"Even with the laudanum he seldom does that. At first he woke up screaming from the pain, now he only lies there and weeps." His tone harshened. "Do you know what that does to a man? It fills him with shame. I have to pretend I'm asleep or he begs me for pardon for being so weak. God, weak!"
He did know. She got up from the chair. "I believe I'll go to bed. Good night, Ruel."
"Not yet. There's something I want to ask you."
It was coming. She braced herself. "What?"
"About the rails."
She had thought she was ready but still went rigid.
"What a violent reaction. Does the thought disturb you?"
"Ruel, I—"
"It disturbed me so much that after I left the Officers' Club I took a long walk." He paused. "To Lanpur Gorge."
She moistened her lips. "Why?"
"I wanted to see the rails for myself. I looked at those shattered rails and I remembered Ian. ..." He lifted his head and gazed directly into her eyes. She inhaled sharply as she saw the torment and rage burning in him, consuming him, reaching out to consume her as well. "And I decided I'd kill Patrick Reilly."
"No!" The rejection burst instinctively from her lips.
"Why not? No one deserves it more." He paused. "Unless it's you."
She was silent, staring helplessly at him.
"Why don't you say something?" The violence she had sensed was suddenly unleashed. "Goddammit, don't just stand there. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me Pickering is wrong."
"What did he say?"
"He said you were responsible for ordering the supplies. Is that true?"
"Yes," she whispered. "It's true."
He looked as if she had struck him. "Did you mean it when you said the wreck was your fault?"
She flinched. "I meant it."
"Damn you!" He took a step forward, his hands closing on her throat. "And all to make things safe and tidy for your Patrick." His eyes scorched her. "For God's sake, why didn't you lie to me. I didn't want to believe it. I would have done anything not to believe it." His grasp tightened on her throat with bruising force. "I don't want to do—"
She struggled desperately to force air into her starved lungs as his hands tightened even more. She was going to die. Her hands flew to her throat, trying to loosen his grip, staring helplessly up into his strained face. "Please . . ." It came out as a croak and she didn't think he heard her. His expression was blind, tortured, twisted.
A shudder racked his body. His hands loosened, tightened fiercely, then slowly released their grip on her throat. "Why can't I do it?" he muttered. "You deserve it. No one could deserve it more than—" He whirled away from her and strode toward Ian's bedroom. "If you want to live, stay out of my sight." She expected him to slam the door, but the very restraint with which he closed it was chilling.
Her shaking hand went to her bruised throat; it was already starting to ache. She had never been closer to death. Would she have been able to keep her promise and remain silent about Patrick's guilt if Ruel hadn't changed his mind at the last minute?
Clever Patrick. Ruel would not have stopped if his hands had been around Patrick's neck. It could be Patrick had realized whatever punishment Ruel inflicted on her, he would not take her life.
And God knows, she also deserved punishment, she thought wearily. Her willful blindness was as much to blame as Patrick's wicked self-indulgence. Perhaps she deserved to lose any chance for happiness with Ruel.
She turned and moved slowly, heavily, toward her bedroom.
She must stop loving him, she thought dully. Now he would use that weapon or any other to hurt her. She must look on him as the enemy and protect herself. Yes, she must stop loving him.
She didn't expect to sleep but must have dozed, for she woke in the middle of the night to see Ruel standing a few feet from her bed. She went rigid, scrambling back against the headboard.
"Rather like the death scene from Othello, isn't it? With one difference, there's nothing innocent about you." The light from the oil lamp he carried cast a halo about him and revealed the bitterness of his smile. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. I've gotten past that point now." He paused. "Perhaps it's better that I find myself incapable of murdering you. Death is too final a revenge. Then you'd be out of this vale of tears while Ian prays every night to follow you."
At that moment she would not have quarreled with death. Life was too painful. Every word he spoke flayed her.
He sat down on the bed and put the lamp on the bedside table. "You're trembling." He leisurely unbuttoned her nightgown. "Are you afraid I'm going to rape you? I could, you know. It doesn't seem to make any difference if I hate you or not. I only have to look at you to turn hard. I'm not sure I'll ever stop wanting you." He pushed aside the cotton fabric and a warm hand cupped her breast.
She inhaled sharply, her breasts lifting and falling under his touch. "Please." She moistened her lips. "You don't want to do this."
"But I do." He took her hand and put it on his arousal. "See?" His thumb moved back and forth across her nipple until it became engorged, pointed, and excruciatingly sensitive. "And you're beginning to want it too. I wouldn't even have to rape you. I could take you on this bed. I could drive in and out of you and make you scream with pleasure."
His eyes were glittering wildly in the lamplight, a reckless smile curving his lips. His beauty burned more brightly than it had that first night she had seen him at Zabrie's. The very room seemed to throb with the emotion he emitted.
Dear God, he was right. She did want him. She wanted to soothe his torment and her own in the only way left open to her. What madness made her not care how tortured and degrading it would be to couple with him? Her body wasn't concerned how he felt about her, it just wanted to assuage the need he was arousing. He might never touch her again after tonight. She wanted this time, this touch.
"But I don't want to give you pleasure," he said softly. "Not even to satisfy myself." His hand left her breast and he jerked her nightgown closed. "So I have to find another way."
He had probably never meant to take her. It had just been a way to make her acknowledge her own weakness and his power over her. She swallowed to ease the tightness of her throat. "You have to know how deeply I regret what happened to Ian."
"That's not good enough. I want you to hurt as much as Ian is hurting." His voice suddenly exploded with harshness. "I'm not going to let you walk away free, Jane."
"I didn't expect you to."
He laughed mirthlessly. "The hell you didn't. You thought if you threw open your home to Ian and smiled sweetly at me, that would be enough compensation. Oh no, I'm going to make sure you feel just as much a prisoner as Ian is going to be. I can't be there at Glenclaren with him, but you will. You'll tend to his needs and listen to his cries in the night and know it's your fault he's suffering."
Her eyes widened. "You want me to go with him to Glenclaren?"
"You're going to pay your debt and, if you don't, I'm going to make sure your Patrick suffers more than Ian before I kill him."
"You don't have to threaten me," she said quietly. "I'm perfectly willing to go to Glenclaren. You had only to ask me."