Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers
13
“Jemma? Are you listening to me?” Augie stabbed a piece of melon and pointed it towards her. “Daydreaming again, I expect. I hope it isn’t about Nick Shepherd. You know, flights of fancy, such as you seem to have, are a sign of mental impairment.”
Jemma focused her gaze on a brilliant pink bougainvillea blooming outside the breakfast room window. She had been thinking of Nick, asking herself again how she could have been so wrong. Why she still felt the pain of his absence nearly as much as the absence of her father.
“I’m sorry, Augie.” Jemma looked back to the table, replying as evenly as possible so as not to set him off. “And I am not simple minded, pray do not treat me as such.” She wished Augie would leave. The delicious luncheon that Cook prepared still lay untouched on her plate.
“I’m sorry, Augie.” He mimicked rudely, pulling his lips into an ugly sneer. “Good Lord.” He nodded at her uneaten food. “Eat something. I’ve no wish to marry a skeleton.”
Her temper flared at his words and suddenly she didn’t care if she angered him. “Good,” she retorted, throwing her napkin down. “I’ve no wish to marry a childish boor.” How she detested his endless baiting of her, his insults, his condescending attitude, and most of all, he and his parents’ arrogant assurance that Jemma’s only hope was to marry him. Truth be told, the pain of being a social pariah was no worse than facing a future with a man she was rapidly growing to detest. Her father had been wealthy, surely she could use some of that wealth and leave Bermuda behind.
Augie drained his glass. “I tire of your mooning over a man who used you for money.” He poured more wine for himself. “I held my tongue and my hand,” he raised his palm, “out of respect for your father. But perhaps that is my mistake, for I think a good beating is exactly what you need to keep you in line.”
His words caused a trickle of apprehension down her spine. What had happened to Augie? Dislike and fear of her former friend rose up in Jemma until she thought it would spill out of her and flood the table. Enough was enough. Surely if she explained to Lady Corbett that she could not marry Augie under such circumstances, she would understand. “How dare you speak to me in such a way. I want you to leave.”
“Leave?” He put his elbows on the table and glared at her. “You wish me to leave so that you can pine for that one-eyed fortune hunter? Is that it? Perhaps you have the foolish notion he will return.”
“You’re drunk.” The fumes of the wine he drank wafted towards her as he spoke. “Please see yourself out.”
“I still can’t believe you wallowed in the sand with him like some common slut. I had the whole story from Agnes Sinclair. I gave you respect, affection, tolerated your oddities—”
“Stop.” Jemma stood determined, shaking from his constant barrage of insults. “This is my house, and I bid you leave before I have you thrown out.”
“He only wanted Sea Cliff, or rather the wealth of Sea Cliff. Not you. Never you." Augie picked up his fork again and stabbed at a bit of poached chicken lying next to his melon.
“Then you and he are much alike,” Jemma spat, her words echoing harshly in the morning room. “Get out.” She wished fervently she had a pistol handy or some other weapon. Her eyes flew to the cheese knife lying in the middle of the table.
Augie followed her glance and smirked. “Not likely.” He placed the chicken in his mouth and chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Where did you hide your father’s account books, Jemma?”
She tried not to let her surprise show on her face that the account books had gone missing. If Augie didn’t have them, then they were safe with Tally. “I don’t know what you’re talking about and even if I did—the accounts of Sea Cliff are none of your business. I will inform your parents myself that our ill-fated betrothal is off. I would rather stay here at Sea Cliff, an outcast, or a withered old maid than marry you, Augustus.”
“What did you say?” Augie carefully dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin.
“I believe you heard me,” Jemma retorted. “For the sake of the friendship and affection I once bore you, I tell you that I am deeply and truly sorry I have hurt you. But I have apologized and tried to make amends. I thank you for all your kindness during the last few weeks—”
“Whore.”
Jemma grabbed at the edge of the table, shocked to hear him call her such, sickened that his opinion of her came of her own foolishness.
“Another man would toss you aside without a thought.” He returned his attention to his food, “But then,” he annunciated each word, “you've already been tossed aside. Like an overripe peach that sits too long in the sun.”
“I cannot believe your parents would allow you to treat me this way.” Lord and Lady Corbett had many faults, but she refused to believe they would sanction Augie's harsh treatment of her. After all, they were her father’s dearest friends.
The sound of his laughter made her skin crawl. “Now that,” he pointed a finger at her, “is amusing.”
“Get out of my house!” She choked out, trying to sound brave.
“Your house?” Augie snorted and pounded the table drunkenly. “Your house?” Wine dribbled down his chin and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “It will be mine soon enough.” Standing unsteadily, he moved towards her. “Mine, along with everything in it. You are much like the furniture. You come with the estate.”
Jemma inched back slowly from the look of loathing on Augie’s face.
“I’ve courted you for years! You've barely let me kiss your hand. I’ve tolerated your ridiculous habits. You’ve always assumed you were so much smarter than I, you overeducated, overindulged, trollop.”
