Pride and Retribution (20 page)

‘My God!’ burst from her. ‘I had no idea that making love could be so...astonishing!’ she said and smiled. ‘Or that it could be achieved in more than one position.’

‘It...’ he had to clear his throat. ‘It can be done in numerous positions and can be anything from erotic and gentle to frantic and almost painful.’ He said softly and looked at her evenly. ‘Pain can be a stimulant in some people. Markham is a prime example. He is aroused by violence and especially the sight of blood.’

‘How do you know that?’ Lucy asked her expression deadly serious.

‘Harriet Saunders.’ Wilfred admitted shrugging his shoulders as his palms smoothed over her thighs. ‘She told me everything eventually. How he likes the violence of hitting his sexual partner and the spilling of her blood is like an aphrodisiac for him.’

‘So this is all pain for her, not him?’ Lucy said calmly, although her stomach wanted to heave.

‘That’s right. He is a bully and a beast. He probably wouldn’t like the tables turned on him.’ Wilfred laughed mirthlessly, ‘he probably doesn’t have much of a threshold for his own pain.’ He reached for her shoulders and pulled her down onto his chest. He kissed her gently. ‘Most men are like me and pain and violence are strangers to us.’

‘I’m glad.’ She murmured and returned his kiss. Gradually his manhood slipped out and he rolled her over onto her side.

‘We really should get dressed.’ Wilfred said and kissed her softly again. ‘I must see your brother.’

‘Yes.’ Lucy sighed as Wilfred lurched out of bed and went for the washstand in the corner of the room. He splashed some water in the bowl, wetted the flannel and amid a lot of laughter and teasing, they both got cleaned up and eventually managed to get dressed. Lucy tried hard to smother her laughter as he scrabbled around on the carpet looking for the pins from her hair and then she sat like an angel as he brushed and dressed her hair. It didn’t cross her mind to wonder how he knew how to dress a lady’s hair.

Wilfred was patient as she tried really hard to tie his cravat the same way as his valet and in the end, in frustration, she tied a fancy bow and they laughed some more.

‘When do want the wedding?’ he asked as she stroked her hands over his jacket smoothing the wrinkles from the wool.

‘I think we should get married as soon as possible.’ She looked pointedly at the bed. ‘I don’t think I can last for months without.’ She said cryptically.

He took her in his arms with a sinful smile. ‘Now you have sampled the marriage bed, it’s nice to see you eager.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I can apply for a special licence or we can wait for the banns to be read in Dunston Bassett.’

‘How long will that take?’ she asked and looked at him with an innocent smile.

‘Three weeks.’

‘Then a special licence it is.’ She smiled broadly and kissed his cheek. ‘Now you should be off.’

He released her and she went to the door and unlocked it. ‘Until later.’ She murmured as she opened the door.

He approached and held the door in his hand. ‘Lock the door after me.’ He whispered, dropped a quick kiss on her lips and went out, pulling the door closed behind him. He stood on the landing and listened to the lock mechanism clatter as she turned the key. He sighed and set off down the hall to find Robert Hastings.

Chapter Thirteen

Ernest Deptford was seething with rage. He’d spent most of the afternoon trying to plan a way to get Lucy Hastings alone and then he’d watched Wilfred de Lacey walk into her bedroom as if he owned the place and had been reduced to listening at the keyhole, instead. He’d heard him discussing the Duke of Markham’s sex life, his mistress and his attention to Lucy Hastings. He jerked his head away from the wood and scampered back into the linen cupboard as he heard Buxton tread towards the door. He waited patiently and then he heard the lock click. He gave it a few minutes before he carefully crept back to door and listened once more.

The sounds of lovemaking were unmistakeable and Markham felt his groin twitch, before he knelt down and tried to peer through the keyhole. He couldn’t see a damned thing and it annoyed him further. Still he knew he would have her next, no matter what. She was obviously an experienced girl, so he would avail himself of her services. He smiled lasciviously as he thought of all the things he would do to her. He went back to the linen closet and keeping the door ajar, so he could see Lucy’s door, he slowly masturbated to visions of Lucy without clothes, Lucy bleeding from nearly every orifice on her body, Lucy screaming and begging as he took her without mercy again and again and again.

It seemed an eternity until he heard the tumblers in the lock turn and Buxton opened the door. He watched as Buxton waited for her to lock the door again and waited as Buxton left, sauntering down the landing.

He waited a couple of minutes and then approached the door. He tapped gently.

‘Who is it?’ came from inside.

‘It’s me, Wilfred.’ He whispered.

‘Wilfred?’ She sounded startled, but he heard the lock turning as she said, ‘I thought you were going to see my…?’ The words halted in her throat as Markham burst through the door, grabbed her around the throat and clutched her to his chest as he shut the door with his other hand. Unfortunately he couldn’t lock it as Lucy became a wriggling, heaving mass of skirts and sinews. He was astonished at the strength in her body and smiled evilly as he realised just what a beautiful bedmate she would make. He needed both hands to control her and clamped his other arm around her chest.

‘Now, now. Don’t make such a fuss.’ He murmured in her ear. ‘I only want what you’ve just given Buxton.’ He sniggered. ‘If I’d known you were a little whore I would have sampled your goods the first night. Who did you service on Monday?’

