Sylvie Sommerfield - Noah's Woman (5 page)

Charity could only stand there stunned as Charles removed them from the box and walked behind her to drape the pearls around her throat. Her scent made his hands tremble. Patience, he cautioned himself . . . patience.

"There. That accents the gown and your loveliness perfectly. Now, we must hurry. The first act will begin in less than an hour."

They left the house and entered Charles's carriage. Charity had only traveled in it once before, on the trip from the orphanage. This luxury was a delight to her, but she forgot it in her wonder at the theater itself. Ladies glittered and gentlemen stood proud . . . and Charles watched Charity. He saw her eyes glow and her smile brighten, and hoped he was awakening a desire for this kind of life in her.

Charity was so excited she felt as if she were a weightless bubble floating on a dream. She sat enchanted throughout the first two acts, and accepted another new thing at intermissionchampagne.

Charles had already poured her third glass before they went in to see the final act.

Charity had adapted like a chameleon, and if he hadn't known of her dubious ancestry, Charles would have labeled her a lady of culture. Never was he more satisfied than now that she would fit into his plans admirably.

Still a bit giddy from the champagne, Charity was awed by the way Charles was treated by the maitre d' at the restaurant. The table they were given was situated in a small alcove where they were a bit secluded from the rest of the diners.

Charles ordered for them both, and Charity had never tasted such exquisite food before. She hardly noticed that Charles kept her wineglass filled and continually urged her to taste.

By the time they left the restaurant, Charity was relaxed, content, and totally without armament against Charles's plans.

She chattered on the ride home, reliving the pleasures of fine food and excellent entertainment. When they reached the house, Charles dismissed his driver, who drove away grim-faced and cold-eyed. If Charity didn't know what Charles was about, the driver did. But it was beyond his power to stop it. He had already experienced the power of Charles's anger.

Charity stumbled up the steps, and Charles had to put his arm about her to keep her from falling. His arm remained there.

Charity looked at a swirling world and was grateful for Charles's arm. She would have to remember to thank him in the morning for an evening she would never forget. For this moment she had to concentrate on walking.

They were inside her room, her cloak was gone, and Charles had removed her shoes and stockings before a vague warning tried to force its way into her mind. She seemed to be watching Charles from a distance, as if what he was doing had no effect on her at all. He had taken off his jacket and vest, but still this seemed of little import to her. She was dizzy and really wanted nothing more than to go to bed.

Charles sat down on the edge of the bed beside Charity and reached up to gently take the pins from

her hair, letting it cascade about her like a waterfall of sunbeams and moonlight.

Slowly he moved his hand to the back of her gown, where deft and experienced fingers untied the laces. Charity was in a semi-stupor, and when he drew her slowly to her feet the gown slid to the floor with a whisper and lay around her feet like a pool of molten gold.

Charles gazed at her with rapt fascination. Desire coursed through him like a flame. That she was helpless and vulnerable made little difference to him. He wanted her.

Dressed only in a chemise and one petticoat, Charity was the vision Charles had held in his mind all the long nights he had planned this.

But his relentless dreams and hot desire were to prove his own undoing, for he could not retain the control he'd had. He drew her into his arms, one arm about her waist and the other hand in her hair. Then he took her mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss that tore the curtain of unreality away from Charity's mind.

She felt the heated moistness of his mouth as he forced hers open. She felt his body crushing hers against its length and felt the fierce heat and strong hold with which he imprisoned her. Reality was like an icy shower. He was in her room and she was almost completely naked. She began to struggle.

But he had the advantage. She had half his strength and he held her in a strong grip she could hardly break.

Charles knew his advantage well, and he forced her

backward and off balance until both of them tumbled to the bed.

Charity began to do battle in earnest. She would have been ineffectual as a mouse in the paws of a lion, had she not drawn her knees up reflexively and connected with Charles's groin.

