CamillasConsequences (17 page)

What of my worst sin? I search my mind to unearth it, and there it is, buried under the biggest lie of all. I have always claimed that my actions were the result of my need to avenge women for the wrongs they have suffered at the hands of men. In reality, my actions are selfish, for I take pleasure in revenge. Stalking men and punishing them for their transgressions thrills me, feeds my lust for power. I act as both jury and executioner. Although I claim to have done this to protect women, I do it to appease my own anger, to continue to punish Samson even beyond his grave.

As I accept the idea of being reprimanded, of giving myself fully to Hephaestus for castigation, my fear dissipates and calm settles over my body. My punishment is well-deserved, and since my actions against Baron McDermott had unseen repercussions on Hephaestus, I will surrender and bend to his will.

Hephaestus still has an iron grip on my throat. I echo Aldridge’s words. “Punish me for my sins. Then release me.”

Hephaestus’ eyes meet mine, uncomprehending. He seems astounded. Yet my surrender pacifies him. His touch softens, as though he is a reluctant father correcting a beloved child instead of an avenger. Does he have feelings for me or were our encounters all a lie? I am desperate to know the answer.

The knife’s tip glides along my skin, and he gazes at my bosom. He puts down the knife, kneads my breasts and rolls his thumbs over my nipples. I take a shuddering breath. He touches them slowly, almost questioningly, as if he expects me to order him to stop. I do not. His touch does not frighten me. Instead, it sets me aflame. I will allow Hephaestus to do what he wishes, and the thought sends a current of arousal into my nether regions.

He delves into the bag, producing the leather restraints. It is obvious by the way he handles them that he has never used such devices before.

“For my wrists,” I say. “Bind them.”

He takes my hands, places them over my head and buckles the cuffs securely. “You are mine.”

“I am.” Completely. Even if I regain control over my body, I will willingly lie beneath him.

Once again, he forages in my bag, removing the paddle. One of his eyebrows rises as he examines the implement from all angles. He smacks the paddle against his palm, and then a second time against his forearm, where a red welt immediately rises to the surface. “This instrument is too much for your skin. I will use my hand.”

The idea thrills me, and my nubbin flares, but I do not tell him so. Hephaestus changes position, sitting beside my limp form. He picks up the knife and cuts away my lavender skirt until my undergarments are exposed.

“In Rome, I explored my passion for sculpture and for pliable metals that can be shaped into whatever I imagine. Upon graduation, I knew I faced an uncertain future. Most artists live in poverty. Despite my father’s initial reservations about having an artist as a son, I planned to ask him for a stipend to support me while I attempted to make my way as an artist. He could well afford it.”

My skin shivers as he tosses aside the knife and inserts his fingers into the top of my undergarments, brushing my thatch of hair. I see a deep need in him, and I do not know if it is carnal or vengeful, only that he is consumed by it. Brutish as an animal, he rips away the garment, and I stifle a gasp.

Hephaestus stares at my mound. The flat of his hand slides along my inner thigh, and he roughly pushes my legs apart. My cunny throbs, aching for his touch. He kneels between my open thighs, both hands resting on my knees and then gliding nearer and nearer to my cunny. Surely he must smell my musk. What will he think when he touches the wetness at my core? His finger runs along my slit, parting the hair. He does so again, going slightly deeper, and I hear warm, wet sounds as his finger travels all the way to my pearl.

“Does this please you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He takes my pearl between his forefinger and thumb. I prepare for pleasure. Hephaestus squeezes hard, and sharp pain explodes in my nubbin. I cry out and he squeezes again, harder.

“There will be no pleasure for you tonight, my sweet.” He takes hold of my bound wrists, lifts me up and places me over his knees while he sits on the edge of the bed. I manage to turn my head. His hand is poised for the first blow.

“When I returned home, I saw you walk down the lane, and I knew immediately there was trouble, because Lexadora’s pendant was hanging from your neck.”

His hand slaps my buttocks, and I wince.

“When I asked Father for a stipend, he scoffed and said he was in the midst of financial difficulties but did not explain why.”

A harder slap lands on my exposed skin.

