“Try me.”
She took a deep steadying breath and expelled it. “I met Lucas the first week of the season. It was my first time in London and I was overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of everything. He claimed to have fallen in love with me the moment he laid eyes on me.”
She laughed harshly. “I know how ridiculous that sounds in retrospect, but I believed it, nonetheless.
“I found out how wrong I was on my wedding night. He came to my bedroom, foxed, and forced himself on me repeatedly.” She shuddered and looked away from Justin. She walked towards the fire, easing into an armchair and perching on the edge. As she gazed into the flames, her heart beat in painful anticipation. She didn’t have the courage to gauge Justin’s reaction to all she had related so far, and the worst was yet to come.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and his voice slid over her like the finest silk dress. “Is there more you have to say?” he asked quietly.
“There is,” she whispered.
He squeezed her shoulder in a reassuring manner.
“He came to my bed every night. He grew increasingly more violent. At times it was all I could do to get out of bed the next morning.”
The hand on her shoulder tightened.
“Two months after our wedding night, he came in late, drunk again. There were two other men with him. Lucas watched while they—while they—” She broke off, unable to complete the sentence.
“The next morning, I tried to kill myself. I had every intention of drinking an entire bottle of laudanum, but Lucas came into my bedroom and took the bottle. He beat me so severely that I was bedridden for an entire week. When I recovered, he brought the two friends back to punish me for my suicide attempt.”
She stood and turned hesitantly to Justin, dreading his reaction, not wanting to see the disgust, the repulsion in his eyes. When she met with his expression, all the blood drained from her face. “Oh God,” she choked out. “I knew you would despise me.”
She ran from the room, the sound of her sobs filtering back to Justin.
Justin stood in stunned disbelief. Then his disbelief turned to blinding fury. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he sought to absorb all she had related. Hot rage washed over him.
It all made sense now. Her odd behavior, her distrust of society, her wish to in some way separate herself from theton, her reaction to his kiss. Oh God, he felt sick. Bile rose in the back of his throat. The things she suffered at Penroth’s hands were unimaginable. He wanted to weep for her. That she had survived with her sanity intact was nothing short of a miracle.
He had to go to her. He could not let her suffer under the misapprehension that he despised her. Like a mindless fool, he had stood there, unable to formulate a coherent response. Now she thought his shock and outrage was disdain.
He hurried from the room and headed up the stairs. A quick survey of her room told him she had not fled there. He searched the downstairs area to no avail. Then he noticed the terrace doors opened just a crack.
He stepped out into the cold, looking around for her then made his way towards the stable. Stepping onto the hay-covered floor, he looked around, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness. He heard quiet sobbing emanating from the back and he rapidly walked in the direction of the noise.
She was huddled in a mound of hay, her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders shook with the effort of her crying. He knelt beside her and gathered her tightly in his arms.
“Don’t cry, Jillian, I can’t bear to hear you cry.”
She shrank from his embrace. “Don’t,” she said in a shaky voice.
He ignored her protests, holding her closer. “Jillian, I don’t hate you, nothing could be further from the truth.” He smoothed the hair from her tear-stained cheek. “My dismay was over the deplorable way you’ve been treated. My disgust was not with you, never with you.”
She raised tremulous eyes to his. “How can you stand totouchme after what they have done?”
Justin fought back the knot in his throat. The raw emotion, the pain reflected in her eyes was nearly his undoing. “Jillian, what he did to you was in no way your fault. Penroth was a sadistic bastard who did not deserve to breathe. He did not deserve you.
“I wish I could erase all the pain he has caused you, I would do anything to take away your hurt. Sweetheart, look at me. I do not think any less of you. I have only the utmost admiration for your strength. I only wish Penroth were alive so I could have the pleasure of killing him, very slowly.”
He pulled her back to him, holding her tighter and softly stroking her hair. The memory of her encounter with Wisecoff came floating to mind, and a terrible thought occurred to him. “Jillian, the two men—was one of them Wisecoff?”
She went completely still against him. Fury took over, and he began to shake. He clenched his teeth until he feared his jaw would break. How he wished he had killed the bastard that day in London. It was all he could do not to ride out and hunt him down.
She pulled away from him slightly. “You won’t tell Case will you?”
Justin looked at her, startled by this unexpected admission. “I thought Case knew.”
“He doesn’t know everything,” Jillian said in a low voice. “He guessed most of what he knows, but I never told him about the other men. I was too afraid he would do something rash. And now if he knew, he would feel guilty for not doing anything. Please, you mustn’t tell him. He has shouldered far too much for me already.”
