Read Online Victorian Dream by Gini Rifkin - Free Book Online

Yet Trelayne remained out of reach.
    She toyed with his affections and rebuked his advances, not taking him seriously. Marriage seemed the furthest thing from her mind. But someday that would all change. And as his wife, she would bend to his will. Then he would live out what so far had been only a dream.
    Beatrice squirmed in his grasp, and he jerked his hand aside. She half fell, half slid away from him.
    “Go prepare something for us to eat,” he ordered. “Maybe your fool of a brother will have shown up by the time the food is ready.”
    “Yes, Lucien. He’ll be here soon,” she reassured, scrambling to her feet. “I’ve never known him to miss payment for services rendered.”
    ****
    Beatrice hurried toward the inner rooms of the Abbey. She wasn’t hungry, but disobeying Lucien in his present mood would only court trouble.
    Thankful she didn’t have to cook over an open fire, she puttered around the updated kitchen area, daydreaming about who might have lived in this ancient pile of stone. Did royalty, or even a princess, stay within the walls of this fortress? Who had called it home?
    What she wouldn’t give for a little house of her own, with a garden, and an apple tree. She slammed a bowl down on the table. What use did it serve to think about what might have been and what never could be? Why imagine a world she would never know?
    With a sigh of resignation, she added more sticks of wood to the cook stove then poured herself a jigger of gin. Stirring the kettle of soup, a bittersweet smile played crossed her lips. Old man gin was her friend, and opium her comfort. That’s what she cared about now, thanks to Lucien.
    She must be gone ’round the bend to stay with him. Yet he was handsome in a terrifying way. All that long blonde hair, and those mesmerizing eyes. Pale blue eyes—the color of winter ice. Eyes that could look straight through a person, and make you feel afraid as they pierced your soul and sought out your weakness. The only time she remembered seeing tenderness in Lucien’s face was when he was asleep. Yet, as frightening as Lucien could be, Beatrice knew she wouldn’t leave him. And it wasn’t just because she loved him. Where else could she go? She had no education. True, he didn’t love her, using her only for his own satisfaction. But he kept her in pretty clothes, gin, and opium—and occasionally she was shown a small token of human kindness.
    She rubbed at the back of her neck. It still burned where he had twisted her hair. Lucien’s sexual appetite was what scared her most. Sometimes it was like being taken by Satan himself. That’s why he plied her with drugs, to make her more compliant to his demands and desire. That’s how her opium habit started. Later he would call her slut and worse, blaming her for not refusing, not preventing him from following through with his wayward compulsions. No doubt it was easier to hate her than himself.
    She should run away—far, far away—but she never would. She needed the drugs and a full bottle of flash lightning. And she wanted Lucien, no matter how much he hurt her.
    ****
    Keeping to the dense woods near the Abbey, Bartholomew guided his horse in a circuitous route then gave the agreed-upon call. When Lucien stepped into view and issued the obligatory “all’s clear” wave, he urged the animal into the open and cut across the short expanse of meadow.
    To keep their association private, they often met at the Abbey, cooking up nefarious plans and business schemes, or just passing time unobserved. Not looking forward to the upcoming encounter, he took his time to dismount, loosen the girth on the saddle, and turn the animal out to graze. Tired and covered with road dust, he ambled closer. Lucien appeared to be in one of his notorious temperamental moods. It would no doubt escalate to roaring ugly when he heard how things had gone wrong in America.
    “Where the hell have you been?” Lucien began, before Bartholomew could even catch