No Choice but Surrender (29 page)

"Nay," she moaned deliriously as she felt her bodice open underneath his experienced fingers. Soon his palm was overflowing with the rose-crested fullness of her breast, and a bittersweet feeling came over her as she noticed how generously she filled his large, bronzed hand. "Nay, I tell you!" She pulled her bodice to her and then ran over to the mantelpiece, seeking the key.

"I can make you want me, Brienne. With just one finger I can make you." He stalked her at the mantel. In panic she sought the key, but before she had it within her grasp, she was pulled by the waist to the settee.

"Oh, God, how wrong you are!" she spat at him, elbowing and kicking at him to free herself of his iron embrace. He forced her down onto the cushion, but she swore she would not give up until she was free, not this time. "I don't want a man who hates me! I tell you, I want no part of you!"

Before she could cry out another protest, his mouth clamped over hers. He kissed her long and hard, and by its end she found she was no longer struggling with him. But it was not the assault of his mouth that she could not deny. Instead it was his hand as he moved it along her leg and up between her smooth, inner thighs. She felt his fingers touch the dewy softness that hid in the silken wine-colored triangle. In moments he had her panting and so very hot, she thought she would be consumed by the fire burning within her.

She groaned as he pulled her down onto the floor. Pushing on his bare chest, she said in a broken voice, "Cease this madness, Avenel!
Stop.
^-
Stop!"
Her nails raked at his skin.

But he appeared to feel nothing but the devil at his tail. He shoved aside her bodice. Her dress unfastened, her shift proved no barrier at all.

"Take me within you"—he bent down and placed a nibbling kiss on her taut, sensitive nipple—"or live out the rest of the day with the ache that only I can satisfy."

"You can satisfy nothing in me, you heathen!" She spurned his kiss over and over again. But when his lips finally caught hers, she became almost pliant beneath their caress. When they had drunk of her mouth, he used them to trail down her throat. He bit her and licked her until she was forced to let out a helpless moan of desire. He then moved lower and lower and pushed away her shift, which had caught at her elbows. When his rough velvet tongue met the peak of her breast, she thought she would surely go mad from the emotional and physical war that raged within her. -

"Take me." He positioned himself over her and waited for her choice. She writhed beneath him; her screaming, demanding senses seemed too great to fight any longer. She made one last incoherent plea for sanity,
then
his dark, handsome head bent over her breast once more. Desire rushed through her soul like water through a dam, and she knew she was lost
Wordlessly
, mindlessly, her head nodded in helpless assent "Say it, then," he demanded. "Say you'll take me." "I will take you!" she cried just before he entered her. In her frenzy for appeasement, her hands clutched at his back, wanting to feel each muscle as it flexed and slackened. Her traitorous mouth reached up for his, and she took it with the same demanding force that he had used on her earlier. An unbearably short time later, she began to shudder. As Avenel's hard body rocked between her quivering thighs, the torment and pleasure instilled within her was too much to control. With a gasp, she surrendered to the dizzying eddy they had created, and she found what she had so carelessly sought. In a world of right and wrong, she felt as if she were perfectly suspended between the two, grappling with her heart and her body. When Avenel spent himself into her, she moaned. But whether this was from pure ecstasy or complete heartbreak, she was never sure.

When they finally broke free, Avenel lay back on the floor and peered at her with sleepy eyes. He seemed more relaxed than before, but she could almost believe there was remorse in his eyes for what he had done. There was
a softness
about him now that he had not possessed when he'd first entered her room. It was as if the demons that had held him in their grasp had been expunged by his actions. But she wouldn't wait for their return.

Quietly she rose from the floor; her hair fell over her expressionless face like a veil. He watched her, waiting for angry, spiteful words. But there were none. Instead she walked naked up to the mantel and took a large green
Sevres
vase from it. Then, with great calculation, she crashed it over his dark head before he could move to avoid her onslaught.

"You bastard!" she hissed at him. A flicker of surprise at her retaliation crossed his handsome face. But it was tempered by a gleam of respect that shone briefly in his eyes. Then he slumped backward onto the floor, out cold.

It was almost evening when she approached the ragged children who were playing unlawfully on the grounds of the Park. Brienne was small, and any womanly curves were painfully bound to her chest with large strips of fine batiste. She was dressed much like the children, in a torn and dirty overdress that boasted no warm petticoat underneath and no protective shoes. Carrying a large, coarsely woven bag slung over her hips like a pocket, she shivered in the chill.

