Kathryn Smith (12 page)

“You didn’t!” Marion’s face was stricken. “Rachel, how could you?”

Damn her mother’s ridiculous pride!

“What else would you have me do? Sit back and allow Sir Henry to beat both of us whenever he chooses? To sell me to the first lecher who offers the most money? Maybe you’re content with the current situation, Mama, but I assure you I am not!”

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she regretted them. Taking her mother’s hand in her own, Rachel softened her voice again. “He’s going to help us be free of Sir Henry.”

“How?” She asked the question as if it were impossible, and Rachel wanted to tell her everything they had planned, but she didn’t dare in case Sir Henry became suspicious and tried to beat the truth out of her. She would tell her only what she needed to know.

“He’s asked me to marry him.” She waited for the words to sink in.

Marion pulled herself farther up on the pillows behind her shoulders. “He did what?”

Rachel scooted closer. “He offered us the protection of his name, Mama. A marriage of convenience.”

Her mother shook her head, her graying hair waving about her shoulders. “Rachel, marriage is not a game.”

“Do not lecture me now!” Her sharp tone surprised even herself. “Mama, I know you hoped I would eventually marry for love, but Sir Henry is determined to sell me to Viscount Charlton before the month is out.”

Marion gasped, yanking free of her daughter’s grip. “He wouldn’t!”

“He’s already taken the money Charlton offered him. Mama”—Rachel took her mother by her thin shoulders—“he took the inheritance my father left me.”

Her mother stared at her in stunned silence.

Rachel fought the urge to shake her. “We can leave him. We have to.”

Her mother’s gaze was downcast, and Rachel’s fingers tightened. Frustration throbbed in her veins. Didn’t her mother understand what this meant?

“I am going to marry Braven, Mama. I’m going to make a new life for myself—and for you too, if you’ll let me.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ve already spent ten years watching my mother die. I refuse to watch any longer.” She swallowed, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. There was no way she’d leave her mother alone—not even for her own freedom.

Marion’s quivering chin lifted. Her eyes were bright with tears. Rachel gritted her teeth against the hot wetness that threatened to spill from her own.

“Henry wasn’t always like this,” her mother whispered. “He was very attentive the first few years. Do you remember? He used to be so sweet. I didn’t know what he was. I would never have married him if I knew.”

Rachel did remember. He hadn’t been a great catch for a husband or a father, but at least he’d pretended to be kind to Rachel while courting her mother. That had stopped right after the wedding. He’d lasted longer with Marion.

“Let me do this for you,” Rachel pleaded hoarsely, relaxing her hold. “Let me save
you.”
Her father had left them, and Rachel had been too young to save her mother from marrying a man she didn’t love. She would not fail this time.

Cool fingers stroked her cheek lovingly. “You’re so much like your father,” Marion murmured, her voice choked with emotion.

Rachel’s eyes burned with unshed tears. It was a statement she’d heard more and more frequently as the years went on. Sometimes it was a compliment, other times it hadn’t been. “How so?”

“You have his strength,” came the quiet reply. “His determination. There was nothing he couldn’t do once he’d set his mind to it.”

The old bitterness that Rachel tried to hide flowed to the surface. “Obviously he never set his mind to providing for you after his death. If he had, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

Her mother looked away. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Why not? I loved Papa as much as you did, but if it hadn’t been for his thoughtlessness, his recklessness, you wouldn’t have had to marry Sir Henry in the first place. We could have survived on our own.” She’d never forgiven her father for not providing for her mother, and that wound was all the more raw now that she knew he hadn’t taken sufficient steps to protect what he’d left for her either.

Marion’s eyes were hard as her gaze met her daughter’s. “Your father was as far from thoughtless as any man could be. He doted on you, cherished you. He loved us both more than his own life. How dare you forget that!”

Her lower lip trembled and her vision blurred, but Rachel’s anger drove her on. “Then why didn’t he leave anything for you? Why did he leave you penniless with a child to support so that you had to sacrifice yourself to Henry Westhaver? Why were you not able to use the money he left for me?”

