Chapter Twenty-seven.

Abruptly he released my wrist, and in one swift motion, closed his long fingers around my throat. I instinctively grabbed at his hands to free myself, but his hold tightened inexorably. "You shall see, my dear, that you are quite helpless.

And never forget, will you, that you belong to me. You are my new, my very pretty young wife. And what does that mean? It means you are naught but my chattel?to do with as I choose."

His fingers tightened. I was scratching at his hands, pulling at his hands with all my strength. I was becoming light-headed. Was he going to kill me, right here in his library? Would he simply shove my body beneath his desk?

Suddenly, he jerked his hands away from my neck. He quickly moved around to my side of the small table, and in the next instant, while I was still trying to suck in air, he pulled me against him. I felt his hot breath upon my face. "My beautiful young wife," he said, and kissed me so hard, so roughly, that I tasted blood in my mouth. I felt more rage than fear, at least for the moment, and I kicked him in the shin even as I struggled. He wrapped his arms more tightly around me, pinning my own arms to my sides, and continued to grind his mouth against mine. I felt his teeth, felt his hot breath in my mouth. Then my mouth was open, and I felt his tongue against my teeth, and I tasted that hot breath of his and nearly gagged. I knew he must have tasted my blood.

Abruptly he flung me back, away from him. I would have gone sprawling to the floor had my chair not been directly behind me. He knocked away the chess table with his fist. Chess pieces went flying. One pawn rolled into the fireplace. He stood over me with his legs spread and his hands on his hips.

"Can you breathe again?"

"Yes, no thanks to you. Don't touch me again. You swore you would not, ever."

"I can do exactly what I wish to do with you, my dear wife. Anything at all."

And I said, unwisely, "You are really quite mad, are you not? You are also repellent, my lord. If you touch me again, I will probably vomit on you."

I thought that he would strike me, his rage so great his face turned scarlet.

But he kept his control. He just stood there, staring down at me for the longest time. Then he said in a soft meditative voice, "Of course you have no notion of how to kiss a man. You are completely innocent and have a young girl's natural apprehension. But I liked the taste of you. It was the taste of fear, I know that, but perhaps within moments it would have changed, and you would have opened your mouth to me, and welcomed me."

"No."

"How strange that I have never before noticed that you are really a remarkably lovely girl. I noticed, but not in the way a man usually notices a woman. But now I do." And he reached out his hand toward me.

"No," I whispered, and pressed myself as far back into the chair cushions as I could. "No."

He stood straight now, his arms crossed over his chest. He was directly in front of me. I didn't know how I could get around him. I couldn't very well knock him over, he was twice my size. He said, "I have decided to take you, Andrea, as a man takes a woman. You are a virgin. I have not enjoyed a virgin in a great number of years. It will be exciting. I won't mind you fighting me, but not all that much. Just a bit to give excitement to the taming. Since you are my wife, you must obey me. Ah, to have your virgin's blood on me, to feel my seed deep inside you. I will enjoy that. I will be the only man ever to have you."

"No." I felt nausea stirring deep in my belly. But why? I was afraid and very angry, but this debilitating nausea? It didn't make sense. Then I heard myself say in a pathetic, shaking voice I knew had to be mine, "You cannot mean that.

You promised. You signed your promise in the marriage contract. You are my husband in name only. You won't touch me. You won't, or I will kill you." I felt the acrid taste of hysteria in my mouth, in my throat, and I hated it.

"You kill me? Now, that is one of the most amusing things you have said to me since I met you." He shrugged. "As to the marriage contract?what nonsense, all those silly promises to you. What can that possibly have to do with my wishes now? It is just a worthless piece of paper, designed merely to calm your anxieties, so that, my dear, you would consent to this marriage. And of course you did consent. You were quite willing to have a supposedly harmless older man take care of you after your grandfather died.

"Just look at you, white, trembling, your eyes so afraid they're showing black in the candlelight. Listen to me, Andrea. All women are whores at heart. You cannot be that unlike the rest of your sex. You just need a bit of practice, some experience, which I will give you, to learn about your true nature."

"No, not all women are whores, that is ridiculous. My mother wasn't a whore. No, it was my father." The instant the words were out of my mouth, I no longer saw Lawrence's face staring down at me, so close really, but I no longer saw him. He simply faded into nothingness.

