Corey McFadden (19 page)

The trio wandered for a moment in the dark, away from the door and the long windows which cast squares of yellow light on the gray stones of the terrace. Joanna was lost in her thoughts, feeling very much like a fish out of water.

“Let’s go sit down on that bench,” said one of her attentive duo, amiably, gesturing to a bench near the edge of the terrace, bordered by several box yews, a good distance from the door. She was steered rather than led to the bench, but as she thought it might be nice to sit for a while she did not object.

Seated, however, she was discomfited to find that neither gentleman had released her arms and each was sitting much too close, hemming her in on both sides, thighs pushing against her. There was nowhere to move except forward, but as she tried to extricate herself she found that they held her wedged in.

“I would prefer to stand, actually, Mr. Dalton,” she said to neither in particular.

“And we would prefer to sit, my beauty,” the one on her left whispered into her ear.

“Please let go, sir,” she began, alarmed at his tone and the strength of his grip on her arm. “I do not find this sort of thing amusing at all.” Although she struggled, they both held fast. The one on her right, Hayhurst, she presumed, snaked his arm about her waist after capturing her hand in his other hand.

“It can be very amusing, my dear Joanna, quite diverting if you relax and enjoy it. Eleanor thinks you’re a virgin. Can that possibly be true? It’s just too, too droll.” The whisper came hot and moist into her other ear, and she felt lips tracing a path down her cheek.

“Stop it! How dare you!” she gasped, only to find her cry cut off as the lips suddenly covered her own. She found herself powerless, gripped tightly by the two large men, the one thrusting his tongue into her mouth, the other ripping hungrily at her décolletage....

* * * *

“Giles, I do think you ought to step outside and see what’s become of your little governess friend,” Eleanor leaned over and whispered into Giles’s ear, interrupting his conversation with one of the old goats who lived in the area.

Giles excused himself from the old gentleman and turned with a glare on his stepsister. “I had not realized Miss Carpenter was in attendance,” he said with an edge to his voice. “What seems to be the problem, Eleanor?” He had scoured the room for Joanna when he had first come down and had been relieved not to find her. He had fervently hoped, when he received word this afternoon that his stepsister was throwing this damned party, that Joanna would heed his warning and stay away. Most of the guests were friends of Eleanor’s, an unsavory lot who had no morals about them, not at all fit companions for an unworldly parson’s daughter. Now he could feel his stomach churn at her words. Why was Joanna outside?

“Oh, she insisted on being here, darling,” Eleanor purred, amused at the tightening of his lips. “I don’t think she’s at all the little virgin she pretends to be. I saw her take Dalton and Hayhurst in tow out to the terrace a few minutes ago, and I must say she had quite a lascivious look about her. I swear, she was positively fondling them both. They’re all alike, you know, these little penniless governess types, tarts on the make.”

He turned away with a snarl, leaving Eleanor staring at his back, a slow smile spreading across her face. Perfect. No doubt one of those randy boys would be buried up to the hilt by now, a pretty sight for the morally upright Sir Giles Chapman. She turned and bestowed a meaningful look upon Count Damelio, who was all hers once more, now that she had removed the governess from the scene. Well, with a little luck, Giles would send the wretched girl packing tonight. Hawton could drive her to the nearest inn. Then he could take a poke at the used baggage, too. It was just too divine....

Giles stepped onto the terrace, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dark after the brightness of the drawing room. He could make out nothing in the gloom, but he thought he heard muffled sounds from the shadows to the rear. He moved forward, uneasy in his heart. Obviously, Eleanor was lying about Joanna. But what devilment was afoot, and what was Joanna doing out in the dark with two of Eleanor’s reprobates?

He stopped dead, deep in the shadows, shocked at the sight that met his eyes. It had to be Joanna. In the dim light he could just make out the tumble of her dark hair. But what cruel twist of fate could take the one bright, pure thing in his life and expose it for a foul, corrupt delusion? He felt his very soul drain away as he took in the scene. Not one, but two men. One of them was kissing her, devouring her lips, while the other, unspeakably, had pulled up her skirts and was pawing between her legs. He could not see her hands and wondered if she fumbled madly at one or both of the men’s crotches. Even as he watched, she bucked wildly, clearly in the throes of passion. He had heard of women like this, who would take on two men at once, but never in his life had he expected to see such a thing, and never again would he allow himself to believe in another living soul.

