Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (27 page)

“Shall I show you who is really
master?  You spread your legs willingly enough earlier.  Now it’s
time to play some more.”

Alexandra held her breath.  What had
she happened upon?

“Ow!  M’lord your ‘urtin me.” 
The female voice, etched with pain and sexual undertone lingered in the quiet
air of the orangery.  “Not so rough.”

Two bodies scuffled in the dark. 
Alexandra moved back from the bench, sliding herself along the wall.  Her
foot nudged a clay pot.  Alexandra stood still.  Shaking, she lifted
her foot over the clay pot.

The sound of a riding crop cracked through
the air.

Alexandra halted.  A riding
crop?  Why would -

“Please, sir.  I’ll be a good
girl.  Ye don’t have to hit me so hard.  I’ll do whatever ye wish,”
the female voice sobbed.

The bushes directly in front of Alexandra
shook, parting to allow her a glimpse of the two bodies, moving together. 
The figures of a man and woman shone with the light of the moon.  The
woman’s gown sagged down around her waist, exposing her breasts.  The man
behind her had one hand on the woman’s back and her skirts clutched in his
hands.  The woman’s buttocks appeared ghostly against the dark of the
orangery.   

Alexandra heard a whistle then a snap of
leather against flesh.

The woman jerked. 

Alexandra pushed her fist against her
mouth to keep from screaming.  The man thrust his body forward in an
urgent manner. “Who is your master?”  The man commanded the woman, his
voice laced with lust.  But even lust could not disguise that voice.

Bile rose in Alexandra’s throat. 

“Who?” The crop came down.

The woman moaned and jerked.

Alexandra flinched as the crop made
contact with the woman.  Her body collided with a clay pot.  The
pottery shattered on the stone floor. 

The woman lifted her head.  Her
eyes, dull and heavy-lidded from pain or lust, stared at Alexandra.

Mr. Runyon followed the woman’s
stare.  He stopped thrusting. 

His breathing came out in gasps.  He
leered at Alexandra, white teeth reflecting the light of the moon. His eyes
never left Alexandra’s face as he moved his hips into the woman, grunting
softly.

“Care to join us my sweet? Archie can
please more than one, can’t I?” He pushed into the woman and brought the crop
back down on her buttocks.

Alexandra ran.

She fled as if the very devil himself
were chasing her.  The image of what Mr. Runyon did to that woman repeated
in her mind.  Her skirt caught in the doorway and she jerked it free, not
caring as the fabric tore.

Wildly, she looked around.  Was this
the way she had come?   Then where was Zander?  Frightened, she
turned, hearing a man’s steps on the walkway leading out of the orangery. 
He is coming after me.

She ran down the hallway, desperately
searching for a servant, another lost guest or even the door to the
terrace.  Bile rose in her throat, halting her progress.  She slowed
and pressed herself against the wall, panting and wheezing, unable to catch her
breath. A wave of dizziness stuck her and her head lolled back. 

“Alexandra?”  The silken tones
echoed in the hallway.    “Where are you hiding my pet?  My
perfect pigeon? Shall we play hide and seek? I adore hide and seek.  If I
find you though,” his voice roughened, “you will pay a forfeit.”

Alexandra looked back the way she had
come.  Nothing moved.  Ripples of fear coursed through her.  Mr.
Runyon hunted her.  

A heel squeaked across the floor. 
”Silly girl.  Are you jealous?  There’s no reason to be envious,
darling.  She is just a servant, while you –“ his words belied an
evil intent, “are to be my wife. My…property.”

 Alexandra’s heart raced.  The
hallway tilted.  Sconces dotted the paneling of the walls but gave off
little light. The strains of music from the orchestra could be heard, but were
muted.  The last time she had gotten lost during a ball she met Sutton
Reynolds.  Hysterical laughter bubbled out of Alexandra’s mouth.  The
outcome tonight would be very different indeed. 

“This is becoming tiresome,
Alexandra.  Your jealous fit bores me.  Stop hiding. I am a man after
all, and I have my needs.  Needs I am longing for
you
to fulfill.”

