“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen it happen. Say a respectable girl from a good family finds herself hooked on cocaine, or perhaps opium. She pays easily at first, but the price goes up. That’s how they get you—the dealers. Once they’ve hooked their claws into you, you’ll do anything for a taste. They know it. And you know it, too.”
He paused, debating whether to go further. He didn’t want Angelica knowing how rotten the world was. But, if he didn’t tell her, she might find out the hard way. “Eventually, the girl can’t afford her habit. Ah, well. Perhaps the dealer could strike a bargain—help them both out—just this once. But it’s never just once. Before she knows it, she’s on her back every night.”
Angelica shook her head. “That has nothing to do with me.”
“It’s the principal. Give it away easily, and it becomes a cheap thing,” he said. “Every time you let that man push into you, you cheapen yourself.” Brody grabbed her discarded, moth-eaten frock and pressed it to her chest. “Get dressed.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brody tore down the country lane. Angelica had protested, but in the end, she admitted he was right. The man she gave her body to did not respect her. Men who respected women did not make them do the things she’d done—Angelica confessed some of her experiences on their drive toward Shrewsbury, and all he could do was shake his head. Brody had engaged in all manner of raunchy things over the years, but to know that sweet, innocent Angelica Grey had been subjected to such debauchery was almost more than he could bear.
For four long months, he worshipped her. Now, every time he glanced over at her, he couldn’t shake the image of her being taught how to suck a man. Not that he hadn’t pleasured himself thinking of her performing that very same act—he was no hypocrite—but, if she was going to take him into her mouth, it would only be when she felt safe and comfortable enough to enjoy it.
If they weren’t both having fun, what was the point?
Brody was furious with her, but Angelica wasn’t the only one to blame. He should have told her his plan from the start. She would not have liked it, but she would have at least understood why he couldn’t come back straight away.
He thought the first night without morphine had been awful, but going a week…a fortnight…a month…had been utter hell. Even now, the urge scratched at the back of his mind. He felt strong enough to fight it, though he had not been at first. It took three months for him to feel confident enough to walk out of that hospital, and another thirty days before he drove toward Angelica’s house.
Brody had given up—or given away—everything tying him to his old life. He had only a Bentley car and a diamond ring to his name. He’d wanted desperately to give that ring to Angelica, but it was too late for that. His future wife had allowed herself to be defiled and debased on so many levels. Her sweetness had been corroded. Worst of all, she’d thrown her promise back in his face.
What sort of person waited a mere three months before jumping into bed with a stranger? Angelica Grey was not trusting, not faithful. She couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d actually cuckolded him.
He felt betrayed.
Looking at her made him physically sick.
But there were plenty of times when looking at himself in the mirror had made him sick. If Brody could overcome his own past, surely there was hope for Angelica, too. Perhaps, in time, he could see past what she’d done.
He steered the motorcar through the outskirts of Shrewsbury. There was no way they could show up at his parents’ door at this late hour. He wasn’t even sure he could bring Angelica there at all. He needed time to think. So, when he found an unassuming inn on a quiet street, Brody pulled to the kerb.
Angelica stirred. She’d been sleeping, he realized. “Where are we?”
“Stopping for the night,” he said, gruffly. “Stay in the car while I get us a room.”
“Don’t leave me!” Her hand shot out to grab his sleeve.
Of course, she was terrified. Only a cad would leave a blind girl alone, at night, in a strange city.
“You’ll be fine.”
When he returned ten minutes later, she was a shivering ball of fear huddled on the Bentley’s floorboard. He reached in and pulled her out. A small part of him enjoyed tormenting her, but he hated seeing her like this.
“It’s all right, Angelica. You’re on the pavement. Come this way.” He led her to the door. “A small step up.” She fished for it with the toe of her shoe. When she safely made it into the inn, he carefully guided her up the narrow staircase. “Twelve in all. There we go. We’re on the landing now.”
Beneath his grip, her pulse raced like a trapped hare, but, together, they made it to their room. He was proud of her. Stumbling through the dark could not have been easy, especially when she had not left home in seven years.