Carnal Knowledge Ch. 08

"Just be still," he muttered and wrapping an arm around her back and another under her rump, he lifted her up into his arms.

"Oh my!" Miss Pratt cried out, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Cousin William! How gallant of you!"

The earl strode back toward the house, thankfully not too great of a distance away. His eyes met Eliza's wide ones for just a moment. Her bonnet listed slightly askew and a smudge of dirt adorned her cheek, but he would have given anything to be holding his governess in his arms instead of the young lady he carried.

Miss Pratt sniffled and laid her cheek upon his chest. "Thank you ever so much, my lord," she whispered. "You are truly my champion."

Rockdale rolled his eyes and hefted his burden more securely in his arms.

***

Eliza pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. Against her better judgment, she followed the garden pathway leading to the stone fountain where Mr. Willoughby had insisted they meet. She shivered. The shadows had lengthened, and the late afternoon sun had disappeared behind a veil of dark clouds.

Why on earth had she spoken to the gardener about her situation with Rockdale? And why had the older man mentioned it to his son?

That had to be the reason John Willoughby had insisted on speaking to her in private. It was all so wretchedly embarrassing! The possibility of people viewing her as the earl's personal prostitute revolted her. And she cringed to think of her mother or sister ever finding out what she'd been forced to do to secure their home.

It doesn't matter, she told herself firmly. You're going to get the cottage from Rockdale before much longer and return home. You'll never have to see any of these horrid people again.

Her heart panged at the thought of never seeing Anna and Nicholas again. But they were not her children, she reminded herself. And they were young and would likely forget her before the season changed to summer.

She lifted her chin and forged ahead. A prickle of uneasiness settled at the back of her neck, but she shrugged it off. The thought of Rockdale discovering her tête-à-tête with John Willoughby jangled her nerves with apprehension, though the earl had seemed well occupied at the house with the lovely Lydia.

The lady had actually smirked at her from her lofty position in Rockdale's arms. Eliza would've sworn the young woman had faked the entire incident. But ploy or not, she could not deny Miss Pratt had looked as though she belonged there in the earl's arms. Her lithe, elegant beauty seemed to perfectly match his tall and lean physique.

Eliza rubbed a spot in the center of her chest that suddenly felt tight.

One would have thought Miss Pratt had fallen into a bear trap for all the drama that erupted when the small group had returned to the house. Pillows, blankets and poultices by the score had been gathered and Lydia snuggly ensconced on a plush chaise in the second-floor drawing room.

The doctor had been summoned from the village, and though the man pronounced nothing seemed to be broken, the young lady would need to rest her injured foot. It appeared Rockdale's uninvited guests would not be departing anytime in the near future.

A figure stepped out onto the pathway ahead of her, and Eliza squeaked in surprise, nearly stumbling.

The footman George, the last person she wished to encounter, grasped her arm.

"If it isn't the lovely Miss Lockhart," he purred, eyeing her in such a way that put her immediately ill at ease.

She tugged at her arm, and to her surprise he released her. Quickly, she backed away.

George held a hand up, his expression placating. "Don't run away, hen. I only wanted to talk to you a moment. What do you say you and I get better acquainted?"

His charming, boyish grin made her skin crawl, but Eliza resisted the urge to turn and run.

She forced herself to look him directly in the eye. "You and I have nothing to discuss. Please do not speak to me or touch me ever again. Good day to you."

She nodded in dismissal and turned away, wavering for an instant on whether to continue to the fountain or return to the relative safety of the house. Damnation, why had she not put that stupid kitchen knife back in her pocket after the fitting with Madame?

George grabbed her upper sleeve roughly and flung her back around to face him. "I'm not finished with you yet, little miss high and mighty."

"Let go of me, you slack-witted buffoon!" Eliza shoved hard at the footman's solid chest, but he held firm and spun her around so that her back was flush against his front.

A muscular arm snaked across her ribs, binding her arms viselike to her sides. She struggled against his hold, her scream of fury muffled by his hand clamping over her mouth.

The bastard laughed softly in her ear. Infuriated, Eliza tossed her head and tried in vain to bite his hand. To her horror, in squirming to get free, she could feel the bulge of his hardening cock pressing against her bottom.

