Carnal Knowledge Ch. 17-18

"I'm finished listening to you, old woman," George said with a sneer.

"Oh, you've finished listening, have you?" Her laugh was short and mean. "The only thing you listen to is your cock, you ignorant fool. Look at how you've torn her clothes so the chit's titties are all but hanging out. You can't even keep your mind on our escape because you're only concerned with finding a good place to fuck her!"

Eliza felt her hair ruffle when George snorted. "I've thought enough to make sure the bag of things you filched from the earl are on my horse and not yours. Let's see who the idiot is now, Auntie."

He kicked the horse and wheeled them around, taking off at a much faster pace than before. Eliza gritted her teeth against the rocking gait, sure her head would fly off any moment.

"You double-crossing bastard!" Mrs. Biddleton screeched. Her curses continued to ring out from behind them but grew fainter as she and George galloped on down the dark road.

"Stupid bitch," he muttered, slowing the horse once more. "Now we're all alone," he said, his hand seeking her breast once more. "With any luck, no one will realize you are gone until the morning, and by then, we'll be long gone." He cackled. "Everyone will just think you up and left...after taking a load of his lordship's silver with you! Wretched chit, they'll whisper, she was both a whore and a thief."

Eliza jerked mightily in his grasp, slinging her head back in an attempt to slam into his own head. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, viciously twisting her around.

"You like things rough, hen?" he growled. "I do, too. You had better settle yourself down before I decide to cut a hole in you with my knife and leave you bleeding in the ditch after I've fucked my fill of you."

Eliza stilled, fearful George would do exactly as he threatened. Perhaps he would anyway after raping her, she thought bleakly. But she would endure what she had to, waiting for a moment he was distracted. Perhaps when he was engrossed with coupling, she could steal his knife. The thought of his loathsome body covering hers made her want to vomit anew. He would certainly make her pay for escaping him last time; of this, she had no doubt.

She squeezed her eyes as fear and desperation threatened to overwhelm her.

After some time had passed while she sniffled in misery, Eliza dimly realized that George had stopped groping at her and his breaths had turned to shallow pants.

He belched and hissed, muttering under his breath. "I shouldn't have eaten that meat pie she gave me earlier, knew the damn thing tasted off. Old hag probably tried to poison me."

Eliza tensed as he burped again, slowing the horse and rubbing his belly.

He kicked the horse into a trot once more, only to suddenly jerk hard on the horse's reins, cursing foully. Their mount had not even fully stopped when George groaned and shoved Eliza hard as he lurched off the horse.

Eliza cried out, her bound hands hampering her attempt to grab at the pommel to keep from sliding off. Despite her frantic efforts, George's hurried dismount launched her off the horse with him and she landed face down into the muck of the road, jarring her entire body at the painful impact. Stunned for a moment, she moaned and lifted her head, spitting out mud. The sounds of retching came from nearby and she could see George's kneeling form a few feet away.

Wincing, she rolled to her side, testing for anything that felt broken. She gingerly sat up and held her bound hands over her abdomen protectively. Her head throbbed viciously, and her ears rang with a dull clamor. The dark landscape around her seemed to tilt drunkenly and blur out of focus.

Do not faint, she ordered herself. You will not faint. Gritting her teeth against the sound of George's continued bouts of vomiting and moans, she struggled not to retch herself from the pain in her head and body.

Unsteadily she staggered to her feet and swayed, trying to draw her scattered wits together.

"Don't move an inch, you bitch," George panted. "I'll kill you, don't think I won't."

His ugly warning was somewhat lessened when George clutched at his midsection and heaved again into the roadside bushes.

Bringing her bound hands to her mouth, she pulled the rag from her mouth and feverishly began to tear at the cloth wound around her wrists with her teeth. "Serves you right, you despicable pile of shit," she muttered.

A wave of dizziness came over her as the cloth came free and she stumbled back and nearly fell once more as her foot caught on a fallen piece of a tree branch. Eliza felt a strange detachment from her body, almost as if she were watching from a distance when some instinct told her to grab the fallen branch. It was about as long as her arm and nearly as thick, unevenly forked at one end.

Holding the heavy branch in both hands, she made her way over the uneven ground to where George knelt hunched over, shivering.

"Get me the flask of water from the horse," he gasped, wiping at his mouth.

