| |
A few days later, the aroma of roast duck filled the low-beamed, private parlor set aside for their use. In the center of a table covered with an embroidered white cloth and surrounded by side dishes of oysters, pudding and asparagus, the duck held pride of place on a cream-colored, oval platter. Soft light from the candles on the sideboard and set in sconces on the paneled walls gave the room an intimate feel. A sense there was no one else in the world but the two of them. Something warm unfurled deep in Victoria’s chest. Something hopeful.
Simon, seated opposite her, his chin freshly shaved and wearing an open-necked shirt borrowed from the publican, laughed ruefully and glanced at his arm resting across his chest in a sling. “Would you carve? I think I might have a little trouble with only one hand.”
“Of course.” Victoria hadn’t actually ever carved a bird before, but how difficult could it be? She picked up the large knife and fork and attacked the golden-brown bird. The knife skidded off the crispy skin and hit the plate with a ringing sound.
“Damn.” Simon lurched across the table and grabbed the knife. “Here, you hold the fork and I’ll cut.”
He looked so terrified, she giggled.
He grinned. “What are you laughing at?”
“The fear in your face.”
“Not funny. You could have cut off your hand.”
Victoria stabbed the fork into the roast and he hacked at the duck’s brown, juicy flesh. When he finished, she served the chunks of meat and the rest of Mrs. Davis’s delicious fare. “Would you like me to cut up your meat?” she offered.
“Thank you, but I think it will be safer if I deal with it my way.”
He picked up a morsel of the duck and tore at it with strong, white teeth.
She raised her eyebrows. “How ungentlemanly of you, Mr. Yelverton.”
“Better than losing my fingers,” he retorted, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. He poured himself another glass of wine.
The noise of the taproom, chinking glasses and lilting Welsh voices, filtered into the quietness of their secluded haven, accompanied by the smell of old ale and pipe smoke.
Today’s earlier dreamlike quality lingered like a fragile fragrance waiting for the wind of reality to blow it away. They had laughed at foolish things. He insisted on seeing Diablo and she accompanied him to the barn. She loved the way the fierce stallion responded to his gentle petting. From there, they wandered into the garden for an hour or two, lounging in the warm sun. He lay on the bench, while Victoria, on a stool near his head, read to him. He’d fallen asleep and snored. She almost imagined this could last. She smiled at him.
Red wine caught the light as he lifted his glass in a toast. “To Mrs. Yelverton.” His wicked smile melted her bones.
She raised her glass in return. “To you, Mr. Yelverton.”
They drank, his gaze intent on her face.
“Do you think Deveril will come tomorrow?” Victoria asked trying not to let disappointment creep into her voice.
Just before dinner, Mr. Davis had brought one of the local tradesmen who had agreed to take a message to the marquess whom Simon had arranged to meet in Shrewsbury before he left Town. He had promised to wait there with a post-chaise to take Victoria back to London. Once she was safe, Simon and Deveril would seek out Quigley then Ogden. Simon had refused to listen to her suggestion that Ogden might know nothing about his gamekeeper’s activities.
Simon finished his wine in one swallow and refilled it. “Deveril will be waiting where he said he would be, so yes, he will be here tomorrow.”
She sighed. While she had said nothing to Simon, she had decided she would not go to London. It would be better if they separated now, before she became totally dependent on him. Better to say goodbye now than be devastated when he moved on later. After all, while this interlude had been wonderful, he had said nothing about love or marriage.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, watching her from beneath his lashes.
Ever since he had spoken to the tradesman in the garden, she had sensed his growing tension. A building recklessness had invaded his normally cool expression. His eyes glittered ominously as he observed her intently over his wineglass.
She smiled, desperate to hold onto the lighthearted mood of today, to retain the easy warmth between them. Tomorrow they would go their separate ways. She pushed the thought aside. “Nothing,” she lied.
“Tell me.”
Somehow she could not prevaricate with him, not even to save herself. “Your toast reminded me that this is our last night as Mr. and Mrs. Yelverton.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.
He raised one dark eyebrow, a wry smile curving his lips. “You’re right. Soon we will be the Earl and Countess of Travis.”
For a moment, her heart leaped in joy, then the bottom fell out of her stomach at his cynical expression. She set her knife down carefully. “I beg your pardon?”
His face darkened. “Did you think I would ruin you and abandon you?”
Victoria swallowed. “Is this a proposal of marriage?”
A slight shrug lifted one shoulder. “Something of the sort, I suppose.” His voice sounded gritty as if the words word forced. He sighed. “Yes, damn it.”