“Because we thought we would be together forever!” her mother exploded. “He was only forty. He wasn’t supposed to die so young! We were supposed to grow old together. We used to talk about what your children would look like—” Her voice broke off into great gulping sobs.

Ashamed and astounded, Rachel gathered her mother into her arms. She had never realized how painful it must have been for her. She had thought only of her own grief and anger. Her mother had lost everything, and yet she continued on—for her.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry.” She made shushing noises to quiet her mother’s tears, rocking her back and forth like an infant.

Looking up, she saw their reflection in the mirror above her mother’s dressing table. Her face was drawn and tired, her eyes red from tears, but beyond that she could see bits of her father in her features—around the eyes and mouth. She could see bits of her mother as well.

At one time she would have ignored how her face was a composite of the two people who gave her life, but now she found a certain kind of comfort in it.

She found
strength
.

Brave was already dining when Gabriel and Julian joined him for breakfast the next morning. Neither of them made any mention of Rachel’s presence the night before, and Brave knew neither of them would. Rachel was not the kind of woman one trifled with, and his friends would make no mention of Brave’s relationship with her until he gave them leave.

“I’m getting married.”

Gabriel froze. Marmalade dripped from his spoon onto the limp slice of toasted bread in his hand. “I beg your pardon?”

Julian looked up. He said nothing, but stared at Brave with a questioning gaze laced with concern over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“You may leave us now, Charles,” Brave told the footman, pointedly ignoring his friends as he settled a napkin in his lap. He didn’t want to tell them about Rachel’s situation with a servant present. Servants gossiped, and he didn’t want anything about his reasons for marrying Rachel getting back to Sir Henry.

He speared a bite of ham with his fork and neatly piled a load of eggs on top, dumping the whole thing into his mouth with a groan of satisfaction.

“Lord, this is good.” His friends still stared. He decided to not keep them in suspense any longer. “I will be marrying Rachel Ashton as soon as the banns have been read.”

The satisfaction he should have experienced as their faces paled and their mouths dropped open was dimmed by his guilt. He was marrying Rachel Ashton.

He had no business marrying anyone.

“Why?”

Brave’s head snapped up. For a split second he thought he might have spoken out loud.

“Why are you marrying her?” Gabriel demanded. “If it’s physical companionship you crave, you certainly don’t have to marry someone for it.”

Pushing his plate out of the way, Brave leaned his forearms on the polished tabletop. “You think I’m marrying her because I’m randy?” He would have laughed if his entire body didn’t ache at the idea of Rachel in his bed. A man would have to be dead not to desire a woman like Rachel. She had a body made for a man’s, and a fierceness for life that couldn’t help but spill over into everything she did—including lovemaking. Being with her would be like plunging into the eye of a hurricane.

Gabriel met his gaze with a shrug. “Am I wrong?”

“I would think you would be used to it by now,” Julian commented drily. “Honestly, Gabe, sometimes I think you not only have the manners of a goat, but the brain of one, too.”

Gabriel smiled. “Now that you mention it, I have been likened to a
ram
.”

“Probably because you smelled like one.” Julian took another sip of coffee. “Brave, you know Gabe and I would never reveal having seen you with Miss Ashton last night, so would you please explain why you’ve decided to marry her?”

Rachel’s pride wouldn’t like him airing her problems to his friends, but Brave trusted Gabriel and Julian with his life. He knew they wouldn’t repeat what he was about to tell them. “She came here last night because she had nowhere else to go. Sir Henry had hit her.”

Julian’s eyes narrowed; Gabriel’s jaw tightened. Despite their sometimes differing opinions on women, both agreed where violence toward them was concerned.

“Apparently he’s even worse toward her mother.” Brave ran a finger along the rim of his cup. “I told her I would help her mother petition for a divorce.”

“And by marrying her you give her not only financial support, but the power and protection of your title,” Julian added.

Brave nodded. “Yes.” His gaze went from Julian to Gabriel. “I won’t lie to either of you. My reasons for the marriage aren’t completely noble. I’m attracted to Rachel. I like her. And I’d rather have the mother of my children be someone whom I can respect.” He couldn’t bring himself to admit that helping Rachel might somehow atone for Miranda’s death. That was something he wasn’t ready to share.

