Sons of Liberty (46 page)

“Go to the devil,” she managed.

“
I’m sure I will,” Adam said. Her entire body twitched as power flowed into his voice. “You cannot leave the apartment. You can use the facilities, if you wish, but you cannot leave the apartment.”

Raechel felt her head spinning. She tried to fight the commands as they sunk into her mind, but she knew it was impossible. He had her under control; he could make her do anything, anything at all. And when he came back, he’d twist her into his agent, spreading his lies and starting the war ...

“
Stand up,” Adam said. He smirked as she obeyed. “Stand against the wall and wait until we are gone.”

Her body jerked, then did as it was told. Raechel scowled at him as she marched over to the wall, trying desperately to fight the commands. But it was impossible. She managed to turn around - there was a loophole in his commands - yet she couldn't leave the wall. Ivan entered, followed by his men. They were all carrying weapons, their eyes cold. Raechel knew, with absolute certainty, that they knew what they were going to do ...

... And they didn't care.

“
Have fun when we’re gone,” Adam said, cheerfully. She had never hated anyone quite so much, in her entire life, as she hated him at that moment. “We’ll see you when we get back.”

He led the way out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. The compulsion holding her in place vanished as soon as the door closed; she staggered to the floor, dry-retching violently. Somehow, she managed to fight her way back to her feet and stumble over to the door, but no matter what she did, she couldn't step through the threshold. There was no way to leave the apartment. She glanced out of the windows, hoping there was a way to scramble down, but there was nothing. Even if her commands allowed her to climb out, getting down to the road safely would be impossible.

She refused to give up. Adam had promised her a fate worse than death - a fate worse than anything she might have considered a fate worse than death - and she refused to stay where she was, a lamb to the slaughter. She searched the rest of the apartment in a fit of desperation, but found nothing beyond a handful of supplies and a toilet that stank almost as badly as the docks. Revolted - she glanced at Jane, wondering how the girl had put up with the smell - she staggered back to the door. Nothing she did - not even trying to fall over the threshold - worked. She was trapped.

There has to be a way out, she told herself, as she peered into the darkened hallway. But what?

Gritting her teeth, she opened her mouth and screamed, as loudly as she could. The entire block couldn't belong to the Sons, could it? It was probably rented - one of the more common complaints among the Sons concerned New York landlords - and the other tenants might not be sons. She heard a door opening above her, but she kept screaming until a young man - no older than herself - came down the stairs. He looked unpleasant, but he would have to do.

“
Help me,” she called, pitching her voice higher. Irene had told her it made men want to help. “Please!”

He caught her arm and pulled her over the threshold. The commands in her mind snapped, completely, as soon as she was out. She was free.

“
What’s the matter?” He asked, holding her tightly. “Why ...?”

Raechel shook herself free, then ran down the stairs. She didn't hear him following her, but it wasn't a relief. If he looked into the apartment, he’d see Jane’s body ... God alone knew what he’d do then. Somehow, she had the feeling that the locals weren't the sort of people to report a dead body, or do more with it than drop it into the street ...

But at least she was free, she told herself, as she reached the bottom. And she had to warn the Viceroy of what was coming his way.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“
Well,” Irene said. “You’ve had quite an interesting time, haven't you?”

Gwen nodded as she checked her appearance in the mirror. The green ballroom gown she’d borrowed from Lady Sofia hadn't fitted well at first, but the seamstress had gone to work and fitted it neatly to Gwen’s taller form. Bruce was going to be there, after all; she wanted to look good for him, even though their engagement hadn't been officially announced. It was a new feeling for her, but she had to admit she rather liked it.

“
Yes,” she said, shortly. There was little point in trying to conceal anything from the older woman. “Fought a battle, won a battle, fell in love ...”

“
Lost your virginity,” Irene said. Gwen felt her eyes widen in surprise. “It’s a good thing Jane isn't here, Gwen. Your emotions are all too recognisable.”

Gwen swallowed a curse. She trusted Irene not to tell anyone, but Jane ...? Maybe Bruce could talk her into keeping her mouth shut. She was a Son, after all.

“
Keep your shields in place, but don’t lean towards Bruce when you’re dancing,” Irene added, warningly. “Your body language will betray you even if your thoughts don’t.”

She met Gwen’s eyes. “Are you sure of him?”

“
I think so,” Gwen said. There were a number of questions she wanted to ask the more experienced woman, but she wasn’t sure she dared. “We click.”

“
Marriage isn't just about romantic feelings,” Irene reminded her. “And if you are pregnant, someone’s going to count backwards on their fingers and realise the truth.”

Gwen looked at her. “Can it be undone?”

“
Of course not,” Irene said. “But you have to be prepared for problems.”

Gwen shrugged, then started to brush her hair. It was still shorter than normal, for an unmarried girl, but people would make allowances. She was the Royal Sorceress, after all, and long hair got in her way when she flew. The repetitive motion calmed her, despite the churning feeling in her stomach. Tonight, the Viceroy was going to announce the American Parliament ... and her engagement to Bruce.

“
My parents gave their approval,” she said. It had been nearly a day before her parents had replied to her message, long enough to make her think that Lord Mycroft had stuck his oar in somewhere. Her mother had noted that she wanted a formal ceremony in London, even if Gwen was legally married in New York, yet she’d raised no other objections. “And I don’t care about anyone else.”

She nodded to the papers on the table. “How does that sound for a draft?”

Irene picked up the papers and read them with practiced skill. “You’re clearly not a legal expert,” she said, dryly. “This is far too easy to understand.”

Gwen snorted. “A terrible oversight.”