He growled when she didn't move, bowing his head and pressing a hand to his stomach. "Now, you stupid, useless cunt!"

Eliza nodded, hefted the branch high and brought it down as hard as she could against the back of George's head with a gruesome thud. He crumpled with a wheeze face first into what she could only hope was his own vomit.

She reeled backward, a horrified sickness filling her as she considered whether or not she may have killed the man. Her thin-soled slippers gave her no traction in the muddy sludge, and she tumbled down once more, this time striking her side with a sharp rock.

Her breaths came rapid and shallow, and her heart beat so fast it threatened to pound right through her ribcage. Black dots danced in front of her eyes.

"Get up!" she told herself fiercely.

A moan and rustling from George's direction gave her the push to get to her feet once more. Teeth violently chattering, she turned back for the horse, only to see he had drifted further down the road to nibble at some low-hanging trees.

"Bloody horse," she said, limping to it as quickly as she could, fearful still George would somehow leap to his feet and attack her with his knife.

Hissing in pain, she forced her battered body up on the horse. She pressed her cheek against the rough coat of his neck as the horse snuffled and sidestepped. "Thank you for not running away," she whispered wretchedly. "Please take me away from here."

She turned the horse back into the way they had traveled, knowing she could not remember the way they had come, but putting distance between her and George was her only driving thought. Hoping the horse had a better sense of direction than she did, Eliza let it lead as they trotted into the inky darkness.

Unexpected cramps rippled across her lower abdomen causing her to gasp in pain. She splayed a hand across her stomach in dismay. "No, please, no," she pleaded as choked sobs rose up in her throat.

***

Rockdale impatiently rode behind Robbie, his head groom. Robbie had noticed fresh horse tracks leading off the main road to the estate, but following them was difficult with the incessant light rain.

"Dammit, Robbie, can we not go faster, man?" Rockdale demanded, impatient at their lack of progress.

Robbie held his lantern higher aloft and frowned. "I was told George has cousins who live north of the village. This is probably the right direction, but we don't want to miss something in the dark, my lord."

Rockdale ground his teeth in frustration, knowing his groom was right.

Robbie reined up suddenly, and Rockdale did likewise, not seeing the lone figure to the side of the road until they were almost upon her. The sizable figure dropped the reins of the limping horse she was leading and dashed into the woods along the road.

"That was Biddleton," Rockdale roared. "Get her, Robbie, I'm going to keep going!"

William kicked his horse and raced down the road, knowing it was unwise on such a muddy lane in the dark, but he could not make himself slow down. Not seeing anything, he cursed and prepared to turn back to rejoin Robbie when something up ahead made him pause and slow his horse.

Seeing a blur of something pale, he urged his horse back into a gallop.

"Eliza!" he cried. "Oh, dear God!"

Once he got close enough, he leapt from his mount and ran to her side, plucking the reins from her icy hands. She was slumped in the saddle, her eyes dull and unfocused.

"William?" she whispered.

"Yes, darling, it's me. Are you hurt badly?"

Red streaked over her face and down over her torn nightgown. She appeared to be covered in both blood and muck and trembling with shivers.

He ripped his coat off and quickly wrapped it around her. "Damn that man," he muttered. He wanted to scream in frustration of not knowing where Eliza was injured and how badly.

"Dove, where are you hurt—" Approaching hoof beats interrupted his question as more of his stable lads reined up around them, and Robbie slid off his horse.

"Shit," Robbie muttered. "What did the bastard do to her?" He shook his head grimly before continuing. "A few of the lads are going to take Biddleton to be locked up in the stables until you decide what to do with her."

"Eliza is hurt," Rockdale rasped. "I've got to get her to the house somehow without hurting her more."

"Get on your horse, and I'll hand her up to you," Robbie said.

Rockdale mounted quickly and cradled Eliza in his arms as gently as he could manage atop his horse.

"Go to the village," he instructed Robbie. "Fetch the doctor. Hurry!"

*****

Chapter 18

John Willoughby jerked awake and almost jolted himself out of his chair into the floor. He winced at the pain in his neck, realizing he must have dozed off at his desk in Rockdale's study. It was his intention to inform Lord Rockdale first thing in the morning about his decision to resign as the earl's secretary, and he had been determined to finish up all of his uncompleted work.

Dear God. Was he truly planning to move to London and train to be a solicitor? He scrubbed at his face with his hands with a gusty sigh, thinking grumpily of Eliza Lockhart and his botched marriage proposal.

