No Choice But Surrender Read online

  "I will not share a house with you, no matter how large and grand it is. I must leave!"

  "You shall not leave!" Suddenly he stood up and started over to her. What he lacked in size compared to the two gi­ants, he made up in fierceness. Brienne knew she had to stand up to him, but she wasn't sure how to. Since she could not possibly overpower him physically, she looked defiantly into his cold, silver eyes and repeated, "I will not stay in this house with you!"

  "Then you will stay in the stables." He looked at her and then motioned to a dark corner of the room. "Cumberland will show you your new room, Cinderella."

  Cumberland arose from his seat in the corner and walked over to her. His eyes were full of sadness.

  "And don't forget your ball gown." With that, Avenel picked up her tattered pink polonaise from a nearby stool. She had not noticed it there before. "You see, Cumberland, she walks about in a threadbare dress because she has taken a knife to the one decent gown she owns." He flung the useless pink silk at her and gave a deep malicious laugh. "Perhaps she is as mad as they say."

  Incredulous, she found herself about to be led away. It was difficult to find her tongue after Cumberland had taken her arm, but she looked back and said, "Perhaps 'tis a better thing to be in with the horses. At least they are warm-blooded crea­tures, unlike you. God has yet to make the thing that could warm your cold carcass!"

  She allowed Cumberland to put his arm around her shaking shoulders and walked out of the gallery. She was unaware that Avenel was watching the wet, clinging wool of her cloak curve around her buttocks as she left. Nor did she hear his words.

  "Perhaps there is one thing, my lady," he whispered sarcas­tically as he watched her go.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Why is he doing this?" Brienne hung on to Cumberland's arm as they walked toward the stable block in the darkness. The huge structure lay empty and silent before them except for the lonely whinnies of the few horses that had arrived today. "What use am I to him?" She stumbled on a stray brick from the ancient building and clutched her companion tightly. "You must tell me what he wants."

  "He wants for nothing, my lady." He guided her over a small puddle from the day's rain. "For if there is something he wants, he merely takes it and appeases his desire. That is some­thing you will learn of him."

  "I will not learn anything of the sort! I shall leave tonight. The new master is crazed. Surely you see that?" She looked at the small man. Finding no agreement in his eyes, she pleaded, "You can help me leave. We could take the coach and the horses. And then in the morning you could bring them back. It wouldn't be stealing."

  "Nay, my lady" was all he said as he brought their lanten through the main doors.

  "Is it difficult to harness up? Perhaps you could help me with that. I could don a disguise, and the two giants would think me a stableboy."

  "It will not work. They're aware that the stable lads haven't arrived yet."

  "But you could drive it just to the other side of the gates."

  Cumberland shook his head gravely. "This comes to no good, Lady Brienne. I'll not help you."

  Suddenly she jerked her arm from his grasp and looked at him as if he'd struck her. "You are on his side then? I thought you were a gentleman, a man of breeding."

  'Til not betray his friendship. I don't condone his actions, but I won't contradict them, either. He is doing what he must."

  "Whatever his plans are, they don't involve me. Why not let me go? You don't know what he did when we were in the gallery. It was unspeakable."

  Suddenly the older man laughed. "Kissed you, did he?"

  She felt warmth spread over her face and was relieved that the darkness hid her blush. "No man has ever touched me like that. It disgusts me," she replied vehemently.

  "Not all women agree with you there. I've known them to Swoon merely from having Slane look upon them. Such a way he has when he wants it."

  "The ladies were faint from fear, not desire! He is a beast!" Again she stumbled in the darkness, but this time the obstacle moved, and she let out a cry.

  A large creature backed into the corner and gave a low growl. When Cumberland brought the lantern around, she saw a large dog; its hackled white fur bristled along his back.

  "There you are, Orillion!" Cumberland's voice was reassur­ing. "Here is your new mistress. Come and introduce your­self."

  Responding to the familiar voice, the dog walked up to her and began to inspect her with his nose. Finally, when he was satisfied that she posed no threat, the large white animal went back to its corner and lay down to watch the proceedings more leisurely.

