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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
The Offer
A Signet Book / published by arrangement with the author All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1997 by Catherine Coulter
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other
means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book
constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal
and civil liability.
For information address:
The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson
Street, New York, New York 10014.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com
ISBN: 0-7865-1037-4
A SIGNET BOOK®
Signet Books first published by The Signet Publishing Group, a member of
Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
SIGNET and the “ S” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.
Electronic edition: February 2002
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To my sisters of more years than any of us would care to count.
Here’s to the second time around.
Aniko, Ildi, Ursula, Leslie, and Zita.
1
“If you don’t get away from me I’ll scream.”
“Of course you won’t, my pet. And that’s what you are, you know—a little pet,
my little pet. I can caress you and fondle you and you will stretch and moan with
delight beneath my hand.”
The portrait gallery was dim and shadowy and cold in the early-afternoon winter
light. “Yes,” he said, smiling at her as he walked slowly toward her, one graceful
white hand outstretched, the emerald on his index finger glittering, “you will
enjoy what I will do to you, Sabrina. I’ve known from the beginning that you’re
eager for me. I had to wait until I had wed Elizabeth. You understand. Now,
that’s done and I’m here. Now we can be together.”
Sabrina watched his fingers curl as if touching her flesh. She backed up until the
corner of a huge gilded frame dug into her back.
Suddenly the memory of the portrait gallery faded into blinding white. Trevor
was gone. She was alone.
She doubled over with the cough that gripped her so deeply. The pain continued
even after the spasms subsided, making her feel as if her ribs were caving
inward, grinding and shifting. She was shuddering with the pain. She managed
to get hold of herself. She forced herself to straighten. She looked around.
The whiteness of the snow was blinding. She had no idea where she was. She
remembered reading that in Dante’s inferno the deepest circle in hell was cold,
not hot. She was ready to accept it without question. She knew now this was
what hell was like—a colorless cold, so cold, so intense, that her breath froze
into nothingness in the frigid blank air. She clutched the palm of her gloved hand
against her breast for warmth and drew to a stumbling halt against a large
against her breast for warmth and drew to a stumbling halt against a large
gnarled elm tree. She hugged its trunk and let the rough bark dig into her cheek.
It hurt. At least she could still feel her face. She felt the bark through her cloak,
digging deeper, through her gown, through her chemise. She savored for the
moment the illusion of shelter it offered. The wind swirled about her, making her
cloak billow at her ankles, making the naked branches overhead whip back and
forth, tangling with other branches, rending and tearing, like fingernails pulling
at flesh.
She gazed up. The snow wasn’t too terribly heavy yet. But the full fury of the
storm would soon be upon her, and she knew that unless she found her way out
of the forest, she would die. She forced herself to look about again. Was the
snow coming down harder?
She pushed herself away from the tree and forced her feet to move forward, in
what she prayed was a southerly direction. She had been so certain of herself,
even after her mare had gone lame, sure that she would find her way through
Eppingham Forest. After all, she’d lived here all her eighteen years and knew the
forest well. She wondered now if she would ever find her way before the
thickening snow blanketed any landmarks she might recognize.
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The thorn of a bramble tore into her beautiful crimson velvet cloak, a present
from her grandfather the previous Christmas. She bent to pull the cloak free. The
pain in her chest gripped her again, and she doubled over with the cough that had
become harsh so very quickly, and tears fell, cold and slick down her cheeks.
She dashed her hand across her eyes, but when her vision cleared, it was
Trevor’s face she saw again, a pretty face, indeed, its finely chiseled features
almost too pretty for a man. She saw his hooded pale green eyes were darker
now as he stalked her. His lashes were too long and thick for a man, her sister
Elizabeth had told her, but perhaps if she birthed a daughter, she would have her
father’s beautiful eyes and lashes.
Trevor had followed her to the portrait gallery in the east wing of Monmouth
Abbey, where she painted when the weather was fine. That day she’d wanted to
copy a portrait of Isolde, the sixteenth-century countess who’d once caught the
copy a portrait of Isolde, the sixteenth-century countess who’d once caught the
eye of Henry VIII. Sabrina forgot about her work quickly enough when Trevor
had shown himself.
