Vixen

Chapter 24

"It's not a very pleasant day for a carriage ride, Denis." Chloe's nose wrinkled as she looked out of the drawing room window onto the slushy street.

"The sun's shining," he pointed out.

"After a fashion," Chloe agreed. "But it's so dirty."

"Oh, come on, Chloe, it's not like you to let a little mud stand in your way," he cajoled. "We've all been captive within doors for three days because of the snowstorm, and now it's clearing up so nicely, I feel I have to breathe some fresh air. We'll go to Finchley Common and you can take the ribbons if you'd like."

Chloe looked down at the equipage in the street. Denis was driving a pair of high-stepping grays. It was tempting, but if the truth were told, Denis was beginning to pall on her. He had a streak of sullenness that showed through his bonhomie and, while he was quick to agree when she commented on some sorry street scene or the plight of the poor, she sensed impatience beneath the smooth appearance of empathy. She was well aware that the act was to impress her and was beginning to feel guilty that she had led him on to believe in a partiality that she didn't feel in the least. Oh, he was certainly more interesting company than most of the men of his age. He had more conversation, he had little time for the exuberant silliness of his peers, and she had never seen him the worse for drink. He viewed the drunken pranks of the others with a faint contempt with which she was completely in sympathy. Nevertheless, since their flirtation was having no effect on Hugo, there seemed little point to it. But then, there seemed little point to anything these days, and moping around the house wouldn't improve things.

"Very well," she said listlessly. "But I have to change my dress,"

"Of course, I'll wait for you." Denis bowed, trying to conceal the flash of relief in his eyes. There had been a moment there when he thought she was going to refuse. And he had no wish to turn up empty-handed on Finchley Common. Sir Jasper was not a person to present with failure.

Hugo was coming up the stairs from the hall as Chloe came out of the drawing room. "Is that DeLacy's curricle at the door?" He asked the question with the casual curiosity he'd managed to perfect.

Chloe flushed slightly. "Yes, he's in the drawing room. We're going for a drive, so I have to change my dress."

"I see." Hugo frowned, remembering his cousin's advice. "You might wish to inform the young man that I expect him to request my permission before paying his addresses to my ward."

"Why should you imagine he's doing that'" Her flush deepened.

Hugo decided it was time to take the bull by the horns. "If he is not, lass, then I would certainly like to know what the devil's going on," he said sharply. "Either you bring DeLacy to the point, or I must. This shilly-shallying cannot continue… not if you intend to remain a member of Society. There's too much talk already, and I'll not stand by while you compromise your reputation with an intense flirtation that is going nowhere. Is that understood?"

He really wanted her to marry Denis DeLacy. It had never been said so openly before, but there was no way of misconstruing such an ultimatum. She'd hung on to the belief that Hugo loved her although he wouldn't

acknowledge it because of his irrelevant scruples. She'd thought she could overcome the scruples as she'd overcome everything else. Now the fight went out of her.

"I imagine Denis will wish to speak with you after our drive," she said with careful deliberation.

"I see. Well, you may assure him he won't meet with undue opposition, lass."

He pinched her cheek and offered an affectionate smile before continuing on his way along the corridor, his heart heavy. But at least the long agony of this frustrating love affair was about to come to a close. He'd have only a few more months of endurance until he walked her up the aisle and handed her over to a man of her own kind with whom she'd live and love and have babies…

Chloe stifled a sob of frustration and misery and ran up the stairs to her bedchamber. How could Hugo not feel the way she did?

But she knew how. She was too young and she was his ward. And now that even their constrained lovemak-ing had ceased, he had no occasion to see her in any other light. He didn't care for her in that way anymore, and without that, what was there to build on?

Why had she ever insisted on this insane London scheme? Blinking back tears, she changed into her driving dress, then splashed cold water on her face from the ewer on the dresser. But she hadn't known she was in love with Hugo Lattimer then. She'd been so immersed in her plans for the future and the excitement of the present that she hadn't stopped to analyze her feelings. And now it was all dust and ashes.

So she would marry Denis DeLacy. It would be no worse a fate than any other, since she couldn't have the only future that mattered.

She crammed a velvet bonnet on her head and adjusted the plume. It was not a hat she liked-it was too

small and insignificant-but Hugo had selected it with customary firmness. Soon he'd have no say in her wardrobe, or any other aspect of her life. She swallowed, trying vainly to dislodge the lump in her throat.