  "Is it your dog?" she asked, her knees still quivering from her scare.

  "Orillion belongs to Slane. He picked him up on the streets of Annapolis. Such a cur he was! But now he's rather tamed."

  "Only a beast can love another beast." She followed Cum­berland up the stairs, looking over her shoulder lest the large animal decide to follow them. But Orillion stayed in his corner looking arrogant and rather bored. His half-closed blue-white eyes reminded Brienne of his master's, and she felt a small tingle of what she thought to be dislike run down her spine.

  The door to the room at the very top of the stairs was open, and the two of them walked in. The old, crumbling stable block had once been in much finer shape; its extra space had sometimes been used for the overflow of male guests on a romping weekend. But now the immense structure was in a sad state of disrepair. It was at the very best a pitiful place to retire to.

  Looking around the dust-laden room, she saw a few hooks along one wall and a crude oaken stool stood near a bed. The ropes on the bed frame were in such desperate need of tight­ening that the thin feather mattress sagged almost to the ground.

  She walked over to one of the huge leaded windows and looked down at the old tower spire below it. "A fine room! Fit for a madwoman, to be sure." She found her lower lip trem­bling, and she bit it to keep it still.

  "Don't be saying such things! Why, Slane has not put you here because he thinks you mad."

  "He is not the first one." She threw her pink dress onto the mildewed bed.

  Cumberland looked at the polonaise and asked softly, "Did you rip the dress in an accident?"

  "It was no accident." She smiled bitterly.

  "Oh" was all he said, and silence cloaked the dismal room.

  Finally she could bear his doubts no longer. She said glumly, "It was not done by my hand. Annie, the maid you had taken me for, was playing a prank. She has a jealous nature." She looked at him; her eyes were a soft velvety hue. "If you would but believe me—"

  "I believe you," Cumberland answered steadily. "And you mustn't think Slane considers you mad, either. We've heard the stories. It's unusual to find a woman who reads, but not in your peerage. As for the walking about"—he gave her a fa­therly wink—"well, a pretty young thing like yourself cannot live in such solitude as Osterley offers without becoming bored."

  After hearing his words of gentle reassurance, she couldn't help but give her new friend a hug. Not since her mother died had she been treated with kindness or understanding. And even though Cumberland was a friend of Avenel Slane, she couldn't hide her gratitude.

  "Thank you," she said solemnly after the embrace. "I have been restless. My mother passed away only two months ago, you see. She was my only friend." Brienne sat down on a small oak stool that was so old, its bottom stretchers had been com­pletely worn away. She looked around the room. "It's a bit dreary, it's true. In contrast to Osterley, that is."

  She heard Cumberland sigh, and once again they both fell silent, each with their own thoughts.

  "You need not stay here, Lady Brienne," Cumberland even­tually said.

  "No gentleman would make me stay here." She turned to face him, hoping that he was starting to doubt Avenel Slane's wisdom. "And I know you are a gentleman, Cumberland. You would never touch me the way your master did." Believing she had paid her friend a compliment, she looked at him expectantly, waiting for h
im to relent and help her leave. But instead he stared at her. What she had just said troubled him greatly.

  "I behave like a gentleman because I have no choice in the matter. If fate had treated me differently, you would be no safer in my company than in Slane's."

  There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. Brienne, unsure what she had said to make him feel that way, frowned in confusion.

  Cumberland watched her steadily for a long minute and then he parted with only a brief, "Good night, my lady."

  After he shut the door behind him, she felt terribly con­fused. An overwhelming panic rushed through her veins, and she ran to the closed door and flung it open, wanting only to leave the dusty, abandoned stable room behind. But before she could take a step outside, she was stopped by a mass of immovable snowy fur. At the threshold lay the white dog, Orillion. His head was raised to the sudden commotion, and his teeth were bared. They were as white as his coat.

  "I see you have already offended Cumberland." A voice boomed out from the darkness below. Standing at the bottom of the stairs was Avenel Slane. She peered down at him from her door, not daring to move any farther.

