The Duke, page 12
12
“Don’t get wet, poppet,” Brandy called after Fiona, knowing her words just floated over her sister’s bright red head. She shook her head, smiling, as she watched Fiona scramble down the path to the beach below.
She sighed and turned away, very much aware of the cause of her sudden sadness. Ian had left with Bertrand only an hour ago, and she had looked after him until she could no longer hear the clop-clop of his horse’s hooves. The sun grew hot and she pulled off her shawl and rolled up her muslin sleeves to her elbows. For want of anything better to do, she sank down in the field of anemones and began absently to pull up the yellow flowers and weave them into a garland.
She felt someone near and turned to see Percy standing but a few feet away from her, legs spread, hands on his hips. He reached down and picked up her shawl, wadded it into a plaid ball, and threw it some distance from her.
She stared at him coldly. “So, the worthless sot comes out into the sunshine. Wouldn’t ye rather be in a dark room drinking? Or wenching? Or braying with other sots how wonderful ye are? Ye’re not at all funny, ye know. Now, throw me back my shawl and leave me be.”
“Ye insult me, Brandy. Girls shouldn’t toss out insults like ye just did. Ye never know how a man will react. And why do ye want yer shawl? The sun is really quite warm.” His hooded green eyes wandered from her face to her breasts, to her waist. “Ye really shouldn’t hide yer woman’s charms, Brandy. Ye’re surprised, aren’t ye? Ye didn’t believe anyone would see through yer disguise. I’m a man who knows women. Ye’ve got breasts beneath that gown that I want to see and touch and caress. Ye’ll like it, I promise ye.”
Her chin went higher. She was afraid, but never would she show it. “Ye are the insulting one. I don’t like ye. Ye’re rude and ugly. I’ll tell ye just once more, leave me alone. I dislike being in the company of pigs and bastards.”
She saw a dangerous glint in his eyes and instinctively drew back. She’d gone too far.
“Ye are becoming all high and mighty, lassie, what with the illustrious duke insisting that ye travel to London. Aye, don’t look so surprised, Lady Adella just told me of what she called ‘yer good fortune.”’
He didn’t tell her that Lady Adella had also been explicit in her orders to him, the old bitch.
“Tell me, little cousin, just what did ye have to do for the duke to earn yerself a trip and a dowry?”
“Why, the duke is just like ye, Percy. He demanded that I take off my clothes and dance naked for him. Of course, I was willing to do that for a bit of coin and a trip to that barbaric London. Ye’re nothing but a fool. Go away.”
She rose slowly to her feet. She slowly put one foot behind the other. He was still standing there, legs spread, staring at her—no, at her breasts. He looked like a predator and she knew she couldn’t win if he attacked her. She realized in that moment that Ian had gone behind her back to Lady Adella. Damn him. She would make him pay for that when he returned.
She said in what she hoped was the calm voice of a nun, “Ye aren’t thinking things through, Percy. I’m yer cousin. Ye’re supposed to protect me, not attack me.” She didn’t think that would work, but she had to try. Was there any honor in him at all? He remained silent.
“Listen to me, Percy. I have no intention of going to London. Ye must know that Grandmama is always meddling and plotting. As for the duke’s providing all of us with dowries, well, I don’t know about that.” She shrugged her shoulders and took another step away from him.
“Ye’re a strange lass, Brandy,” Percy said finally. “Just what do ye want?”
“What do I want?” she repeated slowly, her brow furrowed, knowing what she wanted, knowing it was impossible. She looked out to sea and saw some crofters in a barely seaworthy little boat, heaving their tattered nets over the side into the water.
“I won’t chase dreams, Percy. I won’t try to do something that wouldn’t make me happy with myself. I want what I can have, and that is what I have now—Grandmama, Fiona, and Penderleigh.” She faced him again. “Do ye intend to remain here or return to Edinburgh?”
He recalled Lady Adella’s cold, mocking voice: “Ye’ll leave yer hands off the girl, my randy lad. Mayhap it will be better to remove yerself from temptation. Yer heiress awaits ye, does she not?”
“Edinburgh,” he said. “I believe that I will leave on the morrow. I’m off to woo my heiress. Without her father knowing just yet—until the courts have tied me up with a new ribbon.”
