Angelica tried in vain to keep track of the days. Some time after two weeks, she lost count. In her world of depressing darkness, they all seemed to run together. Not that time mattered anymore—without Captain Neill, what was the point of getting up every morning and slogging through her daily routine?
He promised he would come back to her, yet when her monthly bleeding began, she knew he had been gone for far too long. Her body was the only way she knew February from March, and March from April. She’d cycled three times since he last held her in his arms.
Now, she’d given up hope.
Feeding another log into her stove, Angelica tried to push him from her mind. What a fool she was to believe him! He did not have to make those empty promises. She would have gladly let him degrade her body and continue on his merry way, no questions asked. But he had done things to her that she could not forget. He said things to her that, no matter how many times she scolded herself, she kept believing.
You are beautiful.
I’ve never met anyone like you.
Promise that you’ll wait for me.
She had waited. Three long months.
Rain pounding the kitchen window reminded her of their one fated night. Angelica huddled on her pallet, clutching her pillow to her aching chest. She wept for him. Why hadn’t he come for her?
Angelica mourned the long, slow death of her hopeful heart. She’d been such a fool. She’d been too trusting. She’d fallen into the same trap that thousands of other women had sacrificed their innocence to. Although Captain Neill had not taken her virginity, she could no longer consider herself chaste. She was no longer merely curious. She was lustful. Mother would be ashamed to know how her beloved daughter—so cherished, so sheltered—debased herself to that deceiver’s memory.
Angelica felt the shame burning behind her eyes every time she touched herself. But she was lonely, and it was relief. Certainly, it felt better than crying herself to sleep. When she truly lost herself to pleasure, she could almost feel Captain Neill’s warm breath on her heated flesh.
Disgusted, she slung the pillow across the floor. She never should have let herself dream of a normal life, or that she could experience a real, lasting love affair. There was a reason everyone eventually left her. She was a burdensome child, holding them all back. They had to cut her loose to make their way in the world. She had to stay behind.
Angelica crawled across the floor, fumbling for her only pillow. The slate tiles bit into her knees as she clumsily navigated around the worktable. She put her hand out, like an infant reaching for its mama in the dark. At last, she found the pillow, and began the slow crawl back to her pallet.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence.
A man’s voice.
Could it be Captain Neill?
Angelica sprinted toward the stairs, forgetting all about her hatred for the man who’d deceived her. She took the steps two at a time, only stumbling once before reaching the servants’ corridor. Grinning like a madwoman, she pushed the panel aside, and dashed into the room.
“Captain Neill?” she called, breathlessly to the empty space.
She knew she hadn’t imagined the voice. Perhaps he took the opportunity to look around her house—it had been dark before, and he had been unwell. Likely, he was curious to see the rooms upstairs, and to investigate the phantom sounds they’d heard.
Still clutching her pillow, Angelica left the drawing room for the hall. She felt cold air in the high-ceilinged foyer, and knew someone had recently opened her front door. More cautiously this time, she climbed the elegant, carved staircase to the upper floor. It creaked and groaned, but was as sturdy as the days of her childhood. Once upon a time, her father’s family had been very wealthy. They’d built this house with the best materials and most talented craftsmen. Quality lasted forever, and Angelica supposed the staircase would stand long after she was gone.
At the landing, she paused to listen. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but heard some commotion coming from Freddie’s room. All these years, she’d kept his bedroom closed off to prevent intruders from disturbing his space. But, after swearing Lucifer himself had been stomping around up there, Angelica had gone in search of the disturbance—a clapping shutter knocked off its hinges, blown back and forth in the storm. She’d laughed about it. She couldn’t wait to tell Captain Neill how silly they’d been.
She had accidentally left the door ajar.
Now, someone really was in there.
Angelica tipped her ear to the gap in the doorway. There was a man, but he was not alone. There was also a woman. Two lusty lovers used her dead brother’s bed for their illicit lovemaking. She heard the bedsprings rocking, and the headboard slapping the wall. The girl moaned like a whore—like Angelica had moaned for Captain Neill. The young man shouted and grunted, bare flesh making vulgar sounds as he squirmed against her.
Without thinking, Angelica kicked open the door. She flew into Freddie’s room in a rage, pillow raised above her head to strike at the unwitting intruders.