Gregory, Lisa (40 page)

"I
suggest you dump him in the street and forget you ever saw me. Do I make myself
clear?"

"Yessir.
I wouldn't go to the constable, sir—never. I'll do just like you say."

"Good."
He left the room without glancing back.

He
found Pearl very reluctant to talk, even staring down the muzzle of his pistol.
His Lordship, she explained, was very powerful; he could ruin her. It wasn't
until he recounted Paul's death and paused meaningfully that she broke down and
told him that it was Arthur, Lord Kenwick, that he sought. Matthew thanked her with
a smile that made her shiver and left.

The
sun was sinking as he approached Lord Kenwick's gracious townhouse. The air
turned chilly as the sun disappeared, but Matthew didn't notice it. He let the
doorknocker fall with a crash.

"Yes?"
A haughty butler opened the door.

"I
want to see Lord Kenwick."

"I
am sorry, sir, but his lordship is indisposed right now—"

Hampton
shoved him aside and entered. "Goddam it, where is he? Must I shout for
him?"

"Sir!"
The butler looked shocked. "Really, I must insist that you leave at
once."

"Morgan,
what is going on here?" snapped a crisp British voice and Matthew looked
up at the stairs to see a pale, disdainful-looking man.

"Milord,
this man just—" the butler began.

Hampton
cut into his explanation, "Lord Kenwick?"

"Yes?"
The man's eyebrows rose haughtily.

"I
would like to talk to you."

"Is
it your custom to barge into a gentleman's home like this?"

"No,
not into a
gentleman's
home," Matthew accented the word
insultingly, and the butler, gasped at his effrontery.

"I
think you'd best explain yourself," Kenwick snapped.

"I
think you'd prefer that we talk in private."

Kenwick
looked at him for a moment, then shrugged and led him into the drawing room.
Hampton closed the door after them.

"Well?"
Kenwick turned to him. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I
have come to call you out."

The
Englishman stared. "You mean a duel?"

"Precisely."

"You
must be mad! I've never even seen you."

"No,
but you have dishonored a lady—
my
lady."

"Now
see here, sir, I never—"

"Her
name is Katherine, though you may not have bothered to call her by name. Let me
jog your memory. She was the frightened, helpless girl you disported yourself
upon two nights ago—the one tied to the bed. Ah, I see you remember."

"The
whore?"

"Yes.
The whore." The Southerner's voice was as brittle and dangerous as thin
ice.

Kenwick
laughed. "You must be joking. You're come to defend the honor of one of
Pearl's doxies? She was a delicious little piece, of course, quite enjoyable,
but hardly something to fight over. After all, she is there for the
price—"

The
sudden flame in Hampton's eyes made him cut short his words. Good God, he
thought, the man is insane.

"That
girl was no street girl selling her favors. Surely even an animal like you must
have seen her breeding; do you think skin as fair and soft as that comes from
the slums? She is the daughter of a wealthy Bostonian, a pampered, sheltered
girl who had never known harshness or pain until—" He stopped to regain
control of his voice. "She has never felt any man's touch but mine, and
that but a short time—and God knows I never touched her in your manner."

"Your
wife?" Kenwick looked startled. "I had no idea she was of gentle
breeding."

"You
mean you had no idea she had anyone to protect her. You know, everyone knows,
that many of those girls are there unwillingly. Didn't Pearl ask you to subdue
a recalcitrant girl? Couldn't you tell she wanted none of you? Yet you forced
yourself upon her, and in the vilest way. I demand satisfaction, sir."

"Indeed?
A gentleman doesn't duel with just any boor who happens to—"

"Damn
it, man, it is only because you are a so-called 'gentleman' that I give you
this chance and don't kill you on the spot as I did her other tormentor. If you
refuse my challenge, however, I shall be forced to do so."

"My
seconds will call on yours," Kenwick said stiffly.

"Good.
Ensign Fortner, of my ship, the C.S.S.
Susan Harper,
shall act as my
second." Hampton strode to the door, then turned and smiled humorlessly.
"If it makes you feel any better, you won't be killed by anyone of low
birth. My grandmother traces our family back to an exiled noble of the court of
Charles I." He bowed shortly and left the room.

Katherine
awoke, her head much clearer than before. Matthew! She sat up—he was not there.
For a moment she was gripped by the cruel fear that it had been only a dream,
and her heart raced, but she forced herself to be calm. Wasn't this the
familiar cabin of the ship? His cabin? She closed her eyes. Her battered mind
and body could not quite grasp that she was safe, that they couldn't get her.

All
the memories of the past days—some sharp and some mercifully hazy—filled her
mind, and she felt sick and ashamed. Her body felt sticky and dirty and
crawling with unspeakable filth. Oh, Matthew. Had she told him all about what
they had done to her, or had that been a dream? It was so mist-enshrouded, it
was difficult to tell. She had the sick feeling she had told him—was he filled
with disgust for her? Oh, please, no. Matthew would understand; he wouldn't think
her vile; he knew about these things.

