Invitation to Ruin (34 page)

He would not let the ship set sail.

He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not when he’d finally found the one woman he loved.

M
elissa felt ravaged to the heart as she numbly sat in front of the gilt-edged mirror brushing her hair. She gave her hair one more stroke with the brush. With a spark of her old self, she threw the brush across the elegant cabin, sending it clattering to the floor. Why did she care how she looked? Rothsay wouldn’t care—all he cared about was raping her.

And it would be rape. She didn’t care how many drugs he gave her; he would be taking her against her free will.

She molded her hand tenderly over her stomach. He would never get her pregnant, because her true love already had. Anthony.

Where are you? Why have you not come for me?

She knew why. Anthony did not care about her. She was simply a way for him to continue living his life the way he wanted. A rake with no ties, no commitment, and no desire to beget an heir.

She moved to stare out of the tiny porthole, but she faced out into the river and could see nothing of what was happening on shore. She had no idea where she was or when Rothsay would send her home.

Home. She had no home. Not anymore. Who would want her after this? Once Anthony learned what Rothsay did to her, he’d have the perfect excuse to lock her away. She would
be tarnished, thought of as a whore. Would he believe the child she carried was his?

She felt bruised, hollow inside.

God, if only this were a terrible nightmare and when dawn came tomorrow morning she’d wake up in her bed.

She didn’t want to submit to Rothsay. She wanted to fight him until her last breath died on her lips, but she had a babe to think about. Plus the young girls he kept as slaves.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as memories of Anthony crowded her mind. His smile, his touch, his strength. She angrily swiped the tears away. She needed his strength. She would persevere. She would not let Rothsay win. She would protect the one thing she had left in this world—her child. Anthony did not need her. Did he know she’d been taken? Was he even trying to find her? Perhaps he would think his life would be easier if he simply left her lost.

The ashes of her grief filled her throat and choked her.

She lay down on the bunk and watched the afternoon shadows lengthen. Soon Rothsay would join her and force her to—she couldn’t even think about what was to come. He would own her body. He would make the woman in the mirror do unspeakable things. She rubbed her eyes, pressing her palms so hard into her eye sockets she wondered if she’d ever see again.

Then she heard the footsteps in the hall. Melissa froze, ice forming in her veins. Rothsay.

She did not bother to move. She lay in the middle of the bunk waiting, waiting for the devil to come and claim her.

At Rothsay’s entry, she turned her head and stared at him.

He closed the door behind him. Melissa forced herself to sit up.

He walked to the edge of the bunk and stood looking down at her. He gave a soft laugh as he stroked down her cheek with his finger.

He pulled out a pair of black leather boots from behind his back and a translucent gown of fine white silk. “Put these on.”

Heart pounding in her throat, she glanced up at her captor.

“Why?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Am I going riding? I’ll need more than boots and a thin negligee.”

His hand slid around her neck, and she could feel her throat tighten as he squeezed. “Not to ride me, you won’t.” The pressure around her neck eased. He gestured to the clothes. “Put them on, or I shall have Johnson come dress you and whatever else he wishes to do. I don’t care about a few bruises. All I care about is sending you back to your husband filled with my seed.”

“You’re pure evil.”

He pulled her head up and bent to take her lips. He broke the hard kiss. “My child will become the next Earl of Wickham. I couldn’t think of a sweeter revenge.”

Rothsay’s smile chilled her very blood. She felt her spine stiffen. She bluffed for all she was worth. “Perhaps I shall fight Johnson with everything I have. It would be fitting to die before you can take me.”

The sharp twist of his mouth sent a fresh chill through her. “Then I will simply have to see to it myself. One more word of defiance and I’ll have little Mary brought up here for our enjoyment. I’ll force drugs down your slender throat and make you join in as I rape her—all because you are too stubborn to put on a pair of boots.” He removed his jacket and dropped it to the floor.

She felt the fight leave her. She could not defeat an evil such as him. She was simply no match for the devil. His smile widened. She could see he recognized her surrender in the droop of her shoulders.

Through clenched teeth he said, “Now put them on. We have a long night ahead of us.”

