Page 95 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
Something that gave her nightmares...
Something that touched her, that she fought against...
Something Grace said she feared in the night when at Stillmeadow...
Not something. Someone.
“Your uncle didn’t force himself on you that night,” he said.
She jerked up her chin. “Did I not just say that?”
“He raped you when you were a child.”
Chapter 23
Phee wanted to remain standing, tall, erect, confident. She wanted to brazen this out, but she couldn’t. Not with him, not with the sympathy and understanding in his dark eyes. Not with the certainty there. He knew her too well. When her guard was down, she’d let him in. When she’d had no memories with which to shore up walls.
Not when she found herself sinking to the sofa, her legs too weak to support her. She should have never come down here, should have never agreed to meet with him. She should have known he’d poke and prod until he got to the tarnished truth. Until he’d uncovered her deepest shame and mortification.
What Drake had done to her paled in comparison.
But his actions hurt her heart much worse because she had fallen for him. Had known his love. It was an experience she’d never thought to have, knew herself to be unworthy of. Something about her was evil. Her uncle had told her that often enough.
Whenever he came to her.
Drake knelt beside her. She couldn’t look at him. Refused to. “Can’t you please let this go?”
“How old were you?”
She should have expected him not to ignore her question. She should ignore his, but he was like a rapacious dog gnawing at bone. He wouldn’t leave her be until he got the answers for which he’d come. She had carried the burden of the truth for so long. Perhaps if she released some of it into his care, it would lessen the weight. “Twelve when he first came to my bed in the dead of night. Touched me.” She thought she might be ill. Her jaw tingled. Bile rose. “Made me touch him.”
Daring to lift her gaze to his, she couldn’t miss the revulsion in the obsidian depths.
“You didn’t tell your father?”
She released a shuddering breath. “No. I was too ashamed. And Wigmore—he told me that I was wicked, that it was my fault he was doing these things to me. He told me that if I said anything, my father would send me to a place where they locked wicked girls away. I would be alone in the dark.” Forgotten, fodder for the rats.
“What about your aunt? If you were close to her—”
“She would have hated me, known me to be the wicked girl that I was. I couldn’t tell her.”
“You don’t think she knew?”
“They had separate bedchambers. He always came late at night, after the servants were abed. The clock would strike two and the door would open. Even at home I got into the habit of not retiring until the clock struck two. The two dongs followed by silence always jolted me awake.” Suddenly so cold, she rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms.Let this be enough, she prayed.Let his inquisition end.
“How old were you when he took things further?” he asked.
The backs of her eyes stung, but she would not give the tears their freedom. If they began, she would be unable to stop them, and she would not humiliate herself further by weeping. She swallowed hard. “I was seventeen before ... before he had his way completely. Had I not lost my memories ... what happened between you and me never would have happened. I would never have subjected you to someone as defiled as I am, as impure.” She wrapped her hands around her upper arms. She wanted to peel off her skin, wanted to again forget the feel of Wigmore’s thick, pudgy fingers poking and prodding while his hot, wet, panting breath condensed near her ear.
“You think what he did is a reflection on you?” Drake asked quietly.
“How can it not be?”
He reached out, his hand stopping just shy of her cheek, before balling into a fist, and pressing into his thigh. She didn’t know if he was honoring her request that he not touch her or if he was repulsed by the thought of touching her, of how intimately and thoroughly he’d been with her in the wake of another man. Ladies of quality were not supposed to be touched by anyone other than their husbands. But something in her called to the deviant, the sick, the perverted.
“His behavior is reprehensible,” Drake said with conviction. “You are not at fault for his evil deeds. But knowing what he was capable of, why did you go with him?”
“Because I’m stupid. Because I believed he was done with me. Because Aunt is truly ill. But in the carriage, he told me how much he’d missed me. How glad he was that we could have some time together again, and I knew he wasn’t done with me. As much as I love my aunt, I couldn’t force myself to suffer through his touch again. So I ran.” Taking a deep breath, she regained control, straightened her spine, met his gaze. “Are you happy now?”