The
door opened and she looked up, her heart pounding in fear and hope. It was
Matthew, looking so lean and strong and handsome that tears sprang into her
eyes. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes, hating herself, her own
unclean, violated body. They had dirtied her everywhere; there was not one pure
spot on her body, not a single place that belonged only to him. Oh, God, she
could not even offer herself to him in gratitude. She had nothing to give; they
had taken it all from her. She wanted to throw herself at him, to kneel in
submission, and promise herself to him for as long as he wanted her, promise to
no longer fight and resist, but to give her body to him totally, give him all
the things he had wanted from her, promise to do anything to please him. But
she couldn't; she could not offer her body, made vile and repulsive by their
touch, to him. It was sickening to think of putting her soiled body against
his.

"Katherine?"
His voice was gentle. He felt shaken by the sight of her abjectly huddled on
the bed. Oh, God, she wouldn't even look at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes,
Matthew." Did he still want to hear his name on her lips? She would scream
it from the rooftops now, if he asked it.

"I
have
brought you a bowl of soup. Can you eat a little? It smells delicious."
His tone was coaxing.

"Yes,
please; I'm hungry."

He
gave the bowl to her and watched her gulp it down. Still she wouldn't look at
him.

"Not
so fast," he said. "You'll make yourself sick, and burn your mouth
besides."

She
forced herself not to gobble it. He was standing so close she could feel his
breath on her hair. She wondered what he was thinking.

The
soup made her feel better, and when she handed back the bowl she forced herself
to look at him. His face looked tired and sad.

"Oh,
Matthew," she whispered.

His
heart lurched at the caress in her voice, and he bent to touch her arm.
Frantically she scrambled out of his reach.

"Oh,
no," she pleaded, "oh, please don't touch me." Didn't he see how
dirty she was? He mustn't put his hands on her, mustn't soil them on her filthy
skin.

Matthew
paled and retreated. "Oh, God," he whispered, "what have I done?"

He
turned and quickly left the room. Katherine ran to lock the door after him,
then ran to the wash basin and thoroughly scrubbed every inch of her body until
her skin was red and raw. She picked up the sheet that he had wrapped around
her at Pearl's and tore it and stuffed it piece by piece into the stove. Next
she changed the sheets she had slept on; even they seemed contaminated. After
that she felt somewhat better.

Matthew
leaned against the railing for a long time, staring out to sea. At last he
turned and called for Peljo.

"I
want you to go into the city, check the hotels, and see if Dr. Rackingham is
still here. If he is, bring him to me."

"But,
Cap'n," the little man expostulated, "have you lost your wits? You
just found Miss Katie and now you're going to give her up to that old
fool?"

"Peljo,
I will do what I think best, and I would appreciate it if you kept your
opinions to yourself."

Peljo
choked back his response and left quickly. Matthew turned back to the sea. He
must let her go; he knew it now, had known it since the moment he had realized
that he loved her. She despised him; his very touch filled her with fear and
disgust. From the first she had wanted only to escape him, but he had held her,
brutally insensitive to the anguish she suffered, berating and teasing her for
her shame at what he had done to her, constantly inflicting himself upon
her—call it what it was: raping her. Well, he had broken her, he and the men at
Pearl's. Now she cringed from his touch, too scared to even fight him any
longer. He had killed Paul for it, and tomorrow he would kill Kenwick. Nor
would the other villain go unscathed; perhaps his punishment on himself would
be even worse—for he was going to give her up, hand her over to Dr. Rackingham.
Let her escape from him and pray that her slow Yankee lieutenant would be able
to teach her the ecstasy that lay dormant in her body. He clenched his fists at
the thought of another man exploring her body, tasting its sweetness, arousing
her. He saw her lovely long legs twined around him, heard her moans of desire.
With supreme effort, he wrenched his mind away from the picture he had created,
only to find it replaced by a worse one—her writhing in pain and fear beneath
Kenwick's hands.

His
tortured thoughts were interrupted by the aging doctor who approached him,
tagged by the glowering Peljo. The doctor's face was so suspicious that Matthew
had to smile fleetingly.

"Dr.
Rackingham, I've decided to release Miss Devereaux into your hands."

"I
knew
you still had her."

"Actually,
I did not at the time, but that's of no matter. Miss Devereaux escaped and I am
afraid suffered a rather sordid and—and harrowing experience." He turned
and stared back at the sea, his voice carefully toneless. "Even I cannot
bring myself to cause her any more grief. So I am letting her go. She needs
someone to look after her, help her home. She's—" He paused, struggling to
keep control of his voice. "She is feeling rather bad, you see."

Rackingham
stared. "Good God, what happened to her?"

"She
will tell you if she wishes to," Hampton said shortly.

"Of
course, but—poor girl."

"I
have a condition, Doctor."