He had been quite explicit, that day at his country estate, about not wanting to marry. And he certainly hadn’t said anything about love. “Why?”
“Why? I just told you why.”
Guilt. He’d ruined her and now he thought it his duty to rectify the situation. A rake plagued by an overactive sense of duty. If she wasn’t so close to crying because she yearned to say yes, she might have laughed.
He had no reason to feel guilty. She had made her own decision. She shook her head. “I am much obliged to you for yet another generous offer, but just as before, I must decline.”
With a short laugh, his gaze dropped to his wineglass. “I’m more than you could possibly stomach, I suppose. But I won’t take no for an answer, I’m afraid.” He twisted the stem of the glass and the ruby liquid glimmered. He tossed it off and set the glass down with a snap. “You must marry me, even if we never see each other again.”
Victoria rose to her feet and he stood up with her, ducking his head to avoid the low, blackened beam. Devilishly handsome in the flickering light, his expression turned dangerous. The charming, easy man of the past few hours disappeared. Sin St. John, stone-faced, eyes like frozen glaciers, flashed her an insolent smile. “I know it is not what you want. But...” he shrugged. “Honor requires it.”
Victoria steeled herself against the longing pushing behind her breastbone. The fragile hope that he might actually feel something. He didn’t. “I don’t care about your honor and you cannot force me to marry you.”
“Really?” He prowled around the table, lithe and lean. “Are you sure I cannot?” His murmur terrifyingly soft, he fixed his gaze on her mouth.
She licked her lips, unable to move in the intensity of his eyes.
Fast as a whip and stronger than steel, he pulled her close. He lowered his head and captured her mouth in a slow, torturous kiss. Her senses reeled and waves of desire tightened her core. Instantly, she wanted him. Any way he would have her, despite her shame in her inability to stand against him.
When at length he raised his head and raised an eyebrow in question, her body was trembling with yearning.
His breath grazed her lips. “Tell me I can’t, Victoria.”
Every nerve craved his touch. Why not have this for all time, her body tempted. Say yes, it begged. She knew better. Trap him and, like a feral beast, he’d tear them both apart.
“Simon,” she pleaded, “you don’t want to marry me, you know you do not.”
His lips twisted. “Do not speak for me. What do you want? If you could have whatever you wanted, what would it be?”
Your love, her heart cried in tune with her body’s aching demand. But it was duty that drove his precious honor, not love. What could she say that his honor would accept?
“When my father was alive, before we came to London, I worked on a parish project to raise funds for a school for farm laborers’ children. Too many people are leaving the land and not always of their own volition. Our aim was to provide them with a better future than merely slaving in factories in the north. I would like to teach in that school.” She liked children, but what she really wanted to do was educate the girls, expand their horizons.
Simon stepped back a little, his gaze searching her face for the truth. “A school? No broken-hearted squire left in your wake?”
Heat rose in her face. Until this moment, she’d forgotten her crush on one of the neighbors’ son, a boy much older, and her bitter tears when she heard he was to marry.
“I see,” Simon said, before she could answer.
“You see nothing,” Victoria stormed. “You charge ahead deciding what is best for me without considering my opinion.”
“I thought I just did.”
“Yes. And then you scorned it. Damn you, Travis. I don’t want—”
“I can make you want me,” he said. His hot gaze raked her body and she gasped at the answering flare deep in her veins.
She’d never seen him so wild. His mood scared her. “You are bosky. You’ll feel differently in the morning.”
Blue eyes narrowed, he placed a hand on the ancient beam above and leaned towards her. “And how will you feel in the morning, Victoria?”
“I’m not going to change my mind.” She couldn’t. If she let him do this, she would be just like Cassandra, snaring him into a marriage he didn’t want.
The expression in his eyes was unreadable as he stared at her for what felt like minutes, but was likely only seconds. She raised her chin and held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. To show weakness would be to let him win.
He clenched his fist and struck the beam. “Very well, we will discuss this further in the morning. Right now, we’re going upstairs.”
His piercing glance dared her to fight him. His shoulders tensed, as if he expected her to deny him.
She didn’t want to. She wanted this last night together and a memory she could keep in her heart. She smiled. “Yes.”
“Damn you, Victoria Yelverton,” he muttered. “You tie me in knots and you know it.”
Before she could respond, he swept his arm around her and pressed his lips against hers, hard and harshly demanding. She leaned into him, putting her arms around his neck, running her hands through his hair, across the broad shoulders which, after tonight, she would never feel again. He smelled of soap and fresh air and smoke. He tasted of wine.
