Kathryn Smith (11 page)

“Has anyone other than you ever seen the results of his attacks on your mother?”

Rachel shook her head, her expression glum. “The servants know what a monster he is, but I’m not sure they know everything. Mama has always been very careful to mask as much of the bruises as she could. She’s even gotten me to help her dress so the maid wouldn’t see the marks. She was ashamed of them—as though they were her own fault.”

Brave knew all to well what if felt like to believe you deserved whatever punishment you got. Obviously, Rachel’s mother had been made to feel that way as well. “I might be able to use my position to help.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up.

“I can help you go through the proper channels if a divorce is what your mother wants, but it would be a long and drawn-out process, and she would have to be willing to testify against Sir Henry. It would mean airing all the cruelty you and your mother have suffered to the world, and Sir Henry might very well terrify your mother into dropping the suit.”

From the crestfallen expression on her bruised face, he knew that was exactly what her stepfather would do. God, but he had never hated anyone like he hated Sir Henry at that moment.

“Then there is nothing,” she whispered.

Brave’s heart broke. “If you had someone of social import—someone titled within your family, then perhaps they could take up the cause and offer you their protection. At least then you and your mother would be safe until your case could be heard.”

“There is no one.” The gaze that met his was resigned. “Short of killing him, there’s nothing I can do, is there?”

Her words struck fear deep into his heart, for he heard the determination in them. He had no doubt that if pushed hard enough, Rachel Ashton would not break, she would explode, and she would put an end to Sir Henry without so much as a blink.

The courts would not be kind to Rachel for killing a baronet, no matter how much a favor his death would be to the world. She would be taken to Newgate, and then she would be hanged for murder.

He could not let that happen.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against his chest, careful not to hurt her back and shoulders. He pressed his cheek to the softness of her hair.

“I will help you in whatever way I can.”

Rachel’s arms came up around his ribs, seizing him as though he was all she had left to cling to in the world. Instead of terrifying him as it should have, the idea filled him with a strange, buoyant warmth.

“Why would you do that for me?” She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes bright with hope.

Why
would
he do that for her? Looking down into those wide, scared eyes, Brave could think of only one answer, and it had nothing to do with Miranda. Was it out of the kindness
of his heart, as Julian had asked, or because of his own agenda.

Because he wanted to. Whether or not helping Rachel would assuage his guilt didn’t matter. He simply could not allow her to return to Westhaver knowing what he did without offering whatever assistance he could give.

He stared at her. She stared back, and before he knew what he was about, his head lowered to hers. His lips contented themselves by brushing feathery kisses along her temple and cheek, as her poor mouth would be too sore to kiss as he wanted.

This was how Gabriel and Julian found them not seconds later. Brave had forgotten to shut the door tight behind him, and his nosy friends had been unable to squelch their curiosity any longer. He should have known they’d come spying, but he hadn’t known Rachel was his mysterious visitor when he’d left them, and when he had discovered his visitor’s identity, all thoughts of his friends had gone right out the window.

Brave didn’t know what made him raise his head. He only knew that Julian, Miranda’s brother, stood staring at him from the doorway as he held another woman in his arms. A woman who was beaten and obviously scared and clinging to him like ivy to stone.

And he knew there was no turning back. His path was set. No matter what Julian thought, no matter what he expected Brave to do, Brave
knew
there was only one course of action to take if he was going to save Rachel and himself in the process.

Quietly, Gabriel and Julian backed out of the room, but not before Rachel caught sight of them. Hiding her bloody lip and flushed cheeks, she pulled free of Brave’s embrace.

“I believe I know how to solve your problem.”

Her expression was wary. “How?”

Swallowing hard, Brave met her gaze. What he was about to suggest could be the salvation or ruination of them both.

The kindness of his heart?
No, not that.

“Marry me.”

W
as he mad?

Just in case he was mentally unstable, Rachel took another step back. “You can’t be serious.” But his expression was serious—
too
serious for her liking.