She went back to the drawing room. Denis was so relieved at getting her out of the house and into the curricle that he failed to observe her unusual pallor or her absentminded responses to his attempts at conversation.

He drove fast through the fashionable streets. Absorbed in her unhappy thoughts, Chloe didn't notice at first how intently he was driving, or how he was pushing his horses. Only when they narrowly missed an oncoming coach on the approach to Primrose Hill did she jerk back to full awareness.

"Your horses are sweating," she said in surprise. It was a cardinal sin for any halfway competent whip. She glanced at him and saw the set of his jaw, the tightness of his mouth.

"What's the matter?"

He looked fully at her, and there was a light in his eye that sent a shiver of alarm through her. "Nothing, why should there be? Aren't you enjoying the drive?"

"It's colder than I thought it would be," she said, trying to sound her usual self. "It's very bad for your horses to push them so hard."

"They're my horses. I'll be the judge," he said coldly. One of the pair stumbled in a pothole. His whip curled and snapped, catching the animal's ear.

"Don't do that!" Chloe exclaimed even while she was trying to recover from the extraordinary coldness of his tone. "It wasn't his fault. If you drove with more care, he wouldn't have stumbled."

Suddenly she knew that something was very wrong. But for the life of her she couldn't imagine what. Except that Denis didn't look like the man she thought she

knew and that strange, predatory light was in his eye again.

"Stop the curricle," she demanded. "I want to get out." They were almost on Finchley Common and there was little traffic on the filthy road and no pedestrians, but she knew with absolute certainty that she didn't want to travel another inch in Denis DeLacy's curricle.

He didn't respond, except to crack the whip again so his horses surged forward onto the common with a final spurt.

The wind whipped across the snowy heath, bending the gnarled, leaf-bare trees and whistling through the sere brown bracken. The rutted road wound ahead, ice glittering in the hard, dry ridges, cracking under the pounding hooves.

Chloe shivered, dreadful apprehension prickling her scalp, lifting the fine hair on her arms. Then she saw the post-chaise up ahead, pulled to the side of the road under a stand of trees. A postilion, muffled to the ears in his cloak, stood beside the leaders.

The last time she'd seen a post-chaise waiting in such sinister fashion had been on the road to Manchester with Crispin. But on that occasion she'd been riding a swift horse and had her escape in her own hands.

"What's happening?" Her voice was barely a whisper as the nameless dread crept up her spine. "Hell and the devil, Denis, what's happening?"

Without answering, he drew rein as the curricle came abreast of the chaise. The horses panted and wheezed, sweat glistening on their glossy necks. Denis leapt down just as the postilion jumped into the curricle in his place.

Chloe struggled as Denis hauled her to the ground, but she was no match for his strength. Though she kicked and punched with the blind force of desperation, he lifted her off the ground and bundled her into the chaise as the door swung open.

She fell to her hands and knees on the floor as Denis leapt in behind her. A whip cracked and the vehicle surged forward with a violent jolt that sent her sprawling again as she struggled upright. Someone laughed. It was a familiar laugh.

Pushing backward, she righted herself so that she was kneeling. She looked up at the three men, two of whom were regarding her with varying degrees of amusement. Denis, on the other hand, bore the satisfied, slightly smug air of a man who has accomplished a singularly demanding task. What in the name of all that was good connected Denis to Jasper?

"Why?" she asked him. "Why, Denis?"

"You'll discover soon enough," Jasper said. "Sit up on the seat." His pale eyes, flat and expressionless, skidded over her face.

A wild rage abruptly overtook her, banishing the fear that had been born earlier out of uncertainty. If this was the enemy, she knew it… or thought she did.

She sprang at her brother, moving from her knees to a flying body of fury in one neat movement. She had no idea what she hoped to achieve, or even if she expected to achieve anything. Her gloved hands reached for those flat eyes that seemed to contain no soul, and her knee came up into his chest.

The next minute she was reeling as his open palm cracked viciously against her cheek. Her ears rang and she fell backward across Crispin on the opposite seat. Still she struggled, feet and arms flailing, making what destructive contact she could with the three bodies sharing the confined space with her.

Denis grabbed her ankle and she kicked viciously into his belly.

"Leave her to me. She's mine now." A rich certainty infused Crispin's voice. Denis released his hold, watching through narrowed eyes.