She kicked back at his leg viciously and made contact. George cursed and jerked her backwards into the bushes, her feet dragging as she resisted. He succeeded in forcing her into a small clearing amongst the tall shrubberies. Outrage mingled with the fear of what he might do to her in the secluded spot increased her fervor to get away.

His hand slid from her mouth and grasped her throat. He squeezed, not enough to completely block her airway, but a rising tide of panic threatened to overtake her as dark spots appeared in her vision. She swayed in his grip, light-headed and weakening.

"Now, you're going to listen," George said, soft and menacing. "You like to prance around the house with your nose in the air, but see I know what a strumpet you really are. And it doesn't seem fair that his lordship gets to fuck you and I don't."

He released her throat, and she sucked in greedy gulps of air, trembling.

"You'd better keep that mouth shut," he growled. "Or I'll have to wring that pretty neck of yours, understand, hen?"

He nuzzled her cheek, and Eliza shuddered in revulsion at the feel of his wet tongue sliding along her jaw. She bowed back in his grasp when he covered her breast with a beefy hand, roughly squeezing and groping the soft mound.

George groaned deep in his throat while his free hand leisurely fondled her chest. "I've been waiting so long to get my hands on these tits. Bet you didn't know I saw you through the keyhole in his lordship's study—getting naked as the day you were born, strutting around for him. And you pretend to be so prim and proper," George sneered. "But you're not, are you?"

Even through the layers of her skirt and underclothes, Eliza's flesh tightened with revulsion when his hand glided down her body to delve between her legs.

Her instincts clamored to try and scream for help. Perhaps one of the Willoughby's would hear her. But perhaps not. If George put his hand around her throat once more...she had no doubt the powerful man could very well strangle the life out of her.

She choked back a sob as George yanked up fistfuls of her skirts until he exposed the worn-thin cotton of her drawers. The heated pants of his breathing rippled past Eliza's ear while his finger traced the seam between her legs to the slit opening of her drawers.

She kicked back at the bastard, aiming for his knee.

"I bet you don't want everyone to know your shameful secret, do you?" he continued, easily evading her kick and squeezing her tighter. "You better do what I say, or everybody's going to know that not only do you play the whore for the earl, but you're eager to spread your legs for all the men in the house."

"No one's going to believe you!" she spat and bent from the waist, trying to find room to maneuver and dislodge his hold. Grunting, George bent with her, maintaining his hold and better aligning his groin with the crease in her buttocks.

"Oh, I think they will," he assured her. "Mrs. Biddleton just told me in front of half the staff that you were looking for me—wanted to speak privately, she said."

"That's rubbish! Even she wouldn't do that," Eliza said indignantly. "George, please—let us just talk for a moment."

"You didn't want to talk, remember?" he taunted.

"Don't, please, don't do this," she begged.

"Bleedin' Christ, but I want to fuck you right here." George shoved his cock against her bottom and pushed his entire hand inside the slit of her drawers. He palmed her thatch of curls, his hips humping her from behind. She tried to squeeze her thighs closed, but one blunt finger parted her outer labia.

"Stop it, stop it," she hissed, vainly shoving at the hard arm restraining her, writhing and squirming in panic.

Breathing hard, George pulled his hand from beneath her skirt. "Listen up, you little wagtail. You're going to walk with me back to the house and in through the servants' door and up to my room. You're going to take those clothes off and kneel down on my bed so I can fuck you."

He chuckled nastily. "Bet the earl hasn't pounded that plump arse yet. But I'm going to, hen, and you're going to let me. Hell, a lusty whore like you will probably beg for more."

Frustration, anger and fear warred within her. This stupid lout of a man would not get the best of her! Damned if she would let him rape her. Damned if she would!

Still holding her tightly, George began to roughly grab her breasts again muttering something odd about having to get her in the house.

Thinking quickly and casting a prayer heavenward, she let her body go limp in his grip.

"What the hell..." George loosened his grip around her abdomen, fumbling to hold her upright.

Fiery hatred fueled a burst of hard movement, and she threw her head backward, butting him in the face.

George cursed vilely, and she pitched forward as hard as she could, causing him to stumble a bit. She broke away from him, immediately whirled around and rammed her knee as hard as she could into his groin.

Eyes wide and shocked, he slumped to his knees, gasping. "You bitch!"

Heart thundering, she glared down at him. "Lord Rockdale will hear that you attacked me."

