No Choice but Surrender (14 page)

But Cumberland merely laughed, finding her comment terribly amusing. "Yes, I suppose to you it does seem
an impossibility
. But she is a fine one, that Rose. I am sure that when you meet her you will agree. I expect you two ladies will get along famously."

"Yes. Especially when she learns that I am being held prisoner here. That should warm me to her heart." Brienne pushed away her food and stared angrily into her wineglass. An abysmal silence followed, and even Cumberland seemed to lose his appetite at her accusation.

"Listen, my child, you mustn't let yourself go on in this overwrought state."

"I cannot continue in this vein!" She pleaded with the elderly gentleman, "Can you at least tell me what he wants? Can't you tell me now so that I can give him—
"

"I cannot. Do not ask me for that, because I cannot tell you anything without revealing what he has kept a dear secret." He reached over and took her smooth, young hand in his wrinkled one. "It's nothing as bad as you may fear."

"But he is living in a fantasy, thinking I can stay here indefinitely to wait for my father! It's pure folly. What will be the explanation for my presence here during all that time? His cousin is to arrive. What will he tell her? What can he tell her but that I am his mistress? And he will have to continue telling that story until it is so!" She stood up and walked over to the gilt pier glass and looked at herself. The girl who stared back looked tired. There were deep hollows in her cheeks, and her eyes had faint lavender smudges underneath them from worry. "But I tell you that will never be so. I will not be a man's plaything. I think it would be more pleasant to die first." She thought of the earl, and her mouth formed a grim, straight line.

"Do not say such things." There was heaviness in Cumberland's voice, and his guilt feelings were betrayed. '-It will not come to that. Avenel is not one to force himself upon a woman. He can be quite the gentleman if he wishes. And I know he has tried to see to your comfort."

"Yes, he has." Once again she felt cheated out of her anger. "It's just that something is going to snap." She faced him and looked directly into his aged, understanding eyes. "I'm aware of how my situation must appear to you both. I have nowhere to go. I admit I have no home. I must seem terribly pathetic and helpless to you both in my threadbare gowns, which I wear night after night, and my sad lack of funds. But yet I am not so helpless as to go blindly along with this game we are playing. I know something is being set up here. And I know I am the one who will receive all the punishment."

"You admit you have nowhere to go." He shook his head in bewilderment. "Is it not better then that you remain here, where you will be taken care of and looked after?"

"But for how long? Until this charade has ended?
Then what?"

"It's impossible to tell you what will be then." He walked up to the glass and watched her, and his voice softened. "I realize that Avenel is a terrifying man. He is filled with anger and hatred toward your father. And for the time being, he cannot always separate you from the earl. The times when he has been able to, he feels guilty—as if by accepting you as anything else but Oliver Morrow's daughter, he has betrayed his past and his purpose. But I also think that, given time, he could find you to be his salvation. He has a penchant for you, one that I have not seen in him before." He finished softly. "I know you better each day, my lady, and I know you could never resemble your father in any manner. As strange as this may sound, I think you can bring Avenel the peace he deserves."

"Tell me what he did," she whispered almost inaudibly. "What did the earl do? I want to understand this."

"It's not my story to tell." Cumberland backed away and placed his thumbs in his green brocade waistcoat. "But I would like to tell you this, if I may." He took a paternal stance and continued. "It is my wish that you try to be comfortable here, even if you have to take each day as it comes. That will be beneficial to all of us during these trying times. I cannot stand to see you so unbearably upset. Even if it is just to please a wizened old man, I hope that you could find this life agreeable enough to tolerate it, if only for a short amount of time."

She listened to him throughout his speech, and when he stopped speaking, she could not help but smile in a soft, affectionate way. He stood before her so anxious to please and yet so worried that she would not be. She actually got a feeling of what it must be like to have a father, one who absolutely doted on her.

"I suppose I can try, but only for a while," she said eventually. "I must say, it should be much easier if Avenel is to be gone for a few days." She gave a wry little laugh, and soon Cumberland joined in.

"I promise to make it as enjoyable as possible, my dear." He held out her seat for her to return to the table.
"So for now let us both try to forget your situation here and relax!
How does that sound?"

"I can promise at least to try," she said reluctantly. Reclaiming her seat, she suddenly wished fervently that Cumberland were the owner of Osterley. She let out a small, undetected sigh. How much simpler things would be then, without that flinty-eyed man now in
London
.

It was the most wonderful time of her life. Before Avenel returned to
Osterley
Park
, the winter sky held the promise of snow, but miraculously none came. It seemed that this winter, February's Nordic winds and tedious white landscapes were destined never to materialize. Although Brienne still had to dress in her heaviest worsted petticoats and jackets, it was possible for her to continue the walks about the ground that she enjoyed so much.