  The sound of the riding crop
slapping against his leg jolted Alexandra out of her immobility.  Her gaze
swung down the dark hallway, trying to discern a door, a window,
anything.  Her ears perked up.  She could swear she heard the creak
of a chair in the silence.  Someone was down this hall.  She could
run, she could -

“Alexandra,
sweet
!”  The crop
snapped from behind her. “Do not make me drag you back into the ballroom. 
Do you like being forced, Alexandra?”  Mr. Runyon’s brittle laughter rang
in Alexandra’s ears.   “Do we need to take a turn around the orangery
so that you may regain your…balance?  You are most un-balanced,
Alexandra.  Pigeon.  Sometimes, you even rave nonsense at me. 
Everyone knows your nerves are…delicate. I’ve made sure.”

He was insane. 
Oh God, I have to
get away from him
.  Grabbing her skirts, she dashed across the marble
floor, her slippers not making a sound.  Her head ached terribly, the
dizziness came at her in waves. Her right foot caught on the torn part of her
skirt and she faltered.  Her foot skidded across the polished marble, her
knee slamming into the floor.  She sprawled, stunned. The cold marble
pressed into her cheek. She tried to keep still, hoping he would think she
fainted.

A shadow loomed over her prostate form.
“Really, my pet, do you think I would let you get away?  You are bought
and paid for.  Like the breeding stock you no doubt loved while you played
farmer at Hermsbut Alley.”  He deliberately mangled her beloved home’s
name. 

“Helmsby Abbey.”  A gasping sob
escaped her throat.  She sounded like a wounded animal.  The hallway
tilted again.   

“Oh, yes.  That was the name. 
A dreadful hovel, peopled with ancient servants who should have been sent out
to pasture long ago.  Come, let me help you up.”  His words dripped
with false solicitousness.   “How you long for your home. 
Hopefully, you will see it again. Hopefully, your servants won’t starve. 
There are no guarantees, of course.”

“You-” Alexandra choked out, tears of
shock running down her cheeks. “You said you would buy it for me.  You
said –“

“That’s right, pigeon.  I did
promise it as a wedding gift.  A
wedding
gift.”

A scorching pain seared through
Alexandra’s chest.   “You cannot possibly believe I would still agree
to marry you.  You are depraved, you –“ She whispered into the
marble floor.  She wished to be dead.   

“Yes, you will.  We’ve been
betrothed for weeks now and money has exchanged hands.  Lots and lots of
money.  Your uncle is a terrible faro player.  It’s simple really.”

Alexandra clawed at the marble, trying to
move herself away from him. 

Mr. Runyon slid one foot onto the train
of her dress, pinning her to the floor.

“Lord!  You look like an inchworm,
my dear Alexandra.  As I was saying, your uncle owes me quite a bit of
money, but I promised to forgive it all in return for
you
.”  

At her horrified gasp he continued. 
“I thought you worth far more than what he owed, pigeon.  Your uncle
simply doesn’t value you.”

Dawning comprehension settled over
her.  She had never been free. Odious Oliver had sold her like a prize
mare to pay off his debts.  Her plan to wait him out had been in
vain.  Her betrothal had been decided before she ever arrived in
London.   Odious Oliver
gambled
her
away
? 

“I told your uncle I would purchase
Helmsby Abbey from him as a gift to my betrothed.  But if you don’t
marry
me, your uncle will not only be homeless, which I realize you could care less
about, but your retainers at that estate as well.  I shall throw them out
into the streets and make beggars of them all.  I shall burn that pile of
manure to the ground while you watch.” 

Her vision dimmed as if she were looking
down a tunnel.  Tiny pinpricks of light flashed before her. “Why would you
do this to me?”

“Because I can. I’ve paid for the
privilege.” Hands, gloved in the finest leather, wrapped around her wrists. 
Mr. Runyon reached and pulled her upright so hard her arms were nearly pulled
from their sockets.  Ice blue shards of glass watched her
dispassionately.  His handsome face contorted into a menacing mask. 
The monster before her in no way resembled the gentle man who once paid her
court.   The pressure on her wrists intensified.  “My dear,
sweet, clumsy little
whore
.” 

Alexandra flinched.  She thrashed,
causing her head to ache as she sought to free herself.

