She was lucky. More than anything, she knew that: she was lucky. Twenty two and her father's sole child; anyone else and they'd have been ahsked to bow their heads and do as was best for the family, would have been given to a man or another, for the money or for the power. But she was lucky. She'd be allowed, her father had said, his eyes all gentle and loving, to make her own decisions about her match, provided they were of good enough social standing to be one with their family, and yes, maybe she didn't have too much time to decide, maybe she could only marry for
like
and not for
love,
but for her that was enough. Just last week she'd turned down a good suitor, and her father had said not a word, although she'd known he liked the man. He was a powerful man, to be sure, a naval officer with prospects, but something about Edwin Davenport had turned the skin of her arms into gooseflesh.
Miss Buck,
he'd said the first time they'd spoken, the smile on his pointed face tilting lopsided towards his pointy moustache from one side and his pointy goatee from the other, the man a pointed thing all over, but after that first meeting he'd called her
Anna.
Anna, Anna. She didn't like how easy her name came to his lips, how quickly; his tone always toeing the line between politeness and teasing, as if playing with her, though every time she seemed to be the only one to notice it. He'd kept his distance properly courteous, at least, for which she was thankful, but his gifts and his letters had been incessant. Most of them delivered by servants, but some of them bought in person, and every time she saw him the gooseflesh returned.
Anna shivered as she turned the corner. The tiniest part of her was a little ashamed, despite it all. She knew that most women her age would be overjoyed to have the attention of someone like Mr. Davenport, especially if that someone was so nearly obsessed with them. He was on the social climb, and from what she heard from those around her, most of them seemed to find him attractive, with his copper-colored hair and bright blue eyes, but when she'd look at him all Anna could see was the
hunger.
Gaze fixed on her like a cat with a bird! All she'd wanted was to be away from him as soon as possible. After three months of polite avoidance and subtle hints she had finally cracked; and he'd taken it with grace enough, much to her relief, being told of her disinterest, had accepted her request to be left alone with a bow, and left he had, and Anna had not heard from him again. For the first few days she had almost expected him to show up again; but by now, on day eight, she was starting to accept it might be final. Yesterday she'd woken up feeling lighter than she'd had in months, and when her father had boarded the carriage this noon to visit her cousins, she'd put on her dress and she'd pinned up her hair and went into town for some fresh air. Two hours later, with the impulse purchase of one more bow, she was on her way home.
People grew less and less as she went, shops turning to houses turning to nondescript buildings, vendors turning to beggars turning to cats, and up on the cliff she began to see the shape of the windows of her home. She liked this part of town best, though she wouldn't share, liked the quiet empty streets and the sound the cobblestone made under the heels of her shoes, the bright earthy colors of the buildings. The people in this quarter always worked at this time. When the sun began to set and they made for home, Anna liked to watch them from her window.
So it was a surprise, when she heard the footsteps coming up behind her.
She turned, and the sight was so unexpected and so familiar that for a moment her brain stopped, she wasn't sure what she was seeing. His uniform was impeccable and deep blue, as it always was, his smile little but lopsided, and Anna averted her eyes downwards, both out of etiquette and avoidance.
"Mr. Davenport", she greeted, with the tiniest of curtsies. "I was just on my way home."
"Anna." His voice was pleasant enough, although Anna didn't raise her eyes, hoping he would just walk right past. Instead he stopped. "Out on the town? Well, let a gentleman walk you home."
No.
The last thing she wanted was to give him the chance to try and woo her again. She stumbled for words.
"Oh, there's no need. I'd hate to take you from your plans."
"Nonsense." Before she could protest he was reaching out, grabbing her arm. It sent a cold wave all the way up to her shoulder. "Allow me."
It didn't seem she had a choice. He pulled her, and Anna almost stumbled; his grip on her was rough, secure, and with a shudder she registered that it was beginning to hurt.
"Mr. Davenport--"
She was cut off as he pulled her sharply to the right. She tripped over her own feet, held up by his grip, and confusion caught up with her when she saw where they were. He was pulling them into a little alley, nestled snugly between the walls of two buildings, tight enough that she wasn't sure she could spread out her arms if she wanted.
"Where are we going?"
"I know a shortcut." His reply was almost instant. Anna's heart was beginning to thunder. "It's just through here."
She tried to stop them moving, but he was too strong. He dragged her along with him, and for a moment Anna was sure she was going to die. And then they reached the end of the alley and he let go of her arm, Anna almost collapsing with relief, and she made to exit- and then the blank confusion again. To her left side the street was a dead end; to her right, a tiny narrow road that seemed to go all the way down to the ocean and only meet the back of buildings. Anna blinked, then blinked again, sure she must have missed something. She turned her eyes back to Edwin.
"Wh--"
His mouth smashed against hers, and she let out a small, alarmed noise, trying to step back. His body followed her own when she did; she managed to rip her mouth free, her face aflame. "What are you--"
And then all the breath was knocked out of her. It took her a second of ringing dizziness to realize he had just slammed her back against the nearest wall, his body so close to her she could swear he felt his heart beating, one hand firmly holding her wrist down. Without warning his lips were against the base of her neck. The disgust she felt was unparalleled.
His stubble scratching against her skin, he said, "Taking a shortcut."
"Mr. Davenport--", she began, trying to move away from him, and cut off with a gasp when she felt his other hand fondling the- the front of her bodice! He squeezed, hard, and Anna's pained noise lasted only a moment before his fingers were digging under the fabric. She began to thrash in earnest then, desperate to escape under his weight, and then his palm was cupping her breast and pulling it out over the top and the cool air on her nipples tinged the fear with a healthy dose of shame. She tried to claw at him with her free hand.
"Stop," he said, his voice a warning. When she didn't, he pinched at her nipple and pulled. Hard. "I said stop."
The pain was unexpected and paralyzing; Anna froze in place, brows furrowed and mouth open in a silent cry. He took the chance to pull out her other breast too. He moved away from her neck when he did, leaving her skin feeling wet and disgusting, and there was such a dark, starving look in his eyes as he looked at her that Anna almost burst into tears. Edwin made a pleased noise, low in his throat.
"Look how beautiful." Anna thought he was talking to himself until he squeezed her left breast and began to massage it against her body as if it were a piece of dough. "So full and perfect. Perfect size. Perfect girl." He leaned against her, took a deep breath against her hair. Anna tried to turn her head away. He wasn't very impressed with that. He moved away with a small snort, but her relief was short-lived. She yelped a moment later. Edwin had leaned his head, put the tip of her breast around his mouth, and bit down around her areola.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She looked at him as he let go and ran his tongue across the abused skin; she could see his teeth marks. It'd bruise. As if he knew it, he glanced at her, moved a little higher up, and bit into the meat of it. She jumped, almost began to sob, but the tears wouldn't start. She was too tense to cry.
He repeated it, one or two or ten times, a few on each breast, until Anna lost count and the only thing she knew was that her chest ached worse than anything. At last he straightened his back, and for one small, bright moment, Anna thought he'd let her go, until he reached out and grabbed one of the pins in her hair. Ten seconds later it was all free, a dark brown waterfall down her shoulders, and Anna was confused and sore and scared and she
didn't want to be there anymore.
"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was quiet. Edwin ran his fingers through her hair and she flinched.