Quint listened for the receding footsteps and then returned to his task. With each paper he ordered, each book he set to rights, each pen he set in its usual place beside the blotter, he wiped Elizabeth’s sister from his mind. He ordered his bedroom as he ordered his thoughts, and there was no place for Catherine Fullbright in either.
THE BEDROOM DOOR SLAMMED open, and Catherine sat up with a scream lodged in her throat.
“Elizabeth, go to your mother’s room. Now.” Her father stood in the doorway, the light behind him, his shadow falling over Catherine’s bed like a shroud.
Catherine watched as her younger sister scrambled out of her bed, passed her father, and hurried out the door. It was Elizabeth’s wedding day, and Catherine had only moved back in the room from the attic two days ago. Perhaps her father had forgotten he’d allowed her to move back?
“Papa,” she stuttered. “Remember, you said I could sleep in here now.”
But he remained blocking the doorway, and Catherine shrank back when he raised the lantern he carried and stepped into her bedroom.
He was not alone. Beside him was a large man, almost as wide as the door and almost as tall. He had his ham-sized fists outstretched, and he leered at Catherine with obvious intent.
“P-P-Papa, what do you want?” Catherine pulled her knees up against her chest and tried to make herself small. With the two men in her bedroom, the room already seemed unbearably tiny and cramped. She struggled for breath as her heart pounded incessantly in her temples.
One, two, three . . .
“Well, what do you think?” her father said to the beefy man, holding the lantern closer to Catherine so that she was visible. She lowered her head, and her father grasped her chin and yanked her face back up. “Stand up girl. Show him what you got.”
She screamed as he hauled her from the bed. Her nightshirt ripped on the bedpost so that it fell open over her shoulder. She caught it before it could expose more skin. Head ringing, she clutched her father and looked up in time to see the beefy man grinning down at her. God help her, she could see the bulge in his pants.
“I like her. Ten pounds, you say?”
Catherine blinked. Ten pounds? Was she being sold? Here and now, thrust out of her warm bed and bartered away like a piece of meat?
“Ten pounds,” her father agreed, and stuck out his hand. The beefy man handed him a wad of blunt and then reached for Catherine.
She screamed. She screamed like she had never screamed before, so loud that it would wake not only the house but the neighbors and the whole city of London.
“Stop that infernal wailing,” her father bellowed. “I gave you a chance. I brought you suitors and took you to balls. But you wouldn’t listen.” He bent low and his rank, brandy-soaked breath wafted over her. “You and that little hoyden cousin of yours had to make plans.” There was dried spittle on his lips, and she could see he hadn’t shaved for several days. Stray, gray hairs grew in at all angles on his chin and cheeks. “Now, you see that I keep my promises.”
He hauled her up and all but threw her at the beefy man, but Catherine reached out at the last moment and grabbed her father’s hand. Her thoughts were wild now, desperate and jumbled, and all she could think was no, no, no!
She held fast to her father’s hand, even when he tried to pry her fingers loose.
“Get off me,” he said, but she held on. And somehow she leashed her terror, gathered it into a ball, and used it to fuel her courage. She looked up and into her father’s face. He was staring down at her, his expression uncertain. She did not think he had expected this from her.
“Daddy,” she cried, using the endearment she hadn’t spoken since she was a little girl. “Please, don’t do this to me. Please. Anything but this.”
“I won’t have this insubordination,” he roared. But she held on. “You’re no longer my daughter.”
“Daddy, please, no. Please. I’ll marry. Whomever you choose. Anything. Please don’t give me to him.” She glanced at the brute again. “Please, please.”
“You’ll do whatever I ask?” he said. “Marry whomever I say?”
When she looked into his face again, she saw the slightest hint of a smile. Her blood turned to ice, and she felt her stomach heave.
“Anyone?” her father pressed. “Even your sister’s betrothed?”
Catherine swallowed the acid in her throat. She wanted to scream no. What her father suggested was wrong. Immoral. She glanced back at the beefy man, then back at her father.
Catherine swallowed the acid in her throat and nodded.
“Good.” Her father strode to the door and clapped his hands and Meg, their much-abused housemaid, came in carrying a tray of tea.
Catherine looked from Meg to her father. “What is that?”
Her father poured the steaming brew into a large cup and thrust it into her hands. “Drink it, or I keep his money.” He nodded at the beefy man.