"Would you like some pigeon pie?" She held out the small meat pastries she'd stolen from the kitchen before sneaking out of the house.

Wary of strangers, especially of those from the Park, the children eyed her distrustfully at first. But she did not appear to be one of the grand, satin-clad figures they had seen from afar. In her rags, she was more like a child herself than an adult; her creamy soft skin and her persuasive amethyst eyes were unhidden by adornment. Softly they stepped nearer to her like ragged fawns, to seek out what she held in her palms.

"Truly, they are quite fine.
And not even one day old."
She trembled with anxiety, but it did not take many words to convince the children that she was sincere. The starved, homely creatures were enraptured with the beautiful pauper whose uncommon magenta-streaked hair was almost completely hidden underneath a soiled gray mobcap, and whose violet-blue eyes seemed to speak of the treachery and deceit cast upon her.

"Them's fine, you say?" A skinny boy
came
the closest to her. "Where'd you get 'em?" He cast doubtful eyes upon her.

"I stole them," she said. "They're for the master's dinner at the Park. But now he has none."

A hoydenish laugh came from the circle of children, and soon they were all laughing. They had a great appreciation for the truth. One by one, each child claimed a pie until they were all gone.

"Get away with you!
Before I have your hides!"
The larger of the blond giants from the gatehouse came into view and yelled at the children. Snarling at the ragamuffins, he ordered them away from Osterley. As Brienne had hoped, he paid no special attention to the dirty girl who kept her eyes on the ground and wore a tattered pink polonaise.

The children quickly dispersed along the fence line, laughing at their mischief and at the giant's irritation. Brienne saw a boy disappear beneath the fence where a depression had been dug in the earth. She followed him, but because she was larger, she was almost afraid she would get stuck. But with one last push she was running past the other side of the fence away from Osterley.

Bath

A fine slope to the grave . . .

—James
Quin

A
heavy mist began to fall just as the last vestiges of daylight were disappearing and darkness settled upon the countryside. Shivering and damp, Brienne sadly watched the raggedy children scatter into the night; each headed for his or her hovel. She wished she could repay them. They would never know how much they had done for her.

She looked down at the wet and muddied polonaise and shook uncontrollably from the cold in spite of the tightly wrapped strips of linen that bound her bosom. Even though it was spring, the chilly night air descending around her made her think it was a winter's eve. Aching for the warmth of her woolen dress and heavy cloak, she stole across the quagmire of road and ran for the eaves of the nearest cottage, where she sought shelter to change into her traveling clothes. She felt the cold more intensely than ever when she stripped her body of the desecrated pink silk and linen bandages and searched through her burlap bag for her brown woolen dress. She pulled this over her damp shift and hooked it down the front, instantly feeling less cold. Shoving on her coarsely knitted woolen hosiery and the oxblood riding shoes for which she vowed to repay Avenel, she wrapped herself snugly in her cloak and gathered up the evidence of her departure. She wanted to hide the ratty material in a place where Avenel would never find it.

"Oh, my God!"
She spun around and found herself staring directly into Jill's catlike yellow eyes. The girl was spotlessly clean, and her harshly combed-back hair was tied severely to her nape. She was dressed in a fichu and blue woolen round gown, and to her waist was tied a pair of yellow linen pockets—a sign that she had finished her work for the day and was returning home.

She watched the girl, not sure whether she should try to explain her circumstances or whether to immediately flee from her because of her loyalty to Avenel. She soon made up her mind, for at the far-off gatehouse of the Park, both girls saw a commotion and a band of men riding anxious and furious horses. Someone called out instructions to them, and the horsemen started off in every direction imaginable. Standing just under the dark shadow of the eaves, Brienne needed little prodding to escape. She imagined the bloodthirsty look on Avenel's rock-hard face when she heard him shout orders from the road. In a split-second she looked at Jill and saw a traitorous gleam in the girl's amber eyes. That was all she needed.

As soon as Jill ran out from the eaves of Mistress Blake's cottage to flag Avenel down, Brienne dropped the evidence of her escape and took only her brown burlap bag. With this in hand, she frantically set out across the cold, black nighttime pastures, assured at least that he would never find her this night, for even the moonlight had abandoned his cause.

"She's gone to Wales. She must have. Where else would she go but to that eyesore of a town, Tenby? She knows of no other existence."

