Page 47 of The Unseen (Echoes from the Past #5)

She knew she was being unnecessarily rude, but she couldn’t bring herself to call him by his Christian name.

That would make the situation more intimate and she needed to keep a barrier between herself and the man who was about to violate her.

She would not fight him, or accuse him of rape, but it was rape all the same in her estimation.

He knew full well that she’d never have agreed to this meeting had she not been coerced, and he didn’t care.

Dmitri might have been the orchestrator, but Timothy Mayhew was a willing and eager participant.

Valentina undressed down to her corset and underwear. She was still wearing her stockings, but she didn’t think that would matter.

“Let down your hair. It’s so lovely. So golden,” Mr. Mayhew said, his voice dreamy. He was still fully dressed, sitting by the fire, legs crossed. He didn’t have the appearance of a man who hadn’t done this before. He was relaxed and in control, enjoying every moment.

Valentina obediently took out the pins, allowing her hair to cascade over her shoulders. Mr. Mayhew smiled. “You are very beautiful.”

She remained silent. What was there to say?

Thank you? You’re very kind? She hoped he wouldn’t kiss her.

She couldn’t bear that. The only man who’d ever kissed her was Alexei, and she wanted to hold on to that memory and not have it besmirched by this pervert whose trousers were bulging obscenely as he gazed upon her.

He finally got to his feet and came toward her, but instead of facing her, he came up behind her.

Valentina stiffened, not sure what to expect.

Timothy Mayhew wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

He slid his other hand into her corset, cupping her breast and rubbing his thumb against her nipple.

Valentina shuddered with revulsion, but her reaction seemed to please Mr. Mayhew.

Perhaps he thought she was trembling with desire.

He brushed his lips against the curve of her neck, then began to kiss her in earnest, forging a trail of feathery kisses down her neck and across her bare shoulder.

The arm that held her against his chest moved downward as Mr. Mayhew deftly pushed down her knickers and allowed them to fall to the floor around her ankles.

Valentina’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest, but she did nothing to stop him.

His hand slid between her legs, stroking and probing in a way meant to arouse her while his engorged manhood ground against her buttocks.

She wanted to scream, but the sound died in her throat.

Instead, she allowed her mind to float free, imagining that the fingers belonged to Alexei and it was their wedding night.

The fantasy made it easier to bear, and she relaxed slightly, leaning back against Mr. Mayhew in a way that seemed to please him immensely.

“There now. I knew you’d like it,” he whispered. “Lie down on the bed.”

She lay down and watched with surprising detachment as Mr. Mayhew quickly undressed and reached for a square packet that rested atop the bedside table. He ripped into it and extracted something that looked like a rubber circle.

“What’s that?” she asked, alarmed.

“It’s a French letter.”

“A what?”

“A condom. A contraceptive. It’s to protect you from pregnancy and disease. Dmitri’s condition,” Mr. Mayhew explained. “Now, please stop talking. There’s a good girl.”

She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t.

She watched as Mr. Mayhew rolled the sheer tube from the tip of his throbbing cock down to the base with practiced fingers.

She was glad there were no sharp objects within her reach.

She might have stabbed him had there been anything resembling a weapon.

At that moment, she hated him with every fiber of her being, and wished she could slice off his manhood and feed it to the dogs.

No amount of fantasy could turn him into Alexei, and no amount of detachment could keep the resentment at bay.

“Stop staring at me,” Mr. Mayhew said as he got onto the bed and rolled on top of her.

Valentina closed her eyes. She wished he’d turned out the light, but the room was bright enough for Mr. Mayhew to watch her reaction as he guided himself inside and forced his way into her unwilling body.

He was stretching her, violating her, and laying claim to something he had no right to.

Her eyes flew open when she felt a sharp pain, but she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of making any sounds.

He wanted her to, she could tell by the way he was watching her, his gaze hungry and triumphant at the same time.

“Relax, Valentina. I can give you pleasure,” he said as he began to move inside her.

Valentina lay perfectly still, her gaze fixed on a damp spot on the ceiling.

Mr. Mayhew panted and grimaced as if he were in pain until he let out a final gasp and rested his forehead against hers, clearly satisfied.