She climbed off the bed, so weary she had to grip the bedpost to keep from slipping to the floor. He stood watching her, his eyes leering at her. Hot with excitement. Hot with victory. He pulled the silk garment backward and forward between his hands, savoring the feel.

She turned her back to begin undressing.

“No, face me. Let me see you. I want to soak in your
beauty.” She had no choice but to obey, but she tried to block him from her mind as she began to disrobe. Finally naked she reached for the degrading garment he held.

Rothsay did not hand it to her. “Boots first.” He shot her a cool glance. “You are a beautiful woman, and I will enjoy having you in my bed.” His face twisted in his lust. Her stomach heaved. She knew the look well. “Boots first. Then the negligee.”

She couldn’t halt the shake in her fingers. She took her time, trying to delay what was to come. Once she’d finished, he undid his cravat and pulled his shirt over his head.

He made her stand in the middle of the cabin and he strolled around her, staring at her like she was some painting on his wall. She could not even summon up a shred of embarrassment.

He came up behind her and pulled her back against him. She could feel his erection through his breeches prodding her buttocks. His hands cupped each breast, and he kneaded them, moving his lips softly against her neck.

“You’re beautiful. Wickham is going to be in hell when he learns I have you, knowing what I am doing to you, and knowing he can do nothing about it.”

A tear slid down Melissa’s cheek. How wrong this man was. Her husband most likely wouldn’t care. Anthony did not love her.

“Turn around.” She saw he’d begun to unbutton the placket of his trousers.

She felt the bile rising in her throat. “I thought you were going to drug me.”

“Later.” He pulled his erection free. “I want you alert and angry for this.”

Melissa inwardly raged.
Don’t upset him. Just get through this. Think of the baby
.

“Get down on your knees.” His tone was composed, but she heard desire in the notes.

When she was not quick enough, he forced her down. She let out a cry of pain as her knees hit the hard wooden floor.

His hands tangled viciously in her hair. “It will bring me great pleasure to have Anthony’s wife down on her knees servicing me with her mouth like a whore.”

Suddenly she was filled with such rage, such anger—she wanted this man dead. He was a monster. He deserved to die.

Through a mist of tears, she saw his discarded jacket and a small pistol that had fallen out of one of the pockets.

Could she reach it without him noticing?

The hand holding her head tight against him relaxed. She concentrated on the pistol, her other hand stretching for the jacket.

Her fingers strained along the floor, inching forward, stretching until she thought her knuckles would pop. Finally, she gripped the edge of the material.

She slowly drew it toward her, sliding the pistol across the floor, all the while keeping his attention focused on how good her mouth and hand felt on him. He groaned, and his head dropped back, his eyes closing.

She lifted the gun into her hand. She raised her eyes to look up at the monster above her. He cried out, his knees buckling under the power of his climax. He landed on all fours at eye level with her.

Melissa wiped her hand over her mouth and fought the urge to vomit.

A taunting evil smile of satisfaction and victory lit his face. “That was perfect. The bite at the end, inspirational; perhaps I won’t have to teach you much after all. The sight of a woman on her knees, my dick in her mouth, is delicious.” His smile disappeared. “Now get up on the bed.”

“No.”

“Do I need to remind you of little Mary?”

She raised the gun and pointed it directly at his chest. “Little Mary would be safer if you were dead.”

He eyed the gun warily. “A gun that size won’t kill me.”

She aimed for his groin. “Perhaps not. But it will relegate your favorite pastime to the impossible.”

On shaky legs, she stood and then froze as she heard several
footsteps racing toward the cabin. Not now, not when she was this close to escape. She bit her lip. Now what could she do? There was no way Johnson and his men would ever let her leave here alive.

The footsteps seemed to get faster the closer they got to her door. Before she could think of her next move, the door crashed open and at first Melissa thought she was dreaming.

Anthony.

Anthony and Richard stood in the doorway.

“Ah … Anthony. What bad timing. You’ve just missed your wife and I having a very pleasant interlude.”

