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Emmeline
*****
Was this real? Eliza stared up into the arrogant face of Lord Rockdale and wondered how exactly her life had veered off course into a strange world where nothing made sense. Like a wooden toy tossed into a river with a swift and swirling current, she felt herself careening out of control. Tossed to and fro with nothing to hold on to, nothing to save her from certain destruction.
"Release my arm, you're hurting me," she said quietly though rising fury seethed through her veins.
The earl let go and stepped back.
"I beg your par-," he began.
Eliza brought her arm up and viciously slapped him across the face with all her strength. A savage satisfaction filled her as he recoiled and took another step backward.
She ignored the anger ignited in his own countenance and pointed her finger at him. "I will be your whore," she said scornfully. "If you must take pleasure in my debasement, then so be it. I will sacrifice myself for the sake of my family."
His eyes glittered with a dangerous light. "You should tread carefully, Miss Lockhart, lest you find yourself learning the hardest lessons first."
Angrily, she dashed away a tear. "What does it matter? You will do to me as you will. I have no say. Does it make you feel big and lofty to bring me to heel? Someone smaller and weaker than you? Let me tell you something, Lord Rockdale, you may be able to make my physical body respond to your advances, but you will NEVER touch my heart or my mind."
"Silly girl, don't you realize the only parts I'm interested in are your big tits and the tight holes you have to stick my cock into."
Eliza flinched at his deliberate crudeness. "You have no honor," she hissed. "How can you possibly think it acceptable to treat a lady this way?"
"Exactly when did I give you the impression I care a whit what you think? All I require is that you spread your legs or bend over when I desire it so." He lifted an eyebrow, his face an arrogant, cool mask.
"Y-you really are a horrible, beastly man! Is that all the value a woman has in your eyes?"
He waved a hand as if dismissing her and turned away. "This grows tiresome," he said coldly, tucking his shirt into his trousers. "Perhaps I have been mistaken about your desire to care for your family, Miss Lockhart," he said, managing to sound both bored and disinterested. "Consider my offer to bargain with you rescinded. I wish for you to pack your belongings and leave in the morning. Your services will no longer be required at Verity Hall."
Her mouth fell agape at this unexpected pronouncement.
He turned and strode to the chamber door.
One hand on the doorknob, he paused and looked back. For a moment she imagined she saw regret in his expression but quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. "You have a fortnight to remove your relatives from the cottage in Lancashire. Feel free to write to my secretary to settle whatever wages you are owed."
Despite his disheveled clothing and tousled hair, he was suddenly every inch the Earl of Rockdale. With a mocking half-bow and a quick click of the door, he was gone.
Eliza stood by the bed, frozen in place. A fortnight! Write to his secretary!
She bent at the middle, hands on her knees, struggling to remember how to breathe. The earl might as well have physically punched her in the gut.
Caught up in her self-righteous fury and indignation she had lashed out at Rockdale, not really prepared for the consequences. He had seemed so cold and unfeeling. Did he really have so little regard for her?
Her hands fisted. Of course, he had little regard for her. She was a plaything to him, a toy. Something to be used and discarded. How had he phrased it? Holes to stick his cock into.
Oh, Eliza, you foolish girl, what have you done?
Straightening up, she began to pace about the room. The weight of her responsibilities tightened around her neck like a noose from the hangman's rope.
Though unintentional, Eliza realized she had set a course of events into motion that would greatly affect her family's well being. She must cease being a silly child, stop thinking of herself, and start to use the brain she knew she possessed.
Her life had been so sheltered until her father's death. She could see that now. And the reality of her current situation left Eliza with little room to mourn her lost innocence.
It wasn't as if she had many choices. She had no suitors vying for her hand in marriage. And the idea of dragging her family around looking for somewhere to dwell was abhorrent to her. How long would her frail mother last if cast out of their home? And dear sweet Abigail!
She resumed pacing. So what if she must become the earl's mistress? He would tire of her quickly enough, and then Eliza would own the cottage in Lancashire. And once she owned the cottage, it would be possible to live at home with her family, perhaps teach at the school for young ladies nearby.
Allowing the earl to have his way with her wasn't so horrible, not if she were being completely honest. She certainly could not deny he knew how to wring wonderful sensations out of her body.
The earl might be cruel and unfeeling-of that she had no doubt-but she felt certain he would never physically harm her. Her cheeks burned suddenly at the memory of Rockdale slapping her bare bottom. Well, he would never really harm her.
"I can't allow him to make me leave," she said aloud. But how to change his mind?
The earl must want her badly to have traveled all the way to Lancashire. Had she irrevocably damaged his desire to bed her?
Eliza shook her head determinedly. She would never know if she didn't try. Oh, but now she must humble herself and go to him, ask for him to reconsider.
How she hated the thought of asking the brute for anything! But ask, she must...even beg if need be. If she valued the well-being of her family, then she must fight for them. And sometimes as a woman, one must use the weapons available, even if that meant using her body.
***
Rockdale sprawled in a large armchair in his bedchamber with a glass of whiskey in his hand, clad only in his breeches. He had brusquely rebuffed the sleepy offer of aid from his valet and sent the man to his bed.
Draining the glass, he scowled at his hand, convinced it smelled of HER. The little bitch.
He tossed the empty glass to the floor and covered his face with his hands. Christ. Why was he allowing himself to get so worked up over a female...a mere servant? She was nothing to him. Hell, he could travel to London and have any number of women-whores, widows, and maidens alike- begging for his attention.
The little mouse from the country was not reacting at all as he had imagined. He was an earl, by God! How on earth had she found the nerve to actually strike him? Did she not realize how much he could punish her if he so chose?