“How romantic,” Julian commented.

Brave’s smile was bitter. “I was in love once before, Julian. The results were devastating for all involved. Rachel has made no such demands of me, and I have no expectations toward her other than she supply me with the required heir.”

Gabriel arched a brow. “And if she does someday make such ‘demands’ of you?”

Brave started. He hadn’t thought of that. What if Rachel fell in love with him? He couldn’t imagine it. It was not a responsibility he wanted, not when he wouldn’t be able to return the emotion. He was a disappointment to everyone he loved. He would not make the mistake again.

“She won’t. She understands our arrangement.”

His friends just stared at him.

“My God,” Julian breathed, his cup hitting the saucer with a loud clank. “You’re actually going through with this.”

Brave didn’t expect him to understand. Nothing but the deepest love would ever induce Julian to marry.

“Yes,” he replied, meeting the poet’s gaze. “I am.”

Julian shook his head. “I can’t say I agree with your decision, Brave. But if it’s what you want, then I support it.”

“Mmm.” Gabriel’s stare made Brave uncomfortable. It was as though his friend could see past his cavalier attitude and saw all the fear and hope inside him. “What can we do to help?”

Their loyalty was touching—even if they did think he was out of his mind.

“I would like the two of you to accompany me this morning when I go to speak to Sir Henry.” He forked another bit of egg into his mouth and grimaced. They were cold.

“You’re not actually going to ask his permission, are you?” Gabriel demanded.

“Hardly,” Brave replied. “He’s not very likely to refuse me.”

Julian tossed his napkin on the table. “Certainly we’ll come with you if you want our support.”

Brave’s smile was brittle. “I don’t need your support. I want you to make sure I don’t kill him.”

“Lord Braven.” Sir Henry set aside his book with apparent reluctance and glanced up with red and puffy eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Brave smiled coolly at the obvious dislike in the baronet’s
tone as he entered the library. His gaze skimmed over the opulent furnishings as he introduced his friends. The man himself was dressed at the height of fashion, drinking expensive liquor while Rachel and her mother dressed in near rags.

“I’ve come to discuss a matter of great importance to both of us, Sir Henry.” Since he was not asked to sit, he leaned his shoulder against the mantel while Julian and Gabriel stood closer to the door. Setting his hat and gloves on the polished oak, he turned to face his adversary.

The older man regarded him distastefully over the rim of his glass of port. “And that would be?”

“That my offer of marriage to your stepdaughter has been accepted.”

Sir Henry choked on his wine. Tiny red rivulets ran down his fleshy chin and onto his dove gray waistcoat.

“Damnation!” he cried, leaping up from his chair. He swiped at his face with the back of his hand, his eyes darting about for something more substantial.

Brave offered him his handkerchief with theatrical flourish. “Does that mean we have your consent?”

The baronet snatched the linen from his hand without so much as a thank-you and swiped it across his mouth and chin.

“No,” he grumbled. “I want an explanation, damnit! Just how did the two of you come to this
arrangement
?”

Brave couldn’t very well tell him that Rachel had arrived at Wyck’s End battered and bloody, and that he’d offered his help. The baronet might try to force Rachel to tell him the whole story, and Brave really would kill Sir Henry if he harmed Rachel again.

“Rachel and I have been meeting secretly for some time now,” he replied, thinking that it wasn’t a complete lie.

Sir Henry’s narrow eyes shrank even farther into his round face. A glimmer of understanding shone in their swampy depths.

“Caught up in her skirts are you, Braven?” The baronet chuckled and slurped up the remainder of his port. “Well, I admire your honor, man, but don’t feel like you
have
to marry the chit.”

Brave’s face flamed with the insinuation. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Sir Henry,” he replied, his jaw clenched.

Sir Henry waggled a thick finger at him. “Oh, I’m sure you
do,
Braven. Why buy the cow when you can have free milk, eh? Besides, Rachel’s already been promised to another. A man who doesn’t necessarily want an inexperienced bride. You’d actually be doing me a favor.”