“Is that what ye want, Percy?” Brandy asked, eyeing him with a bit more confidence now. There was a bitterness in his voice that made her, for the moment, feel just a bit sorry for him.
He looked at her, taking in the soft tendrils of hair that curled about her face and the full curve of her breasts he knew was beneath that gown of hers, beneath that band she probably bound herself with. “Nay, lass, it’s not what I want, but I suppose it’s what I must have. No, it’s you I want, lassie.”
Before she knew what he was about, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her roughly against him. She cried out in surprise and fear, only to feel his mouth grinding against hers and his tongue probing wildly against her teeth. She hated his wet mouth, his violence. She began to struggle, shoving at him, trying to claw his face.
“Don’t fight me, Brandy.” He was gasping his words into her mouth, stifling her cries. “Ye know how long I’ve desired ye.” Swiftly he grasped her hips, lifted her from the ground, and toppled her onto her back amid the bright yellow flowers.
She screamed once before he covered her mouth with his hand. She felt him moving on top of her, felt his weight crushing her down, and for a moment she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.
He tore at the buttons on her gown, his fingers wildly groping for her breast. My God, she thought, he was going to rape her. She twisted beneath him, pounding his shoulders with her fists, tearing his hair. His breath was hot against her mouth, and she felt his sex hard and pressing against her belly. She had seen animals mating, and knew that he would shove himself into her. She was terrified at her own helplessness.
“Brandy! Cousin Percy! Ye’re playing and ye didn’t invite me. Can I play the game with ye?”
Percy froze over her, his face ludicrous with shock.
“Fiona,” Brandy yelled even as she was pulling her bodice together. “Get off me, ye miserable sod. Surely ye don’t intend to rape me in front of Fiona, do ye? Nay, even ye couldn’t be that great a villain.”
She shoved Percy off her and scrambled to her feet. Percy pulled himself to a sitting position. His face was flushed with anger. Brandy heard him cursing under his breath.
“Well, can’t I play? Ye were pounding on Percy and he was pretending ye hurt him, moaning and gasping like ye’d shot him.” Fiona eyed first her sister, then Percy.
Oh, God, Brandy thought. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Poppet, the game’s over. Percy lost. There’s no more game to play, all right?” Seeing the child’s confusion, she tried, she truly did try to turn this nightmare into nothing more exciting than a tea party. “Aye, it was a new kind of wrestling Cousin Percy was teaching me. As ye can see, I beat him handily.”
Brandy wanted to kick Percy, but she knew she couldn’t, any more than he could attack her in front of Fiona. He looked fit to kill. She wanted to throw her arms around Fiona and thank her, for her little sister had indeed saved her. But she couldn’t. She had to treat all of it lightly. A game, nothing but a silly game.
She wanted to kill him.
“There’ll be another time, little cousin,” Percy said as he rose to his feet. “There’ll be another time and no little sister to interrupt us. Ye wanted me, Brandy, admit it, to yerself and to me. Ye’re just being coy, aye, and don’t ye know, so many girls act just like ye have. But we’ll see, won’t we?”
She took another step back. It wasn’t smart to shake yer fist in the devil’s face. “There won’t be another time, Percy,” she said, taking Fiona’s small hand in hers. “Never.”
Brandy left Fiona in Marta’s care, avoiding the old woman’s curious eyes, and made her way to Lady Adella’s sitting room.
Clutching together the torn buttons on her gown, she drew a deep breath and walked into Lady Adella’s line of vision.
“Ye look the perfect dowd, all rattled and tangled, yer gown not even buttoned.” Lady Adella was irritated, and she was snorting after she’d given Brandy a thorough look up and down. “I swear, why can’t ye take more pains with yerself, like yer sister?”
Brandy felt her cup fill to the brim, then overflow. “Listen to me, Grandmama, I would look like the queen of the May if Percy had not just tried to rape me.”
Lady Adella’s thin eyebrows snapped together. “He tried to rape ye? Percy?”
“He tried to rape me,” Brandy repeated, the thought of his body pressing down on her making her so mad she wanted to strike out. She was breathing hard as she said, “Fiona saved me. She thought it was all a game. At least Percy didn’t continue in front of her. God, I want to kill him.”