Even clutching his groin George managed to smirk up at her. "When I explain what a lightskirt his governess is, I don't think it's me he'll blame." He laughed and winced. "The housekeeper knows you've been sniffing around me. She's gonna tell his lordship she saw you on your knees in the linens closet suckling on my cock like a hungry babe to her bottle."

Disgust and loathing rose up as bile in her throat. "You're a lying, miserable sack of excrement—that means shit in case you're too stupid to know."

His eyes glittered at her with malice. "Am I? You just wait, hen. You're gonna be sorry you didn't go with me like I asked. Besides, I heard you say at dinner you have a younger sister, maybe she will like me better, you think?"

"I'll kill you first!"

"Eliza? Miss Lockhart?"

Eliza lurched through the bushes back to the pathway and saw John Willoughby standing a short distance away, looking around with puzzlement.

Shakily, she straightened her dress and stepped forward, painfully clearing her sore throat.

Looking startled, he spun about and strode quickly to her side.

"Miss Lockhart! I thought I heard your voice, but I couldn't locate you. Did I hear you speaking with someone?"

She felt tears and delayed hysteria rising to the surface. Desperate to get away, she blinked rapidly, her breathing ragged. "Let us walk toward the house, please. I am not feeling well."

The urge to collapse in his arms and sob felt almost overwhelming, but Eliza forced herself to keep moving. Just get to your room, she told herself. Just get there and you can fall to pieces and cry.

"I must talk to you first, Miss Lockhart," Mr. Willoughby began stiffly.

Abruptly even this well-intentioned gentleman had become too much for her to handle.

"No," she said in a loud, forceful voice, surprising the both of them with her intensity. "I appreciate your concern for me, but it is misplaced." She stepped away from his guiding arm, not wanting to be touched.

"I see," he said, his expression cooling into a neutral mask.

Tears burned behind her eyes. Bloody hell, now she had hurt the dratted man's feelings.

So be it, she thought angrily. She had to get away from here. Now.

"Just leave me alone, Mr. Willoughby," she choked out and spun away from him, fleeing back inside as fast as her leaden feet would take her.

***

Pleading illness, Eliza did not go back to the nursery or down to dinner. She huddled in her bed, feeling cold and empty inside.

Sleep refused to pull her under—she lay still in the dark, knife clutched tightly in her hand.

Time passed in a blur, and she realized the earl was standing over her bed with an odd expression on his face.

"Eliza, are you all right?" he asked softly.

"Fine," she answered flatly.

He did not move. "Are you feeling ill?"

"Yes," she said. "I have cast up my accounts several times this evening," she lied. "I must have caught what Lady Anna had. You had better keep your distance from me."

"Shall I stay?" he queried, sounding uncertain. "Or send someone to tend you?"

"No. I wish to be alone," she said and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he had gone. A tear escaped to trickle down her cold cheek.

***

Eliza greeted the weak morning sun with gritty eyes and an aching head. Numbness seemed to have taken over her body while she washed, dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast.

She had slept later than normal and found herself sitting at the dining table with not only Rockdale and his children but all three houseguests as well.

"Miss Lockhart, are you feeling better this morning?" Rockdale asked, his eyes traveling over her.

"Yes, thank you, my lord," she answered woodenly. She stared down at the plate of food she had selected and wondered how she would possibly choke a bite of it down.

"Rockdale, we had planned to depart today, but with Lydia's injury, I'm afraid we will have to extend our stay," Lady Pelham announced, not sounding entirely happy with this turn of events.

"That's quite all right," Rockdale said. "Please stay as long as you like."

He picked up a folded piece of foolscap by his plate. "Unfortunately, I have something I need to share as well."

All eyes rose to him as he tapped the paper on the table, his expression grave.

"Miss Lockhart," he said, "I have received a message from your mother's doctor this morning."

Shock at this unexpected pronouncement shattered Eliza's shield of numbness. "My m-mother?"

"Yes, I'm afraid her condition has declined. The doctor suggested you may wish to travel home for a short while."

Her fork fell to the table with a clang. "She's dying?" Eliza asked. Her lips felt numb, and the room began to tilt strangely around her.

"No, she isn't dying," he replied. "But I think perhaps you should see her as soon as possible."

"Yes, of course," she whispered in agreement.