I was shaking my head, violently, and the words just erupted from my mouth. "No, I don't want to go back there." But I didn't have any choice. I was warding all the blackness away with my hands, but it didn't stop the images that were now alive in my mind, a child's mind. It was like yesterday, so very close to me, beside me, at last finally inside me, and I couldn't escape it. I had tried to forget, but of course I hadn't. I was there once again, and it was perfectly clear. I saw myself as a child of eight, curled up on a window seat behind heavy curtains in my father's study. I was dozing over the book I had pulled down from one of the shelves. I was awakened suddenly by low hearty laughter followed by some very odd sounds. I looked out around the curtains. There stood my father and a parlor maid, and they were tightly pressed against each other. They were kissing each other frantically, wildly, he pulling at the cap that sat atop her hair, his fingers streaking through the thick curls, and he was moaning and so was she, and arching up against him, strange keening sounds coming from her throat.

I didn't know what to do, and so I stayed quiet and just stared at them. He lifted her and tossed her down to the soft Turkey carpet, lowering himself over her. I saw him pulling at her gown, tossing her petticoats up until they frothed around her face. Her hands were on his shoulders, kneading him and pulling at his clothes. She was moaning as his hands slid up under her petticoats. Her legs came apart, her knees spread wide, and I watched my father pull back. He pulled apart the buttons of his britches and pulled out this immense hard shaft of flesh that was attached to him. And then he shoved it between her legs. I saw her legs go up and clasp him around his hips. They were kissing and rocking back and forth and crying and moaning, like animals, like animals, and they didn't stop, stop, stop.

My mother's pale face appeared before my eyes. She was strangely silent, dark shadows scored the delicate flesh beneath her eyes. She was staring at my father, and I heard her scream at him of his lechery, his unfaithfulness, and it shamed her to her soul. I felt her hatred of him and of Molly, the maid who had let him throw her skirts around her face and stick himself inside her. And she was screaming of other women and what he had done, and her humiliation and pain. But he didn't care. He just looked at her, then turned and walked away.

Suddenly, my mother's face faded away, and I saw Molly's face, heard her dreadful screams. I knew then that I was in the servants' quarters on the third floor, and it was hot up there, the heat of mid-summer rising to blanket these attic rooms. She was screaming, and she simply didn't stop. Scream upon scream, and then, suddenly, she was silent. I heard people talking. She screamed again, but not as loud this time, and I knew she was exhausted. I saw her gross belly, naked now, saw her back arch up and her face distort with agony. They pulled a small, limp, bloody object from between her legs. Then there was blood, fountains of gushing, spurting blood, covering Molly's legs, flowing onto the bed, dripping onto the wooden floor. My fingers were sticky red, the blood all over me, covering my clothing. Now they were screaming, rushing frantically, stuffing sheets between Molly's legs.

But Molly wasn't screaming anymore. Her head lolled to the side. Her eyes were wide and blue, and there was no life at all in them now.

The blood, so much blood, and it was dripping silently to the floor, a red pool that was now turning black. There was my mother, my beautiful mother, just standing there, her hands at her sides. She was so stiff, so cold to the touch, so white.

And I heard her whisper, "He killed her. He killed Molly as well. How many other women has he killed with his lust? He is an animal. I had hoped he would die, but he didn't. He won't ever die, ever."

Lawrence jerked me upright and shook me, nearly shouting in my face, "For God's sake, get a grip on yourself. You're damned hysterical. Snap out of it."

I opened my eyes, and I was back here, alone with this man in the library, and he was shaking me. I looked up into my husband's face. I felt battered, ripped apart inside, and terribly, terribly alone. But he was here, and he was going to hurt me, perhaps kill me, as my father had killed Molly.

His eyes were intent as he looked down at me. I was trembling, I knew that, but I couldn't stop it. "How I wish I had never seen any of it, never known any of it," I said. He let me go. I stepped away from him. I rubbed the palm of my hand across my forehead. Was I trying to rub away those dreadful memories? Memories that I hadn't seen or felt so clearly in more years than I could count.

The silence was deep, endless, but it did not really matter, for I was trying to vanquish my own personal nightmare, and the coldness of the silence, the menace of it, didn't really touch me.