  "I said nothing but that he was a gentleman—and very much unlike you." Brienne made a slight movement with her leg, but Orillion was quick to notice and snarled ominously. "Call off your beast. I have no need to be guarded," she de­manded.

  " 'Tis more for your protection." He leaned against a squared-off post, leisurely watching her. And she watched him despite the darkness, noticing that his rich, brocaded waistcoat was unfastened, which left his shirt open and revealed a fine sprinkling of dark hair on his chest.

  "I need no protection. I'm more than capable of caring for myself," she said, looking away from him.

  "Orillion shall stay. You wouldn't want some errant servant to wander into your bed." He looked at her, but she couldn't tell what his expression was because his face was cast in shadow.

  She gave a sarcastic laugh. "Then do call him off! The only one I truly need protection from is you—and in that case the animal is useless."

  He smiled and replied, "How astute of you, Lady Brienne. But nonetheless, Orillion shall stay." Changing the subject, he called up to her, "How do you find your quarters, my lady? Are they meager enough for you? I wouldn't want to ruin your game of playing the peasant by subjecting you to fine accommodations."

  Anger built in her breast. So he thought she was play-act­ing? That she was the rich daughter of an earl whose only amusement was to pretend she was poor? Suddenly the thought of her mother selling her magnificent jewels and her heavy, embroidered court dresses one by one came into her mind. So that they would not have to live at the mercy and whim of the earl, her mother had done without. They had barely managed. Their shabby clothes and meager surround­ings had not been an amusement!

  "It was no game," she whispered with a vengeance, yet so softly she thought only she could have heard it.

  "If that is so, you may come back to the house." Avenel started up the stairs. Orillion watched him; his tail thumped vigorously as his master approached.

  "You have a beautiful bedroom to return to. Why stay here when all that magnificence is waiting for you?"

  "Osterley is a horrible house." She spoke her thoughts aloud before she could catch herself.

  "How can you say that?" He reached the top of the stairs, and there was no mistaking the mocking contempt in his voice. "They say 'tis the most beautiful house in all of England. I have paid dearly to own it." There was bitterness in his voice, and his face, now showing clearly from the light of her room, appeared to be lined with anguish.

  "You did not pay for Osterley. You won it in an illicit card game. You gambled for it." She stressed the word gambled, remembering Tenby's Anglican minister's many lessons on the evils of gambling. That made her ignorance of contemporary gentry obvious.

  "Spoken like a Puritan." He looked at her curiously and then bent nonchalantly to stroke Orillion's white-piled head. "Tell me, have you never played an innocent game of whist with your peers? I find it hard to believe that one of your station is completely unfamiliar with it. Even the young women in America are not immune to the pleasures-of gam­bling."

  "Never," she said. Her slightly pointed chin jutted out self- righteously.

  "You're a strange one," he said, watching her closely. "You condemn gambling as if it were original sin, yet you show a remarkable lack of grief at your father's loss. Do you not re­sent the fact that I have won Osterley?"

  "Riches do not make the man," she said simply. "Whether my father owns Osterley Park or not makes little difference to me. Except," she added, "for the inconvenience that now I am displaced and that you are preventing me from finding a new home." She stepped back into the stable room and walked over to the dead hearth, realizing how cold the empty stable block was at night.

  He walked in behind her, and Orillion followed, looking glad to be with his master.

  "Cumberland was right. You're not what we expected." He looked at her loosely bound auburn hair, which fell almost to her hips, and continued questioning her. "Did your mother have such coloring?"

  "We did look alike." Warily she turned to face him. "And I have her eyes."

  He stepped closer to her and took a thick lock of hair in his strong hand. Slowly he stroked it, admiring its rich magenta highlights.

  "And your hair? Did she have your hair?"

  She backed up against the carved oaken mantel, feeling trapped by the question and the hold he had on her hair. He came closer as if drawn to her, and she felt herself shaking, afraid. But her fear was not so much of the man before her. Despite his brooding looks and his leashed, mysterious anger, she somehow knew he would not harm her physically.

