I was glad his eyes were closed, and he couldn’t see the tears sliding down my face.
“But he came at me again, and I felt real fear then. Fear he’d kill me and I wouldn’t be able to get help for my mum. I didn’t want to think she might not be needing help anymore. He was holding a full pan of boiling water and he called me a little brat and threw it. I kicked my legs out, and by some stroke of luck, my foot hit a chair that protected me as it moved.”
Jack gritted his teeth as if he was reliving it, right at this moment. “I remember it. In slow motion. I remember seeing the water hurtling toward me and partly splattering all over the chair.”
He took another deep breath. “I threw myself to the side and covered my face before the rest of the water hit me.”
My hand was still pressed under his, against the evil sight on his hip.
“I don’t remember much right after that. Apparently, I screamed so loud a neighbor, and trust me, the neighbors weren’t close, heard me. I still don’t understand what a stroke of luck that was, but she found us and called the police and ambulance. He was gone, of course. My mum was okay, though concussed and badly injured.
“We filed a police report at the hospital saying someone had broken in and attacked and raped my mother. We basically told the truth except for the part where we knew him. I’m not sure the police really believed us. I know the neighbor didn’t. Mrs. Eversea was her name ... she was basically the one who saved our lives. We stayed with her. Her husband worked at this boarding school nearby and persuaded the headmaster—”
“Mr. Chaplin.” My voice sounded choked and foreign to my ears. Jack opened his eyes and looked at me, seeing the tears I hadn’t meant to show him. I was sorry I’d spoken, I hadn’t meant to.
“Yes, Mr. Chaplin—persuaded him to hide me at the school. I guess I wasn’t that safe because after a few years we had to move.” He took a deep breath. Surely there couldn’t be more but he went on. “It was me he wanted. That’s what they fought about. She hasn’t told me all the details, but in addition to his love of inflicting pain, she discovered ... other things he liked.” Jack rolled to face me, keeping my hand covering the physical evidence of his horror.
“Is he ...” I swallowed. “Is he still out there ... your father?” I whispered.
Jack shook his head and exhaled. “He shot himself. Ten years ago.”
We were silent. I couldn’t even begin to articulate the emotions careening through me as I thought of Jack as a small boy enduring such terror and pain. I was angry. More so knowing his father was dead. I wondered if Jack felt the same frustration that he could never lay this ghost properly to rest.
“I’m an Earl, you know,” he laughed, humorlessly. “He threatened her if she ever tried to divorce him. The public scandal would be too much. The bastard made sure before he killed himself to recognize me as his rightful heir. Even in death, he didn’t want to let us go. There’s a stately home and everything. The missing earl, that’s me, donated it to the National Trust. There’s one lawyer, one, who knows who I am now, and he’s in love with my mother, so my secret, and hers, is safe.” He snorted. “That was the one damned good thing that came out of it, she’s happy and safe now. But my God, it was hard for her being a single mom to me. When I was older I certainly didn’t make it easy on her. I had some demons of my own I had to work through.” Jack shook his head. There seemed to be another story there, too.
“And Mrs. Eversea?” I asked, softly. How wonderful they had picked her name when she had basically saved them. Saved him.
“My mum and her are still friends, as far as I know.” He shrugged and gave a small grin. “She made the best Digi Cake.”
“The best what?”
“It’s cake made with chocolate, syrup, crushed cookies and butter. A heart attack on a plate.”
“Sounds amazing.” I pulled my hand away from his hip and slid it through his hair, then across his face and down the side of his body and back to the beautiful artwork. Running my fingers over it, I followed every line and curve and ribbon, and then without thinking, I lowered my mouth and kissed every section of it. I ran my tongue over the angry raised ridges here and there like I could erase them away.
Jack was tense and still as he watched but didn’t stop me.
There was no pity in my actions. It was simply worship of the man who had been forged out of his past. I didn’t care if Jack wasn’t his real name, and I didn’t want to know it. He was Jack to me. I wanted to take away his pain. “I can think of another damn good thing that came out of it,” I whispered, noticing he was becoming aroused again.
“What?” he asked.
“You.” I took a deep breath and pushed him onto his back.
Jack tensed. His hand came to my hair. “What are you doing?”