He groaned deep in his throat and picked her up, his one good arm around her waist.
“Simon,” she exclaimed. “Your shoulder.”
“Hold on. I’m not letting you go, until we are upstairs and in bed.”
Afraid he would reopen his wound, she clung to his neck and he climbed the narrow, winding stairs.
“You should not do this,” she said.
“Oh, but I should. Indeed, I think I must.” The torment in his deep voice shocked her to silence.
He stopped when he reached the landing outside their room. “Open the door.”
She leaned down and lifted the latch. When they were inside, he lowered her, letting her slide down his body, keeping her close while he gazed down into her face. Her desire pitched higher. He stood blocking her escape path to the stairs. Foolish man. As if she would try to escape. She reached up and placed her palm on his hard jaw and felt a muscle jump.
He bowed with a flourish. “Your chamber awaits, my lady.”
My lady. She would never be his lady. She would have the memories of these few days and nothing else. The candle flame on the night table, the only light in the room apart from the fire, wavered and blurred.
She blinked hot moisture away. She would not let him see tears on their last night together.
He kicked the door shut with his heel and pulled her close, kissing her with a savagery she could barely comprehend, trying dominate her with his will.
She resisted.
“Damn you,” he said against her mouth, then softened his lips, skillfully teasing and enticing until her body melded with his. With a groan of satisfaction, his hand went to the buttons down the back of her gown. Nimble fingers released the fastenings. A required skill for a rake.
He must have felt her stiffen. “Stop it,” he growled.
She ran her hands over his chest and encountered the rough fabric of the sling. “We mustn’t do this. You might reopen your wound”
He stepped back and roughly pulled the cloth over his head and dropped it on the floor. “I’m fine.” He pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his breeches and, one-handed, fumbled with the shirt buttons.
“Let me,” she said with a smile.
Surprise on his face, he let her undo them. She eased the loose garment over his head. The candle cast the hard planes of his face into sharp relief, the light glistening on the sculpted contours of his arms and chest. She skimmed her hands over his bare, warm skin. He sucked in a hiss of breath.
Heat blossomed deep between her thighs.
He plucked the pins from her hair, raking urgent fingers through the strands until they fell around her shoulders. “I love your hair, so glossy, like a raven’s wing. Don’t fly away, Victoria.”
His words tugged at her aching heart.
Working with one hand, he pushed her gown first over one shoulder, then the other. He worked it down her arms one side at a time until she pulled her hands free.
Sensuous awe glazed his expression as he gazed at her breasts.
“Simon, I—”
“Shh,” he whispered, pressing his finger to her lips, devouring her with his eyes, as if starving and hungry only for her. Her heart clenched. It was a lie. He didn’t love her when she knew she loved him. It hurt.
But she would take what he did have to offer tonight. The memories would stay with her for the rest of her life, for she knew instinctively she would never find anyone else she loved the way she loved him. If she told him of her feelings, he would use the knowledge against her, to make her stay. And she didn’t dare. Because eventually he would tire of her, and that would hurt worse than if they parted now.
Her heart picked up speed, her pulse raced as the darkness in his handsome face grew increasingly seductive. With half-closed eyes, he watched his hand roam over her breasts covered only by her shift. His fingers brought her nipple to a tight, hard peak. Her knees weakened and she clutched at his shoulder.
He winced.
“We cannot.” She dropped her hands.
“I won’t let you do this to me, Victoria.”
The pain in his expression stilled her. Did he think she had deliberately hurt him? “I don’t want you to be hurt,” she whispered.
He laughed, a hard-edged sound that cut. “Now where have I heard that before?”
She ignored his irony. One of them needed have some sense. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, a warm, motherly kiss. “Remember what happened last time? You can’t risk opening your wound again. Not if you want to leave here tomorrow.”
He grasped her face in one lean, strong hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. “We are leaving here tomorrow. Together.”
Unable to lie, she shrugged.
“Damn it, Victoria. You will marry me.” His mouth captured hers in a kiss that punished even as it rewarded.
Immersing herself in his urgent desire, she reached unsuspected heights of longing. She forgot everything except the need to feel his hard body inside her. She pressed her hips against his thigh, desire streaking to her core.
In one sure movement, he stripped her gown over her hips. She stepped out of it and he pressed her onto the bed.
“Now,” he breathed.