She heard him gasp in agony, and his hold loosened. She pushed him enough to roll herself away and fairly leapt from the bed. She turned to see him lying on the bed, his face contorted with pain and both hands grasping his groin. She did not care what damage she might have done; she could think only of escape.

She raced for the door and jerked it open, then she ran down the hall to the back stairs. She needed safety, and since there was no one in the house except Mrs. Brentwood and Beth, she ran for Beth's room. She could not face Jessica with such a story. Perhaps Jessica would not even believe her. Then she would be put out on the street. Where could she go?

Beth's door was locked, and Charity pounded on it several minutes before a wide-eyed and frightened Beth opened it. Charity almost fell into the room.

"Charity! My God, what has happened to you?"

"He . . . he tried . . . oh Beth, I was a fool to do this. He"

"Where is he?" Beth said firmly. So firmly in fact that Charity was surprised.

"In . . . in my room. Oh, Beth."

"Let me lock the door. No one will harm you. I'll get you a robe, and then you must tell me what happened."

When Charity sat huddled on Beth's bed, dressed in one of her robes, she tried to calm herself. But she still trembled and her teeth chattered.

Berating herself for being all kinds of a fool, she related the story to Beth, who sat and listened without interrupting.

"You were drunk?" Beth said in awe.

"Yes, oh, what a gullible fool I was. I didn't realize . . . I was having so much fun, and I drank champagne and wine . . . and"

"What are you going to do? Are you going to go to Mrs. Brentwood and accuse"

"No, I can't do that. She's so kind, and what if she doesn't believe me?"

"Then what?"

"I don't know, but I've got to leave here."

"Where would we go?"

"I don't know, I don't care. I only know that if I don't leave there might come a day . . . or a night when I can't fight him off. I have no defenses; one day he will succeed. I don't think I can live with that. I would kill myself before I became a toy he could play with and discard when the whim struck him." She paused and gazed at Beth in the pale moonlight. Another terrible thought had come to her. "And after he tired of me . . . there would be you. Beth, he is unscrupulous. Perhaps . . . he might even decide he wants us both."

"Oh, he is an evil man," Beth said angrily. "And everyone believes he is so kind and good. Charity, what if we were to go back to Josine?"

"That would be the first place he'd look. And what

story would he tell her, that we had stolen or . . . or that we were promiscuous?"

"Then we must run."

"But we have no money."

"I have saved a few coins and I know you have too. We will make them last until we find a position somewhere. We'll be all right as long as we stick together."

"I thought I was the strong one," Charity laughed, "but it seems you are."

"No, I'm not. I just can't see you giving yourself to that man so we can have the safety of his roof over our heads and his food in our bellies. Teaching us a profession," Beth spat angrily. "You can see what kind of profession he was trying to teach us. I'll gather some things and you"

"What if he is still in my room, waiting for me to return?"

"We'll go together. He can't handle two of us."

Cautiously they gathered a bundle of Beth's clothes and the few coins she had. Then they made their way to Charity's room, which they found empty. Charity's first act was one of anger as she grasped the gold gown that still lay on the floor and tore it to shreds.

Then she, too, gathered a bundle of clothes and the two girls escaped the house through the back door.

In Charles's study he sat, one hand holding his offended groin as it throbbed with pain, while he tossed down several swigs of whiskey. Grim and angry determination filled him. He would have Charity Gilbert if he had to beat her into submission. Tonight was hers, but there was always tomorrow. There were

many ways to tame a girl of Charity's spirit, and he would not hesitate to use whatever means he needed.

The streets were not the refuge Beth and Charity had envisioned. Because they knew Charles might be looking for them, they sought out the more unsavory parts of the city. Fear kept them moving, and as the days passed their inexperience began to show. Within a week their coins had dwindled to nearly nothing, even though they tried to be frugal.

Another week found them penniless. They sold what clothes they had carried along, but this money, too, was soon gone.

Unable to pay for shelter, they found themselves growing more frightened, dirtier, and hungrier every day.

They protected each other as best they could, one staying awake while the other made use of a darkened doorway to find a little sleep.