During one of these walks, she came upon the grounds- buildings that faced the lawn. The
Temple
of
Pan
, she had decided, would be the perfect place to read in blissful solitude. Entering another grounds building, the Doric Orangery, she found to her delight that a few neglected trees were making a brave attempt to blossom. The other trees sat in their
jardinieres
withered and dead, but they provided a perfect foil for the wispy, gentle white blossoms of the more hearty plants. Brienne breathed deeply, filling her nostrils with the mineral scent of cold soil, the burned fragrance of dried wood branches, and then the overriding, sweet fragrance of orange blossoms reaching their peak. Before she returned to the house later that afternoon, she made a decision to take the care of the trees herself. As long as she was being forced to stay at the park, she
rationalized,
she should have a respectable occupation to fill her time.

With her new hobby of keeping "springtime" astride at the Park, Brienne found that the days passed with wondrous speed. Her evenings, if not spent with Cumberland in the large, well-stocked library near the eating room, were whiled away quietly with Vivie in her room. The anxiety that had plagued her since her first encounter with Osterley's new master was less immediate now that Avenel was away in London. And this made her much more companionable. She and Vivie spent many an evening sharing reminiscences of their homes and their families, now so far away from them both. During their time together, they became more than servant and mistress; they became friends.

The memory of Avenel Slane and his dominating presence was becoming a dim specter in her mind. There were times when she forgot about him completely and failed to realize that his return was more likely with every passing day. Even now, as she walked through the frostbitten kitchen gardens to the neoclassical outbuildings, she was unaware of a procession that moved along the pebbled carriage drive at a dignified pace.

Her thoughts far from the goings-on at the front of the house, she walked over to the small Doric Temple of Pan and entered it through the unlocked door. There was a soft smile on her face as she peeked into the shabby, interior; her mind flooded with happy memories as she pictured her mother near her in the tiny, beautiful building. Brienne herself must have been only four years old at the time, and her memories of that day were just precious fragments in her mind. Unlike now, it had been a spring day, and the Doric building had been flooded with brilliant sunshine. The light had poured through the large eight-paned windows, and she and her mother had sat on brocade cushions as her mother read to her from a book.

Portraits of Sir Isaac Newton and Colen Campbell, the great architect, faced her as Brienne entered the doorway. She saw her mother pointing them out and telling her things about the studies of science and art. But now, more vivid than that image in her mind were the feelings that it aroused. Security, peacefulness, and the feeling of being loved were very strong in this little room. Brienne adored being there as her eyes feasted on the stuccoed elemental scroll frames of air, fire, earth, and water, and the medallion heads that represented spring, summer, autumn, and winter respectively.

She was drawn into the room. The servants, who had noted her penchant for the temple, kept it as warm as they could by attending to the small fireplace. Still, the floor was cold and dusty. But she piled the sadly faded brocade cushions upon it and sat as if it were once again springtime and not the gray middle of winter. With her body at ease, Brienne lifted her sweet, rose-colored lips, softly revealing a smile of remembrance. She had intended to read, but instead she pulled her loosely bound hair over her shoulder, took a thick plait into her hands, and untwisted it until it was undone. Feeling almost sleepy, she dropped her tresses from her hands and lay back on the cushions to gaze at the geometries on the ceiling; her deep burgundy hair cascaded around her face like the most expensive and rare of furs. Coaxed and caressed by the remembrance of better times, her eyelids soon grew too heavy to keep open. Though she knew the room was no place for a nap, she let out a soft, inaudible sigh and fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

Two tender, warm lips made their way across her bare throat, taking an excruciating amount of time to find their mark. Brienne felt the full force of them on her mouth. Not daring even to breathe lest she wake up from the sensations burning within her, she allowed her lips to part so that the magical beast before her could seek his pleasure further, thus increasing hers to an intoxicating level. In the fog between sleep and reality, she imagined she was being kissed by Pan himself, who had wandered in from the woodlands and was playing upon her as if she were his flute, made from the reeds that grew along the lake.

Much too soon the kiss was
Over
, and the warm mouth left her. She cried out to have it back, finding it as dear to her as the bread and wine that offered sustenance. But when her eyes opened, her cry quickly became one of alarm as she gazed up into Avenel's darkly lashed, cold, blue eyes. He laughed, in a slow, relaxed manner, showing strong, even teeth and a
cleanshaven
jaw. Moving down on her once again, he leaned on his elbows and took her head in both his hands.

"I have found a wood nymph, it would seem. Are you from the forest, or did you arise from one of the far meadows?" He bent to kiss her once more, but this time she refused to comply and pulled her head from his grasp.

"Must you steal upon me like this?"

Undaunted by her rejection, he once again took her head into his palms and gazed into her eyes.

"Tell me you have missed me, wildflower. I have missed you." He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her slightly
retrousse
nose.

"I find that hard to believe—and harder still to believe that you have not sated your desires in London."

"Desire is a strange thing." He rolled from her and also lay on his back, gazing toward the ceiling.
"Sometimes 'tis a very difficult thing to appease."

"As long as it is with someone else."
Brienne sat up and pulled her hair to one shoulder so that it would be more manageable. She started to stand when one strong arm grabbed her by the waist, and she was pulled on top of him with her hair nearly covering his starkly white linen shirt. There was a distinct hardening of flesh between his thighs as she lay on top of him, and even his doeskin breeches, her petticoats, and the front of her bum roll could not sufficiently hide his maleness.

