Page 86 of Cruel Shame

“Lies!” Father Neapolitan stomped across the attic and turned me onto my side.

“Why else was the archbishop so keen for you to take responsibility? It was to hide what he did.”

His nostrils flared. “Impossible.”

“Someone told me you had to sign away your right to the title and fortune of Lord Liddell.”

“How do you know that?” He leaned close, bringing that awful penis a foot away from my mouth.

Ignoring my lurching stomach, I stuttered, “Did you sign it in exchange for the archbishop covering up what happened between you and Abigail?”

His eyes flashed. “She wanted it.”

I didn’t comment. The man was so insane, he probably thought that I’d somehow asked for all this, too. Emotions warred across Father Neapolitan’s face. Loathing, lust, and a reluctance to believe my words. Beneath that was a narrowing of the eyes, a cold calculation that couldn’t deny what I was saying might be true.

“How do I know what you’re telling me is the truth?” he said.

“I’m not your daughter,” I replied.

“True.”

I gulped. “Then who else could have been my father?”

“Mr. Burgh.”

A hot rush of anger seared my veins. Right now, I wanted to hurl him out of the window. “He isn’t.”

Father Neapolitan threw his head back and laughed with a cawing sound that made my flesh crawl. He stared down at me with his teeth bared and then backhanded me across the face.

My head snapped back at the impact, and pain radiated across my cheek. No amount of reasoning would turn this man against the Liddells, he hated Mother and me too much to care that they stole his birthright. As Mother lived under the protection of Billy Hancock, I would be a suitable replacement to slake his anger.

“Do you know what we do to lying whores?” he snarled.

“What’s wrong with you?” I snarled back. “Can’t get a girl unless she’s drugged and tied up.”

He pulled back his fist, making me flinch. “A girl like you should be used to accommodating a man.”

This was my opportunity. Playing up to the hand-cock rumors might be my way to freedom. I raised my chin and dropped my gaze to the wretched organ protruding from between his legs. A tight, pale foreskin strained against a lumpy erection leaving an opening barely large enough for his slit.

Suppressing a shudder, I tilted my head to the side. “Untie me, and let’s see how long you last.”

Father Neapolitan inhaled a deep breath through flared nostrils, his lips curving downward with revulsion. “You’re worse than your mother. At least she made a pretense at chastity.”

I spat on the ground. “Times have changed.”

He flinched away like a little first year. “Disgusting.”

“Are you going to untie me and let me get on top?”

“Only your legs get untied, and I’ll take you on your hands and knees.”

I clenched my teeth and strained against the ropes, hating myself for negotiating with a rapist. “It’s cheating if you get to control the pace. As soon as you start cumming, you’ll slow down and look out of the window. I’d bet a guy like you could keep that going all night.”

Father Neapolitan chuckled. “I’ll untie your legs and let you go on top.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. I need something to grab onto while I’m riding that cock.”

His breathing quickened. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a knife. It took every ounce of self control not to flinch. This was probably Father Neapolitan’s first time at consensual sex.