My God, how he hates me.Jemma had suspected his anger, possibly his dislike, but never this virulent hatred that seeped out of him. He would beat her, should they marry. Sucking in her breath, she realized with a growing sense of horror that the Corbetts would certainly not come to her aid, for they surely knew of his feelings for her. She could see the meanness in him, the delight he would take in hurting her. Dear God, they must despise me as well.
“Mother says I may have you locked in a room since there are no institutions for the insane on Bermuda.”
Her worst fears confirmed, she raised a shaking hand to the servants’ bell, praying Tally was nearby and would answer her summons. Augie’s next words dashed all hope of rescue.
“Oh, don’t bother ringing for Tally. He’ll be my father’s man now, not yours. Nor will Mercy come, nor Gladdings. I’ve already instructed them all that to interfere would terminate their employment immediately, and I’ll ensure that they will have to resort to begging in the streets. Who would go against the Governor’s son?” A drunken giggle escaped his lips. “That would be me, I am the Governor’s son.”
“Mrs. Stanhope!” Surely the vicar’s wife would not allow Jemma to be torn from her home. “Mrs. Stanhope will not tolerate your treatment of me nor your highhandedness in ordering about my servants.”
“I’ve already sent that good woman on her way home along with a generous donation to the vicarage. She is most distressed that you have become addled. Let me assure you, she did mention that in her experience with you she saw not one whit of insanity, but I’ve assured her that you are always on your best behavior around her. That you are, in fact, deeply distressed.”
Jemma quickly placed a hand over her mouth to stop a sob from escaping her lips.
“We will not be disturbed, which is just as well. I’ve a notion to sample the wares, well-used though they may be.” He leered at her, his gaze lingering on the modest neckline of her mourning dress.
Jemma shook her head and glanced hopefully towards the door. “Mrs. Stanhope wouldn't leave without telling me goodbye.”
“But, yet she did, my contribution to the vicarage clutched in her greedy plump fist. She did tell me how noble she thought I was, to marry you in spite of what you’ve done. Good Mrs. Stanhope despairs for your soul, fallen woman that you are. Her husband will marry us.” He pointed at her, the wine glass dangling from his hand. “I’m not sure what you think you can do? All of Hamilton believes you addled and ruined.” He set the glass down on the table. “Have you forgotten that my parents are your legal guardians? They have conveniently signed the betrothal agreement in your father’s stead. Come, now. Do not make this more difficult than it needs to be.” Licking his lips, he waved her towards him. “Come now.”
Jemma wanted to scream in horror at the grim picture Augie and his parents planned for her. All her life, she had thought of the Corbetts as her family, indeed she had believed all of Hamilton her family. She had never been so terrified in her life. No one would help her, she realized that now. She must save herself.
“Better to submit, don’t you think?” He grabbed her, pressing his wet, questing lips against her mouth.
Jemma bit his lip, causing him to curse and give her time to twist out of his grasp. “Don't you touch me.” She slapped him so hard the mark of her handprint stood out against his cheek.
Then he hit her. Before Jemma had time to think or react, the balled up fist of Augie’s right hand landed on the side of her face with such force she thought at first her cheekbone had been shattered. The blow knocked her to the floor, her legs moving back and forth to tangle in her skirts as she fell. Panting and trembling she watched Augie, tasting the blood in her mouth from his blow.
“See what you made me do?” A clucking noise, as if she were an errant child, came from his lips. We'll have to tell everyone you fell off your horse. Mother will suspect the truth, of course, but she’ll not say a word. Ajax is not a horse for a woman, so she’ll be thrilled to finally have an excuse to get rid of the animal. I’ll use Ajax to settle my debt to Preston Jones.” Augie nodded, pleased with his resolution. Holding out a hand to her, he said, “I am sorry, Jemma. You'll have to watch your mouth.”
She swatted his hand away.
“Now Jemma,” he chastised her. “We’ve had enough of that. Let's go upstairs and pack some of your things. Tally should be here soon and can bring over the rest.”
Jemma got to her feet, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand. Backing further away from him, she pressed one hand to her aching cheek. My God. I don't know him at all.
He shot her a look of confused irritation, as if he hadn’t just hit her. “Pray don't be difficult, darling.”
Her feet moved back tentatively, until she reached the sideboard. Leaning against the mahogany cabinet, she steadied herself. Her head ached dreadfully and the room tilted for a moment. She blinked. Something hard pressed against her back—a pewter water pitcher. Nearly swooning with relief at finding a weapon within reach, she stayed still, willing Augie to come closer.
“Come, Jemma. I’m finding this all very tiresome.”
Turning quickly before he could react, she wrapped her hands around the handle of the pitcher. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Mustering every bit of strength, she slammed the pitcher hard against Augie’s temple, knocking him to his knees.
Water spewed across them both.
Augie shook his head and struggled to stand, but fell back, the look on his face incredulous. “Wait until Mother finds out,” he slurred as he placed his hands on the floor to steady himself. Blood ran down the side of his face as he shook his head. “Bitch. Mother is going to be very angry with you.” He lifted one hand, fingers fluttering madly about in the air as he made a grab for her skirt.
Jemma stepped back, grabbing her skirts to her sides. She didn’t wait to see if he would get up. She didn’t call for help. She ran.
