He jerked back and she released him. “You little bitch!” He was panting with rage and pain as he drew back and slapped her hard on one cheek and then the other.
The force of the blows sent her reeling back against the portrait. She flailed the air with her arms trying to keep her balance. She was beyond herself then, screaming at him. “You bastard! I’ll kill you for this, you filthy bastard!”
2
In the next instant she realized that her insults pleased him. She knew it, could see it as the rage faded from his face, and he laughed. “I’ve always liked my women to have a bit of spirit, not to just lie stiff and silent beneath me like martyrs, like that damned sister of yours. When I’m ramming really hard into her, I like to watch her go pale, bite her lips and moan.” He saw she didn’t understand what he was saying. He laughed with pleasure. He’d wanted to be the one to break her from the first moment he’d set eyes on her.
“Yes, I like a girl with spirit, Sabrina. Fight me, do, if you like that game. A fine, aristocratic young lady you are, so proud, so sure of yourself and what you are and what is owed to you. I wonder when I take you, if your virgin’s blood will flow as heavy as Elizabeth’s. There was so much of it. I fear my poor little bride believed that I’d killed her. More’s the pity that I hadn’t.”
It hit her with full force in that moment that he fully intended to rape her. He was pulling her wrists over her head. He moved in. She yelled in his face, “No, Trevor. I’ll tell Grandfather what you are, don’t you doubt it. When I tell him, he’ll have you flogged and thrown out of Monmouth Abbey. He’ll disown you.”
“Ah, I wondered if you’d try that, Sabrina. If you open your sweet mouth to him, then I assure you that I shall assist him to his final resting place. It wouldn’t take much to nudge him into the grave, you know.
“Now, my dear, enough of this flightiness. I’ve waited with great patience for you. I’ll wait no more.”
His pale green eyes were narrow with purpose. He grabbed the neck of her gray wool gown and jerked it down. She knew he was staring at her breasts. She wouldn’t let his hands touch her bare flesh. She lunged forward, striking at his face with her fists.
Then he managed to grab one of her arms. He twisted it, jerking it upward behind her. She screamed again, the pain clear in her cry. She saw then that he enjoyed causing her pain. He twisted her arm even higher but she kept her scream in her throat.
“Very well,” he said. With his other hand, he grasped the edge of her chemise and tore it down to her waist. His eyes were blazing as he gazed at her breasts. “My God, you’re a beauty. I imagined you would have nice breasts, but they’re exquisite.” He grabbed one breast and squeezed.
It hurt but still she held her pain inside. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting her beyond what she could bear. She leaned down and bit the back of his hand as hard as she could.
He backhanded her. “I will teach you obedience to your lord, to your master, to me. You bite me again and I’ll make you very sorry.”
His hand squeezed her breast again, then quickly he was at her stomach, his fingers digging in to find her through her gown and chemise.
“No!”
He laughed, and toppled her onto the hard wooden floor. She was struggling for breath. His body slammed down on top of her. He reared back and she felt that male part of him pushing hard against her belly. She jerked her hand free and smashed her fist into his nose.
“You bitch, you miserable little bitch!” He began to slap her, again and again, until she saw nothing except explosions of white pain. He was howling as he hit her, his eyes wild.
Suddenly he stiffened above her and she saw his eyes widen, then become glazed and vague. He slapped her again, cursing her, but this time his voice was soft, drowsy-sounding. He growled deep in his throat. “Damn you, damn you.” He froze above her, stiff as a board. Then he rolled away from her to lie on his back, his legs spread.
She was on her feet in an instant, staring down at him. His breathing was harsh and low. He was looking up at her, his eyes tender, a gentle smile on his mouth. His smile widened when he lightly touched his fingers to himself. There was a wide stain on his breeches.
She took a step back from him. She was shuddering with reaction, with utter rage. Without thought, she kicked him in the ribs. “You filthy animal, filthy, filthy. God, I hate you.”
He tried to grab her ankle but she jumped back in time. He rolled to his back again. He gazed up at her and touched his bloody nose, his features once again beautiful and calm. “You won’t kick my ribs again, but I can’t say that I blame you. You overexcited me, Sabrina, this time, and I had no chance to pleasure you, to plunge deep into your virgin’s body. Ah, but next time.
“Pain and pleasure, little pet, beautifully and irrevocably intertwined. I shall have you, and no one shall stop me, least of all you. Don’t even try to lock your door against me, else I shall tip the balance to pain. You know, I think next time I shall have to tie you down. You’ve bloodied my nose just like a schoolboy. My ribs ache, ah, and I’ve spilled my seed on myself. Your fault, of course. I haven’t known such excitement in a very long time, certainly not with your bloodless sister, or any of those silly maids. Not an auspicious beginning for us, but a beginning nonetheless.”
Sabrina turned and ran from the portrait gallery, the low heels of her slippers clipping t
he wooden floor, ringing loud and hard in her ears.
She heard the cat-soft footsteps of a footman and huddled into a small embrasure until he passed her. She ran into her bedchamber and with trembling fingers quickly twisted the key in the lock. Stepping to a long mirror beside a walnut armoire, she touched her fingers to her ravaged face. She gazed dumbly at her puffy eyes, still wet with her tears, and her swollen, stained cheeks, still marked by his blows, still hot and tender to the touch. She stared at herself in silence, raging against her own impotence, her helplessness against him, a man.
She remembered when he had first arrived from Italy but a month and a half before, so winsome in his charm, almost boyishly eager to win approval, particularly from Elizabeth. She thought about the first time she’d noticed his hands, soft and white, like a woman’s. Grandfather had growled under his breath that Trevor was naught but a pampered, vain fop.
Grandfather. Sabrina turned away from the mirror and sat, shoulders slumped, upon her bed. If she told him that Trevor had tried to rape her, after only two weeks of marriage to Elizabeth, he would go into a rage. She swallowed a sob. Only her grandfather stood between her and her cousin, and he was too old. Sabrina rose with sudden decision. She would go to Elizabeth. Together they would decide what was to be done. She quickly dashed cold water on her face. She still looked a fright. Well, Elizabeth would see the proof of his blows; she wouldn’t have any doubts as to the sort of man she’d married. She stuffed her torn clothes into the corner of her armoire, and changed quickly into an old brown wool gown.
She found her sister in her bedchamber, seated at her small writing desk, penning letters, Sabrina thought, to the wedding guests.
“Leave us, Mary,” she said to the maid.
Elizabeth raised pale blue eyes to her sister, but said nothing until Mary had finally and reluctantly closed the bedchamber door. She laid down her pen and out of habit smoothed a wisp of pale blond hair back into its knot at the nape of her neck. Both Trevor and Elizabeth had soft blond hair. Where Trevor’s eyes were a pale green, Elizabeth’s were blue. “There’s no need for you to be rude to Mary. She’s a sensitive girl. I don’t wish to see you behave like that again. Now, what do you want? As you can see, I am quite busy. How am I to thank the Viscountess Ashford for that hideous cachepot? Can you imagine, blue tulips strewn all over the thing? Trevor laughed and laughed.”