Living in the Pages (Pirates #1.5)

A Dinner of Division

Hugh had come into her room three more times before that night at dinner with the Springtons. When Annabelle, her lady's maid, told her the Springtons were rather insistent on her presence, Lydia briefly considered hiding in the garden. Somehow, even in her current mindset, she could hear her mother's berating voice and knew Lydia could never do such an impertinent thing.
Which is how she found herself standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom as she waited for Annabelle to bring her gown, staring at her reflection. Although her father and mother had never been large fans of her mind, they'd always complimented her looks. Mamma had often referred to her as an Aphrodite. Bright vibrant blonde hair, wide sparkling blue eyes, soft unblemished skin, and a slim figure with liberal breasts and childbearing hips. Lydia had never worried about her appearance and always prided herself on it.
The woman staring back at her in the mirror was a completely different person. Her eyes were dull, her vibrant hair was pulled back and tied down, her skin was pallid, and her chemise was beginning to hang awkwardly off her thinner frame. The haunted look in her gaze did not match the carefree one she was used to seeing, but it seemed to fit; she was a ghost now. And ghosts haunt.
Annabelle held up a gown that used to be Lydia's favorite. Now, all she could see were the places she knew her flesh would be vulnerable. She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest tightly.
Her maid lowered the dress with a sad look and nodded wordlessly, understanding what Lydia wanted.
Annabelle was the only person to see the bruises on Lydia's body. Hugh was not stupid by any means and he was careful to ensure the only wounds visible were on her legs and stomach. For all intents and purposes, Lydia looked unharmed.
Lydia was being honest, she preferred it this way. Better to hide her secret.
In the dining room, Lydia sat beside Beth in an almost black gown whose neckline went all the way up to her chin with sleeves ending just below her wrists. There was not a single part of her skin that was visible besides her hands and face; it felt like armor, though she knew it would never be strong enough when the battle came.
A plate of food was placed in front of her and her stomach turned over in response. She didn't know if she could ever bring herself to eat again with the disturbing images that kept flashing across her vision and the snakes of disgust slithering beneath her skin.
The conversation was muted around her, though she heard her name a few times as Beth made excuses for her lack luster presence. She simply couldn't find the motivation to open her mouth in response to it. What would be the purpose?
"I am enamored with a great many things."
At the sound of that voice, the world came into very sharp focus and every muscle within her locked up. She couldn't so much as turn her head to see who had walked in, but she didn't need to. She knew instantly that her betrothed had entered the dining room.
Hugh said, "At the top of that list is my beautiful fiancée."
His cool lips dropped a peck on her cheek and she thought her limbs had actually become ice. A frog had taken up residence in her throat, and her heart was galloping as fast as a first prize racing horse.
It is a strange feeling to be the only one in a room who is full of fear. It is even stranger to despise oneself for feeling that fear. It was the loneliest, most desperate feeling in the world. It made her eyes prick with tears.
Beth leaned over and whispered, "Lydia, what's going on? Are you sick?"
Dear God, she must look as if the devil himself had entered the room. If Beth had noticed, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the room did. She had to get out of there. Now.
She drew a deep breath, shoring up her strength, and looked to Lord Springton. "I feel as if my illness has taken a sudden turn for the worse. Might I be excused to rest?"
Lydia could feel Hugh's eyes searing into her as he and Lord Springton rose to their feet, and her knees trembled as she did her best not to look at him. Lord Springton said, "Of course, my dear. Should I send for a physician?"
She shook her head. "Thank you, but I don't think that will be necessary. I doubt my sickness can be cured with medication." As quickly as her shaky feet could carry her, she rushed out the door, the whole while feeling Hugh's slimy gaze on her back.
As soon as she was in the hallway, her brisk walk turned into an all out sprint. She wasn't entirely sure how long it took her to reach her bedroom, but she couldn't imagine it took so much as five minutes. Once she was through the door, she slammed it shut and searched the room. There, by the wall, was a chair. She took hold of it and dragged it across the room, jamming it beneath the doorknob.
She stared at it, breathing hard and body shaking. She hated this. She loathed this constant fear. She was no coward. One of the things Mamma had always hated about Lydia was her incessant lack of caution. She'd had liaisons in dark corners, returned to parties with absolutely no shame about the fact that her hair was out of place and her skin was flushed. But now—
That was it, she realized. That was the feeling burning inside her that she despised so much: shame. She'd clearly underestimated Hugh; he was much more clever than she'd thought. He'd managed to both break her body but also her mind. How dare he make her think this way about herself. How dare he take her confidence from her—how dare he take anything from her.
A fury filled her, making her body shake with it instead of that fear. Then, the fact that she had a reason to be furious made her even angrier. She began pacing the room, digging her hands in her hair and squeezing her eyes shut.
Look at me.
Her eyes burst open again. Lydia couldn't even close her eyes without seeing him. She could feel herself unraveling.
She tried to think of her father's rational voice. It's happened, he'd say. There's nothing you can do to change it. There's absolutely no reason to let it consume you. Deep breaths, darling, deep breaths.
Look at me.
"No," she whimpered, shaking her head and covering her ears. She could feel the panic building in her.
We love you, darling, she could hear her father say.
But those words were drowned out by LOOK AT ME!