Lucy was slowly suffocating. She was astonished at the strength in Markham’s hand where it was clamped over her throat and she could feel the world slipping away.

As her struggles became weaker, Markham released her throat. ‘Oh, no you don’t!’ he said firmly, swinging her around, clamping his fist into her hair and slapping her face. Lucy moaned at the stinging blows to her cheeks. ‘Wakey, wakey. I want you awake for this.’ As Lucy opened her eyes and looked at his, her heart filled with terror. Markham brought his fist straight into her nose and the blood exploded from it, spattering the front of her gown with bright crimson droplets. Markham moaned as his manhood swelled. He looked at the blood on his fist and licked it off as if it was a cream sauce, moaning with pleasure. ‘Hastings vintage, aged perfectly for twenty two years.’ He clamped his other arm around her waist and pulled her body against his, licking the blood from her lips before he kissed her, harshly, viciously thrusting his tongue in between her
lips. She almost gagged at the coppery taste of her own blood on his tongue and her stomach actually heaved, before he withdrew his tongue and hit her again. This time he released her body to fly across the room and as she hit the chest of drawers and collapsed in a heap he strode across the room, wrenched the bedclothes back and stared at the virgin stain on the sheet. The unmistakeable mix of blood and sperm that denotes the deflowering of a maiden. ‘So you were a virgin. What a pity you wasted it on him.’ He turned back to find Lucy on her hands and knees crawling towards the door. ‘Not so fast, little missy!’ he spat and lurched across the room, yanking her up onto her feet by the hair that had tumbled down with his initial onslaught. He grabbed the bodice of her gown, his fingernails scratching her breast as he clutched at the material. With his other fist he hit her again, this time in the mouth, mashing her lips against her teeth and splitting them horribly. As her body jerked away from him, the material of her gown and chemise gave way, tearing down to her groin. As Lucy hit the door she collapsed onto the floor, trying to gather her wits and failing.

Markham was panting all of a sudden, as her flesh was revealed his heart pounded and he dashed to her. Literally grabbing the torn edges of her gown in his fists he heaved her onto her knees. ‘My God! You are absolutely perfect.’ He whispered in awe. Slowly he stroked his hand over her cheek and then smeared the blood from his palm over both of her breasts. She quivered in disgust and sobbed softly. ‘Delectable.’ He
murmured and yanked her to her feet again before clamping both her hands in one of his hands behind her back. She had a sudden recollection of Wilfred doing the same thing, but the emotional connotations were entirely different now. Gone was the desire and in its place was fear and pain. She looked in his eyes and was convinced she had just looked into hell through the devil’s eyes. She shuddered in horror at what he might do as Markham slowly engulfed first one and then the other breast in his mouth, slowly sucking and licking the blood from her skin. ‘Beautiful.’ He murmured again and suddenly he was fiddling with the buttons on his britches. ‘I think you should give me a gift.’ He said as Lucy frantically shook her head, tried to lift her knee into his groin and jerk herself out of his hands. He caught her knee on his thigh and smiled again. She didn’t see the fist coming before it landed on her cheek bone and again he released her to fly across the room. This time she sprawled across the dressing table, knocking the usual paraphernalia off onto the floor, smashing bottles and glass. Markham was upon her like a wolf, opening the rent in her dress wider and feasting on her blood smeared flesh as his lips worked their way down her body.

Suddenly the door opened ‘I say Lucy! Are you still in…?’ The words dried up in Timothy’s throat as he took in the scene before him, including his sister’s bleeding face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing with my sister?’ He bellowed. Fifteen he might have been, but still man enough to have a go. He strode
across the room and grabbed Markham by the shoulder, but Markham was ready and landed a beautifully timed upper cut to Timothy’s chin, lifting him on his toes, before Timothy slumped to the carpet. At that precise moment Lucy let out the most piercing scream Markham had ever heard. It deafened his right ear immediately and made him shudder. Cutting his losses, the Duke of Markham made it out of the room and into the linen cupboard before anyone else appeared on the scene.

*****

Wilfred de Lacey and Robert Hastings had just sat down when there was an almighty bang from upstairs. Robert sniggered. ‘I take it Lucy wasn’t happy with you?’

‘I can’t imagine why she would be upset.’ Wilfred said and sipped his brandy, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘She always throws things around when she’s angry.’ Robert said as another large bang sounded.

Wilfred looked up. ‘She wasn’t angry when I left her a few minutes ago.’ He murmured. There was another almighty bang followed by the unmistakeable shattering of glass.

‘What the devil is she doing up there?’ Robert snapped out and lurched to his feet. ‘I will not tolerate
this much dissension in my household!’ Throwing open his door, Robert marched off to the stairs followed closely by Wilfred and they had just reached the hallway as they heard Lucy scream.

‘Oh God!’ burst from Robert’s throat as the two men took the stairs three at a time and literally ran down the landing in the family wing. The sight that greeted them at Lucy’s door was nothing short of shocking. Lucy, her dress torn, was covered in blood and was kneeling down cradling an unconscious Timothy in her arms. She was rocking him like a mother and was crying uncontrollably.