I heard his voice over the snapping and soft explosions of the burning logs in the fireplace. "Perhaps now I understand why you married me, Andrea. You thought I would take your grandfather's place, did you not? That I would protect you and keep you safe from your own fears, those horrible nightmares and visions from the past that still come to you as they did just now? No, there is no place for a lusty young husband in your plans, is there?"

I saw John laughing, stroking his large hand over Small Bess's mane. John, holding George, again laughing at something I had said, and I had loved his laugh, felt it to my very soul. John, angry now, that surge of violence stark in his dark eyes, angry because I was his uncle's wife and couldn't ever be his. A knife turned in my heart.

Slowly, I shook my head.

"Would you like to tell me what your father did? What you saw him do? What you heard about him?"

"My father," I said slowly. "My father. What do you know of him? What has he to do with this madness?"

"It is really of no importance, not now. You will learn that I know more of your past than you realize."

He leaned down over me, his face close to mine. He must have seen the soul-shattering fear in me, because he straightened and laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh; it made my heart shrink. "Ah, don't worry that I will rape you. I haven't the time, truth be told. I would like to take your virginity, but it isn't meant to be. It is a pity."

"Why did you marry me?"

He pulled his chair close to mine and sat down, his arms folded across his chest.

I had no clue what he was thinking, what he was planning, but I knew it wasn't good. I needed him to talk. I needed time. John would come, surely. No, he was with Lady Elizabeth. He had left me. I knew I shouldn't be surprised, for men were never honest with women, but I was still devastated that he was gone.

Knowing what he knew of my danger, he had still left.

"You really were quite stupid in your search of my rooms."

Searching his room? Well, damn. How could he have known? Still, down deep, I wasn't surprised that he knew. I watched as he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a letter, its edges crumpled. He held it up for me to see. "What happened? You read all my letters, and this particular one really annoyed you, and so you nearly destroyed it? You were not very accomplished in your searching methods. You couldn't even manage to smooth out the envelope well enough for me not to notice. Also, I smelled your scent, light and soft and really quite distinctive. I breathed in, and I knew you had come into my very private room."

I gave him a shrug. "That envelope you're waving at me?it looks like a very old letter, my lord, a letter that one would have written a very long time ago, perhaps a time when even you were young."

I thought he would strike me, but he didn't. "Your endless impertinence?you are arrogant, my girl, but in the end, you proved yourself quite an unworthy opponent?stupid really. Do you want me to hit you? No, probably not." He began folding and refolding that old letter between his long fingers.

I said, "You stole the letter from my father."

"Oh, yes. Actually it was Flynt. That damned miserable dog of yours nearly took his leg off. He wanted to kill the little beast, but he couldn't. I had been told that you had received a letter. It wasn't difficult to find. And you, my dear, know that your father was in London on the eighth of this month."

"Tell me why you have done this. Tell me what my father has done. Damn you, what have I done? Is it not my right to know?"

"You have no rights. But, you will find out everything in good time."

He stood up. "Now, enough of this. I really have no more time to waste on you."

He paused a moment and looked at the strewn chess pieces on the floor. "I cannot believe that you managed to win a second game from me."

"It wasn't difficult. You play well enough, but your level of play cannot match mine. Take your attempts at strategy?they are as commonplace as the time worn strategies the old men use who play in Hyde Park. As for your attempts at logic and planning, I had but to invite you, and every time you leapt to take my bait.

It is you who are the unworthy opponent."

He struck me then, hard, his palm flat against my cheek. I didn't make a sound.

I leapt up at him, brought my knee up, and got him squarely in the groin. He howled and stumbled back away from me, holding himself, moaning, bent nearly double. I picked up my skirts and ran. But he was on me, still bent over like an old man, which he was. He was strong, and he held my arm, twisting it until I was moaning with the pain of it. I tried to jerk away from him, but each time I moved, he just twisted my arm higher behind my back. Finally, he was able to straighten.

"You damned bitch." He slapped me again, hard, on the other cheek. I would have slammed against the wall if he hadn't been holding me up. He jerked me against him. "Listen to me, you try to hurt me again, and I'll strangle you, right here, right now. It won't make all that much difference. Now, you and I are going to walk up to your bedchamber. You will say nothing. You won't try to get away from me. If you do, I will simply tell everyone you have succumbed to the illness that destroyed my poor Caroline. Keep your mouth shut. Think of that dog of yours, think of Flynt picking him up by his neck and wringing it off."

