Page 71 of The Villain
Her father paused in the midst of buttering his bread, wincing as he glanced up to meet her gaze. “You do not look … abused.”
If only they knew. Yes, she had been abused … but, oh, how she had enjoyed being in the clutches of her captor.
“You must understand,” Bertram tried again, his eyes wide and pleading. “He had us over a barrel … there was nothing more we could do if we wanted—”
“Bertram, for once in your life, keep your trap shut,” their father snapped, his gaze flitting back and forth between the two of them.
Daphne narrowed her eyes, a niggling of suspicion beginning to trickle down her spine. “Why was there nothing you could do? What did he say to keep you from coming for me?”
It was the one thing she had never understood—just what Adam’s letter had contained in order to keep her father and brother from coming to Scotland to retrieve her. Had he threatened her life …theirlives?
Her eyes widened as she realized she had seen neither hide nor hair of her mother. “Where’s Mama?”
“Gone,” her father sighed, running a hand over his haggard face. “She has taken up residence with her sister in Mayfair. She would not …”
“She wouldn’t descend into the gutter with us,” Bertram said with a harsh, humorless chuckle. “Too good for the likes of us, she is.”
“She is simply accustomed to a certain lifestyle,” her father defended. “Soon, I will be able to give that to her. I will win her back … you will see.”
“Goddamn it, old man,” Bertram seethed. “If you haven’t the sense to realize she is never coming back—”
“The letter,” she snapped, having had more than enough of the both of them. “The one Lord Hartmoor sent … I want to see it.”
She would get the answers she sought, and by morning, she would find herself a hotel to reside in. Not a permanent solution, but one that would buy her time until she could figure out what to do with the rest of her life.
“Daphne, dearest, no good can come of reading it,” her father implored.
“Save your endearments,” she retorted. “I am not the same oblivious chit who ran off to Scotland looking for answers, and I will not be put off by your diversion or your excuses. I wish to read Hartmoor’s letter … now!”
“Dash it all, let her read it,” Bertram grumbled, rising from his chair and stumbling toward an escritoire in the corner. “She may as well know the truth.”
“Bertie, don’t!”
But it was too late. Either her brother was truly too stupid to realize what was happening, or over imbibing had made him reckless. Retrieving something from the desk drawer, he lumbered back toward her.
“Here,” he muttered, thrusting an open envelope in her hand before returning to his chair.
He slouched there and watched as she studied the broken seal. The same one stamped onto the envelope thrust down into her dress pocket. Inside, she found a letter written in Adam’s familiar hand.
Fairchild,
You may cease worrying for your daughter. She has made her way to Dunnottar, where she will remain as my guest for thirty days and nights. The things your despicable son did to my sister were child’s play compared to all the ways I intend to use Lady Daphne. I warn you not to attempt any acts of chivalry that might put you within my reach, for I may not be charitable enough to allow you to leave my presence with your life.
While I feel this particular twist of fate to be your due for what befell my sister, I do understand the worth of one’s only daughter. Enclosed, find compensation in the amount of ten thousand pounds. This is my payment for your daughter’s maidenhead. Rest assured, I intend to exact every cent from her over the next thirty days.
Regards,
Hartmoor
The slip of paper fluttered to the floor, the tips of her fingers having gone numb by the time she’d gotten to Adam’s hastily scribbled signature at the bottom. Her mouth had gone completely dry, and she had ceased feeling her legs. It was a wonder she did not sink to the floor.
“You see, we could not risk it,” her father said, his voice low and soft, as if he worried speaking too loudly might set her off. “He might have—”
“Harmed you or Bertie?” She interjected with a scoff. “You stayed away to save your own necks.”
“It wasn’t exactly—”
“What did you do with it?” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
