Kathryn Smith (30 page)

And Rachel thanked her for it. If Miranda had returned Brave’s feelings, he would have married her instead of Rachel, and, quite frankly, Rachel didn’t know what she would have done had Brave not walked into her life.

But the nature of her supposed trespass was still a mystery to her. It had to have happened sometime during or shortly after their lovemaking, because Brave certainly hadn’t acted displeased with her before then. In fact, he’d seemed happier than she had ever seen him, right up until she fell asleep.

Vaguely, she remembered talking to him just before falling asleep. He’d asked her why she’d decided to make love to him, and she’d told him that she wanted to. She’d been too tired to give a more detailed response.

Good Lord, she hadn’t told him she loved him, had she? Surely she would remember if she had. She remembered thinking it, along with the fact that she hadn’t thanked him for disposing of Sir Henry earlier.

Pressing a hand against her stomach to quell the nausea there, Rachel rocked back and forth against the padded squabs. What if she
had
told him she loved him? Was that what had driven him to hide away in his study and reek of brandy and stale sweat? Was having her love him that awful?

Oh Lord, she hoped not! That would be just too painful.

But she couldn’t remember saying anything of the sort, which led her right back to wondering just what she had done to warrant such treatment.

But before she could give the subject any more thought, the carriage rolled to a halt and the door swung open. A gloved hand appeared to help her to the ground.

How quickly she’d become accustomed to the footmen and the grand carriage and the new clothes, but none of them meant anything if her husband didn’t want her anymore. She had to find out what had Brave so upset. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to fix it, and she
would
fix it. She was not prepared to spend the next forty or so years of her life in a miserable marriage. And she was certainly not going to have children with a man who punished her for something she didn’t even know she’d done.

With that vow strong in her heart, Rachel finally put all thoughts of her husband aside and climbed the steps to Belinda’s door. The butler opened it immediately, and, once her outerwear had been taken away, Rachel was shown to the parlor, where her friend waited.

Belinda greeted her with the scent of roses and a quick squeeze of her hands, and steered her toward the low table laden with an assortment of sandwiches and cakes.

“I’m so glad you decided to join me,” the darker woman gushed, pouring tea into two delicate china cups. “Mama has been an absolute bore all morning. For some reason she’s got it into her head that I must decide on the flowers for the wedding
now
. Not next week, not in a few days, but today. Two lumps?”

Rachel nodded, thankful not only for her friend but for her chatter. Getting out of the house—and away from Brave and his moods was the best impulsive decision she had made in a long time.

She took the plate of cakes Belinda arranged for her, balancing it on her lap as she sipped the hot, soothing tea. She was starving. She hadn’t eaten much in the last two days—since concern for Brave had diminished all other normal behavior. Now, away from the gloomy atmosphere of Wyck’s End, her appetite returned with a vengeance.

“But enough of my prewedding babblings,” Belinda remarked some ten minutes and three cakes later. She took a sip of tea. “Tell me how you managed to persuade that magnificent husband of yours to let you out of his sight long enough to come visit me.”

Rachel swallowed what was left of cake number four. The mere mention of Brave had turned the sweet, moist treat to dirt in her mouth.

“I doubt very much he even misses me,” she replied with false lightness, licking a crumb from the corner of her lips.

Belinda’s cup froze halfway to her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise. “I’d almost believe you were jesting if not for the fact you were looking everywhere but at me when you spoke.”

Rachel forced herself to meet her friend’s gaze. It was
nearly torture to do so. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As if to prove her point, she crammed another cake into her mouth.

She must have looked truly ridiculous because Belinda burst out laughing. “Rachel, my dearest friend, you cannot hide these things from me!” Her expression changed to one of hurt bewilderment. “And even if you could, why would you wish to?”

Forcing the cake down with another gulp of tea, Rachel sighed inwardly. Not only had she managed to offend Brave in some unknown way, but now she’d hurt Belinda’s feelings as well. Splendid.

Belinda set her cup aside. “Have you and Braven had a fight?”

Rachel dabbed her mouth with one corner of her pale pink napkin. “Fighting generally requires speech, Belinda. This morning was the first time in two days that my husband has condescended to even face me, let alone speak.” She didn’t even want to think about the cool words that had come out of his mouth once he’d opened it.