  But she was afraid of what he was doing. As he looked at her hair, there was no mistaking the softening about his face; its usual tautness was displaced by a relaxed, almost sleepy sensuality. There was actually warmth in his eyes, cold as they were in color. They sparkled like snow melting in the sun. His desire became apparent with that gleam, and that frightened her more than any of the threats he'd made to confine her at Osterley or to exile her to the stable block.

  Her mother's cries rang in her ears, just as they had when she'd been a little girl and Oliver Morrow had come to visit. Was it like that for all women? Would the strong, virile man before her who undoubtedly possessed a rare expertise in lovemaking behave the same way as the vile, crazed Earl of Laborde? Confusion abounded in her thoughts, but she knew she had to come to a conclusion before he pressed the issue. Yet however irrational it was, at that moment she could not differentiate between the act that had been forced upon her mother and the invitation that was so apparent in Avenel Slane's eyes. She started to moan from deep inside her, and before she could stop herself, she cried in a little girl's voice, "Please do not touch me!"

  Quickly she retrieved, her lock of hair from his palm and turned away, embarrassed by her fear and by the look of dis­belief and guilt in his eyes.

  "You find me unattractive?" He spoke to her rigid back. "I have my faults, but I didn't realize that that was one of them.

  "I have no desire for a man's attentions, whether he be attractive or not. I thought I made that clear in the gallery." She was completely still and refused to look at him, hoping he would go away and leave her alone.

  "I see." He sounded agitated. "Where did this unnatural abstention come from?"

  "I need not answer to you," she retorted, still facing the mantel.

  "No. But one day you'll wish you did, my lady. There has never been a woman who rejected my lovemaking. And I swear you will live to regret it."

  "So you threaten me harm if I don't comply?" She spun around to face him, anger vivid in her face. "How like a man!"

  "I have never harmed a woman. But there are other ways to make you suffer, ways that can be just as devastating. You deny your womanly feelings, but there is a weakness in your shaky armor. I shall find it. And when I do, I shall be
merciless." He walked to the door and bade Orillion sit. He parted, saying only, "Sleep well, Lady Brienne. I hope you enjoy your chas­tity tonight." Then he looked about the dismal room and shut the door behind him.

  When the door closed, she heard the thump of footsteps on the stairs. Satisfied that he had left the stable block, she cracked open the door, only to find Orillion still sitting senti­nel on her threshold.

  Not bothering to close the door again, she made a silent oath and walked back into the little room. How would she ever make it through the night?

  She sat on the little oaken stool; her mind went over and over again all the day's strange occurrences. Unusual things were definitely going on at Osterley, but she was sure of only one thing: that she was a pawn in a game that this man, Avenel Slane, was playing with the earl. And she knew that she would have to get away from the estate at all costs, because whatever was going on, the end was bound to be catastrophic, with herself caught desperately in the middle.

  Her body and mind were exhausted; sleep got the better of her, despite her denials. Resigning herself to the sagging bed, she used the pink polonaise as a pillow and as a barrier against the mattress's strong smell of mildew. She curled up in a ball, trying to fight off the cold and her loneliness, and found some small comfort in her determination to leave at the latest by tomorrow. She finally fell asleep by visualizing her old house in Tenby: the design-painted walls of the room off the street and the roaring fires that were always so cheerfully tended to ward off the chill.

  She wasn't aware of the creature that came to join her later that night. Only slightly did she feel the thump when Orillion jumped up on the bed. But she did feel his blessed warmth as he curled up beside her, his canine instinct had decided there was no need for both of them to be cold.

  The kitchen was like a madhouse that evening at Osterley. Not only was the cook busy over her fires, trying to make even the blandest of English fare memorable and appetizing, but every servant from liveryman to ladies' maid wandered in and out of the great room; each divulged the latest tidbit of information on the new owner and his desires. The lowliest scullery maids paid avid attention to small details because they knew that even they had to make Avenel Slane happy.