"Idiot," he breathed in self-derision. No small wonder the lovely governess had rejected his idea to marry and travel with him to London. He should have said... Ah well, he thought ruefully. Perhaps some things were just simply not to be.

A man's voice called out loudly, and John blinked out of his reverie. Had that been the earl? John shoved himself stiffly to his feet as the commotion grew louder and a noise that sounded like the front door slamming. What on earth could be going on? By the stub of his guttering candle, it must be well into the night.

John stepped out into the hallway, peering around. He turned at the sound of soft footsteps, and his stomach twisted upon spying the slim figure of Caroline Stanley approaching him. Giving himself a mental kick in the arse, he forced himself to bow slightly and remember his manners. "Miss Stanley."

"John!" she said, giving him a tremulous smile that he in no way deserved in light of his actions the previous night. "What's going on? Is that Cousin William I hear shouting downstairs?"

He frowned. "I think it is. I had better see what is amiss. Perhaps you should return to your room."

Caroline, however, was already headed for the stairway before he even finished speaking. He rubbed his forehead and hurried after her.

"Why is no one listening to me?" Rockdale was roaring as John and Caroline quickly descended the stairs.

John's heart plummeted when he took in the scene before him. The earl held a pale and lifeless Eliza in his arms. Her face and garments were dirty and streaked with blood.

Servants were trickling into the foyer in various states of dress. Whispers and murmurs swirled like tendrils of smoke around the room.

"My lord!" John exclaimed. "What in heaven has happened to Miss Lockhart?"

John reached out a hand to touch Eliza's arm, and Rockdale stepped away and bared his teeth at him, turning to face his cousin.

"Caro, help me. I don't know what to do," the earl whispered brokenly. "She's hurt. The doctor is supposed to be coming, but God only knows how long that will take."

To John's surprise, Caroline nodded immediately and stepped forward. "You," she said, pointing at a maid yawning near the door. "Go with his lordship upstairs and help him get Miss Lockhart into her bed."

Rockdale strode away up the stairs, and Caroline looked around, frowning. "Where is Simpson or that housekeeper Biddleton?" she asked finally in exasperation.

"The housekeeper was sent packing this afternoon," John murmured, watching numbly as Rockdale disappeared with Eliza.

A footman stepped forward, tugging his forelock. "Begging your pardon, miss, but the butler went to see about a commotion in the stables."

Caroline huffed. "All right, then, gather 'round, please," she ordered crisply.

John blinked as the servants obediently shuffled near. It seemed inconceivable that the young lady standing before them was the same bedraggled and whining girl sobbing in this same foyer only the night before.

"Which of you female staff has served at Verity Hall the longest?" Caroline queried.

A tall, angular woman in the back raised her hand. "My name is Lottie Bess, and I suppose that would be myself, miss. I've worked all about this house for near twenty-five years. I'm head of the laundry now," she finished proudly.

"Excellent," Caroline said. "You are now acting housekeeper until Lord Rockdale says otherwise. I need you to see about getting Miss Lockhart cleaned up and into fresh clothing. Also, arrange for some tea and a supper tray for Lord Rockdale in case he should have need of it."

"Yes, Miss," Lottie said with an astonished expression. She gestured to a pair of sleepy-eyed maids in the corner. "Well, come on then, don't stand there with yer teeth in your mouth. One of you get to the kitchen and one of you follow me upstairs."

Caroline nodded briskly and gestured at Oliver, one of the footmen.

"You wait by the door and look for the physician to arrive. Take him straight upstairs when he does."

"I wonder what on earth has happened to poor Miss Lockhart," she murmured to John, her expression troubled.

John felt deeply distressed as well and no idea of what to do with himself to help.

"You don't think..." Caroline started softly then faltered.

Unconsciously he drifted closer to her side. "What?" he prompted.

She turned to face him. "You don't suppose that Cousin William has...hurt Miss Lockhart, do you?"

They both paused, gazing uncertainly into one another's eyes.

"No," he answered. But didn't the brute rape her, a voice in the back of his brain reminded him. He kept this to himself, and she seemed reassured by his answer.

"No," she repeated. "Of course, he wouldn't hurt her."

***

Rockdale fought the urge to once again start shouting like a lunatic. "I am not leaving this room," he growled.