A knock suddenly sounded at the door, and Lydia's heart halted. Dear God, he was back. He was back, and it was going to happen again. She didn't think she could survive much more—
"Love? Are you all right?" It was Stone.
Her heart began beating again and her shoulders slumped with relief. "I'm fine," she called through the door.
"I thought we were passed lying," he said.
She couldn't deal with this right now. She didn't want to hear his knowing voice or his impossible questions. "I just want to be alone."
"More lies."
"Stone!" she shouted. "Please, go away."
"Not until I see your face."
Lydia glanced at the mirror, taking in the wild look in her eyes and her frizzed out hair. "Why?"
"If you want me to believe you're fine, look me in the eye and tell me so."
Look at me.
She crossed her arms over her chest, her nails sinking into her sink as her body tightened. "I have nothing to prove to you."
"Lydia," he said, his voice softening and getting closer, as if he was speaking directly into the door, "let me help you."
"Are you daft?" she exploded, her control slipping. "I've already told you, I don't need or want your help. I just want to be alone."
She heard him sigh and a soft thump as he leaned against the door.
Lydia found it interesting how she could be saying words with such conviction, such certainty, and not mean a single one of them.
When Stone spoke again, he said, "If it were your friend in this situation, could you just walk away?"
"We are not friends, Stone."
"If that's what you have to tell yourself."
"No, Stone, we're not. Our entire relationship is based on you feeling the need to rescue me, time and again. And I've already thanked you for your heroics every single time. But now, I am telling you, I don't want it." Tears were filling her eyes and her words were beginning to wobble as she did her best to hold in her sobs.
"Come, now, Lydia." He repeated, "I can help you."
If she could have just come out and said what had happened, she would have done so right then and there. She wanted help. She needed help. But it was simply impossible.
She took a step toward the door and begged in a choked voice, "Please, please, just go away. Leave me alone."
"Lydia," he practically whispered, and she leaned forward to catch his next tender words, pressing her ear against the hard wood, "I know what happened."
It was like the whole world had stopped. She stared unblinking at the door where she'd heard his voice, shaking her head. So many emotions swept through her as she tried to understand what he'd just said.
He knew. How could he know? She'd said nothing, told no one. No one had seen anything. But if he knew, if he actually knew, if she could talk about it, if she wasn't alone anymore...If he knew and he was still willing to help her—
No. No, he couldn't know. Because if he truly knew, he wouldn't be begging to see her. She was still the carefree, teasing woman he'd met. She was still whole. But if he knew, if he actually knew, he'd have abandoned her long ago.
Whatever he thought he knew, whatever scandalous thing he had discovered, was incorrect. But if he begun spreading that rumor around her friends, it would have the same impact to her reputation all the same.
With a trembling hand, she pushed the chair aside and took hold of the knob, cracking open the door just enough to meet his eyes.
Stone quickly straightened away from the door and backed up a few steps, giving her room. She watched him take in her tearstained face, and his expressions hardened with anger, though it was not directed at her, she knew. That anger was reserved for whoever had made her feel this way.
She swallowed hard, lowering her voice to a threatening level. "Listen to me very carefully," she warned. "I don't know what you think happened—"
"I don't think," he tried to interrupt. "I know."
She pretended she didn't even hear him, raising her voice to speak over him. "But if you say a word to anyone, if you so much as hint at what you think took place, I swear on everything that is holy, I will show you suffering in a way you have never experienced."
She'd hoped to strike fear and hatred into him so he'd just...stop. But he simply stared at her. Though she could feel her very organs quaking inside her, she refused to break eye contact. She would not back down. He had to know she was serious. Stone cocked a brow at her, challenging her right back. "I very much doubt that, love."
"My father is one of the richest men in England," she lied, "and I am one of the most stubborn women. Do you truly want to place bets on what I am or am not capable of?"
He gazed down at her, unflinching and unchanging. His brown eyes ran over every inch of her face, and a breathlessness took over her, not fueled by anger or fear. After a beat, he said, "You do not have to worry if I will speak. But just know my loyalty is not due to any sort of fear."
She nearly laughed, at both his words and at herself. "Fear." She was foolish to think she could have made him afraid of anything. He probably had never known the feeling. He certainly would never know it in context to what she had felt. He could never understand. No man ever could. How could he? It was not something he'd ever be exposed to. If anyone ever tried to knock Stone to the ground, he'd easily push them aside. He wouldn't ever experience that violation—
"Lydia?"
Stone's voice broke through her reverie and she shook her head vehemently. She released the doorknob from her death grip and backed away from him. "Stop looking for me. Stop talking to me. Stop cornering me. Just leave me bloody well alone." With all her strength, she slammed the door shut.
She spun around, wiping the blasted tears from her face. That ought to have done it. He'd see she was more trouble than she was worth, just a hysterical woman not worth the chase. He'd stop prodding and she could continue not dealing with the problem.
Then, surprisingly, she heard Stone speak again. It was little more than a breath, but she heard it all the same. His deep, rough voice filtered through the door, "I will not abandon you, Lydia." It was more than just a promise. It was a vow. "You can say and do whatever you wish, but I will not leave you." Then his voice lowered even more as he said, "I know what can happen if I do."
A terrible chill ran up Lydia's spine at those foreboding words, and she briefly considered asking Stone what he meant by that. Then she shook her head and drew the chair in front of the door again.