Crispin wrestled Chloe's slight frame facedown across his lap, wrenching her arms behind her as he held her. Jasper pulled off his cravat and tied her wrists. Then he picked her up and dumped her into the corner of the carriage next to Crispin.

"You've a great many lessons to learn, little sister," he said, breathing rather heavily. "Fortunately, I make a good teacher… maybe a little short on patience, but you'll learn all the quicker, I imagine."

Chloe was too stunned to reply. Her face throbbed, her wrenched arms were beginning to ache, and the cravat was uncomfortably tight around her wrists. Instinctively, she pressed backward into her corner, in no doubt as to the reason behind this abduction.

Her eyes slid sideways to Crispin. He was smiling in the way he had when he'd pulled the wings off butterflies as a child. She had once said to Hugo that Jasper couldn't force her to many Crispin. But then she hadn't fully understood the meaning of force.

The chaise jolted in another pothole and she fell sideways, unable to balance herself with her bound hands. Crispin pushed her upright again. She huddled backward into her corner again and closed her eyes to shut out the three pairs regarding her with the predatory interest of hunters who've finally snared their prey.

Where was Hugo? But what difference did it matter where he was? Never in a millennium would he connect Denis DeLacy with Jasper.

Vv here's Chloe, Dolly?" Hugo entered the drawing room before dinner, a somewhat mournful Dante on his heels.

"Why, goodness me, I thought she was with you." Lady Smallwood put down her embroidery and blinked at her cousin. "I haven't seen her since nuncheon."

"What!" Hugo impatiently pushed Dante's wet nose away from his thigh. "How could you not have seen her? Is she in her room?"

"I assumed she was with you," Dolly repeated. "I'm not usually told when you and she go off together." There was a hint of self-righteous grievance in the statement.

Hugo spun on his heel and ran down to the hall, yelling for Samuel.

"Eh, what's up now?" Samuel appeared from the kitchen, wiping his mouth with his table napkin. "In the middle of me dinner, I am."

"Where's Chloe?"

" 'Ow should I know? I 'aven't seen 'ide nor 'air of the lass since nuncheon. Thought she was wi' you." Sensing Hugo's agitation, he looked perplexed. "You mean she's not?"

"No, she's not. I haven't seen her since early this afternoon." Hugo forced himself to think clearly, to order his thoughts. Could she have had plans for the evening she'd forgotten to impart… or perhaps chosen not to? Like the Billingsgate affair.

It was not impossible. But it was unlikely. Chloe was an uncomfortable and incompetent liar. Her mischievous but generally purposeful schemes were never intended to be kept secret for any length of time.

She'd been going for a drive with Denis DeLacy. Had there been an accident? The curricle overturned? A stumbling horse? A lost shoe? Highwaymen?

But it was eight o'clock. Chloe had gone driving with DeLacy at two. Six hours! No ordinary accident could have happened in that time. Usually, if she went for a drive in the early afternoon, she'd be home by five o'clock at the latest. If there'd been an accident, then they had three hours leeway in which to deliver a message of some kind. Unless she was lying with a broken

neck beneath the wheels of DeLacy's curricle… how well did the damn youth drive? Was he reckless? All young men were reckless.

He thought of his own youth… of the number of times he'd driven a team when he couldn't see straight… of the times when he'd snatched the reins of a stagecoach from the hapless driver and careened down the road with screaming passengers, waving a bottle of burgundy over his head and shooting his pistol in the air.

Dear God in heaven! How chickens came home to roost.

"I'm going to Curzon Street," he said, taking the stairs three at a time. A few minutes later he was back, drawing on his gloves, a caped overcoat hanging from his shoulders.

Samuel, who had discarded his napkin and abandoned his dinner, was in the hall, buttoning up his own coat. "So what's at Curzon Street'"

"DeLacy's mother's house," Hugo said shortly, opening the door. "I can't think of anywhere else to start." He set off down the street almost at a run, Samuel panting along behind him.

"Go around to the mews and see if there's a pair of grays and a curricle in the stable," Hugo ordered as they reached the DeLacy mansion. Samuel went off and Hugo banged the knocker.

The butler opened the door and bowed. "The family are at dinner, sir. May I take your card?"

"Only if Denis DeLacy is in," Hugo said shortly.

"Mr. DeLacy, sir, is not in." The man stood holding the door with an air of impatient courtesy.

"Has he been back this afternoon?"

"No, sir. I understand Mr. DeLacy is spending the evening out of town with friends."

