Helen Dickson - Caught in Scandal's Storm

Abruptly she turned her back on the night. She snuffed out the candles on the mantelpiece, leaving the room with no other light than the soft glow shed by the small lamps placed at the bedside. The room, with its dim, mysterious light and the soft, inviting bed, had the power to attract her. She had made up her mind to sell some of her jewellery in the morning with which to pay Duncan Forbes the hundred pounds he had requested for information about her father, whatever the consequences might be should Lady Marchington find out. She knew she would never rest until she had the truth and then she must write to William. But first she must undress.

Removing the pins from her hair, she shook it out with both hands so that it tumbled like a thick black mantle down to the small of her back. The dress was more difficult to manage and for a moment, driven to distraction by the innumerable hooks, she was tempted to summon her maid, but then she remembered that Philippe had admired her in the dress and with a sudden spurt of anger she tugged and tore the fragile material away from its fastenings and tossed it into a chair. Attired in just her shift, she sat on the bed and removed her shoes. About to stand up, she froze. She had the strange feeling that she wasn’t alone, that someone was watching her. As she looked up her throat tightened and fear jabbed her in the chest.

A man was standing as still as a statue at the window, holding the curtains apart to watch her, looking dark and severe in the shadows. His manner of dress told her he had not been invited to the ball. He wore a tightly cut coat of black cloth and a white cravat. His narrow hips and muscular thighs were encased in black breeches and his gleaming black boots came to his knees. His long hair was tied back in a somewhat unruly style which, she suspected, was the result of carelessness rather than deliberate design. It was a dark shade of brown and in its depths were several strands of glittering grey.

He took a menacing step forward, edging into view with a cynical twist to his lips, allowing the shifting light of the lamps to illuminate his features. The eyes seemed to bore through her, and the gaze was so bold and forward that Alice’s eyes slowly widened and for a brief moment she held her breath, frozen by his steely gaze.

‘You!’ she uttered, struggling against that aching, mesmerising stare. It was him! The man in the park! She had not seen his face properly, but it was him. When he spoke, she was certain.

The intruder saw the wary look of a trapped but defiant young cat enter her transparent eyes, eyes of the deepest blue. ‘Please do not be alarmed. Forgive my intrusion.’

‘I do not, sir! If you lay one finger on my person, I swear I will scream.’ With a cry of indignation and in fearful panic she sprang off the bed and made for the door.

‘For God’s sake, I am not going to hurt you,’ he ground out, and as quick as a panther he moved after her. With no other thought than to stop her raising the alarm prematurely, he grasped her shift from behind and pulled her back, ripping the soft fabric.

Before Alice knew what was happening her foot became tangled in the loose folds of material about her legs. Her arms floundered wildly before she fell to the floor, dragging her assailant with her. She gasped with pain and tears of helpless fury filled her eyes. Her thick hair was trapped beneath the man’s arm and she was unable to move her head. With this small measure of discomfort, something exploded inside her. Suddenly she ceased to care how much he hurt her, but she would not let him do the vile things to her that Philippe had done. His entire being was of finely tempered steel as he leaned over her, his head so close to her own that his warm breath fanned her face.

Fear pricked her consciousness that he would demean her and abuse her, and the surety that he would was beginning to loom monstrously large in her mind. Her mind tumbled over in a frenzy. Please God, don’t let it all be about to happen again . Had she not suffered enough at Philippe’s hands, when he had commanded and she had obeyed, when she had submitted to his pawing? She had wondered what evil she had done that he should abuse her most cruelly, while he pleasured himself at his leisure, telling her that soon she would come to enjoy what he did to her—but for the present she must learn to accept her lot.

Her already depleted strength would little deter this intruder’s assault. But it was best not to dwell on the degradations that would precede the final one and Alice fought the despair that threatened to reduce her to a whimpering wretch.

A new strength surged into her. Like a baited wildcat that turns on its tormentors, she jerked her hair free and hit out at him. Managing to wriggle out from underneath him, in desperation she sank her teeth into his hand. With a string of oaths the man sprang to his feet.

‘You little hellcat!’ he bit out, taking her arm and hoisting her to her feet. ‘Be still, damn you! I’m not going to hurt you.’

She struggled, but he held her easily, letting her wear herself out until she was still. Resolutely she detached her mind from what was happening, the grip of his hand, and thought with savage concentration of how she would punish him when she escaped to tell the constables how she had been treated.

With her breath coming rapidly from between her parted lips, she glared into the cold silver-grey eyes. There was no denying that this man was handsome, physically magnificent. Before Philippe had spoiled her for all men, she might have even dreamed of such a man. But never in those innocent dreams of romance did she imagine that her love would fly to her on the wings of violence.

‘Take your vile hands off my person,’ she hissed. ‘I will scream, so help me I will. I don’t know who you are, but I hate you! I loathe you! I despise you. I don’t want you to touch me.’

‘I promise you that nothing was further from my mind until you threatened to scream the house down,’ he replied coldly.

Ewen Tremain’s manner was almost calm as he looked at her. A more observant woman than Alice might have noticed the distinct hardening of his lean features, the tightening of his jaw, the coldness of his gaze—and taken warning.

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