Mr. Runyon sighed in disgust.  “Just
stop it.”  He shook her and her head snapped back.  “You are behaving
like a child.  You will learn to enjoy the things we do together, the
things you will do with my friends.  Lord Atkins is looking forward to
furthering his acquaintance with you.”

“No!  You are sick. 
Disgusting. What you did to that woman--”

“Was only what she wished.  I’ll
admit Mary isn’t as fond of the crop as I would like but...”

“Please,” she begged. 

He gave her a rueful smile.  “You
and I are going to have such
fun
together.”  Grabbing both her
wrists in one hand, he reached out with the other. The gloved hand lingered
over the mounds of her breasts, squeezing them as if he tested their
ripeness.  “Lovely and tender like an unblemished peach.”  His thumb
rubbed against her left nipple, slowly.

Horrified, Alexandra felt her nipple
harden into a point under the gentle urging.

Mr. Runyon chuckled, a nasty, rasping
sound.  “See?  Whore.” Abruptly he pinched the nipple.

Alexandra shuddered in pain. 

Lord Runyon licked his lips.  “Oh,
yes.  Such
fun
we will have.”

Ashamed and more frightened than she had
ever been in her life, Alexandra began to weep.  She continued to struggle
ineffectually against him, nausea and dizziness nearly overwhelming her.

Mr. Runyon swung her around like a child.
 “Alexandra, I fear all this defiance on your part has done nothing but
whet my appetite.  I think we must find a quiet parlor before returning to
the ballroom.”

“No!  I shall scream!” 
Alexandra stuttered between sobs.

“Then I shall gag you.”  He shook her. 
“You need to learn-“ 

“Hello, Archie.  Am I interrupting
something?”

Lord Reynolds, his tall form barely more
than a shadow, stood in the hallway before them. 

Mr. Runyon stopped swinging her.  He
thrust her behind him, still holding her wrists in a bruising hold.

“Bugger off, Cam.” He sneered to Lord
Reynolds. “My future wife and I are having a private discussion that is no
concern of yours.” 

Lord Reynolds took in Alexandra’s wrists,
bound by Mr. Runyon’s hands.   His gaze lingered on her face, before
turning to Mr. Runyon.  “Private discussion or not, betrothed or not, no
woman is to be abused under my roof.  Let her go.”

“You have no say, Cam! I –“

“Mary is missing.  Have you seen
Mary?  Plump lass who takes care of things in the family’s wing?”

The image of the woman in the orangery
flashed through Alexandra’s mind.  Mary, no doubt.

Mr. Runyon’s grip on Alexandra
tightened.  One slender hand reached around and caressed Alexandra’s face,
the fingers tapping along her cheek.  He viciously grabbed her chin,
forcing her to look at Lord Reynolds. “A maid’s disappearance?  Why should
I care about the disappearance of some lowly servant when I hold my perfect
Hampshire rose?  Lovely, isn’t she, Cam?”

Alexandra closed her eyes against
Sutton’s penetrating stare.  What must he think of her?  His
beautiful face was carefully blank, devoid of any feeling.  Deep wrenching
shame and self-recrimination flooded through her.  Her stupidity had cost
her the affection of the man before her.  She disgusted him.  Alexandra
sobbed quietly.

“Miss Dunforth.” Lord Reynolds addressed
her but did not look at her.  “Your dress appears to have a slight tear in
it.  Down the hall there is a small parlor where my sister is attending my
grandmother.  I will escort you there and call for a maid to repair your
gown. “

“I don’t think so, Cam.  I will
escort my betrothed to the Ladies Necessary Room, where she can be waited on by
her maid, Tilda.   I can’t bear for Alexandra to leave my side. We
are announcing our betrothal tonight.”  Archie sneered at him.

A slight tic appeared in Sutton’s
cheek.  He cocked an indulgent smile.  “I don’t think so,
Archie.  Miss Dunforth will sit in the parlor with my sister and the
Dowager.” 

Mr. Runyon sputtered.  The dark vein
in his temple bulged. The blue gaze settled on Sutton maliciously. “You can’t
have her.  I’ve seen the way you look at her.”