"Bastard."

"Yes, now you understand."

There were no servants in evidence. I had prayed to see Brantley, at least, but the Old Hall was empty.

As we neared The Blue Room, Lawrence said, "I have dismissed Belinda. She should be at her mother's house in the village by now. However, George is in your bedchamber. You and he will wait for me. I will come to you later, never fear."

He opened the door, shoved me in, then slammed the door in my face. I heard the key grate in the lock.

Chapter Twenty-eight.

The bitter winter wind burned my face and tore at my woolen cap. I leaned close to Tempest's neck to suck in the warmth of his steaming mane. His breathing was becoming labored, his flanks lathered. I slowed him. I didn't want him to collapse. John wouldn't be happy if I rode his prized stallion into the ground.

John. No, I wouldn't think about him. I felt George moving about inside my cloak, his little head right beneath my heart. Every once in a while, he licked me, and my shirt was wet in that spot. I prayed he wasn't too cold.

I guided Tempest off the road, into a copse of pine and maple trees, slid from his back, and pulled the reins over his head. He tossed his head, flecks of foam whirling from his mouth onto my gloves. The trees provided some protection from the vicious wind. I had no choice but to put George on the ground, telling him to stay close. He whimpered and pressed himself against my leg. "It will be all right," I told him. "Just give me a minute." I rubbed down Tempest with his own saddle blanket, then I spread it over him again to protect him as best I could from the wind that sliced through the naked tree branches. I petted his neck and pressed myself against his head. "Thank you, Tempest. John was wrong. You wouldn't throw me and George into a ditch. You are going to save our lives. My only question is, though, why didn't John take you with him to his damned Christmas party with Lady Elizabeth? I nearly fell over my feet when I saw you in the stables."

He nickered softly, butted his head against my shoulder.

The wind billowed my cloak as I walked slowly back to the main road and peered intently in the direction we had come. The pale slice of winter moon glittered down on the empty expanse of road. A lone owl hooted on an oak limb now ten feet away from me as I sank down to my knees in the bushes near Tempest and pressed against the naked branches for warmth. A pain shot through my ankle. I sat back quickly, pulled my legs from beneath me, and began to massage my ankle as best I could through my boot. If only I had been luckier it wouldn't have happened. But I was carrying George belted against my middle and couldn't very well use my dog to break my fall.

I looked up at that small bit of a moon, so stark and white overhead. I patted George's silky topknot, and I remembered how such a short time before I had stood in the middle of my bedchamber, staring at the locked door, listening to Lawrence's retreating footsteps.

George had bounded to his feet and run toward me. I caught him up and hugged him tight. "We have a problem, my sweet Georgie. A very big problem, but at least that madman has left us alone for a while, and that means, George, that you and I are going to leave this place, somehow."

Of course I knew what I had to do. I didn't waste time pulling at the doorknob or pounding on the door of my bedchamber. I was sure that no one was anywhere close enough to hear me. No, it was going to have to be the window for George and me, and a nice scary climb down to the frozen ground. Then I had to steal a horse. Well, not Small Bess, her back and hock weren't well enough yet. I would see what horses remained in the stables.

"Come, George, let's see what we've got here." I carried him to the windows. I pulled back the heavy curtains, and looked out into the darkness. It looked very very cold out there, a small sliver of hard white moon shining brightly. The drop to the ground was too great a distance, and the outer walls seemed sheer.

The bitter wind stung my eyes as my fingers probed along the casement. I knew there was a ledge. Caroline had climbed out on it, walking along it until she had managed to get into another chamber. It had to be wide enough. But I would be carrying George. It would be tricky.

I jerked up. Tempest was snorting, pawing the ground. I got to my feet, trying to ignore the sprain in my ankle, and crept to the road, George held beneath my cloak. I stood listening, but I didn't hear anything.

I waited for five minutes, then went back to Tempest. He seemed rested, his breathing even, his body tense and ready. As I quickly smoothed the blanket and hauled the saddle back onto his back, I wondered whether Lawrence had discovered my escape and was now, even at this very moment, riding hard after me, that wretched valet of his on his heels. Tempest must have felt my urgency because he twisted his great head around and whinnied softly. Finally, saddle in place, I grasped the pommel and pulled myself up on his back. We regained the main road, and Tempest, with no encouragement from me, broke into a steady, long-strided gallop. I leaned down again and rubbed my ankle, thankful that I had escaped with such a slight injury. It could have been much worse. I had certainly believed it would be.