She felt him grow soft inside her, and she was grateful the ordeal was finally over.

He rolled off her and slid off the French letter, tying it off and tossing it on the bedside table with a flick of the wrist.

“Thank you, my dear. That was lovely,” Mr. Mayhew said as he turned his back to her and began to pull on his clothes. He turned and looked at her, having clearly expected some sort of response.

Lovely . Taking her virginity, ruining any possible future she might have, making her wish she were dead, had all been summarized in one word. Lovely .

“You’ll learn to enjoy it,” he promised. “It’s always a bit uncomfortable the first time. I’m in London once a month on business, so that will be our standing arrangement. ”

“May I ask you a question, Mr. Mayhew?”

“Of course. What would you like to know?”

“How much did you pay for tonight?”

Timothy Mayhew cringed at the unexpected question, but he pulled himself up, puffed out his chest, and replied proudly, “Twenty-five quid.”

Twenty-five quid was a lot of money. A great deal of money. It could feed a poor family for months, if not a whole year. Apparently, money was no object, or Timothy Mayhew would have shopped around for a better deal. He’d wanted her, and he’d had her.

“But that’s only because you were, eh…intact. Next time will be much less, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed. She was used goods now. Despoiled, deflowered, and destroyed.

“I do hope the weather improves,” Timothy Mayhew said as he began to button his shirt. “I can’t abide all this rain. Perhaps we’ll have snow for Christmas this year.”

Valentina sprang out of bed and began to dress, desperate to get away.

She couldn’t bear to look at Mr. Mayhew any longer, nor could she bring herself to talk about the weather as if nothing had happened.

He prattled on, telling her that his children would enjoy a white Christmas, as if she could possibly be interested in anything he had to say.

Valentina pushed her feet into her shoes, jammed her hat on her head, grabbed her coat, and fled down the stairs until she almost reached the bottom.

Then she stopped. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

She felt sick with shame and disgust. She’d enjoy it more next time, he’d said.

How many times would there be? Every month for…

years? How long would it take him to tire of her, and would there be others she’d have to service?

Surely, Dmitri wouldn’t be satisfied with just one client .

Dear God, she wished she were dead. How easy it would be to throw herself under a train, like Anna Karenina.

She wasn’t supposed to have read the book.

Her mother had forbidden it. But she’d snuck it out of their library when she was sixteen and read it in one night, desperate to find out what all the fuss was about.

After she finished the book, she’d spent weeks thinking about it, unable to comprehend the depth of Anna’s despair.

How could someone willingly end their life in such a violent, horrific manner, especially when they had a small child to think of?

Suicide was a sin against God, but more than that, it took great courage to take such a drastic step.

Valentina tried to imagine herself standing on a platform as a great locomotive, belching black smoke, roared into the station.

To throw yourself beneath those massive wheels, knowing your body would be crushed and broken, and death might not be immediate, would take a lot more strength than she had.

No, she could never do it, not even if the manner of death were peaceful and painless.

No matter how degraded and hopeless she felt, she couldn’t bring herself to end it all.

As long as she was alive, there was still hope for the future.

No matter how wretched she felt, no matter how dead inside, she had to go on.

She would find a way out of this predicament. She wouldn’t allow it to break her.

Valentina took several calming breaths and descended the stairs.

Dmitri was in the foyer, reading the paper as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

She supposed he didn’t. He’d just earned enough money to pay Mrs. Stern and her daughter for a full year.

This had been a very profitable evening for him, with more opportunities to turn a profit still to come.

“Ah, my dear. There you are,” he said, folding the paper and setting is aside. “I trust all went well. How pretty you look. Flushed with pleasure.”

Valentina had a momentary desire to grab the poker from the fireplace and skewer Dmitri right there in the foyer. How pretty he’d look with his guts hanging out as he breathed his last. “Shall we go?” she asked instead .

“Of course. You must be tired.” He escorted her out to the car and held the door for her, ever the gentleman. “Not a word of this to anyone. Understand?” he said as he started the engine.

Who’d believe me? Valentina thought as she nodded obediently. And so, her career as a courtesan had begun.