[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North (3 page)

The scoundrel!
Grace thought, trying her best to refrain from giving any outward appearance of contempt.

‘‘Mr. Paxton,’’ she murmured, waiting while he kissed the top of her hand.

Involuntarily, she began to tremble. There was something about this man that exuded distrust and . . . evil. He smelled of it—if that were possible.

Grace attempted to pull her hand away, but he held it fast. The action caused her to meet his gaze, and she discovered an inkling of evidence for the power he held over her father. As he narrowed his emerald eyes, Grace couldn’t help but feel drawn into his spell. He was handsome in a rather ruthless fashion, and his confidence made clear that his affections were seldom rejected.

Grace wanted to run away from this man as quickly as her gown would allow, but of course, she could not. To put up any kind of protest would signal to the guests, just now assembling in the drawing room to their right, that all was not as it seemed.

As if reading her apprehension, Paxton smiled. He knew how he was making her feel, yet he continued to do everything in his power to keep her feeling as she was. He was, she believed, reveling in her discomfort.

Grace looked to her father for help, then realized he was a poor source. Her father was already wiping great beads of sweat from his brow. The poor man looked terrified of Martin Paxton.

‘‘I believe we should attend to our guests, Father,’’ Grace said in as calm a tone as she could muster.

‘‘Yes. Ah . . . yes. Of course . . . ah . . . you are right,’’ her father fairly stammered, looking to Paxton as if for permission to move.

‘‘Yes, we wouldn’t want to delay in announcing our engagement, now, would we?’’ he questioned, leaning close to reach Grace’s ears alone.

He spoke in such a way that his very words seemed almost threatening. Grace was beginning to weary of his manhandling of her father and of herself. Pulling away with great dignity, Grace tilted her chin enough to give the sensation of looking down her nose at Paxton.

‘‘I believe, Mr. Paxton, it would be unseemly for you to escort me prior to the announcement of our engagement. In my father’s house, he alone would have the right to escort his unmarried daughter.’’

Paxton straightened and gave her a rather cruel smile. ‘‘But of course, we wouldn’t want to displace the rules of society.’’

Grace gave him a curt nod and turned to her father. His face had reddened considerably at her suggestion, but seeing that Paxton was unwilling for a scene, Hawkins quickly took hold of his daughter’s arm.

‘‘Shall we join our guests?’’ he asked.

Grace gave his arm a gentle pat. She wanted to reassure him that she could make peace with his decision, but in truth, she wasn’t at all sure that it was possible. She knew the Bible commanded her to honor her father, but this wish—this command to marry Martin Paxton—was almost more than she could consider.

‘‘Yes, let us join Mother and the others,’’ she finally replied, entwining her arm around his.

They entered her mother’s favorite drawing room, with Paxton close behind them. Grace allowed her father to circulate her through their many guests, while Paxton remained near the door. She prayed he might think better of the evening and escape before making her the object of his intentions.

‘‘Why, Grace, you are positively glowing. Love will do that for a woman,’’ a jovial Mrs. Bryant announced. Mrs. Bryant had been her mother’s best and worst friend for some thirty years. Best—because the two had known each other since childhood and had endured many of life’s trials and joys together. Worst—because the two women seemed to constantly be in battle to rival the other.

‘‘Mrs. Bryant, it is good of you to come,’’ Grace replied formally.

She completed the remaining introductions with the same patience one might need to endure a physical examination. It was a necessary yet troublesome event. One to be tolerated but certainly not enjoyed.

Grace remained at her mother’s side after the introductions while her father stood nervously twisting his pocket watch chain. He was working up his nerve to announce the engagement, and had Grace not been angry with him for his lack of consideration, she might have felt sorry for him. But one glance across the room at Martin Paxton, and Grace felt anything but sorry. How could her father do this? How could he simply give her over to a stranger she did not love?

‘‘My dear ladies and gentleman,’’ Frederick Hawkins began, ‘‘we have—that is, Mrs. Hawkins and I—have invited you here this evening to share in a very important occasion.’’

He held the attention of every person in the room. Every person, with exception to Martin Paxton and Grace. Paxton had fixed his gaze on Grace and his piercing green eyes bore into her own. She felt undressed by his cool appraisal and reached up to tightly clench the wrap to her neck. He gave her a tight-lipped smile from beneath his pencil-thin mustache. He appeared amused and quite pleased with the knowledge that he’d unnerved her.