She could clearly hear him say again, “Don’t fight me, my little Sabrina. You’ve
led me a merry chase and I’m not a particularly patient man. But you were
different. You have teased me, made me want to shatter the illusion of innocence
you’ve cloaked yourself in. But the chase is now over. No more of your clever
games. I know why you came to this isolated gallery. Your plan is perfect. Come
to me now, tell me how much you want me.”
She was pressed hard against her great-grandfather’s picture frame. She could
retreat no farther.
Reason, she had to try to make him see reason. “You have mistaken me, Trevor.
I am your sister-in-law.
You are newly married to Elizabeth. She is your wife. I have not tried to attract
you. I have not wanted you to chase me. I don’t want you and never have. I’m
not lying or playing games. Please, leave me alone. I came here only to study a
portrait that I wish to paint.”
He smiled at her, saying nothing.
She wasn’t blind. There was raw hunger in his eyes, but also something else.
Determination. He wouldn’t listen to reason, not Trevor. He heard only what he
wanted to hear, saw only what he wanted to see. There were always servants
about, but she’d neither seen nor heard a single one since Trevor had come. She
allowed the contempt she felt for him to come out. “Listen to me, Trevor,
Elizabeth is your wife. She trusts you. My grandfather trusts you. I haven’t
trusted you, but that doesn’t matter.”
He laughed, his head tilted to one side. His light green eyes were filled with
more hunger than just the moment before. “You look lovely in that dark gray
gown. I would have thought it would make you pale, but it doesn’t. It must be
that beautiful auburn hair of yours. You do have beautiful hair, you know,
Sabrina. I’ve watched you shake your head, making that glorious hair of yours
fall around your shoulders when you knew I was looking at you. As sinful as a
woman’s red lips, your hair.”
He was not a large man, but he was still considerably larger and stronger than
He was not a large man, but he was still considerably larger and stronger than
she was. What to do? She was very angry now and shook her fist at him. “Listen
to me, Trevor, stop it! I have done nothing to attract you. The truth is I don’t
even like you. That’s right. I wish you had never come, but there was no choice,
was there? There was no direct male heir, so Grandfather was forced to
recognize you, his brother’s grandson.
“Leave me alone, Trevor. Go away.” When she tried to walk by him because he
hadn’t moved an inch, he just stood there smiling at her.
“Oh yes, you’re right, Sabrina,” he said, his voice lower, softer, slippery as her
satin sash. She shuddered. “But everything will be mine once that damned old
relic has shucked off his mortal coil. It Page 3
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shouldn’t be much longer now. Soon all this will be mine. Elizabeth will soon
call me her lord, her master, as will you, Sabrina. I like those words from a soft
mouth when I reach my pleasure. Ah yes, and a warm woman’s breath on my
flesh, it heightens the experience.
“You know I would have preferred to wed you, but it was not to be. The old earl
forced me on Elizabeth. Elizabeth was older, she must wed first, it was only fair,
he said. The old fool didn’t want me to have you, truth be told. No, I couldn’t
have you as my wife, but you are still here, and we can be together.”
As he leaned toward her, she pressed her palms against his chest, shoving as
hard as she could. “Get away from me, Trevor, get away. I shall scream. The
servants will obey me, not you.”
He laughed, now so close to her face that she could smell on his breath the turtle
soup he’d eaten for luncheon. “Yell yourself hoarse, Sabrina. No one is about to
hear you, but you already knew that, didn’t you? Ah, I feel you trembling, my
pet.”
“I’m not your damned pet, you bastard!” His fingertips brushed lightly over her
cheek. She rammed her fist as hard as she could into his belly. As she felt the
soft flesh give, she jerked away, almost free of him.
His hand grabbed her upper arm, pulling her back. Then his hands were around
her neck. Her fingers clutched about his, her nails digging into him, but she
could not get free.
His fingers tightened about her neck and his face blurred above her. He suddenly
released her and she gulped in air. Then she felt his mouth slam against hers. His
tongue probed at her lips to force them apart.
She opened her mouth to yell at him and felt his tongue go deep. She gagged and
bit down hard.
He jerked back and she released him. “You little bitch!” He was panting with
rage and pain as he drew back and slapped her hard on one cheek and then the
other.
The force of the blows sent her reeling back against the portrait. She flailed the
air with her arms trying to keep her balance. She was beyond herself then,
screaming at him. “You bastard! I’ll kill you for this, you filthy bastard!”