She lay back and watched as he fumbled with the buttons on his breeches. His chest rose and fell, his dark hair falling forward. He pulled the tight fabric over his hips and down his long, beautifully muscled thighs.
She gasped as his erection stood bold and free and he shot her a wicked glance. “I’m ready for you,” he said. “Are you ready for me?”
Ready? She burned. Her core, tight and demanding, longed for him to take her, to bury his hard, male member inside her, to claim her and take her to completion. Only with him did she truly feel complete.
He swept her legs onto the bed then lay next to her, one leg across hers, his lips finding her mouth, her throat, and through her shift, her nipples.
Shivering and gasping, she reached for the hem of her chemise. She wanted to feel him next to her skin. All of him, his heat, his hard, male strength and form. She wanted nothing between them.
Simon groaned as he gazed on this woman who drove him to madness.
Naked, she was perfect. Small, pointed breasts, flat stomach, black curls at the apex of her thighs hiding the wonderful heat and passion he desired waking and sleeping. She would marry him. He would make her want him as much as he needed her.
Simon focused on her pleasure. A slow torment of her senses with mouth and tongue and lips which that would leave her mindless, unable to resist his will.
He laved those beautiful rose-tipped breasts with his tongue. Her moan of delight sent blood to his cock. He was so hard he could scarcely think. He drew in a shuddering breath and traced a path of kisses to her belly. He swirled his tongue in her navel. He was a brute to want her so much he couldn’t see straight. But she did want him almost as much. Her soft cries, deep in her throat, told him she did.
He placed his hands on each side of her shoulders and moved to cover her with his body.
Agonizing pain ground from his shoulder to the recesses of his mind, leaving him rigid and motionless. Darkness edged his vision. He’d lost control. He groaned.
“Simon.”
Fear rampant in her expression, her face floated in front of his and he wanted to rail against fate. She made him so weak, even here, where he should dominate. He was cursed.
He gritted his teeth and levered himself up again. She pushed at him and, unable to resist, he collapsed on his side. He squeezed his eyelids shut, reaching for the distance that kept him safe from pain and humiliation.
Warm and moist, her lips brushed his, her tongue traced the seam of his mouth. Scorching heat fired his blood. He opened his eyes and caught her saucy smile.
“My turn,” she said.
Saints above protect him. This woman was extraordinary.
Surrendering control, something he hadn’t done for years, he forced himself to lay still beneath her gentle touch. Her mouth followed the line of his jaw, her breath whispered in his ear, sending a thrill of exquisite pleasure laced with unbearable pain to his cock. He moaned.
The torture didn’t stop. Relentless in her exploration of his body, her hands fluttered over his arms, her lips traveled to his chest and found his nipple. She licked. He could not prevent his gasp as it pebbled and sent an arrow of desire to his bollocks.
She nibbled with her teeth at his tit’s sensitive nub and his hips rose off the bed, seeking her, wanting her tight around his now granite-hard cock.
“Victoria,” he groaned.
“Simon,” she whispered against his chest. “Tell me what to do next.”
“Straddle me, sweet, ride me the way you rode Diablo.”
On her hands and knees, she lifted herself over him. The dark curls of her mons rested on his belly, hot and moist against his skin.
“That’s it, darling.” He reached down and slipped a finger into her soft folds, gently massaging her little nub of pleasure. Her faced tightened and her glazed eyes slid closed. He cupped his palm against her hot, womanly flesh, swollen ready for him.
“Let me inside you. Lift your hips.” He grasped her hip and raised her up.
Dazed and uncomprehending, her eyes gazed down at him. He rubbed the tip of his cock along her slit, reveling in her wet heat.
Sudden comprehension filled her expression and she smiled. She lifted herself and began a slow slide down his rigid cock.
Pleasure blazed a trail to his brain. His mind spun out of control. Desire radiated through his body and his soul.
The intense sensation of Simon deep inside her made Victoria gasp. His hand, hot on her buttock, encouraged her to rise again. She savored the searing heat traveling from where they joined to the tips of her breasts as she moved along his length. She learned how his body fit into hers to produce unimaginable quivers of delicious feeling. Each slide of hot flesh against hard arousal produced an unendurable, stomach-clenching shiver and teased her need for more.
“Oh, Victoria.” The deep longing in his voice jolted in her belly. She squeezed him tight inside her and rocked her hips.
“Yes,” he breathed. “God. Yes.”