She shook her head. David was the one with legal training, not her. She’d seen enough documents to take a guess at the form, but in the end she’d kept the marriage contract as blunt and basic as possible. Bruce would have most of the rights of a traditionalist husband, she’d determined, yet he would have no claim to her money and no right to object to her relationship with Olivia. Not that he’d raised any objections, when she’d mentioned her adopted daughter to him, but it was an issue that needed to be covered. And he wouldn't have any right to object to her work.

“
You do realise that the final two clauses may well be illegal?” Irene asked. “I’d check those with a lawyer beforehand.”

Gwen sighed. A man had the right to keep his wife in the home, if he wished, and treat her as nothing more than his property, but she was damned if she was accepting such treatment for herself. She was the Royal Sorceress, not some brainless piece of fluff who couldn't even get dressed without help. And she had a career, one she wasn't going to throw away because she was married. Bruce would just have to learn to live with it.

And he might want to join the corps himself, she thought, although she knew that was going to cause problems. They’ll be looking to him to overrule me.

“
It’s astonishing what you can get away with if you try,” she said. “If he signs the contract, doesn’t it make the contract binding?”

“
Depends,” Irene said. She shrugged. “I don’t think you can force someone to honour a contracted obligation to do something illegal. You’d probably end up wasting a great deal of money on lawyers, if the case went to court. If you could take it to court in the first place.”

Gwen sighed. An emancipated woman could take a man to court, but a married woman was not emancipated by definition. A woman couldn't sue her husband, any more than the cow could sue the farmer. Reserving all the rights - and duties - of an emancipated woman to herself in the contract might be technically illegal, even though it was what she’d told him she wanted. But then, it wasn't as if she couldn't escape, if marrying Bruce proved to be the worst mistake of her life. She had more than enough power to vanish overseas ...

And some money hidden away in the funds, she thought. Master Thomas had been a paranoid man and, as far as she knew, she was the only person who knew that money existed, let alone withdraw it. I wouldn't be penniless if I had to run.

“
Make sure you get a lawyer to look at it,” Irene said. “I dare say you could get an exemption, if you tried. Lord Mycroft would probably be happy to oblige.”

“
I will,” Gwen said. At least she didn't need her father’s approval for the marriage contract, although she knew she should probably run it past him before it was signed. “But I’ll see what the lawyer has to say first.”

There was a tap at the door. “Bruce,” Irene muttered. “You want me to stay here?”

“
I think you have to,” Gwen said, crossly. The real answer was no, but she knew there was no choice. The moment their engagement was announced, everyone would be looking at Bruce and she with gimlet eyes, trying to catch them out. Society dames loved embarrassing younger women, particularly ones who ranked higher than them. “We can't be alone together.”

She raised her voice. “Come in!”

Bruce entered, followed by his cousin. “Gwen,” he said. “And Lady Irene.”

“
Try not to do anything I would have to report to your father,” Irene said, a hint of ice entering her tone. She hadn't been amused when she’d found out about Bruce, particularly after having been so close to him and picking up nothing. “Please.”

Bruce nodded, then waited for Irene to lead Arielle to the other side of the room. “I heard the news,” he said, quietly. “Your parents agreed?”

“
Yes,” Gwen said. “I’m afraid my mother does want a big wedding in London, even if we’re married here beforehand. You’ll have to come meet my father.”

Bruce shuddered. “Is he going to hate me on sight?”

“
Probably,” Gwen said. “But I don’t think he’ll take out a shotgun and open fire.”

She smiled at the thought, then sobered. There was no way to hide from the fact that they were in for a very rough ride, despite countless special circumstances. Normally, both sets of parents would have discussed the marriage prospects carefully, perhaps before the happy couple ever knew they were going to get married. Everything would be sorted out, definitely, before the outside world heard about it. But she’d practically presented the whole affair to Bruce’s father - and her own parents - as a fait accompli. She couldn't blame them for being more than a little concerned.

“
That’s a relief,” Bruce said. “Do you think I’ll be welcome in England?”

“
Once they hear about your heroism, probably,” Gwen said. England hadn't exactly welcomed Benedict Arnold, but Bruce was hardly on the same level. “You’ll be just like Lord Nelson, beating admirers off with sticks.”

She nodded towards Arielle. “How’s she taking it?”

“
She still wants to be a bridesmaid,” Bruce said. “I trust your parents won’t object?”

“
As long as she’s in England,” Gwen said. Traditionally, bridesmaids were drawn from the family or close friends of the bride, but she had no sisters and only a couple of distant cousins who had been too afraid of her magic to talk to her. No doubt there would be hundreds of applicants, if the wedding turned into a circus, yet Arielle would definitely be on the list. “I can make sure of it.”

“
Don’t be too sure,” Bruce said. “My father warned me that it might be a political wedding.”

And that’s what I told him, Gwen thought.

“
There’s thirty minutes until the ball is due to begin,” she said, looking him up and down. He might have worn a nice suit, but it was crumpled, as if he were slipping back into his rich fop persona. “Are you planning to go like that?”

“
I could,” Bruce said. “Should I?”

“
No,” Gwen said. She poked a finger at him. “Wear something that doesn't make you look like a tramp.”

Bruce smirked, then nodded. “Of course, My Lady,” he said. “Your every wish is my command.”

“
A splendid attitude,” Irene called. “Just make sure you stick to it.”

“
We could go flying tonight, afterwards,” Bruce added, lowering his voice. “Leaving the palace won’t be hard.”

Gwen was tempted, more than she cared to admit, but she knew it wasn't possible. Irene would let her sneak out, she was sure, yet she wasn't the only pair of watchful eyes in the palace. Arielle wouldn't turn the other cheek and the maids ... she was morbidly sure they’d report any lapse on her part to their master, even if they thought she could turn them into frogs. She knew, all too well, that maids had eyes and minds. And Viceroy Rochester was not a bad master. They’d do more than the bare minimum for him.