Page 19 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

19

Loren

Manhattan, New York September 21 st , 1897

When the key rattled in the lock, I rose from my desk and set my book aside. The door swung inward, and Jonathan entered with a bundle of flowers tucked in the crook of his arm.

He looked trim in his business suit, and the light from the fireplace gave his countenance a rosy glow. When he smiled, it stirred my heart with such desire I almost forgot how long it had been since his last visit. Our arrangement was for Tuesdays and Thursdays, the nights he told Beatrice he worked late at the law firm. But, as he missed our rendezvouses more and more frequently, I wondered how he could tolerate such lengthy absences.

But he was here now, offering the bouquet of flowers with frilled red petals and yellow stamen. Hibiscus, an exotic bloom that symbolized love and passion. He claimed they reminded him of me.

“Good evening, darling.” He beamed. “Shall we put these in water? I thought they would brighten up the place.”

And replace the last arrangement that had withered and died on the streetside windowsill. I’d put them there in the hopes he’d see them when he passed by and remember me, always here, always waiting.

I wasn’t allowed to go to his office. My days of cavorting with his coworkers and high society friends were long gone. Beatrice filled that role now, assuming the position that had once been mine. When Jonathan wed her, he assured me nothing would change. Plenty of gentlemen had affairs; it was common practice. And Beatrice was content with five days out of seven and the two beautiful daughters he had given her. She needed nothing more.

But I did.

I carried the flowers to the kitchen and retrieved a milk glass vase from an upper cabinet. After filling it with water from the sink, I nestled the hibiscus stems inside. Jonathan followed from the living area and crowded in behind me. His hands rubbed down my arms as I cranked the faucet off then braced myself against the countertop.

“I’ve been thinking of this all day,” he murmured, his face near my ear. “Thinking of you.”

When his fingers walked down my back toward my belt, I turned. Despite being pinned against the cabinetry and feeling trapped, I held his gaze steadily.

“How often do you think of me?” I asked.

He cupped his palms over my hips, and his lips pursed. “All the time. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

I searched his eyes for the truth he didn’t tell. If he thought of me often—all the time—how could he stay away? How could he lie in bed with his wife while I was here alone? How could he love her if his heart belonged to me?

“It’s been two weeks,” I said flatly.

Storm clouds rolled across Jonathan’s face. “I’m a busy man, Loren.” His hands fell away, and he stepped back. “Not all of us have the luxury of whiling our days away watching the clock or calendar. I must work to afford the lifestyle to which you’ve grown accustomed.” He gestured to the apartment around us, outfitted with imported furniture, tasseled rugs, and ornate wallpaper.

“If I may be blunt, you are rather expensive to maintain,” he concluded.

Shame warmed my face, and I ducked my head from his scathing glare. “I didn’t ask for this,” I replied.

“No,” he retorted. “You asked for what I could not give you. And I asked you to be content with what I am able to offer. Is it too much to expect a bit of gratitude?” He drew close again, and his chest puffed with anger.

I shied back, pressing against the cabinets. “I’m grateful.”

Jonathan made a scoffing sound. “You’re selfish.”

My mouth fell open. I gaped at him, speechless, while he spun away and threw up his hands in defeat.

“I pay your rent, buy you food, fine clothing, tickets to shows you enjoy…” With every listed item, he grew louder. “I bring you gifts! Flowers, your silly poetry books, and those fountain pens you’re so fond of.” He rolled his eyes skyward and exclaimed, “It’s never enough!”

My fists clenched so tightly they trembled. For years, I’d bitten my tongue, not wanting to upset the balance we’d struck, but my emotional wounds had begun to seep with a poison I could no longer contain.

“It’s more than enough of all the wrong things!” I exclaimed. “I don’t need money or gifts. I’d love you the same if you were a poor man!”

With another snort, Jonathan spun away. As he paced the length of the tiny room, his shoes slapped against the floorboards. “Of course, you can say that,” he muttered. “It’s easy to imagine having nothing because you came from nothing.” He stopped long enough to level his index finger at my chest. “You ensnared me with your beauty, and now I may never be rid of you.”

His statement stole my breath, and I sagged against the counter. I watched him pace back and forth three more times before I asked, “Do you want to be rid of me?”

He stopped and fixed me with a weary look.

“If I did, I would simply turn you out. Then perhaps you’d realize how fortunate you’ve been all these years.” He crossed his arms and huffed a breath. “You’d be lost out there. You know nothing of the real world, and you have no skills besides those you learned on your back.”

I reeled, choked by a swell of stinging tears. We’d never fought like this. He never spoke so harshly, and the truth of his statements stabbed into me as sharply as a knife.

When I found my voice again, it was strangled. “Because of you!” I choked out. “You keep me here awaiting your beck and call. I wanted to be your lover, but you made me your whore!”

Jonathan crossed the room so rapidly I barely registered it. The moment he was within arm’s reach of me, he swung his hand backward in a cracking connection with my cheek.

The blow rattled my teeth and rocked my head to the side. I stayed partly spun with my jaw hung slack and pulsing with pain.

“No whore would test me the way you do, darling .” Jonathan snarled the last word. “Have you anything else to say?” he asked. “Other complaints to lodge?”

I didn’t dare look at him, and my words had run out, so I found a warped floorboard a few feet away and stared at it.

Jonathan heaved a sigh. “I thought not.”

Quiet flooded the room while I touched tentative fingers to the bruising spot on my face. Jonathan frowned, then gently took hold of my wrist.

“Let’s have a look at that.” He moved my hand aside to cast an inspective glance across my cheek. “No harm done. Just a bit of blush.”

He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Now, I don’t intend to let a little spat spoil our time together. As you said, it’s been weeks.” He stepped backward, tugging me toward the far corner of the apartment and my bedroom.

When I barely swayed and didn’t follow, Jonathan turned toward me and eased into a smile, this one conniving.

“Would you have me beg?” He closed the gap to press against me, brushing my hair back and holding it while he cradled my head. “I need to be satisfied, darling,” he said. “Lie with me. I want to be with you. ”

Whatever resistance remained crumbled because I wanted to be with him, too. I craved the closeness only he could provide. I’d forsaken all others years ago and remained committed to a man who had never fully committed to me.

He led me to my room, and we undressed. He kissed me, trying to stoke the coals of passion that smoldered low. But the flame never caught, and I felt cold, resigned and bracing against him while he used my body.

After we were done, I lay in my bed, watching the flame of the side table oil lamp dance and waver. Across the room, Jonathan tugged on his boots.

“Saturday is Edith’s birthday,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s five this year. Bea has a grand party planned, and it promises to be quite the event.” He straightened with both feet planted and his shirt and pants buttoned. “You’ll be there, won’t you?” He flashed the smile I’d once found so winsome. “Say you’ll come.”

My mouth was dry, and my response came out as a croak. “Of course.”

Jonathan nodded approval. “She adores you, you know.” He returned to the bedside while tugging on his shirt sleeve cuffs. Bending over where I lay, he kissed my sore cheek and whispered, “As do I.”

With a final caress of my hair, he stood, then made his way toward the door. He paused in the open frame and glanced back. “Saturday, then?”

I nodded.

When I heard the apartment door close and lock behind him, I rolled face down into the pillows and wept.