My Captive Duchess (The Reeves of Reeves Hall #1)

Chapter 21

Jane

I occupy myself the rest of the day making sure to keep well away from any member of the Reeves family. How dare they suggest that I should marry Broek? It is a hare-brained idea. How could I ever besmirch the memory of my love match with Giles by marrying not just for convenience but to obtain a modicum of freedom from my captivity?

I cannot in all conscience do it. And regardless, I do not believe it would release me from the prison chains I am in. I would have to continue to live here, at Reeves Hall, under Broek’s dictatorial rule. No, my future lies in making a good home for myself and Chloe, and living out a respectable life as a widow. I am not sure, in any case, that Broek would wish to marry me. He did not at all look enthused at the prospect. His reaction fills me with dismay, although of course, I have no desire to marry him either.

It would behove me, and others, to cast the idea from our minds. There shall be no marriage between Broek Reeves and me.

And yet, we are becoming friends—more than friends. A wicked voice in my head crows that as Broek’s wife, I would get to see more of his gloriously naked form, to touch him, inhale his manly fragrance, and to feel the great size of his male appendage inside me. At this last thought, I have to fan myself, such is the heat flowing to my cheeks.

I am not sure why this idea excites me so. I did not mind very much the act of sexual congress between a man and his wife. At times it was pleasant, though more often it was something of a chore. I gladly gave myself to Giles, taking satisfaction in seeing his pleasure. I did not relish the mess it made of the sheets afterwards, nor the need to wash that sticky and sometimes pungent residue of the act from my body. And yet I cannot deny, the thought of Broek filling me with his girth—and length—is thrilling.

I shake the thought away. It will not be. I must keep to my course and formulate a plan. Somehow, I will convince Broek that he can trust me, so that he lets me go.

I approach dinner with some trepidation, but there is no further mention of marriage. Broek continues to watch me closely, a closed expression on his face. I cannot fathom what he is thinking. Is he seriously considering marrying me? As soon as I am able, I make my excuses and retire to my room, first looking in on Chloe and reading her a bedtime story.

I go into the washroom and start a bath, not needing the services of Betsy to complete such a simple task. Certainly, it is the greatest of convenience to be able to fill the tub with hot water, merely at the touch of a button. I applaud the inventor, whoever he may be. I brush my teeth with tooth powder and rinse my mouth out, then undress. A moment later, I gently sink my body into the steaming water and sigh in contentment. Now this… this is something that would make me think twice about leaving Reeves Hall. Of course, I fully intend to end my captivity, but it is also true that I shall then miss this wonderful luxury. I must take advantage of it as much as I can before the day of my departure arrives. I close my eyes and let my mind wander in a happy reverie.

“Jane,” booms Broek’s voice through the washroom wall. I sit up in fright, splashing water over the edge of the tub in my haste. I do not at the best of times like the sudden assault of a voice speaking at me through the wall, but in the echoing confines of the washroom, the reverberation of it is most disconcerting.

“Broek,” I declare angrily. “How many times have I told you not to startle me so.”

“And I have told you it is something you must accustom yourself to.”

“I had thought at the very least that you would not think to intrude on me in the privacy of the washroom,” I say primly.

“I had thought the same too,” comes his quick rejoinder.

I feel my anger rise. “That was a mistake, honestly made,” I retort.

“And yet the mistake lasted an awfully long time, Duchess.” He almost purrs this last.

That he is right does not make things any better. It would be best to end the conversation here and now. “Go away, Broek,” I say curtly, resting my head back against the tub. “I am busy and not in any mood to converse.”

There is no reply, and I begin to believe that he has indeed gone, without the courtesy of a farewell. Then I hear his voice again. “Do not fear that I shall force you into marriage, Duchess. I prefer my women willing.”

I do not know why this vexes me when I have no intention at all of marrying the grumpy lout. “It is a preposterous idea,” I tell him, trying to sound indifferent, “and I am glad we are in agreement on the matter.”

“I did not say that it is a bad or preposterous notion,” he contradicts, “only that I would not force you into it.”

The exposed skin on my arms prickles. I lower myself further into the heat of the bath water, though it does not stop the tingles forming in my body. Does Broek actually wish to marry me? I whisper the question in a voice trembling with excitement.

He makes a grunting sound. “Wishing is too strong a word, Duchess. On consideration, I can see some merits to a marriage and would not be opposed to it.”

“There will be no marriage,” I say with finality. Am I trying to convince myself as well as him?

“As you wish, Duchess,” he says coolly. “And for your information, there will be no visits to church. No one outside these walls is to know that you are living here.”

“We shall see about that,” I hiss quietly.