“He said Lexadora was attending a finishing school in Scotland, a school whose name I did not even recognize. She and I were very close. She was a ray of sunshine in my life, although there was much sadness in her because of the loss of her parents. And she and Father seldom got along, even though he bought her everything she desired, fine dresses, jewels, even horses. Why did he send her away when she had already been attending a reputable school in Upper London?”

Hephaestus’ hand is as hard as stone when he strikes me. Fire spreads through my flesh. Before I have time to recover, he strikes again and a cry breaks free from my lips.

“I couldn’t find that school, could never locate Lexadora. Father refused to speak of her. He said he sold off his lands. He said his aetherical communicator, which he had been ready to introduce to the public, was a failure. I knew he was hiding something from me.”

Hephaestus aims a volley of slaps at my bottom. Blazing pain sweeps across my flesh. My buttocks are on fire, and there is nothing I can do to diminish the agony. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes, falling to the bed sheets. The blows do not stop. One after the other, they land on my skin, and cries burst from my throat.

“He began to drink. Whiskey, gin, port, whatever he could buy. Then I heard from a friend that he was gambling at the steeplechase, betting on horses that never made it over the final hurdle.”

More slaps. More and more and more, until I break into sobs. Hot tears drip down my cheeks. I want to beg him to stop, but I do not. This must continue. It is no worse than the pain I have inflicted on others. I must allow Hephaestus to purge himself of his anger. Then I will tell him the truth.

“All that time, I could do nothing for him. My education did not allow me to obtain gainful employment. I had no skills. I had expected to have everything handed to me when I returned home.”

“I’m sorry,” I say between hitching breaths.

“In the end, he sold his last remaining possession, our home.” Hephaestus stops long enough to take a few deep breaths. His hand must burn fiercely by now. The sensation is one I have experienced many times, and when the pain is too much, I use the paddle. As if reading my mind, Hephaestus reaches across the bed. He holds the paddle before me, running his fingers along the rich, black leather, and I bite my lip. “You deserve more.”

My eyes squeeze shut, and unbidden tears flow down my cheeks. I cannot disagree, although I do not think I can bear it. When I tense my muscles, my legs move slightly. If I tried, perhaps I could push myself off Hephaestus. And then what could I do other than lie in an undignified heap on the floor? No, I must tolerate the punishment.

The paddle smacks my buttocks. This first blow is light, yet my over-sensitive skin screams in agony. Another blow. Harder. The smacking sound alone makes me wince, and the sensation causes cries to spill from my mouth.

“Enough?” he asks.

I gasp, barely able to form words. “It is up to you to decide the extent of my punishment.”

More blows rain down on me, more than I can stand. One after the other, they set fire to my flesh. Hephaestus throws down the paddle, grabs me by the hair and flings me down on the bed. He lies next to me, holding the restraints over my head with one hand while rubbing my breasts with the other. My bottom throbs and flames. It must be covered in welts, for the paddle is an unforgiving instrument.

“One night, he was crossing Tower Bridge, and he fell into the Thames. He drowned. His body washed ashore the next day. I don’t believe his fall was the result of drunkenness. I believe he chose to end his life.”

His thumb and forefinger close over my nipple. I brace myself for the pain, and when he pinches the tender flesh I utter a sharp, piercing scream. Immediately, he moves to the next breast and pinches it even harder, sending a fresh flood of tears down my cheeks.

“You killed my father, you stole inventions that should have made my family rich, and I’m convinced you are responsible for Lexadora’s disappearance.” He seizes me by the throat and stares into my eyes. “Are you?”

Should I give him the full explanation? Should I attempt to absolve myself of guilt? No, I must not. The punishment must continue. “Yes, I am responsible.” The breath hitches in my chest. “I am responsible for all those things.”

Hephaestus roughly pushes my legs apart and kneels between my thighs. Through his trousers, his erection bulges, and I grow tense. His fingers work at the buttons, and he pulls down the trousers, his immense member springing free. He lies on top of me, his cock blazing hot against my skin, his massive body covering me completely. Spreading my thighs farther, he pushes closer to my cunny until the head of his cock presses against my maidenhead. My breathing stops, and I cannot look at him. My heart transforms into a panicked bird. I expected physical punishment, but not to be violated.