Now her friend looked truly shocked. “Why?”

Shrugging, Rachel drained her cup. “I haven’t the foggiest notion.”

Belinda shook her head. “But that makes no sense. No one in his right wits just stops speaking to someone. What happened the last time you saw him?”

Rachel blushed clean to the roots of her hair as she thought about the things she and Brave had done to each other that night.

Belinda’s eyes widened even further. “Oh.” Clearing her throat, she leaned forward, glancing about as though she feared someone might be listening. “Did Braven—” she lowered her voice, “Did Braven have trouble…” She lifted her hand in a rising motion.

Rachel’s blushed deepened. “Certainly not!”

Her friend visibly sagged in relief. “Oh, I must confess I would have been disappointed if you’d said yes.” Then, as though the thought just occurred to her, “Dearest, he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Were it not for her acute embarrassment, Rachel would have been warmed by the concern in Belinda’s gaze. “No. He was very…considerate.”

Belinda wrinkled her nose. “Just considerate?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Belinda!” Rachel cried, tossing her hands into the air, almost spilling her last cake to the floor. “It was marvelous! Are you satisfied?”

At that point, Belinda was sitting as far back in her chair as she could, her eyes as wide as saucers. Rachel was instantly contrite.

“Forgive me.” She reached around to massage the back of her neck with one hand. She was as hard as rock. “I’m afraid I’m not quite myself today.”

“Obviously,” Belinda agreed, straightening. “So…you liked it?”

Rachel couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. “Yes, I liked it. And I’ve no doubt you will as well. That’s what you’ve been wanting hear, isn’t it?”

Now it was Belinda’s turn to blush. Her eyes bright, she ran a hand over her sable curls. “Yes. I’ve thought often about my wedding night. I’ve thought about it a lot.” Again she leaned forward, and this time Rachel glanced about for imaginary eavesdroppers.

“Winchelsea and I, we’ve never…well, we’ve…” She waved her hand. “We have a bit, but he wants to wait until we’re married.”

Rachel raised a brow, smiling at her friend’s disappointed tone. “And you’re impatient?”

Belinda looked surprised. “Well, yes. But then Mama decided we needed to have ‘the talk’ and what she told me makes absolutely no sense when I think of how Win makes me feel.”

Rachel could just imagine the kinds of things Belinda’s mother had told her. Twenty-some years of sharing a bed with Mr. Mayhew would be enough to sour any woman.

“You’ll be fine,” she assured her friend with a gentle pat on the hand. “Although, I’m not sure I’m a good one to ask. After all, my husband stopped talking to me after we made love the second time.”

“The second time?” Belinda suddenly looked very interested. “I thought you said it was the first time.”

Rachel had blushed more in the last ten minutes than she had in the last three years, she was certain of it.

Belinda’s face was positively glowing with curiosity. “You mean they can do it more than once?”

“It would appear so, yes.”

“And did you…could you…?” Crimson blossoms appeared on Belinda’s pale cheeks.

“Yes,” Rachel replied between clenched teeth, well past humiliation and slowly sinking into mortification. “And judging from the way my husband is treating me, I won’t again for some time. Now can we talk about something else, please?”

“Yes,” Belinda conceded. Her contrite expression did not last for long. “What are you going to do about Braven?”

Taking a bite out of her last cake, Rachel shrugged. “There’s not a lot I can do until he’s sobered up. Then I’ll demand that he tell me what the devil has him in such a wicked temper?”

“Demand?”

“Forcefully request.”

Belinda smiled slyly. “And if that doesn’t work?”

Rachel swallowed and set her plate aside. “I won’t leave him alone until it does. I agreed to a real marriage, not a lifetime of making the best of a bad situation as my mother has tried to do.” Holding out her cup, she smiled as her friend poured more tea into it. She felt better than she had in days.

“The Earl of Braven has a wife now, and he’s going to have to deal with her.”

“You’re a complete idiot.”

Angrily, Brave turned to face his friends. Julian was angry. Gabe was…well, Gabe looked like he always did when Julian got his temper up. Gabe looked amused.