Egerton appeared behind them, inhaling sharply. Robert turned his head, and said ‘Fetch my mother, please?’

Wilfred strode across the room, ripped a cover from the bed and draped it about Lucy’s shoulders. Robert gently removed Timothy from her arms to check on his condition as Wilfred lifted Lucy into his arms and sat on the bed, enfolding her in his embrace and whispering in her hair.

Robert went to the wash stand and noted the soapy water. He dipped the flannel directly into the water ewer and slopped it down on his brother’s forehead. ‘Tim, come on wake up.’ He said firmly as the wet flannel traversed his face. Timothy moaned and fluttered his eyelids a few times and then suddenly he was awake.

‘Lucy!’ he blurted and tried to force himself up. Robert held him down with ease.

‘What happened?’ Robert asked softly.

‘I could hear her banging about, as usual.’ Timothy said shock apparent in every sinew in his body. His face was ashen too. ‘I came to talk to her, as usual, but when I opened the door, Markham had her pinned to the dressing table and was kissing her stomach!’ He sounded exceptionally affronted. ‘I strode over to ask him what he was doing and he hit me.’ He shook his head, ‘and then I don’t remember anything after that.’ He finished sheepishly. ‘Is she alright?’

‘What were you going to do to Markham?’ Robert asked softly.

‘I don’t know. Pull him off her first, I suppose.’ He frowned sadly. ‘I didn’t really think about what I would do, only that I needed to stop him from hurting her.’

‘How did you know he was hurting her?’ Robert asked.

‘Because she was covered in blood!’ Timothy said indignantly. ‘I can assure you I know the difference between seduction and rape!’

‘Of course.’ Robert said placatingly. ‘I didn’t doubt your judgement, I was just asking for you to clarify it.’ He knew the chances that Timothy was still a virgin were remote; he was at Eton, after all. He would have been tupped silly in his first year, just like he had been. More than one lusty wench from the local tavern had trained Robert in the art of intercourse.

He wandered over to
the bed and his heart stopped as he saw the stain on the sheets. ‘Did he violate you?’ he demanded harshly as rage built in his blood. He looked down at Lucy and her eyes were filled with terror and maybe remorse. She shook her head. ‘Then how do you account for the virgin stain on your sheets?’ he almost shouted as his hand swept up to point at the pink stain still visible.

‘That would be my fault.’ Wilfred said softly. ‘I told you I wouldn’t be able to resist her for long.’ He gently kissed Lucy’s forehead. ‘We finished making love and I came straight to tell you that she had accepted my hand.’ He looked her in the eye and stroked his fingers over her undamaged cheek. ‘Are you sure he didn’t violate you?’

‘I am. Don’t you believe me?’ He watched the tears well over her eyelashes. ‘He was too busy trying to spill my blood for anything else; although if Tim hadn’t arrived just then, I’m sure he was going to start.’

Evelyn arrived with two maids, a footman with a bath and a troupe of footmen lugging the water.

‘I want everyone out. Robert, will you see to Timothy please and we will see to Lucy.’ And like that she swept everyone from the room. Wilfred sat Lucy on the bed, kissed her forehead again, gently squeezed her hand and left, stopping at the door to look back at her one last time.

Evelyn could see the heartache and the rage in him.  ‘Wilfred?’ Evelyn spoke quietly, but with authority. ‘Have you asked for her hand?’ Wilfred nodded. ‘Has she accepted?’ He nodded again. ‘Good. Then I don’t want you to do anything stupid. Leave Markham alone.
He will be taken care of eventually. I don’t want anyone here dying in a duel.’ She looked at him fiercely. ‘Do I make myself understood?’ He nodded and gave Lucy one last look then closed the door carefully. ‘Men! Such stupid creatures at times.’ She muttered as she turned and helped Lucy out of the tattered remnants of her gown. ‘You are going to be sore for a few days.’ Evelyn said as she and Betsy helped Lucy into the hot bath. She turned to the other maid. ‘I will need some of that healing ointment the old Earl had and some witch hazel embrocation for the bruising. Evelyn slowly soaped the flannel and softly stroked it over Lucy’s shoulders and back, as she sat with her arms wrapped around her knees and sobbed in distress. ‘Can you strip the bed, please, Betsy?’ She asked.

As Betsy
left the room to fetch fresh linens, Evelyn whispered. ‘Don’t you worry about the Duke of Markham,’ she smiled as Lucy lifted her eyes. ‘He’s going to pay dearly for touching my daughter.’ Evelyn kissed her gently on the temple. ‘Shall we wash your hair?’

Lucy was washed from head to foot. Her abrasions were treated with an ointme
nt that stung, before it numbed and Witch Hazel was rubbed into the darkening patches on her body. She was given a drink of brandy with a little laudanum in, dressed in her plainest nightgown and tucked firmly into bed. As she drifted off to sleep, she heard her mother say ‘Don’t leave her unattended for any reason. Not until that blackguard Markham has left the estate!’

*****

Robert paced his study. Wilfred sat before the fire with a brandy and opposite him, Timothy sat nursing his head.