“It has been tough keeping Stewart from you. He’s pissed, mate. Andy hasn’t said anything, but despite appearances, Stewart isn’t a dumb fuck. He’s noticed your absence. What gives?”
I covered my mouth with a hand, pressing in my cheeks.
“Okay, let me guess. You cheated on her?” He took another bite of his apple, watching me. I didn’t respond. “No? Okay. You ... found her screwing around?”
I let go of my face and gave him my best you’re the dumb-fuck look.
“I didn’t believe it either. Okay, um ... she dumped you because your dick is too small?”
My mouth flattened and I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, turning my attention outside.
“You guys love each other. What the fuck happened?”
I shot him a glare. “My father fucked with my head. That’s what happened.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s a serial liar, so why would you believe anything he said or did, ever?”
Lee had a point. My nineteen-year-old-self understood this. My seven-year-old-self had yet to learn.
I’d been over it a million times. There was no excuse for what I’d done. And the longer I let things go without talking to her, the further any chance of her taking me back got.
I’d watched her sleeping that night. Her blonde hair spread out on the pillow, lips puffed out and slack as she dreamt. Her naked body had pressed against me, and fuck me, I’d wanted her again. I’d wanted to be a selfish prick and wake her up with my tongue, but she’d needed sleep. She also deserved a guy who would’ve been gentle her first time. Someone who wouldn’t put his hand in her pants while her sister was in the same room.
What the fuck was wrong with me? I was just like my dad. I’d taken her virginity on her narrow single bed while her sister slept down the hall. I’d wanted to make her feel special. Do the flowers and chocolates thing, and take her away for a weekend once she’d finished school. I’d only had to wait six more months, for fuck’s sake.
“Hey.”
My head cranked to the side to find Lee frowning at me, the masticated apple core pinched between his thumb and pointer finger.
“You’re a mess. Get your deadbeat dad out of your head. He’s ruined enough. Let him go now. You’re not him.”
He was right.
But after what I’d done, how could I convince Andy that I wasn’t that guy?
_____
Emmeline
Hampshire, England
14th July, 1867, in the wee hours
Jolted from a nightmare, I found my arms pulled above my head, my wrists locked under a tight grip. A heavy palm gripped my chin, muffling my screams—my nightmare come to life.
Reginald Fortescue’s brandy-soaked breath poured over my face. “Do not scream.”
He freed my mouth to reach for the hem of my gown before yanking it to my waist. I screamed before he smashed his mouth onto mine. He tasted bitter. I struggled in a futile effort to unchain myself from his restraints. His knees pushed my legs wider and he dropped his weight on top of me before reaching down to shove his length into my body. My cry of pain caught in my throat with nowhere to go. He pulled his lips from mine, replacing them with his hand. His skin smelled of brandy and vomit. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting the sight of him to etch into my memories.
“Open your eyes!” he spat. “I will be the last man who was inside you as you stand at the altar.” He slurred his words, eyes boring into mine. His body drove into me with hard thrusts.
This was nothing like the love I’d made with Sebastian. This was dominance, control, power. This was the crushing of my soul into tiny irretrievable pieces. The movement of his body against mine was like sand in the eyes, grazed knees, sunburn. This was pain. And he was enjoying it.
He removed his hand to land a blow across my face. A burst of agony fanned out from my jaw before his palm smothered my cries. He did it again, landing a fist to the opposite side to even his score before cutting off my air. I tried to tilt my head to free my nose from the press of his hand, but he pushed my head farther into the pillow, rendering me immobile.
I stopped fighting against him. What was the point? It was already too late. He had taken from me, had violated my body and my spirit in irrevocable ways. My eyes rolled to the side.
Where was Marybeth?
Had she run? Had the earl threatened her, or worse, hurt her?
I prayed that she was safe. She needed to protect her baby. This would all be over soon.
For this occasion, if not forever.
If I survived, in a matter of hours, I would be his wife. He could do whatever he pleased with me. I would be kept among his many possessions, there to play with when the desire struck.
With a grunt, his movements became erratic before one final push. He collapsed on top of me, his grip on my wrists and my face falling free.
I gasped for air, waiting for him to move. He did not. His harsh breathing quickly transformed into soft snores. I pushed on his shoulders, sliding my top half out from under him. Digging my heels and hands into the bed, I scrambled away, leaving him asleep face down. I stood to the side, taking in the trail of blood left on the sheets. The evidence of his deed ran down my thighs. I dashed to the washbowl, needing to clean myself immediately. I wanted him off me. Sobbing, I scrubbed with the cloth until the water in the bowl was red and my thighs were raw. Using clean water from the