"Which friends?"

"I am not privileged to know, sir." The butler moved back, preparatory to closing the door.

Hugo put his foot in the opening. "Don't be in such a hurry, my good man."

There was something about his tone and the glitter in his green eyes that caught the butler's attention. "Sir?" he said stiffly, but made no further move to end the conversation.

"Mr. DeLacy went out in his curricle this afternoon. At that point did you know he was not intending to return?"

"I believe a message to that effect came somewhat later, sir."

"How much later?"

"At around six o'clock, I believe, sir."

Two hours ago. Clearly he didn't have to worry about an accident. What the devil was going on? Hugo removed his foot, waved a dismissive hand at the butler, and ran back to the street.

Samuel appeared around the corner from the mews. "Two grays, lookin' fair winded to me," he said, falling into step. "Someone's been pushin' 'em mighty 'ard. The 'ead groom was swearin' worse than the lass's poll parrot. Says it's been two hours since they come in wi' some job ostler who vanished as soon as he'd dropped 'em off. Groom still can't get 'em cooled off proper."

"Two hours," Hugo repeated. "So the horses came back with a message carried by a stranger that their driver was not returning. Samuel, what the hell is going on?"

"Seems to me," Samuel said slowly, "that makin' off with the lass is gettin' to be a habit with some folks."

"Jasper!" Hugo stopped dead in the middle of the street. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, of course. The Congregation. Why on earth didn't I think…?"

If Denis DeLacy had followed his father into the Con-

gregation just as Crispin had followed Jasper, then Denis would be bound by an oath of obedience to his leader. Hugo had been so busy worrying that Chloe would hear the truth about himself from her attentive suitor, he'd completely missed the real danger attached to any connection with the Congregation. DeLacy had seemed such an inoffensive lad… but then, hadn't they all- most of the time?

"Congregation?" Samuel jumped out of the path of an oncoming hackney, shoving Hugo with him. The jarvey leaned down from his box and poured forth a string of obscenities.

"It's a long story," Hugo said, his mouth grim. "A long story and an old one." He stood frowning, options and speculations chasing each other in his head.

Where would Jasper have taken her? In London, they'd have to find a priest who'd turn a blind eye to marrying a young girl against her will… and Chloe would make that fact very clear. She'd not go docile to the altar. It would take time to subdue her into an appearance of compliance, and Jasper didn't have that kind of time. He'd want her married and bedded without delay. Once it was done, Chloe's fortune would automatically come under her husband's control. It was the law of the land. What happened to Chloe after that probably wouldn't concern her brother unduly, although it would interest Crispin.

Hugo remembered the vicious temper Crispin had evinced that day in Manchester when Chloe had run to Rosinante's rescue. He remembered the sullen cowardice of his behavior when Hugo had squeezed the truth out of him on the road to Manchester. Such a contemptible character would enjoy revenge on a helpless captive. And if he was a member of the Congregation-and of course he was-then he would have learned by now the licentious pleasures of the drug-induced trance as he

pushed out the boundaries of sensation, crossing the thresholds of evil in the crypt. He and Denis would have learned it all by now, even if they were not yet as depraved as their leader.

They would be taking her to Shipton. Hugo knew it as clearly as if Jasper had told him. In Shipton, Jasper would have his own people, who knew how to keep their mouths shut, who knew what happened if they didn't. In Shipton, he could keep Chloe shut away from prying eyes and he would have his own priest. Jasper had sowed the seeds of his influence widely, using fear, intimidation, bribery, whichever power tool worked the best in each case. He'd have a priest willing to turn a blind eye.

And they'd have the crypt.

He saw Elizabeth standing in the crypt, terror in her drugged eyes as she at last understood what role her husband had devised for her. He saw Elizabeth… but it wasn't Elizabeth, it was her daughter, Chloe, standing by the bier in the light of the altar candles. The daughter in her mother's place… the feud come full circle. How it would please Jasper. Oh, what deep pleasure it would give him to avenge his father's death in that fashion.

A wave of nausea surged through him, a momentary sense of helplessness… and then came the cold conviction that if he had to, he would kill Jasper as he had killed Stephen.

When they took Chloe to the crypt, he would be there.

"We're going to Shipton," he said softly to the waiting Samuel.

"Shipton!" Samuel whistled. "You reckon that brother of 'ers is mixed up in this, then?"