The ledge was narrow, dangerously narrow. I had pulled back into the room and looked down at my heavy velvet gown. A dress would never do. If I had to walk on that narrow ledge carrying George and keeping my balance, I had to get rid of the ridiculous skirts. I found my boy's britches tucked away in the bottom drawer of the huge armoire. I had last worn them two years before, in Yorkshire, at Grandfather's country estate, Deerfield Hall. What better disguise than to travel as a boy, safe from curious eyes. Deerfield Hall was my destination tonight. I figured it would only take me three or four hours to ride there, perhaps longer if I had to hide. No matter, I could manage it. I quickly changed.

I was fastening my cloak when I realized that I didn't have any money. I found only a few odd shillings in my drawer. I grabbed a handful of jewelry and stuffed it all into one of the pockets of my cloak. I pulled my derringer from beneath my pillow and carefully slipped it inside my britches. "Well, George, are you ready to hold tight to me while I try to keep my balance?" And with those words, George wuffed and jumped up on his hind feet, waving his front paws at me, ready for me to pick him up. I looked at the lovely ormolu clock on the mantel before I opened the window. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning.

No wonder there hadn't been any servants about when Lawrence had forced me up here. They had been in bed for hours. I just hadn't realized how very late it was.

I swear that stepping out on that ledge required more guts than anything else in my life. I had this feeling that there were a lot more bad things out there, waiting for me. I looked at that ledge. I didn't want to set a single foot on it.

I was afraid for both myself and for George, but there was simply no choice. I wasn't about to just sit in that bedchamber and wait for Lawrence to come and strangle me at his leisure. The thought of Flynt strangling George made me hurry.

I would make my way to the ground. There was simply no other choice. I stepped onto the ledge and steadied myself, gripping the open window frame. I took a deep breath, pressed hard against the stone, and focused my eyes on the narrow ledge in front of me. "Don't let yourself get excited by anything, George. What you hear is just the wind, no banshees or demons from the Black Chamber. It's just you and me, and we're going to get away from here. You just keep yourself very quiet, all right?"

I heard a soft wuff.

My gloved hands clung tightly to the rough edges of the stone as, inch by inch, I slid my feet toward the corner. Strange thing was that I was sweating, in this blistering cold weather, I was sweating.

Where had Caroline climbed back into the Manor?

I gained the corner and pulled myself around it slowly, only to discover that the ledge ended abruptly. In its place stood the jutting outline of a massive chimney. To my unbounded relief, the stones were set at angles, and staggered, protruding so I could fit my hands and feet on them. I didn't have big hands or feet; surely I could get a firm grip on the stones so I could climb down. "George,"

I said as I eased him out of my cloak. "I need both hands. You will have to keep yourself very still. I'm going to stick you inside my breeches and belt you in."

And that's what I did. I probably looked like a pregnant woman.

"Hang on, George. We're off."

I swung my legs off the ledge, and for one long moment I dangled in midair until my feet found furrowed edges for support. I felt George stiffen against me. I hope he was praying as hard as I was.

My climb down was painfully slow. Several times I hung by my hands as I felt around the stones to find a foothold. Suddenly, as I loosed my grip to find another hold, the stone crumbled beneath my feet and I went down hard, all the way to the ground. Thank God it wasn't all that far, only about six feet. My legs twisted under me as I fell sprawling on my side. I lay still for a moment as a stabbing pain shot up my leg. I prayed that my leg wasn't broken. I rose slowly, flexed the leg, and discovered that it was fine but that I had wrenched my ankle. Thank God I hadn't landed on George. I quickly unbelted George and pulled him out, I told him he was the most splendid dog in the western world. As I stood there, sending thanks heavenward that I was still alive, I realized that Caroline hadn't climbed from the ledge back through a window into another room.

There weren't any more chambers between The Blue Room and the chimney. I wasn't wrong. Lawrence had told me that Caroline had climbed out the window, walked along the ledge, and let herself into another room. He had lied. Well, why should I be so surprised? He had lied about everything else.

"I'm an idiot, George." And I thought: what really happened to you, Caroline?

I looked up. I had climbed down a good twenty feet. Not badly done.