As he started to turn away, he heard a strangled cry, then watched in astonishment as the man kissing her reared up, his face contorted, his body convulsed. As the one man fell back, the other cried out and twisted away. It was then that Giles could see that each of them held one of Joanna’s arms, pinning her to the bench. Now she was bucking furiously, pulling away, whimpering in short, terrified gasps. The first man fell to the ground, letting go of her arm and grabbing at his crotch. He moaned piteously and writhed about on the stone floor. Joanna leaped forward, trying to stand, but the other man lunged for her and pulled her back down, drawing back his arm to strike her face.

In a heartbeat, Giles was there, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him off of Joanna. He could hear the sound of tearing cartilage as his fist connected with the man’s nose, sending him bleeding to the pavement. Giles grabbed Joanna and thrust her behind him, watching his two opponents, both of whom writhed now on the ground, moaning. There was blood all over the face of the one he had struck.

“Force a woman on my property again and I’ll kill you. Do I make myself clear?” The one with the bloody face glared up at him and received a kick in the gut in response. “Clean yourselves up and get out. Do not go back inside and do not speak to Eleanor. If I see either of you again I’ll horsewhip you off my land. Now, do you understand?” Giles’ tone was murderous, his words bitten off. Behind him his hands clutched around Joanna, who seemed to be barely standing.

At the barest of nods from both young men, Giles turned, picked Joanna up into his arms, and walked away, not toward the house but down the stairs into the garden.

He could feel Joanna sag against him, sobbing convulsively.

With long strides he made his way through the garden, coming at last to the little garden door set in the wall. Turning the handle, he was relieved to find it unlocked. It was black as pitch in the lower hallway, but he made his way surely to the rear stairs, mounting them swiftly to the third floor. Fortunately, they met no one on the way, and he turned the handle to her door and stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind them, no one the wiser.

He set her gently on the bed, then turned up the wick of the lamp Joanna had left burning low on her dresser. He sat down beside her, and very carefully removed her mask.

He sat back in shock as he looked at her face. One eye was completely puffed shut and the mask edge had cut into her face, leaving a bloody line where it had been. Her lips were purple and bleeding. Her breathing came in great gasps, her eyes were wild and vacant, and he was not sure she was fully conscious.

Moving to the washstand, he quickly poured water into the bowl, then brought it, with a towel, over to her nightstand. Very gently, he pressed the wet cloth to her cheek, trying to wipe away the blood without pulling at the cut. Rinsing out the cloth, he held it to her eye.

Joanna drew a deep, shuddering breath and began to moan. As the light returned to her eyes, she suddenly tried to rise and struggle against him, her moan turning into a scream.

“Hush, hush, you’re safe now!” he whispered urgently, moving his hand gently across her mouth. The last thing he wanted was curious servants responding to screams from the governess’s room. She quieted, her eyes finding his. He moved his hand to her cheek and caressed her softly. She nuzzled against his hand and shut her pain-filled eyes, tears slipping from beneath her lowered eyelids.

Feeling large and clumsy, he brushed her tears away with his thumb, his touch gentle. His heart twisted at the sight of her eye, swollen and purpling now. He should have killed the bastards while he had the chance.

He felt Joanna’s hand touch his chest and, seizing it, he brought it to his lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I couldn’t have fought them off much longer.”

He closed his eyes against the image that arose in his mind, and the thought of what might have happened had he not been there.

“Well, you managed to take care of one of them pretty well,” he murmured. He could still see the look of contorted pain on the man’s face. She must have given him one hell of a kick where it counted.

Joanna flushed, then asked, “Why are you here? Lady Eleanor told me you were not coming.”

“Did she, now?” he said, thoughtfully. “That is very interesting, since she herself sent for me this afternoon. I came because she expressed concern about you, and even though I had warned you to avoid her and her crowd, I was afraid you’d be tempted to attend such a large soiree.”