“Enjoy your bath, Duchess.” Then he is gone, and I get out of the tub. There is no more pleasure to be had in it tonight.

I am lying in bed, sleep the furthest thing from my mind. There is too much to think about, and matters are not helped by an awareness, in every inch of my body, that Broek Reeves lies in his bed on the other side of the wall from me. I wonder if he is asleep. The hour is late, after all.

In any event, I decide to do it. Horis has shown me how. In a clear voice, I say, “Connect Broek.” An instant later, a small click indicates that I am connected to the contraption on the wall of his room. “What is this talk I hear about witchcraft?” I demand.

“It is what happens when ignorant people see something they do not understand,” he answers in a measured voice, not sounding in the least surprised at my intrusion.

“Who has been saying these things?”

He lets out a long breath. “I do not know exactly where the rumours originated. Some weeks ago, I happened to be in Newquay on a business errand when I came upon Timothy Drake. He invited me for a drink at the local tavern. When I spoke to the tavern keeper to order an ale, the man refused to meet my eyes and acted in quite a rude manner.” He pauses, then continues, “I did not think anything of it, except Drake noticed, of course, and looked damned uncomfortable about it. It made me begin to suspect that something was the matter, so I questioned him. At first, he refused to say anything, then it all came out. He told me rumours were rife about our family being part of a pagan cult that practises a form of witchcraft. He disclaimed any belief in this gossip himself, but thought that it was fuelled by the strangeness of our ways, although he could see this was most likely explained by us having lived abroad for so many years.”

“Vile ignorance,” I mutter in disgust.

“Indeed. It is the reason why we decided, against my better judgement, to hold a dinner party to present our family as ‘ordinary’ to the world outside.”

“Why against your better judgement?”

He sighs. “Duchess, I do not like to allow outsiders into this house. There is too much risk that they will discover things that will raise questions about us. Your little foray into the parlour being a case in point.”

I shift in the bed to a more comfortable position. “Tell me, Broek,” I ask, “why were you banished from Uvon?”

He grunts, “I see someone has a loose tongue. Was it Horis?”

I do not answer, waiting for his reply.

He is quiet for several instants, and I fear that he will not tell me. Then he begins to speak in a deeply resonant voice, as if to himself. “Mother and Tarla—the two females I loved and trusted most. They are the reason for our banishment.”

He stops, and I prompt, “What did they do?” At the same time, I am wondering who this Tarla might be.

“You must understand, Jane,” he says quietly, “that I come from a powerful and privileged family. We do not have an aristocracy on Uvon with titles like you do here, yet it was understood that in the hierarchy of our society, we stood high above the rest.”

I hesitate to breathe, lest I interrupt the flow of his narrative. I wait while he collects his thoughts, saying nothing. Eventually, he resumes his story. “Mother was the matriarch of our formidable family, for you see on Uvon, males and females have an equal footing. Father was like her shadow, playing the role of consort, but she was the one with the power and the ambition. In Uvon, we do not have a monarchy or a parliament. Instead, we are ruled directly by a governing body that consists of six delegates elected for a term of ten years, with no possibility of re-election. Mother was one of these six delegates. It should have been enough to have reached that highest level of power, but it was not. When she reached her ninth year on the governing body, she was not ready to relinquish her position. She was still thirsty for more. Power is an intoxicating thing, Duchess, once one has had a taste of it. For some, it becomes a craving.”

I hear the bitterness in his voice. Quite clearly, his mother’s thirst for power had catastrophic consequences for the family. “I have little experience of wielding any power over others,” I muse out loud, “nor of its intoxicating effect. I wonder what it would be like, to be one of a select few to rule an entire nation. I cannot quite imagine it.”

He laughs harshly. “You have had more experience of fighting against the evils of others who would wish to dictate to you what you ought to do, is that not so?”

“Yes,” I agree. “In my life I have been far too used to subservience, not the other way around.” I give a little huff of disgust. Then I turn my attention back to Broek’s story. “What happened in her ninth year?”

“Tarla,” he says flatly.

“Who was she?”

“The most beautiful woman I have ever known,” he says wistfully. “It was not just the perfection of her face that made her beautiful. It was her wit, her vivacity, her passion for living. No sooner had I met her than I was lost.” At his words, I try very hard not to feel envy for this unknown woman, but I am not quite up to the task. It is a fact that I am no more than ordinary looking. I have already experienced a miracle once in my life—that of a handsome duke falling in love with me. It is in the realm of unlikelihood that another such miracle should occur. Not that I want another duke to love me, but to have a man see me in all my ordinariness and feel passion would be something tremendous indeed.