‘‘And so we happily announce,’’ her father continued, ‘‘the engagement of our daughter, Grace Hawkins, to Mr. Martin Paxton of Erie, Pennsylvania.’’

The looks of the assemblage passed from Frederick Hawkins to Martin Paxton, almost completely excluding Grace. She felt rather insignificant for the moment, though she hadn’t long to suffer in that state.

Paxton gave a stiff, formal bow to the guests before crossing the room to join Grace. ‘‘I am quite honored to make the acquaintance of this dear family’s friends. I have long sought the hand of my bride and will know great pleasure in your attendance at our wedding.’’

‘‘When is that day to be?’’ Mrs. Bryant questioned, her exuberance extending beyond the proprieties.

On an occasion such as this, Grace knew it was an acceptable faux pas. She could have predicted such a question. What she could not possibly have anticipated, however, was Martin Paxton’s response.

‘‘Because there has long existed an informal agreement between families, I am certain we will marry without delay.’’

It took every ounce of willpower to keep Grace from pushing Paxton away. She held her tongue, controlled her expression, and refrained from balling her hand into a fist and putting it aside Paxton’s Romanesque nose.

‘‘Surely you do not mean to marry before the end of the summer?’’ Mrs. Bryant questioned, rather aghast.

Grace’s mother laughed nervously. ‘‘Of course not.’’

Paxton threw her a glance that might have completely wilted a woman of more delicate constitution. Myrtle Hawkins, however, stood her ground.

‘‘We’ve not arranged for dates and places,’’ she said, smiling. ‘‘We want to enjoy the moment of this intimate announcement among friends. Come, enjoy some refreshments and perhaps we can convince Grace to perform for us.’’

‘‘Oh yes, do,’’ several women said in unison.

Grace felt Paxton tighten his hold on her arm. He probably knew nothing of her singing or playing of the piano and harp. He probably had no idea of her education or fluency in French and German. Looking up at the man who was to be her husband, Grace realized with great apprehension that this man knew nothing at all about her.

Grace sat down to the piano and began a rather melancholy sonata. Always one of her favorites, Beethoven’s ‘‘Moonlight Sonata’’ stirred her in a way that she could scarce put into words. The progression of the chords, the melodic appeal of the haunting tune . . . it was something that reached deep into her soul.

Looking up only once, Grace found Paxton watching her with an unveiled expression. She could only equate the look to one of hatred, and yet he had no reason to hate her. She had not forced herself upon him.

As the last notes died down and the audience applauded her efforts, Grace got to her feet and gave a brief curtsy. Paxton was immediately at her side, offering his arm, along with a look that suggested she make no move to refuse him. Smiling in a rather fixed manner, Grace placed her gloved hand atop his and allowed him to lead her from the piano. Mrs. Bryant’s youngest daughter, Hazel, quickly took her place at the bench and soon a rapid-paced Mozart tune sprang from the keys.

‘‘I would have a private word with you,’’ Paxton told Grace in a commanding way.

‘‘It would hardly be fitting for us to be seen leaving the party,’’ Grace replied, unwilling to look at him.

‘‘I really care very little for the rules of society.’’

‘‘So I had gathered from your comment of hurrying our wedding.’’

‘‘I take it you disapprove,’’ he said in a low, sarcastic tone.

‘‘How astute of you to notice.’’

He pulled her arm against his side. ‘‘I pride myself in keeping track of the details, Miss Hawkins.’’ He pushed her toward the open French doors and out into the garden. Swinging her around rather abruptly, he pulled Grace into a strong-armed embrace, then assaulted her mouth with his lips.

Pushing against the man, Grace struggled to end his liberties. Paxton would have no part of it, however. He was much stronger than she had anticipated and much more determined to explore her feminine charms than even Grace would have believed. When he dared to trail his fingers down her bare neck to the swell of her breasts, Grace brought her tiny heeled slipper down on his foot. The action surprised Paxton enough that he momentarily loosened his hold. This allowed Grace enough room to maneuver. With all the strength she could muster, Grace slapped Paxton’s face.

‘‘How dare you!’’