"Is that your wish, little one? Was there not one night among these many that you did not long for a man's attention? Is your lovely body so untried that you are blind to the pleasures before you?"

"Please, I don't want you to hurt me," she said softly, hoping he would not be induced to go further. "It's shameful what you speak of." She looked at him with heavy-lidded, watchful eyes.

"Always the lady, despite your rags."
He pushed his hips even more intimately against her and said, "There will be no forceful gestures, my lady. But if you desire a liaison, I can promise you pleasure beyond your wildest imaginings. And there will be no pain except that which must be sacrificed in order to begin."

"You speak like a fool! I know it to be different. It's a horrible, painful ordeal that must be suffered through. My mother ran from it, and she taught me to run from it. I will not succumb to your lovemaking." She gazed defiantly into his steely eyes, pursing her shapely lips as if to keep them from him.

" Tis
understandable what your mother tried to avoid. But I do not believe she always ran away. There was one time when she wanted to be caught." As if in a trance, he palmed the long, auburn tresses hanging down from her shoulder, admiring their unusually rich color.

Squirming uncomfortably, she said, "The earl has shown me all I need to know of men and their ways. I have no need for either."

"All men are not the same. You wrong me by comparing me to your father. I have nothing in common with him, not even as a man."

"This is not something I want to find out—so if you will release me?" She pulled up from him, arching her back, but her breasts threatened to spill out from her round-necked bodice if she moved farther away. She distinctly distrusted the gleam that suddenly appeared in his eye.

"Give me a welcome kiss, wildflower.
Tis what I have waited for and dreamed about."
There was a deliciously wicked smile on his handsome face and she knew better than to comply.

"You're daft! You've been away from Osterley for so
long,
you've forgotten how it is between us."

"I have not forgotten the key. Or have you taken the opportunity while I was away to claw through the lock on my commode and retrieve your comb?" He raised one black eyebrow at
her .

"So you admit it's my comb after all," she said smugly. "Perhaps then you will concede to giving it to me?"

"I admit nothing. Tis your comb when you have earned it. Until then, I will call it your comb, for it is seemly to do so, and because the piece suits you so well."

"If it suits me, then give it to me. Surely you have given gifts to certain women in your doubtful career. Why must
this
 
be
different?"

"You are not a trollop," he answered, looking strangely defensive.

"But I must behave like one to get it back."

"I suppose that is subject to different interpretations." In an instant she was tumbling to the floorboard as he abruptly got to his feet. He stood over her dazed and disheveled figure and then bent down to retrieve his topcoat from where he had discarded it earlier. "Have Vivie make you presentable. We have guests, and I expect you in the drawing room in less than an hour."

"Who?" she inquired, completely flustered.

"My cousin is
here,
and . . . some friends from London."

"I see. Cumberland mentioned you would bring her back. I suppose this is the test—to see if I can stand being humiliated as your whore—"

She found herself suddenly being grabbed from the floorboards and shaken so that she felt her head would spin off her shoulders. Finally when he took his hands from her, all he could do was shove on his wrinkled topcoat and say,
" Tis
not for you ever to say such things. It does not become you, and I will not have it."

She opened her mouth, but before she could get out a reply, he took her by the arm and started leading her out of the small
groundsbuilding
toward the house.

"Say no more, little one. Reality has slapped us both in the face once again."

"Venetia has gone upstairs with the rest of the guests. I suppose the journey has worn them out." A pretty, blond- haired woman spoke as Avenel entered the elaborate drawing room. He walked underneath the plastered ceiling with its writhing golden sunflower and rays of curling ostrich feathers. The pink, gold, and green ceiling motifs were echoed in the rich Thomas Moore carpeting
underneath,
and the entire loom was so full of studied movement that even the dated rococo curves of the seat furniture seemed in place.

Avenel sat down in one of the gold serpentine chairs covered in swirling silk damask and hung his head tiredly before him. He ran an agitated hand across his jaw and began to speak."
Tis good.
Let them rest. I'm afraid we will need this rime to talk."

"Why, whatever is the matter, Avenel? I haven't seen you so worked up since Christopher died. And as you well know, I have been a widow now for almost twenty years." From the fading sunlight of the window, lines were seen on the beautiful woman's face, but it could not be discerned whether these were from worry or aging.

"In many ways, 'tis like when Christopher died, Rose."

She stood up from the tea table and walked toward him. "Whatever can be that bad? It was a brutal death that your brother and my husband suffered. But he is dead and has found his release."

"But it seems there is no release found for us."

"What is it,
Avenel, that
makes you speak so bitterly? You have Osterley back. And when Oliver Morrow shows his blackguard face here, you will have it all back. It was worth fighting for. I can believe it was worth dying for."

He grabbed her hand and placed an affectionate kiss on its back."
Tis been hard for you all these years.
So unnecessarily hard and lonely."
He looked up into the older woman's face and then said, "I always knew Christopher would have the
finest of women. You are the finest, Rose. My one comfort is that he was a happy man until the day he died."