2
In the next instant she realized that her insults pleased him. She knew it, could
see it as the rage faded from his face, and he laughed. “I’ve always liked my
women to have a bit of spirit, not to just lie stiff and silent beneath me like
martyrs, like that damned sister of yours. When I’m ramming really hard into
her, I like to watch her go pale, bite her lips and moan.” He saw she didn’t
understand what he was saying. He laughed with pleasure. He’d wanted to be the
one to break her from the first moment he’d set eyes on her.
“Yes, I like a girl with spirit, Sabrina. Fight me, do, if you like that game. A fine,
aristocratic young lady you are, so proud, so sure of yourself and what you are
and what is owed to you. I wonder when I take you, if your virgin’s blood will
flow as heavy as Elizabeth’s. There was so much of it. I fear my poor little bride
believed that I’d killed her. More’s the pity that I hadn’t.”
It hit her with full force in that moment that he fully intended to rape her. He was
pulling her wrists over her head. He moved in. She yelled in his face, “No,
Trevor. I’ll tell Grandfather what you are, don’t you Page 4
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doubt it. When I tell him, he’ll have you flogged and thrown out of Monmouth
Abbey. He’ll disown you.”
“Ah, I wondered if you’d try that, Sabrina. If you open your sweet mouth to him,
then I assure you that I shall assist him to his final resting place. It wouldn’t take
much to nudge him into the grave, you know.
“Now, my dear, enough of this flightiness. I’ve waited with great patience for
you. I’ll wait no more.”
His pale green eyes were narrow with purpose. He grabbed the neck of her gray
wool gown and jerked it down. She knew he was staring at her breasts. She
wouldn’t let his hands touch her bare flesh. She lunged forward, striking at his
face with her fists.
Then he managed to grab one of her arms. He twisted it, jerking it upward
behind her. She screamed again, the pain clear in her cry. She saw then that he
enjoyed causing her pain. He twisted her arm even higher but she kept her
scream in her throat.
“Very well,” he said. With his other hand, he grasped the edge of her chemise
and tore it down to her waist. His eyes were blazing as he gazed at her breasts.
“My God, you’re a beauty. I imagined you would have nice breasts, but they’re
exquisite.” He grabbed one breast and squeezed.
It hurt but still she held her pain inside. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of
knowing that he was hurting her beyond what she could bear. She leaned down
and bit the back of his hand as hard as she could.
He backhanded her. “I will teach you obedience to your lord, to your master, to
me. You bite me again and I’ll make you very sorry.”
His hand squeezed her breast again, then quickly he was at her stomach, his
fingers digging in to find her through her gown and chemise.
“No!”
He laughed, and toppled her onto the hard wooden floor. She was struggling for
He laughed, and toppled her onto the hard wooden floor. She was struggling for
breath. His body slammed down on top of her. He reared back and she felt that
male part of him pushing hard against her belly. She jerked her hand free and
smashed her fist into his nose.
“You bitch, you miserable little bitch!” He began to slap her, again and again,
until she saw nothing except explosions of white pain. He was howling as he hit
her, his eyes wild.
Suddenly he stiffened above her and she saw his eyes widen, then become
glazed and vague. He slapped her again, cursing her, but this time his voice was
soft, drowsy-sounding. He growled deep in his throat. “Damn you, damn you.”
He froze above her, stiff as a board. Then he rolled away from her to lie on his
back, his legs spread.
She was on her feet in an instant, staring down at him. His breathing was harsh
and low. He was looking up at her, his eyes tender, a gentle smile on his mouth.
His smile widened when he lightly touched his fingers to himself. There was a
wide stain on his breeches.
She took a step back from him. She was shuddering with reaction, with utter
rage. Without thought, she kicked him in the ribs. “You filthy animal, filthy,
filthy. God, I hate you.”
He tried to grab her ankle but she jumped back in time. He rolled to his back
again. He gazed up at her Page 5
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and touched his bloody nose, his features once again beautiful and calm. “You
won’t kick my ribs again, but I can’t say that I blame you. You overexcited me,
Sabrina, this time, and I had no chance to pleasure you, to plunge deep into your
virgin’s body. Ah, but next time.
“Pain and pleasure, little pet, beautifully and irrevocably intertwined. I shall
have you, and no one shall stop me, least of all you. Don’t even try to lock your
door against me, else I shall tip the balance to pain.