He moved toward her, stopping when she stepped back again. “What other choice do you have?”

What other choice did she have? Her situation might be bad, even bleak, but all hope wasn’t lost just yet. Was it?

“I’m not sure,” she replied, hugging her arms around her at the chill that had permeated deep into her bones. “But I’m fairly certain that marriage will lessen what control I have over my life, not improve it.”

She’d shocked him. His eyes widened with it. “You don’t trust me.”

“Should I? Would you trust me with your future?”

Something flared in his gaze, something that told Rachel he was prepared to do just that. She shivered.

“I mean no offense, my lord, but experience has taught me
that the only person I can trust is myself. Your sex has done nothing but leave me to my own devices—whether by fate or by choice.”

Her father had lost his life due to his own irresponsibility—he’d been driving too fast. Sir Henry certainly hadn’t been a father to her. And anyone who’d ever tried to court her gave up when faced with her stepfather.

Those who did get past Sir Henry—such as David—certainly hadn’t been the type with marriage in mind, with the exception of Charlton, and he only wanted to marry her so he’d have a body to use whenever he wanted.

Was it any wonder she wasn’t prepared to put herself—and her mother—into another man’s hands?

“I’m afraid you may not have a choice now either, Rachel. In fact, I’m afraid neither of us has.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed as her spine went rigid with anger. “What do you mean I don’t have a choice?”

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean people are already talking.” He dropped his hand. “I’ve heard the rumors, I know the whole town is abuzz with gossip about us. They all know about the river—and my mother’s dress.”

For a man who rarely left his house, he was certainly up on his scandalbroth.

He moved toward her, and this time she didn’t step away. There was nowhere to go; the small of her back was pressed up against a writing desk.

“I also know that by tomorrow morning the entire town will know that you came here this evening.
Alone
. As loyal as my servants are, people still gossip, and eventually the whole village will know about the state of your clothing and your hair. And if any of my servants are half as nosy as my friends, they’ll also know that you and I were alone in this room and that I held you in my arms.”

Rachel closed her eyes, blotting out his face but not his words as a shudder wracked her body. He was right, blast it
all! She’d been so scared of her stepfather that she hadn’t given a thought to her reputation, which would surely be ruined if—
when
—word got out about her visit to Wyck’s End and her embrace with its lord.

She’d really gone and done it this time. Her decision to come to him had been an impulsive one. She hadn’t thought of the consequences. And what consequences they were!

“Rachel.” Warm hands cupped her shoulders. She opened her eyes, lifting her gaze to the somber face above hers.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted things either.”

For some reason his words didn’t make her feel better. In fact, she suspected they only made her feel worse. This ranked right up there with apologizing for kissing her.

“But I like you,” he continued, and she raised a brow. Did he expect her to thank him for admitting it? “And I won’t deny I find you attractive. I think that’s fairly obvious, as is the fact that you’re attracted to me.”

She should deny it. She should tell him exactly what he could do with his arrogant assumptions, but he was right, and, quite frankly, she was still too stunned by the fact that he was attracted to her to speak.

His lips curved into that broken smile of his. “I may not be what you’d hoped for in a husband—”

He really was mad if he didn’t think he was what any woman would want in a husband.

“—but I’m better than Charlton. And I want to help you and your mother.”

“In return for what?”

His hands fell from her shoulders. “What do you mean?”

Did he think her so naive that she wouldn’t know there was a catch? There was always a catch, even with the handsome ones—especially with the handsome ones. “What do you get out of this marriage, Brave? I have a hard time believing you’d do this out of the goodness of your heart.”

He paled, and she knew she’d been right. He did want something. She shouldn’t be so disappointed by the revelation.

“I want what most men of my station want. If I’m going to enter into this marriage and spend the rest of my life with you, I want a real marriage.”

Rachel’s throat went dry. “You want an heir.”

“I want more than one.”