Her spirit soared as she knew her own power to give him delight. There was only him inside her, his body hard and thrusting up to meet her with each slow, downward stroke, his palm and fingers on her breasts. She leaned forward to his lifted head. He latched onto her nipple and suckled. Heat and tension vibrated in her body and her mind. She pressed down harder, clutching him inside her, tighter until it felt as if they were one person.
Blackness filled her mind. Urgently, she launched herself over the edge and felt him fly with her. They soared as bliss exploded. His ragged cry told her he had reached his own fulfillment.
She collapsed on his chest.
She couldn’t move. Warmth invaded every part of her body, her heart thudded in her chest in time to Simon’s.
He wanted to marry her and now, after this, she wasn’t sure she could let him go. She tried to think about what it meant, but her body demanded that she sleep.
She shivered. Her source of warmth had gone. Simon. Out of bed and stumbling around, the soft gleam from the window outlining his lithe, muscular form. Need tugged at her, a bottomless well of desire. “Come back to bed.”
The bed ropes creaked beneath his weight as he sat on the edge. He tossed her a wicked smile over his shoulder and patted her bottom. “I heard a noise. Likely nothing of concern.”
All the same, he was whispering. He pulled on his breeches. She groped around, found her shift on the pillow next to her head and slipped it on.
Simon pulled on his boots. “Stay here while I check downstairs.”
The sound of booted feet on the stairs brought him upright. His head banged against the low ceiling and he swore softly. He lunged for the door.
Too late. It swung back with a crash.
Stunned, Victoria pulled the sheet up under her chin.
“Well, well. And what do we have here?”
Ogden? A pistol gleamed evilly in the light of a candle held by a man peering over Ogden’s shoulder. Quigley. A surged of terror robbed her of breath. She shuddered. Simon had been right about him, about Ogden.
“Bugger off, you stupid bastard,” Simon said wearily. “And take that oaf with you.”
“Who, Quigley?” Ogden’s voice crackled with scarcely contained excitement. “He’s got a score to settle with you.”
Ogden ran his gaze over the bed. “Victoria. Good evening. I see you didn’t heed my warning.” He flourished a bow as if they were meeting at a ball.
A blush heated her face at his derisive tone.
Simon moved to block Ogden’s view of her. “Get out.”
Ogden stepped over the threshold and took the candle from Quigley. “Tie his hands.”
Bringing his fists up in front of him, Simon squared off at Quigley. Ogden directed the pistol at Victoria. “Do as you are told, Sin, or Miss Yelverton will pay the price.” There was something about his expression that sent a shiver down her back. Calculating coldness. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it, either. He’d worn it when he looked at her brother, when he’d thought no one else was watching. She’d told herself she was imagining things, that he had their best interests at heart. He’d always seemed so sympathetic to her troubles, she had given him the benefit of the doubt. It was also the same expression he’d worn when he arrived at St. John Hall. She just hadn’t wanted to believe her eyes and her instincts.
“What a coward you are,” Simon taunted. “Always picking on the weak. Your grievance is with me. Are you so afraid to face me?”
Simon wasn’t helping matters by making him angry. She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and finally found her voice. “My lord, I am here of my free will. This is not your concern.”
“Is it not?” Ogden walked around the end of the bed toward her.
Simon shifted his body keeping his gaze fixed on the pistol, keeping himself between Ogden and Victoria.
Quigley swung at him. Simon dodged, but Quigley’s fist caught him on the jaw and he staggered back.
The sound of the blow resonated through her body. “No!”
Quigley raised his hand to strike again. She threw herself at him striking out at him with her fists. “Stop it. He’s wounded.”
“For God’s sake, stay back,” Simon said and warded her off with his forearm. She fell to her knees on the bed.
This was a nightmare. She desperately wanted to wake up.
Ogden put the candle down on the night table and gripped her arm, digging into her flesh. His hand was cold, reptilian. She tried to tug free, but he pulled her against his chest with one hand, the other still pointing the pistol at Simon. “Don’t worry, Victoria. I’ll take care of you after I’ve dealt with him.” His caressing voice made her stomach heave. There was something very wrong about this man. Why had she not seen it before?
A knowing smile twisted his lips. “Come quietly, Travis. I promise Victoria will be well looked after.”
Anxiety creasing his brow, Simon swung his attention away from Quigley.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said, more confidently than she felt.
Quigley’s fist slammed into Simon’s bandaged shoulder and Simon sank to his knees with a groan. The sound tore at her heart.
Victoria slipped from Ogden’s grasping hand and leaned over the bed, trying to help Simon to his feet. “Stop it, you brute. You’ll kill him.”
