Page 66 of The Damsel
“You were a young, scared girl,” he insisted. “He disarmed you, knowing you stood little chance of escape. You cannot blame yourself.”
“I don’t,” she spat, turning away from him. “At least not for being raped. Bertram did that, and he paid for it. But, I do blame myself for being so naive, so weak. I blame myself for crying and lying there to endure the pain of being torn apart when I should have resisted.”
Robert’s hands fell onto her shoulders and he pulled her back against his body. She wanted to lean into him, accept the comfort offered by his nearness and his touch.
She could not afford to do that. The sun had begun to set, and the need to finish what she had started persisted. Sir Downing could not get away with murdering his wife … and she had to do something to atone for her part in all this. Perhaps Robert was right and the man would have murdered his wife without her interference. But, she would never know, and the guilt of it would eat her alive.
She’d kept her head down and her mouth closed following Bertram’s assault, believing she’d been the only one. The revelation that there were many others had been devastating, and only exacerbated her anger at those who’d known all along and done nothing. She would not stand by and allow Downing to hurt another woman, possibly even kill again.
“Injustices happen every day,” he murmured, turning her to face him. “I am not saying that you ought to turn a blind eye to them … but, you cannot carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders. You cannot avenge them all, and the way you’re going about it is dangerous. If you are caught …”
She cut him off, taking his face in her hands and capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. He gave in with a predictable lack of resistance, his arms going around her as he threw himself into kissing her back. He seemed to take this as acquiescence, and she did nothing to show him otherwise. Backing him toward the bed, she began loosening his clothes and peeling them off before tossing them aside. He sighed against her lips as if relieved. If they were naked in bed, intertwined with one another, then she couldn’t run off and get into danger. She let him think this, pushing him down on to the mattress and urging him up toward the headboard.
She reached out for one of the tasseled cords tying the bed curtains back, showing it to him with a wicked smirk that had his cock hardening against her thigh. He submitted to having his hands tied, as she’d known he would, his gaze never wavering from her as she lifted them over his head and secured them to one of the bedposts.
Then, she leaned down to kiss him again, giving it everything she had and making it last. It could be the last chance she had to taste him and experience the heady feeling of being kissed by the most beautiful man she’d ever known. It was not his face that made him so, but the kindness he’d shown her even when she did not deserve it, and his acceptance of who and what she’d become. When she pulled away he smiled at her, his eyes taking on the glassy quality of a man who’s had too much to drink. He anticipated more of the torment he’d endured last night, but Cassandra had no choice to deny him. She had somewhere to be, and now that he was tied to the bed, he could not stop her.
Leaving the bed, she returned to where she’d left her clothes, retrieving the various articles from the floor and pulling them on. Robert lifted his head, frowning as he watched her tuck her shirt into her breeches.
“Cass, what are you doing?”
Ignoring him, she pulled on a pair of stockings, then shoved her foot into one boot. He began to struggle, pulling at the bonds keeping him tethered to the bed.
“Cass … wait … don’t do this.”
She moved faster now, needing to leave this room and outrun the guilt making her want to climb back into that bed with him. Clenching her jaw, she pulled on a coat and buttoned it before swirling her cloak about her shoulders and pulling the hood over her head. She abandoned the mask, leaving it on the floor where Robert had dropped it last night. She couldn’t be seen traipsing about Mayfair in a black mask unless she wanted to bring the city watch or the Bow Street Runners down on her own head. Besides, it did not matter if Downing saw her face … he would not live long enough to expose her.
Outside, the sun had set and twilight settled over London, telling her it was far past time for her to leave.
“Cassandra!”
She pause on her way to the door, turning back for one last look at him. He was as perfect as ever, and hers for the taking in every way she could imagine. Confusion and sadness etched his handsome face, a golden strand of hair falling over his brow, his nude body stretched out in a tantalizing display. The heaviness in her chest only grew worse, her stomach churning at the prospect of walking through this door without looking back.
She’d had years’ worth of experience pushing her emotions aside in order to survive, to do what needed to be done.
“I’m sorry, Robert,” she murmured before stepping out into the corridor. “But you deserve so much more than I have to give.”
Without another look back, she made her way toward the stairs, turning her mind toward Sir Downing. If he adhered to the routine he’d been following the past few days, she ought to arrive at his townhome just as he set out for the night. The knife in her boot and the pistol stuffed into the back of her breeches bolstered her as she stepped out of The Pulteney Hotel and onto the street, turning in the direction of Berkeley Square.
She reached Downing’s townhome in record time, taking her place across the street as the man emerged from inside. She drew in a slow breath and released it on a sigh of relief, her heartbeat slowing a bit. For a moment, she had worried that the time spent with Robert had caused her to miss him. There were rumors that Downing planned to depart for Devon any day now, so she could not risk letting him slip through her fingers. It had to be tonight.
She crossed the street, moving fast to be out of the way of a hackney cab rolling in her direction. Keeping her prey in her sights, she followed him along his route to the brothel, making sure to lag behind a bit. Gas lamps became fewer and farther between as they moved away from Berkeley Square, prompting her to remove her pistol while keeping it hidden within the folds of her cloak. There was an alley up ahead she could drag him into. One blow to the head and she’d stun him, another and he’d be subdued enough for her to drag him into the darkness and slit his throat. She’d rather not shoot him, as the noise would attract notice … but if she were forced to pull the trigger, she’d do so without hesitation.
She quickened her steps as the darkness enveloped them and foot traffic along the lane thinned out until they were the only two people in sight. Her fingers tightened on the butt of her weapon, her pulse racing as she prepared to attack. Gritting her teeth, she lunged for him, brandishing the pistol from the confines of her cloak.
Before she made contact, a hand hooked into her cloak from behind and impeding her progress. She struggled to stay on her feet as her body collided with a solid, male form, one hand clapping over her mouth. She grunted and screamed, the sounds of her outrage stifled by the palm making it difficult for her to draw breath.
“Well, well, well,” purred a deep voice in her ear. “Looks like I’ve caught myself a menace.”
She kicked and flailed, but fell still when something hard and blunt slammed into the side of her head. Her vision blurred and her limbs went weak, and she heard the distinct clatter of her pistol falling to the ground. Another blow, and Downing’s face appeared before her as her vision began to fade and consciousness slipped from her grasp.
CASSANDRA AWAKENEDto darkness and a cloying humidity. As she slowly came to, she blinked and shook her head, wincing from the throbbing pain in her temple. She could remember nothing that had happened after a stunning blow to the head made the entire world fade away. As awareness returned to her, a twinging pain in her shoulders and neck exacerbated the pounding in her head. Trying to move her arms, she found she couldn’t. They’d been bound together and pulled taut above her head. With only the dim light of a single lamp to see by, she realized she had been tethered to the rafters of an underground cellar. Her arms had gone numb from being this way for what might be hours, and her knees had been folded beneath her, the pressure of her weight making her legs throb as if pricked with dozens of needles.
She’d been stripped of all her clothes, dust and a sheen of sweat the only thing covering her skin. A cursory glance revealed that she was alone at the moment, with nothing occupying the space but a rough, wooden chair and a lamp resting on a matching table.
Hanging her head, she cursed herself for a fool. Downing had left his home alone each night, so she hadn’t been on guard for another potential attacker. The man who had grabbed her from behind had obviously been watching his friend’s back, sneaking up on her before she could overtake the murdering fiend.
She needed to know who the accomplice was and where they’d taken her. The dire nature of her situation did not throw her into a panic. Instead, it only steeled her resolve. She needed to get free and end this, and she couldn’t do that until one of her abductors showed his face.