Oh dear lord, he wanted to…to…he
wanted to!
With her! Heat suffused her cheeks, but that wasn’t why she jerked her gaze away from his. It was so he couldn’t see the desire in her eyes. The very idea of continuing that kiss to its logical conclusion sent a hot thrill blossoming between her legs and made her nipples tighten with longing.

Wanton, that’s what it was, but if the Earl of Braven thought sharing her bed was equal payment for what he was offering to do for her, he was completely out of his wits. Did he not realize that any sane woman would be more than happy to give him all the fat, healthy babies he wanted? If he got her mother away from Sir Henry, Rachel would give him enough heirs to start his own cricket team.

He gazed at her expectantly, awaiting her answer. Rachel’s heart thumped heavily against her ribs. It was madness even to consider his proposal, but what other choice did she have? She needed to get her mother—and herself—away from Sir Henry as quickly as possible. There was no other way, not if they were truly going to be free of him. And Brave had said he’d help her anyway he could…

“Will you sign a promise to help my mother? Sign that you’ll testify against Sir Henry?”

If he was surprised by her request, he didn’t show it. He simply puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. Had he been holding his breath?

“I’ll sign.”

She smiled, pushing all doubts far, far from her mind. “Then yes. I’ll marry you.”

Slipping her key into the front door, Rachel turned it and opened the door. It swung open with a faint creak. She stood silent on the step, half-expecting, half-terrified that Sir Henry’s fist would come flying at her.

Nothing. She stepped inside.

The hall was dark save for the flames from two candles. Tiptoeing to keep from making any noise, Rachel closed the door behind her and locked it again. It was well after midnight, and the house was as silent as a church. All the servants were long since abed.

“Good evening, Miss.”

Rachel started, but managed to keep from screaming as her heart jumped out of her chest and up into her throat.

“Potts,” she hissed, pressing a hand to her chest. “What are you still doing up at this hour?” As it was, the old man was in his nightgown and cap.

A rueful smile tilted Potts’s thin lips, making rosy apples out of his full cheeks as he helped her out of her pelisse. “Sorry to frighten you, Miss Rachel, but we drew straws below stairs to see who would wait up for you. I won.” He folded her coat over his arm.

Rachel was touched by the servants’ concern. “Given the time and the heaviness of your eyes, Potts, I’d say you lost.” She squeezed his shoulders in a brief hug. “Off to bed with you now.” She began to turn toward the stairs.

“Yes, Miss Rachel.” He gave a small bow. “I thought you might like to know that the baronet has been in the library ever since he arrived home quite some time ago.”

Rachel paused on the first step and turned. “Is he asleep?” She cursed her heart as it dropped heavily in her chest. She would not fear Sir Henry. She wouldn’t.

“I have no idea. I took the liberty of leaving him two bot
tles of brandy rather than just the one you suggested, Miss. He has been rather quiet.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Rachel flashed the elderly man a bright grin despite the pain that shot through her face. “Potts, I love you.”

“I don’t blame you at all, Miss,” he replied in a deadpan voice. “If you have no further need of me, I believe I will head off to bed now.”

“Pleasant dreams, Potts.” She watched until he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped back onto the floor, picked up the candle Potts had left her, and turned down the hall toward the library. She hoped that her stepfather was indeed unconscious. She had promised Brave she wouldn’t mention their impending marriage to Sir Henry until he had a chance to talk to the baronet. She didn’t know if she would be able to keep from gloating.

Even now she had trouble believing what had happened at Wyck’s End that evening. Brave had offered to marry her! Offered her and her mother his protection until they could take their case against her stepfather to court! She patted the paper he’d signed to that effect nestled in her bodice. He’d given her back her hope, and for that she would be eternally grateful.

She refused to think of anything other than that hope, and that included all the hesitations her mind had tried to force on her during the ride home from Wyck’s End. She would not allow second thoughts—and her foolish fears—to ruin her one chance to save her mother.

