like ice. She was his shadow-angel again, and she was hideously beautiful.

He swallowed. “The Devil, I think.”

“If you want your morphine so badly, then go to it. No one can stop you from doing what you want to do.”

“You can…”

She twisted her lips into a frown. It was exaggerated and ugly. “No, Brody. I can’t. You must make the decision—if only for tonight. Will you have your morphine?”

“Why only tonight?” he asked.
 

“I can’t expect you to control the future. Tonight, you must decide. Tomorrow, your answer might be different, but I can’t punish you for that now.”

“How will you punish me?” He’d already made up his mind, yet he had to ask.

“I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll leave.”

Brody reached out to run a finger over the neckline of her nightdress. “Where will you go?”

She let him dip his fingertip beneath the fabric. “Home—I still have one, you know.”

“I know.” He rubbed his blunted nail over her hard nipple. Brody needed to know that she was strong enough, that she could hold up, even against her greatest weakness. If she caved, he could control her with sex. He could talk her into letting him have both her and his morphine.

Angelica allowed him to tug the silken fabric down over her left breast. It was high, rounded, and damned perfect. Her nipple was dark against the ghostly pale flesh that had never seen sunlight. Her skin was almost translucent—he could see every blue vein pumping blood to her heart.

He reached out to cup it in his hand, letting the pad of his thumb tease her. She moaned. She was weak. She’d give in to him. He’d learn to manipulate her to get exactly what he wanted. If he timed it just right, the morphine would dull his senses enough that he could go for hours, never finding his own release, yet bringing Angelica to hers over and over again. In time, she would learn to love the stuff, too.

“Let’s get on the floor,” he said, stroking her breast, “so the bed doesn’t creak.”
 

“No.”

He laughed. “What do you mean, no?”

“You haven’t given me your answer.”

Brody squeezed her nipple, gently. “I thought this was my answer.”

“You cannot substitute me for the needle.” She withdrew her breast from his grip, and pulled up the neckline of her night dress. “If you want to be better, you must do it for your own sake. You said you wouldn’t always be there to protect me from men like Peter. Well, I won’t always be here to distract you from your demons. We’re not making love tonight, no matter what your decision is.”