"Up to his filthy neck," Hugo said softly. "And I am going to break every corrupt bone in his body. They've

a six-hour start. If I'm right, Jasper's plans will be centered on the crypt." He was talking almost to himself as he maintained his fierce pace back to Mount Street. "Crispin and young DeLacy will be with him."

They wouldn't hurt her until after the wedding. If it was necessary, Jasper would use drugs to keep her quiet on the journey. He wouldn't risk drawing attention to his party by marking her in any visible way.

Drawing comfort from this conviction, he said briskly, "The lass doesn't have the stamina to ride from London to Shipton, so they'll be using a chaise. We should pick up the trail soon enough."

They had reached the house now and he ran up the steps. "Samuel, are you prepared to ride with me? It's a long haul, but we'll make better time than in a carriage."

"I'm with ye," Samuel said gruffly. "We startin' out now?"

"At dawn. They're bound to stop for the night, and if we ride all night, we'll only have to rest in the day. We'll leave at first light and pick up the trail at their first halt."

They seemed to have been bumping along in the ill-sprung chaise for hours. Late afternoon had given way to dusk, and the chill in the air intensified. No one had spoken for a long time.

Chloe sat slumped in her corner, every inch of her skin crawling with the awareness of Crispin beside her. Occasionally his thigh pressed hard against hers and she knew it was no accident. How could she face being married to him… sharing a bed with him… doing with him what she had done with Hugo? She felt sick and swallowed desperately, praying her body wouldn't betray her, wishing she had her hands. She felt so helpless without them.

She forced herself to think clearly, to examine her

position, hoping that focusing her mind would ease the panic. If they forced her into this marriage, what would happen? What would Hugo do? Could he do anything? People did get divorced. The king was trying to divorce Queen Caroline, although without much success. But it wasn't unheard of. Presumably Crispin would keep her fortune anyway, so perhaps he'd be willing to divorce her.

His thigh pressed against her again and she knew with sick revulsion that she was indulging a pipe dream. Crispin wouldn't let her go until he'd had enough of her. And not even Hugo would be able to persuade him otherwise.

What did he think had happened to her? It was well past dinnertime. Would he guess? But how could he? How could he possibly connect Denis with Jasper? He'd assume there'd been an accident of some kind and that she was taking shelter somewhere. It was not unusual with the roads as bad as they were after the snowstorm. He'd wait for a message… how long would he wait before he'd begin to worry in earnest?

"I can't feel my hands," she said in a small, fierce voice as she fought with her tears, determined not to break down in front of her captors.

"Would you like your wrists untied?" Jasper inquired almost casually, as if he were offering her a second helping at dinner.

"What do you think?" she snapped.

Her brother merely leaned back on the opposite seat and closed his eyes.

Chloe bit her lip. The ache in her arms was becoming unbearable and the lack of sensation in her hands was frightening. "Please," she said.

Jasper opened his eyes. "You are an ill-mannered brat," he observed. Leaning over, he caught her chin

and examined her face in the fading light. "However, I intend to remedy that with all due speed. If you attempt to use your hands again in that fashion, you'll journey all the way to Shipton with your wrists bound day and night, do you understand?"

Chloe nodded. There seemed no alternative.

"Untie her." Jasper leaned back again and Crispin pulled her out of her corner, manhandling her across his lap again as he unfastened the cravat. His wandering hands were on her body, and she squeezed her eyes tightly, biting her lip hard to keep herself from screaming abuse at him, struggling to prevent herself from flying at him with nails and fists and feet.

But at last he released her and she sat up, shrinking back into her corner, massaging her wrists, her hands stinging with pain as the blood flowed back. She rolled her shoulders back to ease the knot between her shoulder blades and tried to think clearly.

When did they intend the wedding to take place? Presumably not until they reached Shipton. What methods of persuasion would Jasper use to get her to the altar? And how much could she endure?

She had no idea of the answer to the latter question and dismally decided that she would find out empirically soon enough.

It was full dark when the chaise drove into the courtyard of a small inn just outside St. Albans.

Jasper leaned forward again and again took Chloe's chin with hard fingers. Holding her face steady, he slapped her cheek once. It was not a particularly hard blow, but it was completely unexpected and the tears that sprang in her eyes were tears of shock rather than pain. Denis drew breath sharply and Crispin smiled.

"That's a reminder, little sister," Jasper said softly. "You will keep your eyes on the ground, your mouth

shut, and if you take one step out of line, I will give you a beating you will remember for the rest of your life."