“You think I don’t already know that?” Without any aid from the groom, Brave swung himself up onto his horse’s back and started off.

His friends had arrived earlier that day—while Brave was still languishing on the sofa in his study. A cold bath and some black coffee had followed. And once he’d shaved and dressed, Brave felt almost sober. It had been Gabriel who suggested the fresh air. And when Julian had asked if perhaps Rachel would like to join them, Brave had to confess that he didn’t know where his wife was. And for some foolish reason he hadn’t yet deciphered, he’d also decided to tell them
why
he didn’t know where his wife was. The confession was supposed to incite his friends’ compassion. It seemed to have achieved just the opposite—from Julian, anyway.

“Don’t you think,” Julian had said with more emotion than even Brave was used to seeing him display, “that if Rachel had wanted to ‘thank you’ in such a way, she would have done it when you actually agreed to help her and not have waited until now?”

He’d had a point, but Brave wasn’t entirely convinced.

“And,” Julian continued, “did it not occur to you to simply ask her what she’d meant? Of course not! That would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?”

Brave would have taken offense to that, had he not agreed. He should have asked Rachel. Instead, he jumped to conclusions, basing his assumptions on his own battered self-esteem. At the time, he’d simply assumed the worst. And then his pride had prevented him from acting like a mature
adult. Instead, he’d gone off to lick his wounds, not even considering that they might be of his own making.

As they cantered away from the stables, Julian’s horse came up beside Brave’s.

“So what are you going to do?”

Brave shot him a weary glance. “When she comes home I’ll talk to her.” He didn’t add that he was going to talk to her because it was the right thing to do and not because Julian wanted him to. Let his friend claim responsibility. It would be something to needle him over if Brave ended up being right in the first place.

For the first time in his life he
wanted
to be wrong.

And not knowing where Rachel went, there could be no knowing when she would return home. Brave wouldn’t blame her if she stayed away for a few days and let him stew for a bit, but if he knew Rachel, she wouldn’t stay away from her mother for very long. Perhaps someday he would inspire such loyalty.

He refused to think of what might happen if she ran into her stepfather. At least he could be certain that Rachel hadn’t left him for good. First of all, she wasn’t that flighty a female. Secondly, she wouldn’t go anywhere without her mother, and Marion Westhaver was in no condition to travel. And thirdly, Rachel wanted her mother free of Sir Henry’s clutches, and the only person that could help her achieve that was Brave himself. That alone would buy him enough time to set things right between them.

It was also going to give Westhaver enough time to retaliate.

The perfect solution would be if Henry Westhaver simply fell off the face of the earth, but that wasn’t very likely to happen, was it?

Not a bloody chance.

Once in the field, Brave let the gelding go, bending over its back until his face was almost level with its neck. Gabriel and Julian followed, their mounts easily picking up the pace
until the three of them were nothing more than blurs racing across the countryside. They sailed over the hedgerows and stone fences, past tenant farmers laboring in the fields, and still the horses showed no sign of tiring. Brave’s eyes stung from the cold, and he almost lost his hat twice, but on they went, until his bleary vision caught sight of something unusual up ahead, near one of the low stone walls.

He tugged on the reins, slowing his horse to a walk. Gabriel and Julian did the same, each coming up to flank him. As the three of them drew closer to the wall, Brave noticed it was a horse lying on the grass. A fine-looking bay—or least it had been. The poor thing was on its side and from the position of the carcass, obviously dead. How had it gotten there? It wasn’t one of his mounts, so where was its rider? And there had been a rider because the saddle was still cinched around its belly.

“Do you recognize it?” Gabriel asked, his brow furrowed.

“No,” Brave replied. Easing out of the saddle, he dismounted and walked closer to the corpse. A shiver of dread raced down his spine. He didn’t want to look…

Oh dear God.

The body of a man lay beneath the horse, pinned to the ground by its weight. But it wasn’t that the man was still alive that shocked Brave, nor was it the fear or the pain in his eyes as he stared at him. No, Brave was shocked because the man on the ground was desperately trying to reach his rifle. And because he was Sir Henry Westhaver.