Within a heartbeat, he slapped her back. Open and barehanded, he struck her with enough force to knock her back against the garden gate, the blow causing her to see stars.

Scarcely able to draw a breath, Grace struggled, unaided, to right herself. Protecting her throbbing cheek with her gloved hand, she looked up hesitantly as Paxton advanced. The look of hatred had returned to clearly mark his otherwise handsome features. Grace couldn’t imagine why he should be so brutal with her. She had gone along—or at least pretended to go along—with the engagement. She hadn’t caused him any embarrassment or reason to so abuse her.

Dragging Grace even farther into the garden, Paxton twisted her arm painfully and finally deposited her on an iron bench.

‘‘Do not ever presume to put your hand to me,’’ he said, his tone edged in a quiet rage. ‘‘No wife of mine will ever put me in line.’’

She looked up at him, still stunned by the sudden turn of events. In all her twenty years, Grace had known nothing but protection and security. Suddenly it was clear that this was all behind her now.

‘‘You have no right . . .’’ she began.

His eyes narrowed, and in the moonlight Grace could see his leering expression as he sat down beside her and pulled her back into his arms.

‘‘I have all the right I need. I will take what I want, when I want it,’’ he said, his mouth beside her neck. He placed kisses down her shoulder, pushing aside the gossamer wrap. While holding her in place with one hand, he allowed the other to freely explore.

Grace knew she had only to scream. The open doors of the house were not but ten yards away. Someone would hear her and come to her rescue. She drew a deep breath.

He stopped kissing her momentarily and looked hard into her eyes. ‘‘Don’t even think about it.’’

Her heart raced wildly. ‘‘What are you talking about? Unhand me!’’

‘‘Don’t think to escape me or call someone to your side. Your father will lose everything if you refuse me.’’

Grace studied him carefully. ‘‘What are you saying?’’

He reached up to draw his finger along her still-throbbing cheek. ‘‘I’m saying I can cause you far greater pain than a mere slap.’’ He grabbed her chin and held it firm. ‘‘I’m saying that unless you cooperate with me and do exactly as you are told, I will ruin you and your entire family.’’

Fear as she had never known descended over Grace. She looked into the harsh face of her captor and couldn’t so much as pray. The man clearly had plans for her family and those plans included their marriage. But for what purpose?

‘‘Why are you doing this?’’ she finally found the courage to ask. ‘‘I’ve done nothing to you. I’m a proper lady, pure and innocent, yet you treat me as a harlot. Why should you take offense that I would defend my honor? Engagement or none, there are still proper behaviors to be expected.’’

He brushed his thumb against her lips. ‘‘I will brook no nonsense from any woman. You will do as you are told and never will I allow you to question me. You are property and nothing more.’’

‘‘Nothing more?’’

‘‘Nothing more. This is obviously no love match. This is business—long, overdue business. You may have no understanding of such matters, but your father’s very existence teeters precariously on the edge of your actions.’’

‘‘My actions?’’

‘‘Of course,’’ Martin Paxton replied. ‘‘No decent clergy will marry us unless you are willing, and no doubt your mother already has the church picked out. You will cooperate and willingly consent to this marriage or I will see your father destroyed.’’

‘‘But why?’’ Grace questioned, her own fear now replaced with concern for her father and mother. ‘‘How has he so offended you?’’

This question actually caused Paxton to release her. Standing up, he eyed her with a look of pure contempt. ‘‘It is a matter between men.’’ He turned away from her as if contemplating further consideration.

Grace felt too shaken to stand, but her instincts told her that if she was to escape without further harm, she would have to make her way now. Without a sound, she got to her feet and hurried for one of the closer entrances into the house used by the house staff when collecting flowers for dinner arrangements and such.

She barely reached the door when Paxton seemed to realized her escape. She heard the heavy footsteps upon the garden path just as she closed the door behind her and slid the lock into place.

Paxton began pounding on the wood, threatening to shake the very foundations of the house into rubble. ‘‘Let me in, you fool!’’ he declared in a voice hardly louder than a whisper.

‘‘Go back to the party,’’ Grace called. ‘‘Go back and give my regrets. Tell them I’ve grown ill and my governess has seen me to bed.’’

‘‘Open this door now!’’