“Och, so Fiona saved ye, huh? Well, that’s a relief.” Brandy watched as a smile deepened the lines about her grandmother’s thin mouth. She thought it was funny? “What are ye going to do about him, Grandmama?”
“I might have known he wouldn’t keep his hands off ye, my girl. Ye tease him something fierce, and as I’ve told ye many times, he’s just a weak Robertson male. Ye want me to do something with Percy? Really, ye silly chit, there’s aught for me to do since he didn’t succeed in cooling his passion for ye. Such a prissy prude ye are, child. Surely ye know what men want of women. It’s only natural, particularly for Percy. He didn’t succeed, so shut yer mouth. And don’t ye dare kill him.”
Brandy stared at her, appalled. “Ye wouldn’t have cared had he succeeded?”
“Of course I would have minded. It would have changed everything. But there’s no harm done. Stop yer righteous anger, child. It bores me, makes me believe ye’re a Methodist. I’ll see that our randy Percy takes his leave on the morrow. He’ll not bother ye again, child.”
“Before Percy attacked me, Grandmama, he said that ye had told him that I was going to London. Did Ian talk to ye?”
Lady Adella could nearly feel her granddaughter’s anger come toward her in waves. Percy was out of her mind now. So there was passionate blood in her veins. She decided to choose her words carefully, even though she doubted the duke would ever have the gall to send her away as he’d threatened. Outrage had always worked well with Brandy, totally knocked her off her course. She said with all the hauteur of the long dead Queen Mary, “Certainly the duke spoke with me, stupid girl. If ye care not about yer future, he, as yer guardian, has every right to concern himself with yer affairs.”
“I’ll not go, Grandmama, and I told him so. How dare he come to ye?”
She’d not distracted her. That was interesting. She smiled, splaying her gnarled hands in a display of defeat. “Very well, child, I’ll not try to force ye to go to London, though I’ll never ken yer mule’s stubbornness. It’s like old Angus ye’ve become, and the good Lord knows that’s an abominable thing.”
Brandy breathed a wary sigh of relief. “Thank ye, Grandmama. I don’t want to leave Penderleigh, no matter what the duke says.”
“As ye will, child. I had thought ye’d prefer having a choice of husbands, for Ian assured me that he’d put many a proper gentleman in yer path. Since it isn’t to yer liking, well, I’ll ensure that ye’ll have yer wish and stay at Penderleigh—”
“Oh, thank ye, Grandmama.”
“After what Percy tried to do to ye, I wouldn’t think that ye’d want him, but—”
Brandy drew back as though she’d been struck. “Percy? What are ye talking about? What does this have to do with Percy? Oh, no, Grandmama, ye know that I loathe him. I’d never marry him, never.”
“So ye want yer cream and the bowl too, lass? Well, the world doesn’t turn that way. I’ll have no worthless spinster at Penderleigh. Ye’ll marry Percy or ye’ll go to London. The choice is yers.”
This couldn’t be happening. Brandy tried to swallow down the lump of fear and revulsion that stuck in her throat. She paced back and forth in front of Lady Adella, then spun about. “Grandmama, do ye want to make me unhappy? Why do ye hate me? What have I done to make ye treat me thus?”
“I don’t hate ye, ye silly chit. Damnation, child, I want to see ye well placed afore I join yer grandfather in Hades. He had a fondness for ye, the old rutting goat, and I’ll not spend eternity with him badgering me about failing in my duty toward ye.”
Brandy forced calm into her voice. “If that is so, Grandmama, I can’t believe that Grandfather would have wanted me to be so very unhappy. He disliked Percy, ye know.”
Lady Adella realized that she had buried herself in a losing argument, and she knew that her threat was a hollow one. Never would the duke let Percy have the girl. She hastened to change her direction, gnashing her teeth impotently at the duke’s orders. She resorted to a fine display of rage. She slammed her cane hard into the side of a small table and sent it crashing to the floor.
It didn’t work. Brandy shook her fist. “I’ll run away. Do ye hear, Grandmama? I swear that I’ll run away.”