His young cousin glared back at him. "Yes, you are, William. It is not at all proper for you to be in Miss Lockhart's bedchamber."

He shoved a finger in her direction. "You can take bloody proper and shove it in your—"

"Stop it," Caroline hissed. "You're already causing talk amongst the staff. Go away at least until the maids get her bathed and—"

"My lord? The village doctor is here," a footman announced.

"About bloody time!" Rockdale spat, scowling at the white-haired and stooped-over man entering with a bag in hand.

The physician glanced at the bed where Eliza lay pale and still. "I hope this is serious enough to warrant dragging me from my bed for a servant," he grumbled.

Rockdale felt his hands draw up into fists, and Caroline must have noticed because she took his arm and dragged him toward the door.

"Leave her for now," his cousin implored.

She looked over to where John Willoughby hovered near the doorway. "Get the earl out of here," she ordered.

Rockdale allowed himself to be reluctantly escorted out of the room. He paced down the hallway several feet before stopping abruptly. He whirled around and viciously punched the wall.

"Damn it all!" he cursed, his chest heaving and puffing like a bellows. He punched again and again, not feeling the skin of his knuckles tear and begin bleeding.

"My lord!" Mr. Willoughby said in alarm. "You must calm—"

"I'm going to kill that bastard, rip his bloody hands and his cock right off his body."

"Let us go downstairs to your study, and I'll pour you some brandy. I'm sure the doctor will come speak to you when he's finished. You need to get your nerves settled so you can think clearly. You'll be no help to Miss Lockhart in any capacity if you're raving like a madman."

Rockdale raised his head to glare murderously at his secretary. The other man blanched a bit but stood his ground before him.

Without answering, the earl wiped his bloody hand on his trousers and stalked away. How could Eliza been whisked away right from his side? he wondered bleakly. None of this made a damn bit of sense.

Reaching his study, he poured himself a glass of brandy with trembling hands. Had George hurt her, raped her? He downed the liquor and dropped the glass onto the floor. Eliza had been hurt and barely conscious, frustrating his attempts to figure out exactly how she had escaped from his former footman.

A cold fury flowed through him all the more infuriating because he felt helpless and guilty. The events of the night mixed uneasily with the remnants of his earlier nightmare.

He covered his face with his hands. Feelings he had no name for churned inside his brain. Resolutely, he picked the emotion he knew how to wield and brought it to the forefront. He focused on his anger, pushing the rest aside in a furious jumble.

Rockdale was going to murder that fucking arsehole. Grabbing the brandy decanter, he drank deeply until his head stopped buzzing, and the anger condensed into a cold, hard knot in the pit of his stomach.

***

Eliza came awake slowly and winced. Everything hurt. Her eyes slowly opened to find the steady gaze of Rockdale's cousin Caroline upon her.

"Miss Lockhart. Thank goodness you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Taking a moment to consider her answer, Eliza realized she had been somehow bathed and put into clean clothing. The nightmare of being abducted by George and Mrs. Biddleton seemed unreal now...almost as though it had been only a horrible dream.

"I feel like I've been trampled by a hundred stampeding horses, but I seem to be intact," she finally replied, rubbing a large knot on the side of her head. "Ouch."

"Yes, you must have taken quite a hard knock to your head," Miss Stanley said. "The doctor examined you and left some time ago, but you never awakened."

Eliza sat up slightly, grimacing at the pain in her head. Miss Stanley helpfully adjusted her pillows.

Why on earth was the daughter of a viscount waiting upon her? Eliza wondered, feeling ill at ease, her thoughts muddled with weary pain. "Thank you for your kindness, Miss Stanley," she murmured aloud.

"Of course," the earl's cousin answered briskly. "Rockdale was clearly overwrought over your injuries. I forbade him to come inside and wake you, but I'm sure he will return shortly."

Eliza shifted, her hands absently stroking over her still flat abdomen, uncomfortable under the other girl's obviously curious regard.

"John said," Caroline continued, then paused. "That is to say, Mr. Willoughby, informed me that the former housekeeper and her nephew are responsible for harming you. How utterly horrible." Her brow furrowed. "Do you wish for a drink of water? I can send for some tea if you prefer?"

"Miss Stanley, may I ask you a rather vulgar question?" Eliza asked abruptly, forcing herself to look directly at the young woman at her bedside.