They ran from every bobby they saw, sure that Charles had set them on their trail. Often they fought off or ran from the advances of unsavory men looking for an accommodating whore, or others they knew would sell them into a kind of slavery they could imagine only in their nightmares.

The horror their lives had become steadily grew worse. Both prayed, both often cried themselves to exhausted sleep, and both tried to hold at bay the inevitable fear that, to survive, they must succumb and earn money in the most degrading way.

The choice was taken from their hands one evening, an evening of misty fog and slight rain.

They had both been pursued by a man known only as Shylock. He had promised them they could make money under his expert guidance. He would find the men; all they would have to do was to give them an hour or so of entertainment.

They were cornered in an alleyway this night and Shylock was using the kind of persuasion of which he was a master.

''There's nothing to it," he said, grinning amiably. "I've never seen a girl die of it yet." This lie was one neither Charity nor Beth recognized. "You girls are both hungry, and you sure as hell need some clothes and a place to sleep. How would you like a hot bath and a good meal? I can provide both. You're both a lot prettier than most of the girls that work this area. With my help you could make more money than I bet either of you have ever seen. Come on . . . trust me, it's easy."

Charity gulped heavily. She was so hungry and so tired that she had even begun to think of crawling back to Charles and begging to be forgiven.

Beth, too, was a bit dazed from hunger and deprivation, and Shylock knew this well. Had he not recruited his girls from just such innocents as this a million times before? He took a step closer, and then all three were shocked by the coldness of the voice that came out of the mist.

"Shylock, you bastard, I thought I told you never to come near the Round again."

Both Charity and Beth were stunned to see the effect this voice had on Shylock, who seemed to shrink as he turned to face it. What shocked Charity and

Beth was the slim, beautiful woman who stepped from the mist. She was accompanied by two men of monstrous proportions, and in her hand a slender, long-bladed knife glistened in the half-light.

"Amiee," Shylock gasped. "I wasn't doin' nuthin. I was just passing through, and these two pretty things looked like they needed help."

"No woman alive needs your kind of help, Shylock." Her voice was like the blade she held, cold and cruel and efficient. "I don't know whether to kill you here or just let my friends break every bone in your scrawny body."

"Now, Amiee, come on," Shylock whined. "I didn't do no harm."

"This is your last chance. I catch you on my street again and they'll find parts of your body all over London. Go away, Shylock, far away."

Shylock was gone almost before the words were out of her mouth, and Charity and Beth gazed with awe as the woman called Amiee threw back her head and laughed.

Chapter Three

"Who . . . who are you?" Beth managed to stammer. She spoke to Amiee, but her eyes were glued to the two massive figures at her side. Beth looked as if she were certain she was about to be murdered at any second.

"My name is Amiee, as you heard from our friend. But that is not the question. The question is, what are you two doing here? You look like a couple of stray kittens, and dirty ones at that. Just where did you come from?"

"We're . . . we're lost," Charity said.

Amiee laughed again. "There's no question about that. Where are you lost from?"

Beth and Charity exchanged looks. Charity gathered her frayed courage and stood rigid, her eyes

meeting Amiee's. "If you'll just let us pass, we'll be all right. We'll find our way home."

Amiee looked at Charity with a glitter of amusement in her eyes. "Likely you'll find your way to some other scoundrel like Shylock, and in no time you'll be bedding every poxy sailor from here to China." Amiee was pleased to see a tremor go through Charity. She watched as Charity's back stiffened and her chin lifted proudly.

"You'll never see that."

"You have no idea how close you came." Amiee drew a little closer to the two and the monoliths followed, eliciting a squeak of fear from Beth. "You don't belong here. You're running away, aren't you? Two little lambs loose among the wolves. For a shilling I'd leave you both here."

"We . . . we haven't asked for help. We'll get along just fine," Charity replied obstinately, but her quivering voice belied her words.

"Of course you will." Amiee laughed again, knowing full well that Charity's answer was sheer bravado. "Are you hungry?"