“I can ruin you by forcing myself into you, by taking what you hold dear, for in your virginity lies your reputation.” He presses harder, until I wince. “Or I can ruin you the same way you ruined others, by taking Panoptographs of you bound and nude on the bed.”

“No!” Shame flushes my cheeks. I had not considered these possibilities, infinitely worse than any corporal punishment Hephaestus can mete out.

“‘No’ to robbing you of your virginity or ‘no’ to Panoptographs of you plastered on every lamp post in London? Devlin would gladly help me scatter them everywhere!”

“No…please…no.” Never have I begged a man for anything. “Strike me as hard as you like. Use the prod pole. Use the whip. But…do not take what I hold dearest.”

“Is that not what you do, Camilla, steal what men care for most?”

“I cannot argue with the truth. I beg of you, Hephaestus, do not publicly shame me. No Panoptographs.”

“What would you do if I did? Where would you go?”

Undoubtedly, I would have to live in exile, perhaps in the Canadas or on the isle of Cuba, where no one has ever heard of Camilla Covington. “Please, Hephaestus. No Panoptographs. Anything else, but not that.”

“So that is your choice? I will thrust myself inside you, use you, for you are mine. Make your choice.”

The decision tears at my soul. I want neither, but there is no way out. The drug is wearing off, but I am still greatly incapacitated. “My virginity.” A lump wells in my throat.

His hand rests over my throat. “What if I give you a different choice? Decide between public scandal or losing all the assets you have accumulated over the years. Which do you choose?”

Will he spare my virginity? “Poverty. Take all I have taken from others, but leave me intact.”

“I knew you would do anything to prevent public scandal, like Aldridge, like my father.” He strokes my hair away from my face, tracing his fingers along my cheek, down my neck. “I have made my decision.”

He will leave me penniless? What of my maidenhood? I cannot think clearly. His jaw is firmly set, and I await his verdict. He ponders my fate most intently. Lines form between his brows. His lips tighten into a thin line and then relax. Hephaestus seems…tormented.

“For years, all I have thought of is finding the woman who ruined my family and ruining her in return. Now that I have you…” He pauses and licks his lips. “I cannot.”

His admission stuns me.

“I cannot, because to ruin you would be to become exactly like you, cold and hard and alone. I see myself in you, and it frightens me. Revenge must stop controlling my life.”

I do not know what to say. Relief surges through my body, and I take several shuddering breaths. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“Do not thank me. I am doing this for myself, not for you!” He pushes himself off me, pulls up his trousers and sits at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Without his skin against mine, I am suddenly chilled. I manage to pull my arms to my chest, and I try to reach out to him, but the restraints make it difficult. My fingertips brush his back, and he slaps my hands away.

He pushes himself off the bed and walks to the Panoptograph of the attacking lion. “I had no inheritance. I had nothing. So I reinvented myself. Because of you, I had no choice. I became Hephaestus Alighieri, a metallurgist of Italian descent. I apprenticed with a metallurgist here in Upper London for a short time, and then began my own enterprise, Flames of Paradise. At first I made pieces that were useful, such as lanterns, lamp posts and clocks. In time, I created more beautiful pieces that allowed my imagination to take flight.”

I roll over onto my side. Hephaestus moves to the next picture, featuring a leopard in a tree guarding a bloodied kill.

“I had feelings for you, truly I did. You are fiery and mysterious and strong. Other women are not like you. I suspected who you were from the beginning, but I still fell headlong in love. However, I cannot pursue a relationship with a woman who takes pleasure in destroying the lives of others. More importantly, I cannot take pleasure in destroying yours.” He turns toward me, and his face is expressionless. “Now tell me your version of events. Of which crime did you wrongfully convict my father? He was a widower, entitled to engage in sexual relations with a consenting woman if he so wished. You cannot fault him for appeasing his urges. Above all else, tell me where I can find Lexadora.”

“The cellulose reel will speak for me. Since I was new at the art of sexual blackmail, and he was a very powerful man, I recorded the entire proceedings by dissimulating a Panoptoscope in my handbag.” I point at my cabinet. “In the bottom drawer are several reels. Find the one labeled with your father’s name.”