"There could be other avenues for her. Perhaps she has gone to London to find solace. It won't take her long to realize there are many wealthy men who would give their souls to take care of a woman as unique and lovely as she," Cumberland answered.

"Damn you! Mind your implications, sir!" Avenel beat his fist on the library table, making the Vitruvian scroll at its satin- wood edge waver.

"You pushed her too far! You pushed her until she broke under the strain.
I daresay, it's my fault.
I should have helped her leave that night she spent in the stable block, just as I helped you twenty years ago on that ship. But back then I was a mere shiphand and not the rich man I am today." Cumberland confronted Avenel, his blue eyes full of worry and guilt.

"I did what I had to do," Avenel answered, his voice low and distant.

"Did you, now?" There was an edge to Cumberland's voice.

"Enough of this!"
Rose entered the library from the passage. "I'll not hear you argue any further!"

"Stay out of this!" Avenel snapped, unmindful of his regard for his cousin. He fingered the precious bit of tattered gray- pink silk in his lap.

"I shall not. I'm afraid I must be blunt.
For while you are at each other's throats, Brienne is wandering about the countryside, completely alone and with no funds to spare her from begging for her dinner.
And since she has already been with" —she paused and gave Avenel an accusatory stare—"we must at least try to prevent her from having to resort to—"

"Enough." Avenel swept an anguished hand through his unkempt hair. Giving a heavy sigh, he rubbed his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I accept the responsibility for this. Tis no other's fault but my own. I shall leave tonight for Wales. I will find her before she wants for anything, I promise." He stood up, looking quite haggard, and started out the door. Cumberland grabbed his sleeve.

"You know, of course, Slane, that I never had any children." He paused. "I never had a daughter. I'll never have a daughter." Cumberland looked straight at him, almost pleading with him. "When you find her, you must forget about Morrow. Treat her as you would my daughter, if you can. She deserves that at least." He let go of Avenel's sleeve and sat down heavily in one of the honey-colored elbowchairs, looking beaten and unutterably worn.

Avenel looked at him and then nodded his head rigidly, staring ahead at the darkened windowpanes. It was already the second night.

Numbness was all around Brienne, even in the trees that stood motionless with frost clinging to every branch and nub. She had been walking for three days, hardly stopping for sleep and not once for food. Her feet seemed almost separate from the rest of her body as they trudged onward through the damp spring countryside to the west. The only cheerful sight she beheld was the countrywomen, dressed in bright scarlet cloaks, taking their daily walks through the small old villages that dotted the Cotswold Hills. The day before, she had walked up to one of these women who had held a basket of warm, braided, honey-brown bread on her arm. Steam rose from the folds of cloth that covered the loaves, and the temptation had been too much for her. Hungrily, she had approached the woman; her eyes were like great, purple saucers and her stomach was tightly knotted.

"Hello," she had said, unmindful of her soiled hemline and her dirty, knotted hair. "The bread—it truly smells wonderful."

"Aye, does it?" The woman smiled benignly at her, her attention taken with greeting some neighbors as they passed on a wagon.

"It's irresistible." Brienne licked her dry lips, which were bleeding from the cold and wind.

"Have you any coin, then? I'll not be handing out to beggars." The woman eyed her doubtfully. "And I must say, you don't look as if you possess—" She gasped when she met Brienne's unusual violet gaze. There was a moment of quiet, and then the woman burst out, "Your eyes are most uncanny. Are you a witch come to curse me?"

"A witch?
I'm no witch!" she defended.

"Even the color of your hair is unreal. Mistress Crocker has been claiming all along that a spell was put on her when she lost her two boys. She said they were fine until a witch passed her on the road. She claims the witch and her black deeds turned them around in her womb and then had them strangled as they were born." The scarlet cloaked woman backed from her; Brienne watched as the loaves moved farther away.

"Please don't go! I am sorry for the Mistress Crocker, but I am so hungry. I must have some of your bread."

"You'll curse me and poison my loaves, you will!" The woman ran from her; the flaming cloak rippled behind her.

"No, no!" She watched in panic as the coveted bread was whisked away on the woman's arm.

"Go away! I'll not be seen with a witch!" were the last words Brienne heard as she was left devastated on the barren road to Bath.

But now the whole incident didn't seem to matter much. Hunger was a distant and deniable need; of late she had been able to refuse its demands with little effort. There wasn't a great deal of feeling left anywhere in her body as she trudged up yet another steep, snow-patched hill, only to find still another waiting for her as she looked down from the top. The only thing that spurred her on was the thought of Avenel.

