Corey McFadden (7 page)

“Well, I suppose I might marry sometime, John, but it really is nothing I wish to worry about now,” she managed to get out, covering her surprise.

“Maude,” he said in a gentle voice. “I wonder if you’ve given any thought to your financial situation. You have this nice house, of course, but are you aware of how much it takes to run such a household? The estate itself is, I’m sorry to say, insufficient to meet all the needs.”

Maude looked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand,” she said slowly. “True, I have never concerned myself with the running of the household, perhaps I have been remiss....” In fact, she had asked innocent, naive sorts of questions, such as why couldn’t they afford a new carriage or a new horse, or could she have a new riding habit and not one of Amelia’s old ones. But all of these sorts of queries had been soundly rebuffed by her aunt. “I have always assumed the estate was large enough. I mean, we’ve managed well enough over the years....”

“But that’s just it, you see,” he said. “Mama is certainly a good manager and frugal....” He gave a short, modest laugh.

Maude could have quarreled with that statement as she thought of the gowns and accessories and jewelry that had been purchased for Amelia’s Season and trousseau.

“But,” he went on, “she has never really been able to make ends meet. She has used a great deal of her own money over the years to keep us all in food and clothing, and to keep Romney Manor in good repair.”

Maude was at a loss to understand what he was saying. Was she really beholden to Aunt Claire? Did she really owe her money? It did not make sense. Aunt Claire was the sort of woman to have thrown that in her face all these years and she had never said anything. Still, why would John lie about such a thing?

“What I am trying to say, Maude,” he began again, “is that perhaps you will need to marry to keep the roof over your head. You see, Mama had to put out a pretty penny on Amelia’s Season and her dowry, and when I marry, she will settle a good bit on me.” He spoke in a gentle tone, soothingly, as if to a child.

“I don’t understand why no one has said anything to me before this,” she began uncertainly. “I had no idea. Uncle James has never mentioned that there were money problems.”

Maude was beginning to be frightened and she rather feared it showed in her eyes.

“Maudie, you know he does not pay attention to any of this. I doubt he is aware of the problem himself. Mama takes care of all the books.” He had finished his brandy and got up to pour himself another.

“I...I really don’t know what to do,” Maude finally said, bewildered and upset. She was trying to work through this thicket of new, very upsetting facts. “I shall have to talk it over with Aunt, I suppose. I cannot go on owing her money. I can’t bear that. But to actually need a husband? If I’ve not much of a dowry, nothing but Romney Manor and no money to keep it up, I don’t know who will have me. This is just dreadful! I must think it through.” She arose in agitation and placed the glass on the tray with the decanter, making ready to leave.

“Wait, please!” John cried, “I mean, stay if you will, just a moment. There’s something I wish to ask you.” He patted the seat beside him on the settee invitingly.

Maude paused and sat back down in her own chair, lost in a maze of horrid thoughts.  How the problem was to be solved—well, that would take much careful consideration.

* * * *

Perfect!  This was going beautifully, so far, much better than Mama had feared. Why, Maude was almost eating out of his hand. The look of confusion and worry on her lovely face would have made John howl in triumph were he up to his usual devilment, but he had his sights on a much greater prize this evening. And now, with the trap properly baited it was ready to be sprung....

“I have given much consideration to marriage myself lately, Maude,” he began again. He had been speaking in gentle tones so far, the sort he would use with the vicar’s wife—that is, if he’d ever spoken with her. “The truth is, I have wondered if you and I wouldn’t suit quite well. That is, you have no love of the
ton
or of London...” he paused, aware now that her blank look was turning to one of horror as comprehension dawned on her.

He pressed on. “...And, well, I have little need of that sort of thing myself.” This was untrue, of course, but made a good argument. “I’ll have an adequate amount of money from Mama, enough to run Romney Manor and keep us in an acceptable fashion. Everything could stay exactly as it is, you see, no fuss with unsuitable suitors, no extraordinary social demands, just comfortable. We could have children...” he trailed off as Maude swallowed convulsively. She looked as if she might be sick all over the carpet and he felt a flare of anger. How dare she react to his honorable proposal like that?