“She told me you had specifically requested that I attend. It’s the only reason I agreed to go.”

He was silent for a moment, his jaw tight. “I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he finally said, “but how did...what happened tonight?” He held her hand with one of his. With the other he traced through her long dark hair spread out against her pillow.

“When I came downstairs this evening, Lady Eleanor pulled me over and introduced me to those two...men. They were Mr. Dalton and Mr. Hayhurst—I was never quite sure which was which. But after that, they never left my side, even when others joined our group. I seemed to be the center of attention, but their conversation was so—well, they seemed to go on a great deal about—things that are none of my business, certainly—and I was uncomfortable. They really weren’t interested in anything I had to say, so I was hoping just to slip away. Then Lady Eleanor came and pulled away all the others—an Italian count and a few other young men. She told Mr. Dalton and Mr. Hayhurst to stay and keep me company, then she went off, with the others following behind. I thought I might be able to slip away then, but they insisted we step out for some air, and it was so stuffy, so I...” she broke off, her voice trembling.

“Shhh,” he said softly, bending down to put his cheek next to hers, the one that was not swollen and torn. “I know what happened next. Don’t say any more.”

But Joanna needed to talk, needed to tell him, to banish the demons. “They were like animals,” she whispered, turning her face to his. “No, not like animals. No animal would be so deliberately cruel. I couldn’t even scream and they were pawing at me, holding me down....”

He gathered her tightly in his arms, only to release her quickly as she gasped with pain.

“What is it? Have I hurt you?” he asked, fear in his eyes.

“It’s—my side,” she gasped out. “One of them hit me there.”

Growling with anger, he ripped at the buttons that held her bodice closed, scattering them across the bedcovers. He pulled the dress material away from her, then tugged at the chemise, pulling it down to her waist.

“Turn over on your side, Joanna,” he said softly, willing himself to ignore the lovely, creamy breasts which gleamed in the lamplight.

Joanna complied, not meeting his eye. She heard him swear and looked up at him questioningly.

“You are very badly bruised, Joanna, here, along this rib. Does this hurt?” With exceeding caution he pressed lightly, withdrawing the instant he saw her wince with pain. “I think you may have a broken rib,” he said in a tight voice. “I am now so sorry I did not kill them when I had the opportunity. Perhaps I will anyway.”

“No, don’t!” she cried, turning back to face him, eyes fearful. “I’m sure they won’t bother me again, and I can’t have murder on your soul just because I was a fool enough to go out onto the terrace with those jackals.”

He smiled grimly at her. “Don’t even think of blaming yourself for any of this, Joanna. These people are monsters.” He did not add that it was obvious to him that she had been set up by Eleanor. She would figure it out soon enough.

“I’m going to go downstairs and get some fresh water and some bandages to wrap your ribs. Can you get up and lock the door behind me? I don’t think anyone will bother you, but I want to be certain you are absolutely safe.”

Fear shadowed her eyes, but she nodded gamely.

“Good girl.” He smiled at her and gently pulled up her chemise, careful not to press on her side. Without realizing it, he breathed a sigh of relief. It had been such a strain to avoid looking at her lovely breasts. He helped her up carefully and swung her legs over the side, supporting her as they walked slowly to the door.

“I will knock four times when I come back. Do not open the door until you are certain it is I. Promise me?” he asked, unlocking the door.

“I promise,” she replied, and with a pat on her good cheek he was gone. Joanna closed the door swiftly behind him and locked it securely. She walked to her dressing table, wincing with each step. She hurt all over, far more than she had let on. He was angry enough already. She could feel that there was a deep scratch on the inside of her thigh—no doubt one of the beasts had been wearing a ring. She gasped when she caught sight of her face in the mirror. Lifting her fingers, she gingerly touched her eye, then traced down the angry red line where the mask edge had torn her cheek. With a sigh, she pulled up her skirt and examined her thigh. As she had suspected, a long cut ran from near the top of her thigh to her knee. She hobbled over to the water on the washstand and laved herself. Better to do this herself than ask Sir Giles, she thought ruefully. Not that he hasn’t already seen....She found herself blushing and finished quickly, determined to change into something more suitable before he returned.