Sir Henry was snoring loudly when Rachel peeked around the door. Using his greatcoat for a blanket, her stepfather slept slumped in his favorite chair by the dying fire. His fleshy chin rested on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. An empty decanter lay on its side on the floor, just inches from his mud-encrusted boots. Another lay a few feet away.

A satisfied smile curved her lips. Obviously, he couldn’t refuse the bait Potts left for him. She took comfort in that fact. It meant he probably hadn’t gone up to her mother’s room, and therefore hadn’t had a chance to take his anger at her out on her mother.

“Soon we’ll be free of you,” she whispered defiantly, her words drowned out by a cacophony of snorts and sighs.

Still smiling, Rachel closed the door and drifted back toward the stairs. Hiking her skirts up around her calves, she hurried as quietly as she could up to the first floor, where the family rooms were. Her footfalls seemed to echo through the darkness, emphasizing the tomblike stillness of the house. She’d spent her childhood in a house that had always seemed full of laughter, and the quietness of Tullywood had always frightened her even though she was not a person who believed in ghosts and spirits.

Wyck’s End was a quiet house as well, but that was nothing a little celebration couldn’t remedy. Brave had already agreed to throw an impromptu engagement party in a week’s time, once the first of the banns had been read. Some would panic at the short notice, but no one would refuse the earl, and no one would miss the chance to gossip about their hasty engagement. No doubt the whole parish would think it either a scandal or a love match.

Rachel paused at the top of the stairs. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they were? What would it be like to marry for love rather than a sense of responsibility? She wanted to get her mother away from Sir Henry and Brave wanted to help her, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to marry for love?

But maybe she wasn’t meant to marry for love, and she certainly didn’t want to die a lonely old woman. On the other hand, she didn’t want to die a lonely young woman either, which would be the case if Sir Henry realized what she was up to.

“I won’t let Sir Henry hurt either you or your mother
again,”
a phantom voice whispered in her ear. Brave had promised them a safe haven and his protection. The only thing he hadn’t promised her was the moon.

Which was good, because she was a practical creature, not a romantic one. She would do well to remember that he had made no mention of any feelings for her other than attraction. Neither had she for that matter. What else could the tingling she felt whenever he was near be? There was no other explanation for how her heart thrilled at the sight of his eyes.

With a resigned sigh, she pushed the image of her betrothed—
her betrothed!
—from her mind and turned down the corridor toward her mother’s chamber. She hated to wake her, but she needed to tell her what she and Brave had decided.

The door was unlocked—Sir Henry didn’t allow locks on any doors except his own private rooms. She stepped inside to find her mother sitting up in bed, reading by the light of a single candle.

She looked so small in that great big bed, but at least she looked better than she had the last time Rachel returned home from Wyck’s End. Sir Henry must be in one of his apologetic phases.

“You’ll ruin your eyes doing that,” Rachel chastised with a smile. The cut in her lip pulled sharply.

Marion set the book down on the quilt that covered her. “I did not want to go to sleep until you came home.”

Shutting the door behind her, Rachel moved toward the ancient, canopied bed. Her mother looked like a little doll in the middle of the large, square frame.

“How did you even know I was gone?”

Marion’s thin fingers plucked at a loose thread. “Potts told me.” She stared at her daughter’s bruised and swollen face, her pale gaze grave. “This house is no longer safe for you, Rachel.”

Seating herself on the edge of the mattress, Rachel cov
ered her mother’s hand with her own. “We won’t be here much longer, Mama.”

Marion’s eyes widened in dismay. “What did you tell him?”

She feigned surprise. “Tell who?”

Anyone but her mother would have believed her innocent tone. “You know very well who—Braven.”

“Nothing that he didn’t figure out on his own.” She picked up the book her mother had been reading. “
Pride and Prejudice
. Is it good?”

“I’m enjoying it, yes. Now what did you tell Braven?”

Rachel met her mother’s gaze evenly. “I told him how Sir Henry beats you, how he tried to force me to marry Lord Charlton.”