But how on earth would she get there? Eliza wrapped her arms around her middle. She had no available funds with which to purchase her transport to Lancashire.

"We will take my carriage, of course," he said as though she had spoken aloud. "It will be the quickest, safest way to get there."

Lady Pelham's head shot up. "We? You don't mean you're going with her, do you?"

"Actually, yes," he said. "I have some other urgent business to attend to—so I will ride alongside as an escort for part of the trip."

"Oh my goodness, Miss Lockhart," Caroline said. "I do hope your mother will be well again soon."

"Thank you, Miss Stanley," Eliza replied automatically, her mind tumbling in a hundred directions as she struggled to make sense of what the earl had told her. Her mother's illness had become more serious? Could she possibly be dying?

"When you finish eating, go pack some things, Miss Lockhart," Rockdale instructed. "We will depart this morning."

Stunned silence greeted his pronouncement. Rockdale summoned Nicholas and Anna over to his side and murmured to them. Wide-eyed, they looked back at Eliza while the earl patted each child on the shoulder.

Eliza did her best to smile reassuringly while the youngsters followed the butler out of the dining room.

Miss Pratt's face had gone pale, and she stared at Rockdale in consternation. "But, my lord, I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Rockdale, now see here-!" Lady Pelham blustered.

"I give my deepest apologies to you, dear ladies," Rockdale interrupted gently, "but I'm afraid I must leave you for now. Miss Pratt, please take as long as you need here at Verity Hall to recuperate from your unfortunate tumble."

Lady Pelham pursed her lips, looking as though she wished to say more but held her tongue.

Eliza rose unsteadily and abruptly stilled upon noticing the footman George enter the room. She had known she would likely see encounter him, but the sight of the brute still caused her stomach to roil uneasily.

Rockdale, apparently noticing her distress, if not the cause, came to her side and took her arm. "Come along now, Miss Lockhart. I'm sure your mother will be fine. Let's find a maid to help you pack, shall we?"

Eliza took one last look backward as the earl led her out of the dining room. Lydia Platt glared at her, the young lady's cheeks awash in ugly bright red.

Less than an hour later, the earl's well-sprung carriage carried Eliza swiftly away from the estate. Worry for her mother weighed heavily on her mind, and she knotted her hands in her lap, fretting over the necessary evil of travel time.

The earl rode a horse somewhere behind the carriage. Eliza supposed this was one of the times the man had decided to observe propriety. But despite the turbulence of her emotions and her mixed feelings toward him, she did grudgingly give thanks to Rockdale for allowing her the means to quickly travel to Lancashire.

The landscape passed in a blur through the window with its tied-back black velvet curtains. She tried to keep from dwelling on the worst possibilities and looked up in puzzlement when the carriage began to slow.

What the devil! Surely, they had only been on the road for an hour or so, she reasoned and wondered if one of the horses had gone lame.

Eliza peered out the window to try to see what could be amiss. The carriage door opened, and the broad shoulders of Rockdale appeared. The spacious interior seemed to shrink to half its size when he climbed inside and sank into the seat opposite her.

The door closed and with a jerk the carriage began moving forward once again.

They regarded one another in silence for several moments. Eliza glanced away, sightlessly gazing out the window before returning her eyes to him. Her throat worked; it felt as though she had everything and nothing to say to him.

"Thank you for allowing me the use of your carriage," she said finally, fighting the tears that threatened to well in her eyes.

Rockdale looked grim and his eyes were shuttered. He, too, looked away a moment and her heart beat faster. She thought perhaps her mother's condition was more urgent than he had revealed.

"We are not going to Lancashire," he said.

Shock rolled over her like a bucketful of icy water. "But how shall I get to my mother?" she asked slowly. Panic began beating frantic wings inside her chest. "She's ill. I must go!"

Rockdale withdrew a folded paper from his pocket and extended it to her. "Read for yourself. Your mother is perfectly fine."

She accepted the letter with numb fingers. "I don't...I don't understand. You said..."

"I lied," he said simply. His face regarded her, expressionless, across the short distance between them.

Eliza scrubbed at her chest, heart beating at an urgent pace, almost as she had been running alongside the carriage. Realization began to dawn amid her confusion. "If we're not going to Lancashire to see my family—then where the BLOODY HELL ARE WE GOING?"