He didn't wait for a response, simply released her and jumped to the ground. The others followed, Chloe, still numb with shock, climbing down last. Jasper put his arm around her shoulders, turning her face toward his chest so that the mark of his hand on her left cheek couldn't be seen. The other two stepped close around him as the landlord bustled out to greet them.

"My sister is unwell," Jasper said. "I need two adjoining bedchambers and a private parlor."

The landlord bowed, his nose almost touching his knees, as he assured the travelers of the best his inn had to offer. "And my wife will be glad to assist the young lady to bed, sir," he said, moving backward toward the door. "A tisane should set her up nicely. Will you be wanting dinner, sirs? There's a shoulder of mutton with red currant sauce, and a compote of mushrooms, if it would please you."

Jasper didn't trouble to respond to this, merely followed their garrulous host upstairs to inspect the accommodations. He kept Chloe close to his side, and she made no attempt to move away. Two adjoining chambers, one with two big beds, the other with only one were presented and approved.

"No, my sister needs no assistance." Jasper declined the renewed offer of the landlady's help. "Just bring hot water to both chambers and have dinner on the table in half an hour. And bring up a bottle of your best burgundy," he called as the landlord rushed off.

"All right." He turned to his companions. "You two can have this chamber, my little sister and I will bear each other company in here." He pushed her ahead of him through the connecting door into the smaller of the two rooms.

"You're going to sleep in here with me?" Chloe managed finally to find words.

"Yes." It was a flat affirmative. Jasper glanced around the room and went to the window. The ivy was thick outside, certainly thick enough to bear Chloe's slight weight. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"I will not many Crispin," Chloe said, finding her courage. But she flinched as Jasper crossed the room toward her.

He stopped in front of her and she tried to keep still, to meet his eye. But it was impossible to hold his gaze as his eyes slid over her. Her knees shook as she waited for another blow. Jasper read her expectation and then laughed.

"You'll do as I bid you," he said almost indifferently, turning away from her as a servant came in with the portmanteau that had been strapped to the roof of the chaise, followed by a maid with a jug of hot water. He waved them away impatiently, cutting off their offers of further assistance. "Just bring the burgundy."

"You'll find all the necessities in there," he told Chloe, gesturing to the portmanteau. "You may use the screen for privacy."

Chloe found tooth powder, hairbrushes, clean linen, and a nightdress in the portmanteau. The servant brought the burgundy while she was gathering together what she needed. She stood uncertainly, looking at her brother as he poured the wine. The connecting door between the two chambers was also open and she could hear Denis and Crispin moving about.

"Are you going to stay in here?"

"I told you you may use the screen," Jasper said, sipping wine. His eyes ran over her, and he said with a slight smile, "For as long as you behave yourself, I'll grant you that privacy for the rest of the journey. But don't test my clemency too far."

"Could you at least close the door?" She must keep calm, sound reasonable, refuse to be either intimidated or enraged by Jasper.

He glanced carelessly toward the open door. "What are you afraid of, little sister?"

"I'm not afraid," she declared stoutly. "But I'm accustomed to closing my bedroom door."

"Well, you may have to become accustomed to many new experiences." Jasper shrugged. "If you don't wish to refresh yourself, then I will do so myself."

Her need was too pressing to make a stand. Chloe whisked behind the screen. There was a commode and dressing table with mirror, basin, and ewer. Telling herself it was no more public than the retiring room at Almack's, she used the commode, bathed her face in warm water, brushed her hair, and smoothed down her dress. The marks on her cheek had faded, but there was a welt around her wrists where the cravat had bitten deep.

She couldn't afford that to happen again. Jasper had made it very clear that he would hurt her without compunction if she gave him an opportunity. The other two were acting under his authority, and she didn't sense that they would do anything unilateral, although when she thought of Crispin holding her down in the carriage, of his hands moving over her, she shuddered with a bone-deep revulsion. Jasper had permitted that. It was clear that she would have to endure some degree of humiliation, but if she pretended it wasn't happening, then she could manage not to react… she hoped.

Emerging from the screen, she asked neutrally, "May I have a glass of wine?"

"Certainly." He poured it for her. "Now, take it into the other chamber so Crispin and Denis may keep an eye on you while I refresh myself."

She shrugged with an appearance of nonchalance and strolled into the connecting room. "Your pardon for disturbing you, gentlemen, but I understand you're to keep watch over me while Jasper is otherwise occupied."