   “Richard, keep your gun on him.” Anthony crossed to Melissa, trying to ignore Rothsay’s state of undress, the placket of his breeches hanging open, and … Taking a blanket off the bed, he draped it around her shoulders and scooped her gently into his arms. “You’re alive. Thank God.”

She touched his face. “You came for me?”

“Shh … I’ve got you.”

Before he could say more, Rufus appeared at the door.

His face gentled into a look of relief at the sight of Melissa in Anthony’s arms.

Richard urged, “We have to go—now. Rothsay may have more men working on the docks.”

Melissa cupped Anthony’s face. “The girls. You have to save the young girls. I don’t know where he has them locked up.”

Anthony gently kissed the top of her head and nodded to Richard. “We will find them. We won’t leave without them.”

The relief at seeing Melissa safe quickly became an allconsuming fury directed at the man on his knees before him. If not for Melissa in his arms, he’d have beaten Rothsay to death.

He looked at the scum before him and turned to the door. Over his shoulder he growled, “Richard, bring him.”

   Much to Rothsay’s dismay, the rescue party made it back to Anthony’s house with the freed slaves and the children.

Most of his men had either fled, been captured, or were killed in the rescue.

Rufus undid the shackles around Rothsay’s wrists and pushed him into the Craven House cellar.

Rothsay spun and in the darkness was just about to offer Rufus a taunt when the world exploded into fireworks as a shattering blow hit him in the side of the head. He crashed to the floor, too stunned to protect himself from an enraged Anthony Craven who was standing over him, fists raised.

“Don’t damage him too much. I want to see him stand trial. We have the evidence. The hold contained five white women he’d abducted off the streets,” Rufus said before closing the cellar door.

The room flooded with shadow, only a small window at the top of one wall letting in a fraction of light. Rothsay’s dizzied gaze saw the murderous silver eyes pinning him in a stare full of red-hot hatred.

“Get up, you miserable excuse for a human being,” Wickham said, his lips curving into a bitter smile. “Believe me when I say I don’t care if you ever stand trial. This is between you and me.”

He staggered to his feet, but before he could even raise his arms, Wickham punched him across the face. “This is for Melissa.”

Rothsay cursed at the thunderous blow, which was followed by a kick in the groin. He dropped to the floor, the pain taking his very breath. Usually he enjoyed pain, but delivered by a man—especially this man—it was not pleasant.

He balled up on the floor, sprawled against the door. He goaded his former friend and bitter enemy. “What? No foreplay? No wonder Melissa was grateful for my ministrations.”

“Get up,” Wickham spat out.

Rothsay realized the restraint his nemesis was using. He climbed cautiously to his feet. Wickham swung at him again, a big punch connecting under his jaw, making his head snap back.

“Defend yourself or is it that there is no one here to do your dirty work for you,” Wickham cursed.

Rothsay felt a tooth loosen. He bent, placing his hands on his knees and let the blood drip down. “I don’t think so. You’re just looking for an excuse to beat me to death.”

“Why shouldn’t I after what you have done to Melissa.”

“Did she tell you what I did to her and how much she enjoyed it?”

Rothsay watched Wickham’s eyes darken with anger, the cords in his neck jumping. He spat at Rothsay’s feet. “Enjoy! That’s why she had a gun trained on you.”

“Well, I enjoyed it anyway. Your wife’s mouth has a better use than simply talking.” The look on Anthony’s face was worth the broken nose he got from the next punch.

He looked up through the blood filling his eyes and mouth. “You don’t want this to come to trial, Anthony.” For the first time in several hours, he gave a genuine smile. “Melissa’s reputation will be ruined. Her word against mine.”

“You bastard. You kidnapped her—”

“No, I didn’t. She came willingly. Having been left by her husband and ignored for over a month, she did not need any encouragement to come play with me.” He stood up straight. “At least that’s the story the jury will hear.” He spread his hands wide. “Given the scandal already surrounding your marriage—how she tricked you into the wrong bed—I doubt the jury will believe a word your wife says.”

Rothsay didn’t even see the punch coming, and he crumpled to his knees once more. It would only take a few more hits and he’d be unconscious.