Ogden ran his hand over her back, then caught her around the waist, pulling her away from Simon. “I’ll make you forget all about him, m’dear.” She lashed out at his face and he threw her onto the bed.
Simon lurched to his feet. “Take your hands off her, Ogden, and I will let you live. Cover yourself, Victoria.” Murder shone from his blue eyes, his jaw like granite, his fists clenched.
Suddenly aware of her near nakedness, she pulled the quilt around her.
Quigley lunged across the bed and punched Simon in the stomach. Simon doubled over, coughing and gasping for air. Quigley dragged his hands behind his back and tied them with a rope he pulled from his pocket.
Against her every urge, Victoria remained still, terrified of making things worse. Though how they could get worse, she didn’t know. Simon was outnumbered and the bandage around his wound was turning red.
Simon bit out a curse as Quigley yanked the rope cruelly tight. He wavered on his feet, clearly in pain.
She had to do something. “Please, my lord. Stop this. You are hurting him.”
“Don’t beg, Victoria.” Simon’s voice rasped a warning.
Ogden gave her his familiar, courtly smile and captured her hands in his. “She’ll beg all right. She will beg for me and forget you.”
How could she have been taken in by his superficial charm? He was nothing but a snake. Disgusted, she pulled her hands free. “Don’t touch me.”
Ogden glared at her, his eyes glittering strangely. “Weeks I wasted on you. Putting up with your idiot brother, sitting with you in that hovel in Golden Square, drinking tea made from reused leaves. Your brother was so stupid I took almost every penny, but all the drunken fool ever wanted was to pit his puny skills against Travis.” She froze at the venom in his voice. He tipped up her chin with one finger and forced her to meet his gaze. “You owe me for hours and hours of boredom. Do you think I ever cared about Michael or his pathetic bit of money? You were always the prize.”
How stubbornly blind she had been. Ogden had led Michael into ruin to get to her. The man she had defended as her brother’s friend was, in the end, responsible for his death. She wanted to weep. She jerked her face away.
“Why then did you suggest I take her in after the duel, if you were so keen to have her?” Simon asked, his gaze full of fury.
Ogden’s expression turned rueful. “If I had thought for a single moment you would act on my suggestion, I never would have made it. I simply wanted to make you feel guilty.”
“Idiot,” Simon said. “You haven’t a scrap of honor.”
Quigley hauled on the rope around Simon’s wrists and he hissed in a sharp breath, though his expression remained unmoved. “Bastard.”
“Now then, Sin,” Ogden said his voice full of a strange kind of glee. “Mind your language in the presence of a lady.” He smiled. “She’s a tasty morsel, isn’t she? I shall enjoy getting to know her intimately.”
Victoria couldn’t repress her shudder.
Simon lunged at Ogden. Quigley jabbed an elbow in the side of his head. Simon would have fallen if Quigley hadn’t held him up by his bound arms.
“Leave her alone, you bloody bastard,” Simon grated out. Blood ran down his face from a cut over his eye.
Victoria desperately tried to calm her shaking nerves. She had to do something to help Simon. She ran her gaze around the room. There had to be something she could use as a weapon.
“Stay out of this, Victoria,” Simon warned.
Ogden leered at her. “Do as he says. Be a good girl and I won’t have to punish you. You’ll enjoy coming to me, Victoria. I’m a good lover, you’ll see.”
Simon cursed. “Lay one finger on her and I will kill you.”
Victoria wanted to weep, she felt so frustrated. What a fool she had been to trust this man over Simon. Her gaze lingered on the heavy candlestick on the night table. Dare she? Quigley would hit Simon if she did anything so rash. He really could not take any more of Quigley’s blows and survive. She looked away.
“Thought better of it, did you?” Ogden said. “You are a quick learner. I am looking forward to teaching you other things, too. Obedience will do for now.”
Every word out of his mouth sounded salacious. She shuddered at the thought of ever being alone with him. Somehow she had to escape and get help.
“Sun’s coming up, my lord,” Quigley said glancing out of the window.
Ogden straightened his cravat with a swift jerk. “Indeed,” he said. “We must hurry if we are to get him out of here unseen.”
Simon glared back at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ogden ignored him. “Victoria, you will remain here until I return for you.” With a swift bow, he left the room. Shoving Simon ahead of him, Quigley followed. The door closed and Victoria heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.
A few moments later the front door slammed then there was only the sound of the birds in the trees beyond the window as they greeted the dawn.