After her last encounter with him, all Brienne wanted, all she thought
about,
was putting more distance between herself and Osterley. Even the possibility of meeting up with her father in Bath seemed tolerable in order to get away from Avenel's grasp. She knew she was taking a great risk going to Bath; she prayed that the earl was staying in his London town house, as the solicitor had said. Still, Brienne knew she had to prepare for the dangerous possibility that the earl might be in Bath.

So during the long, wretched hours of her trip, she had devised a plan. She told herself she would go to the house in Bath and pose as a servant in need of employ. After making inquiries as to whether the earl was in residence, she would proceed to leave or to stay, depending on the situation. She hadn't decided what she would do if it was necessary to leave Bath to avoid the earl No matter how hard she wracked her brains to remember a long-lost relative of her mother's or even a kind friend who would take her in, she came up with nothing. If the earl was in Bath, her only salvation would be to return to Wales. Yet that plan hinged on her ability to get enough money. But there, at least, she would be safe. The earl knew nothing of that place. Suddenly she blanched; her carefully laid plans fell to wrack and ruin: Avenel knew of Tenby.

Avenel.
The name echoed through her weary mind, producing a fearsome headache. For the past few days as she walked, her thoughts had spun with self-loathing, hatred, and disgust. She wondered how she could ever have been so dim-witted as to allow a misspent colonial gambler to take her to his bed. After the earl had raped her mother, she had vowed never to let anything like that happen to her.

But Brienne knew, deep down, that there could be no comparison. For as much as she had learned to hate Avenel's manipulative ways, she had wanted him with a desire that had rivaled his own. She knew she had loved him, although her mind rebelled at the thought now. Even that last evening when he had shown up in her bedchamber, angry and half drunk, she had wanted him. He had shown to her pleasure that could be at once sin and salvation. No matter how much she had wished to kill him when he had rolled off her that last time at Osterley, the worst she'd been able to do was smash the green
Sevres
vase over his head. It had sent him into blissful unconsciousness while she dressed in her tattered pink silk and ran from the house. She had uttered her last words to him as he had lain at her feet, naked and beautiful in his defenselessness; in a voice fraught with anger and pain she'd said, "You demented beast! You'll no longer use me in this vicious war! From now on, let Osterley be the battleground!" With that she had knelt beside him and placed a bitter kiss on his lips. But she had felt more pain than she could express at the thought of never seeing him again or at the thought of why that must always be so.

The stone-colored Georgian city lay nestled in the golden hills above the river Avon. When Brienne first saw Bath she was awed by its wealth and grandeur. She avoided the main road into town, where
a parade of personages were
going into the city; she felt too self-conscious about her shabby appearance to join the ranks of poets, wits, and society patrons. Therefore, she reached Bath through various sheep fields that graced the higher elevations of the town. Now, along busy
Milsom Street
, where the smart lending libraries and bookshops were located, she found herself aghast and wondering how amongst the many streets would she find her father's house.

She wandered about in her raggedy apparel, feeling completely out of place. The gentry, bedecked in peacock-colored satins, velvets, and brocades, rode alongside her, carried about in their square black chairs. One or two of the chairmen glanced her way, but she was too afraid to ask them for directions. Walking down
Milsom Street
, she felt dizzy, the hardships of the past few days finally caught up with her.

A man dressed in garnet velvet rudely bumped into her. Taking note of her impoverished appearance, he said harshly, "Out of my path, trollop!" He moved away and entered a milliner's, whose window was delightfully filled with every color of satin ribbon possible, from parrot green and fiery orange to the deepest shades of sapphire, ruby, and emerald.

She stared after the man, too tired to feel more than slightly affronted by his abuse. She knew she was not going to last long without some food, and now she only wanted to find a resting place sans Oliver Morrow.

Walking farther down the hilly street, she spied a wizened, poorly garbed old woman hawking fresh flowers on the corner. Hoping she could give her the directions she needed, she patted her tangled and matted hair and approached her.

"Pardon me. I am looking for—"

"We 'ave no need for another beggar in this city." She laughed, showing her lack of teeth. "Away with you, 'afore you cause ruination to the business." The ancient woman spat
a thick
, greenish sputum and pulled her greasy, gray skirts back from Brienne.