Broek continues his tale. “We were together for two years and had planned to join in a union—that is what we call marriage in Uvon. Tarla was already a celebrity in her own right. Her songs and poems were known all over the land. Everybody loved Tarla. Her name was on everyone’s lips. And through me, she met Mother. That was when she decided she wanted to seek election to the governing body. There was a vacancy, you see, as one of the incumbents had died suddenly, and Tarla wanted to take his place.”

I am beginning to see where this story might be heading. “I suppose she was successful in that election,” I say.

“Yes, she was,” he confirms. “I had at my disposal the scientific knowledge to help her win. You see, Jane, I am the inventor of tiny recording devices, no bigger than a grain of sand, that can be launched in their millions all over the land. The information they gathered was invaluable. We were able to anticipate changes in voters’ opinions and react instantly with the right messages to swing them to our camp. As a result, Tarla won a resounding victory.”

“What you describe,” I ponder, “is an all-seeing eye. It is almost like playing God.”

He laughs, but there is no amusement in his voice. “As usual, Jane, you have the right of it. You may imagine therefore the intoxicating effect of wielding that sort of God-like power , and the guilt that follows.” I begin now to understand that the grimness of Broek’s disposition might in part be due to a sense of culpability for the role he played in this sorry tale.

“Tell me the rest,” I beg him.

“There is not much more to tell. Tarla planted the seed of the idea. What if there could be two super-delegates who controlled the governing body? Mother and Tarla, ruling jointly. Unknown to me, they plotted, thinking to facilitate their ascent through the use of my nanoprobes—that is the name of my invention.”

“Something went wrong with their plans, did it not?” I question.

“I am not sure how the information was leaked, but Tarla was first to learn of it and she quickly turned the tables on Mother, accusing her of plotting a treasonous act with the help of her son—thereby implicating me in the plot.”

I sit up in the bed, awash with rage. “How dare she!” I cry.

“It was to save herself, Jane,” he says dryly. “Like a rat fleeing a sinking ship, she knew she had to put a clear distance between herself and my family. She denounced Mother and me the day before we were due to celebrate our union.”

“Oh, the black-hearted, wicked woman,” I say on a gasp. “May the loathsome creature burn in eternal hell!” I continue, unable to contain my righteous anger.

Broek allows me to rage against the despicable woman without interruption. Finally, he says, much too mildly given the shocking nature of the matter, “It is all in the past now and best forgotten , but that is why I was banished.”

I am about to disagree. Such a betrayal cannot be forgotten, ever. But another question comes to mind. “Why did not your mother come with you to England?” I enquire.

His voice is cold and final as he replies, “The penalty for treason is death.”

“And your father?” I whisper, though I think I know the answer.

“He elected to die at her side.”

“Broek,” I murmur, too moved to utter the usual platitudes.

He must hear the distress in my voice, for he grits harshly, “Save your sympathy, Duchess. They are long gone.” He adds, a little more softly, “Fortunately, there was no evidence to incriminate me, and my life was spared, though it was decided we all should be banished forever from Uvon, to set an example. Ten years ago, we left our home and have never looked back.”

I digest this information. Finally, pieces of this puzzle are beginning to slot into place. I have one more question this night. “And your innovation, the nanoprobes, what of it?”

His laugh is bitter. “I could not leave it for others to misuse as Mother and Tarla planned to. I destroyed all evidence of them in Uvon and brought the knowledge for how to manufacture them with me. Over the course of the journey here, I created several thousand more nanoprobes, but I have never let anyone but myself have control of them—not even my brothers and sister. I used the probes on our arrival here and continue to do so as a way of gathering the knowledge to allow us to live in safety and comfort.”

“So you are now the one with the God-like power,” I murmur.

He grunts, “If you wish to see it that way. However, I only use the power to protect the people under my care.”

I stretch my arms overhead and yawn, weariness descending upon me. Sleepily, I remind him, “You said power is intoxicating and leads a person to crave more.”

“I have far too vivid an example of the pitfalls to ever crave it or find it intoxicating, Jane,” he responds dryly. “I use the knowledge I obtain purely in the service of my people.”

I turn to my side and burrow under the blanket. “One day, Broek, you will need to destroy the nanoprobes here too. Nobody, not even you, should have the power you describe.”

“One day, maybe,” he concurs, “but not yet.”

My breaths deepen as I feel myself drift into slumber. I am nearly in the land of Nod when I hear him ask softly, “Today in the washroom. Did you like what you saw?”

I mumble indistinctly, “You already know the answer.”

There is a smile in his voice as he says, “Goodnight, Jane.” I do not respond, for I am already fast asleep.