The Solemn Bell(55)

“You are exquisite, Miss Grey.” His hot breath heated her skin.

She did not want this man. She didn’t want his touch or his kisses, yet her body responded to his every caress. Perhaps she truly was a whore, craving the attention of any man who would have her. “Mr. Lawton, please…”

Angelica felt her legs slacken. She opened for him as his fingers danced on her inner thigh. Thoughtlessly, he touched the place where he’d pinched her. She lurched, and pushed his roaming hands away.

Peter Lawton stepped back. “You’re quite the little tease.”

“I love Brody. I want to be true to him.”

“No, you don’t.” He laughed, softly. “Pull your drawers to the side, and let me show you what you really want.”

Without waiting for her cooperation, he slipped his hand beneath the silk, probing her with two slender fingers. His nails were sharp, and she winced as he worked them in and out of her. She didn’t want him there. This wasn’t right. But when his thumb pressed against her—oh, God, there!—Angelica couldn’t help herself. She began to ride his hand.

“Oh, you are a dirty little whore. Has Brody seen you like this? Somehow, I doubt it.” Mr. Lawton licked up her neck to flick his tongue in her ear. “He’s not very good at this sort of thing, is he? Try as he might, he can’t quite get you there.”

Mr. Lawton was wrong. Captain Neill was the only one who’d ever…gotten her there. The only one she ever wanted to. Now, this man was trying to take that from her. She could not let him!

Angelica tore his hand from between her legs, yet her body cried out at the absence. Her knees buckled. She swayed against Peter’s chest, sobbing Captain Neill’s name over and over again, imagining the man she loved as she desperately fought back an orgasm she didn’t want.

Peter Lawton hauled her off him. He grabbed her face in his hand, squeezing her cheeks until her jaw ached. Again, she thought he meant to hurt her, but his words were oddly soft. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Angelica shook her head against his grip, hot tears sliding over his knuckles. “I don’t deserve him.”

He turned her loose to wrench open the door. “Be sure to wear nothing under your dress at dinner. It’s going to be a long night.”

He pushed her into the corridor, stepping out behind her. Angelica couldn’t know if anyone had seen them—or possibly overheard them—but, by the flush of her skin and her sodden combinations, she looked positively defiled. No one would believe that she hadn’t let Peter Lawton have his way with her.

The floor shifted from somewhere to her left. She was not alone.

Angelica fumbled blindly for the doorknob. She didn’t care that her dressing gown was open and hanging off her shoulders. She didn’t care that whoever it was could see her twisted underclothes, or the evidence of what Mr. Lawton’s advances had done to her traitorous body. She only wanted to hide—to retreat into the shadows as she’d always done.

Yet, the voice at her side stopped her. “Angelica?”





***





Thank God for Bessie. When she’d come beating on his door, screeching about Angelica being raped, Brody could hardly believe his ears. He had sprinted down the hallway just in time to see the woman he loved roughly handled by a man he’d once considered his friend.

If the old Brody had witnessed the scene, he’d have doubted Angelica’s fidelity—hadn’t she told him, the night he had first discovered her betrayal, that she would gladly give herself to any man who’d throw his attention her way? The old Brody would have judged her, and found her guilty.

Yet the new Brody trusted her love. He saw her tears, and the panicked look in her wide, blue eyes. She was his girl. She would never willingly give herself to another.

He reached for her. She flinched away from his touch.

Finally, she found the knob, and pushed the door open. Before she could lock him out, Brody stepped into the steamy bathroom behind her. It was so hot, he could hardly breathe. What in God’s name had Peter been doing in here?

Angelica gripped the marble sink top, hanging her head. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you think.”

“Oh, please go away. I can’t talk to you.”

“Why? Did something happen with Peter?”

She rounded on him. “Were you there, listening? Did you have your eye to the keyhole, watching the whole sordid thing?”

“Angelica…”

“You’re not shocked. Not even angry! Were you testing me? Did you put him up to it, to see if I would—”

“I’d never do that!” he hissed. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Then why were you there? Why didn’t you help me?”

Brody wanted to reach for her, to comfort her, but let his hand drop. She didn’t need to be touched just now. “Your maid ran to find me. I came as soon as I heard. My God, Angelica. When I thought that Peter might hurt you…”

She sobbed. “He did hurt me!”

He saw her gaping dressing gown. The way her skin was splotched red. He saw the slackened strap of her lingerie, and the way one breast had been rudely pulled from its support—he’d never even seen her breasts, but apparently Peter Lawton had weighed them in his vile hands. Brody’s throat went tight as he took inventory of her body, noting the purpling bruise on her soft, rounded thigh.