And with the anger came a surge of raw desire. For some time he had been aware of Maude’s charms. His mother might be a genius about some things, to be sure, but she knew nothing about a beautiful face. He had long noted how Maude’s smile lit her emerald-green eyes with warmth, suffusing her perfectly oval face with the pleasure she took in life. Her red hair, once the carrot top he had had such fun teasing her about, had darkened to a stunning auburn, thick and shining. Its heavy length was swept up in fetching curls, some of which inevitably escaped the confining pins to frame her pretty face. And, this evening, though she wore an old, worn riding habit of Amelia’s, cut down to

fit her, she had grown a bit since the alterations were made and now it hugged her fine curves and tantalized him with the
thoughts of what he knew lay underneath.

She was lovely in the candlelight. The tip of his pink tongue flicked out to moisten his fleshy lips as he recalled that one way or the other he would be able to sate himself on her delicious body, perhaps as early as tonight. He could feel himself grow hard as he contemplated the delights promised by her tight bodice which curved enticingly, molding her small, but surely firm, young breasts. He
had never had to take a woman by force and he found the prospect highly stimulating.  Casually, as if it were an absent-minded gesture, he picked up a pillow from the loveseat and placed it in his lap to hide the bulge at his crotch. No point in frightening the chit. Not yet.

* * * *

Marriage? With John? A financial necessity! It was a nightmare not to be thought of. Yet as he talked, she realized what he said made some sense. It was hideously practical. It was also utterly unbearable.

“You are uncharacteristically speechless?” he offered mildly, as if they were not discussing an abomination.

She tried to school her expression—and  her growing sense of horror. Surely he was just teasing her—one  of his nasty ‘jests’ that he so delighted in inflicting on her. What a fool she had been to think they were sharing a companionable chat!

“I-I do not know quite what to say. I am overwhelmed...” she began.

“Then you’ll consider it?” he asked eagerly.

“No! That is, I cannot marry you, John! We are cousins, after all—”

“Only by marriage, for God’s sake! We are no more than stepcousins by law,” he interrupted. “There’s no real consanguinity!”

“Oh, I know. That’s not what I mean! I mean, I don’t think of you that way. You are a cousin to me, we were raised like brother and sister. I couldn’t...be that way with you. I couldn’t possibly be a wife to you!” She was blushing furiously.

“You mean you have no desire to go to bed with me, don’t you?”

His voice was deceptively mild. She nodded slowly, her eyes locked with his, trapped by the sudden venom she saw reflected there.

He leaped up with a swiftness that belied his bulk and crossed the short distance between them in two long strides. “Perhaps you just don’t know what desire is. Perhaps you need to be shown just how delightful I can be between your long, lovely legs!”

He seized her roughly, pulling her to her feet. Pinning her arms to her sides, he towered over her and bent his face down to hers. His large, wet lips locked on hers and she felt as if the breath were being sucked from her. Cruelly, his teeth bit into her lower lip.

As she gasped with pain, he stuck his tongue into her mouth, running it over her tongue and her teeth, ramming it to the back of her throat until she thought she would retch. As his left arm held her pinned, motionless, his right hand moved to her breast where he ripped at the flimsy cotton bodice, exposing her nipple. He kneaded it roughly for a few seconds while she writhed and pushed against him to free herself.

Her mouth still covered, her screams died in her throat. She could feel his knee pushing at her skirt between her legs. The man was bent on rape! He would ruin her! As she struggled, she felt her legs give way and he pushed her down to the floor, knocking over the small table next to them. The decanter and glasses fell to the carpet. She lay with her head near the spilled brandy.

Holding her prisoner beneath his massive body, John freed his left hand and placed it tightly over her mouth. He moved his head down and seized her nipple in his teeth, biting hard. The more she fought him, the more excited he seemed to become. He wrenched her jaw as she tried to bite at his hand, and he gave a shiver of excitement as she cried out in pain.

“You will marry me!” he hissed in her ear. “You will have to when I finish with you!” His knee jabbed harder between her legs to emphasize his words.