Lady Adella drew up short and sucked in her breath. A cunning grin pulled up at the corners of her mouth. “Ye run away, Brandy, and I’ll take Fiona away from ye.” She had no idea how she could accomplish such a feat were it required of her, but she saw that she had finally won the battle. The rebellion was gone in a flash. Brandy stood there, shoulders slumped, defeated.
“Aye, that’s more the thing, lass. Fiona is like yer wee bairn, isn’t she? Once ye’re married—after yer season in London with the duke and duchess—she’ll be all yers, I promise ye.”
“Ye’re wicked, Grandmama, just plain wicked.”
“I may be, ye silly child, but it matters naught. Now off with ye, for I wish to speak to yer Uncle Claude. He’s waiting for me, he is, at the dower house.”
Brandy whirled about and ran from the sitting room. She rushed from the castle, heedless of the fact that Percy could still be about, and made for a lonely stretch of beach, far away from prying eyes. She rushed to the edge of the water and gulped in the salty air. She stood staring blindly toward the empty horizon, wondering if anyone beyond that stretch of water could be as miserable as was she. Water lapped about her sandals, and she retreated beyond the reach of the rising tide to a large out-jutting rock.
She wrapped her skirts about her legs and sank her chin to her knees. She felt tears sting her eyes. She would never give up Fiona. She would do anything, even wed with Percy, not to lose her little sister. Her mind brought her back to her other choice. London with Ian—and his bride. The thought brought with it such a sense of despair that she pressed her knuckles against her eyes to keep away the damnable tears. To be in his company every day while that hated, faceless wife held his attention and his love. Unbidden, the words she had spoken to Percy rose in her mind: “I won’t chase dreams.”
She was a witless fool, she told herself. She couldn’t have the duke, so there was the end to it. She swallowed this bitter pill and forced her thoughts to London. She had no workable notion of exactly what a Season involved. Obviously, from the way Grandmama spoke, it must involve scores of single ladies and gentlemen coming together for the purpose of deciding who would marry whom. She tried to picture these gentlemen, but only Ian’s face appeared before her. She rose abruptly and kicked a stone with the toe of her sandal. I might well be a witless fool, she repeated to herself again, but I do want him, and I’ll have none other. She drew herself up and stared out to sea.
She was chasing a dream, but she didn’t care. Sometimes dreams were all there were.
Lady Adella leaned heavily on her cane as she followed Fraser into the small sitting room in the dower house. “Don’t ye get up, Claude,” she said sourly, “there’s no reason for the both of us to suffer.”
Fraser helped her sit down, then offered her one of his freshly baked scones.
“Strawberry jam, my lady?”
“Nay, Fraser, I like them just as they are, with the butter oozing over the sides.” She gazed at him, a gleam in her faded eyes. “Morag would be a fat slut were ye still living with her. Claude, ye got the best of the bargain. Would ye like to trade Fraser for Morag?”
Claude cackled, displayed bits of buttery scone against his black front teeth. “Fraser stays right where he is, lady. Besides, ye try to force him to be near Morag, and he’d take himself off to Edinburgh. Have I yer measure, Fraser?”
Fraser folded his lips into enforced silence and nodded pleasantly.
Lady Adella poked his leg with the tip of her cane. “Don’t ye miss having a wench in yer bed, Fraser? I vow Morag gets scratchier by the day, seeing as how she has nay a man to tumble her.”
Fraser’s nostrils twitched. He said, “If ye’ll allow me to say, my lady, it isn’t a man Morag needs, it’s a thorough scrubbing twice a day with a bar of lye soap.”
Lady Adella choked on her scone, and Fraser delicately thumped her back. “I like a man who speaks his mind, Fraser. Off with ye now, for I must needs bore myself with yer master.”
After Fraser had calmly bowed himself from the room, Lady Adella turned to Claude, smacking her lips free of crumbs.
“Well, nephew, now we can speak freely. Attend me well, for the subject will be closed after today.”
Claude sat forward in his chair, his eyes glittering, his gout forgotten for the moment.
“Ye know that the time has come to make retribution. I suspect that old MacPherson is grinding his teeth at the tasks I’ve set him. But it will be done. Ye’ll have yer claim to Penderleigh, as will Bertrand after ye. As to what it’ll bring ye, only God and the devil know.”
