“I’m not here to discuss the merits of the weather, but I’m sure you already know that.”
“And how is my dear, dear daughter? Is she well? Happy? No use shilly-shallying around, my lord. That’s why you are here, is it not?”
“Katharine enjoys good health. And as you say, it is because of her that I am here.”
Sir Oliver dropped his eyes from his son-in-law’s set face and smiled, pretending to study his knuckles with rapt interest.
“Now, my dear boy, there was nothing in your most thorough marriage contract about the return of damaged goods, though I must say you thought of everything else. When you took her, you got quite a shock, eh? Not at all what you expected.” He looked up and met Julien’s gaze, a malicious gleam drawing his eyes more closely together. He chuckled. “Well stated, is it not, my lord earl? Actually, I’m surprised she’s well. Didn’t you beat her, at the very least? Demand to know who all her lovers were?”
Julien drew a deep breath and for the moment kept his anger in check. What the miserable old bastard said was exactly what he’d wanted to do. Was he such a shallow fool? He felt ill with guilt. But now it didn’t serve the purpose. “Katharine’s purity and innocence are not, I assure you, in question.” A look of deadly contempt passed over his face. “I would add that I now marvel at this, considering that she sprang from your seed. Has it occurred to you that you’re speaking of your own daughter? If your Methodist preachings allow it, I would suggest that you look within yourself, for if you have a soul, it is withered and rotted. God, but you’re despicable.”
“How dare you, you damned arrogant— Ah, don’t tell me you haven’t taken her, haven’t realized she was a slut. I’ll never believe that!” Sir Oliver jumped panting to his feet, his face mottled red with fury.
“Damn you to hell, sit down!”
Sir Oliver sagged back into his chair.
Julien planted himself in front of Sir Oliver, gripped the arms of his chair, and leaned close to his face. “Now, you will listen to me, you filthy old man. It’s quite obvious that you knew I would come, that you have indeed looked forward with a twisted delight to spewing your venom in my face. Did you honestly expect that I would return Katharine to you, spurned and disgraced?”
He straightened quickly, repelled by the closeness of this man. Sir Oliver’s face was still blotched with his anger, but now his eyes were wary and he was licking his lips.
“Why are you here then, if not to return the little slut to me? To beg me to take her back?”
Julien nearly struck him then. He forced himself to be calm, for he had to find out what had happened. He made his hands unfist.
“At last we make progress.” He walked to the fireplace and leaned his shoulders against the mantel. “You know, I presume, that Katharine has no conscious memory of her rape and your subsequent treatment of her. But did you know that it haunts her like an elusive specter, emerging with terrifying confusion in her dreams at night? She is close to unlocking the truth, yet it eludes her still, and she lives in a suffocating dread. And that is why I am here, to learn all of the truth so she can finally be cleansed of this ugliness.”
Sir Oliver’s pent-up hatred of his daughter took full rein. “My God, you blind fool! You defend her, you believed her a defenseless child. She’s made a fool of you, aye, indeed, my lord earl. Well, I will tell you, she is a slut and she was a whore even then. Those wild green eyes, and that hair as red as all the sins of Satan hanging loose down her back. God, she shamed me, just her being born shamed me, and my doting wife, blind to the evilness of her own daughter, let her flaunt her wiles to the countryside. Oh, yes, I remember well that day, the lying little strumpet screaming that those men had hurt her. She deceived my wife with her tears, but I saw through her pretense. I beat her, yes, thrashed her to an inch of her life, to scourge the evilness from her, and I nearly succeeded, but my wife stopped me. Then the little harlot feigned illness.
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