Crispin and Denis were drinking wine by the fire. Unconsciously, Denis rose as she entered as if he were still in a fashionable drawing room. Crispin chuckled and Denis sat down again, flushing.

"Come here," Crispin commanded, snapping his fingers.

"I'm not a dog," Chloe said, deciding that Crispin could probably safely be defied… at least for the moment.

"I owe you a lot," Crispin said quietly, his hands going to his throat, remembering those steely fingers squeezing the life from him. "And I can promise you, Miss Gresham, that you will get everything that's due you."

"I don't doubt your intention, Crispin," she said coldly, leaning against the doorjamb as she sipped her wine. "But forgive me if I doubt your powers."

Crispin sprang up with an exclamation. She stood her ground, knowing that if she kept total silence, offered total submission, she would lose the will to endure. And when the time for true endurance came, she would need every fiber of will.

He gripped her shoulders and brought his mouth down on hers, grinding her lips against her teeth with savage violence. She tried to wrench her head sideways, tried to create enough space between their bodies to bring her knee up.

Then abruptly he let her go, looking sheepishly over her shoulder to where his stepfather stood in the doorway. Chloe gasped for breath, her lips stinging, every inch of her body throbbing with the sense of violation.

"She is insolent," Crispin declared with an air that

reminded Chloe of a schoolboy telling tales to escape censure.

"Really," Jasper said, holding up his wineglass to the light, subjecting the contents to an interested examination.

"Insolence goes without its dinner," he murmured indifferently. "But you will leave disciplinary measures to me in the future. Is that clear?"

Crispin flushed. "Yes, sir."

"Then let us go in to dinner… even those of us who will not partake." He took Chloe's arm and pushed her ahead of him across the corridor to the private parlor. "Sit down." He pulled out a chair for her in a parody of chivalry.

The promised shoulder of mutton sent up the most enticing aromas from the sideboard, filling the air with the scent of fresh rosemary. The compote of mushrooms, a bowl of red currant sauce, and a dish of roasted potatoes sat in the center of the table.

It was past nine o'clock and Chloe had eaten nothing since noon. It was one thing to be deprived of her dinner, she thought, battling with tears of rage and disappointment. Quite another to have to sit and watch while others consumed. The tormenting aromas set her saliva running, her stomach cleaving to her backbone.

Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes, folding her hands neatly in her lap, and took her mind out of the parlor and away from the company of her captors. It was not an entirely successful ploy from her own point of view, but at least it ensured her companions didn't have the satisfaction of her obvious discomfort.

But the ordeal was over at last. Back in their bedchamber, Jasper locked both doors and pocketed the keys. Chloe prepared for bed behind the screen. When she emerged in her nightgown, Jasper was standing in

his britches by the fire. He'd pulled off his boots and was now unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed the garment aside and strode toward the bed.

Chloe stared at his chest… at the tiny coiled snake pricked into the skin above his heart.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Jasper demanded, struck by her arrested expression. "I suppose you haven't seen a man without his shirt before. Well, you needn't worry, little sister, you stand in no danger from my bare chest."

"That-" Chloe said, her voice sounding strangled. She pointed at the device. "That… that snake… Hugo…"

"What'" Jasper gave a sudden crack of laughter. "Oh, so you've seen your esteemed guardian in a state of undress, have you? I suppose it's not surprising that drunken sot failed to observe the proprieties."

"Don't call him that!" Chloe said fiercely. "He is not."

"Such a vehement defense." Jasper's voice was suddenly very soft, his eyes narrowed. "Now, whatever could Lattimer have done to earn such violent championship?"

"He was kind to me," Chloe stated, praying she wouldn't blush, that nothing would be revealed in her expression. Rushing her words, she demanded, "But why do you both have that snake?"

"Ahh, so Hugo didn't think to let you into his little secret," her brother mused. He gestured to the bed. "Get in."

"Are we sh-sharing the bed?"

"You will sleep in it, I will sleep on it," Jasper said impatiently. "Now, hurry up."

Chloe pulled back the sheet and slid between the covers. She lay on her back, very still.

Jasper lay down on the cover beside her. "Give me your wrist." He had his belt in his hand and quite calmly fastened one end around Chloe's wrist and the other around his own.

"Now," he said softly, "I'll tell you a story, little sister. A bedtime story…"