Rigid with terror, Maude considered desperately if there were any way at all to fight him off. She rejected reasoning with him outright. He was frenzied with passion and past rational thought. He wrenched wildly at her skirts; she could hear the material ripping. At last he found what he had obviously sought so desperately. His hand fumbled with her underthings, between her legs. The horror of his touch was overwhelming!

As he reared back to view his handiwork, she brought her own knee up hard, slamming him between the legs. He screamed in pain and rolled to the side, just as her hand closed on the neck of the decanter which lay on the carpet within her grasp.

With rage in his eyes and his hands outstretched for her throat, he lunged toward her. She brought the decanter up and with all her strength, slammed it against the side of his head. Crystal shards flew everywhere, cutting Maude’s face, her hands. From slitted eyes, she could see that a hideous red gash now ran from the corner of John’s eye to his mouth, dribbling blood down his face, draining into the white of his lacy neckcloth. He stared at her, stunned for the space of a heartbeat, then slipped slowly, insensible, to the floor.

Maude felt as if she were dreaming, as if everything were happening too slowly. She became aware that she was whimpering, jagged little gasps of pain and fear that seemed to be coming from someone far away. She sat up carefully, her hands mechanically grasping the torn material at her breast in a futile effort to cover herself. John lay motionless, bleeding into the Aubusson carpet. She had a vague, distant sense of urgency, but she sat quietly, staring at John, her mind a blank.

Very gradually, her consciousness returned, intruding sharply, painfully on her detachment. There he lay, her attacker, her tormentor, her stepcousin, in a pool of blood, his light brown curly hair drenched in brandy. She must have been mad to sit here with him, to listen to his proposal, even to consider that what he was saying was logical.

What was it he had been saying? Something about money. That she did not have any. That Aunt Claire had been subsidizing her all these years. She shook her head, as if to clear it. It still did not make sense. That she was not wealthy she knew, but a debtor, on the brink of penury?

She had a vague recollection of a conversation from long ago; it was her parents discussing something to do with what John had been talking about. What was it? Something about Aunt Claire and money. Yes, that was it. She did not have any. Maude could remember her father telling her mother about this Claire, penniless, he had said, an obvious fortune hunter who had trapped poor, hapless James. “Hush!” Mama had said. “Little pitchers....” No, something was not right and she would have to find out what it was.

She looked again at John, who had not moved. Had she killed him? She knew a new stab of fear as she waited to see if his chest rose and fell. It did.

As her haze of terror lifted, it was replaced by a slow and steady fear. She was trapped in this house by a lecherous cousin and a vicious aunt. She must get away, now, tonight, or God alone knew what they would do to her. But where could she go? She had no real friends in the immediate neighborhood, no one whom she could count on to take her part. It would be far worse to confide in an indifferent neighbor, and then be turned over to the tender mercies of Aunt Claire.

No, what she needed now was real help, formal help. She would flee to London to see her solicitors. It was high time she took interest in her own affairs. God help her if there was no money left. But one thing she knew for certain and that was she would starve in the streets before she let this vile pervert lay a hand on her again.

Maude stood slowly, surprised that her legs still shook from the stress of the attack. She was groggy but made herself move for the door. She had no idea how long John would remain unconscious but she knew she could not risk his waking and finding her there. She made her way slowly into the hall and up the stairs. She ached all over but she could not stop to worry about that now.

What to do? How to get away? The practicalities were almost overwhelming. She pushed open the door to her room, then quickly closed it behind her. She slammed home the bolt she had had Joe install after that day when John...No! She would not think of that now! She had never been able to forget the look in his eyes....

Joe! Where was Joe? Ah, yes, gone to drive the carriage. There would be no help for her there. Maude lowered herself into her small wing chair.
I must not rest,
she thought frantically.
There is no time! But I do not know what to do.
She was conscious of an overwhelming sense of defeat, a wish that she could just die and have it all go away.

From deep within her heart came an answering spark of courage.
Well, it’s not going to go away, and you are not going to die! Not unless you sit here and let him kill you!
Well, she’d be damned if she’d sit here like a ninny and wait for Cousin John to come and finish the job.