The Solemn Bell (15 page)

Brody watched her long fingernails rake lines into the dog’s back. How had he believed Angelica could stand up to this woman’s scrutiny? That his own half-hearted plan would be bought, and shrugged off, by his mother?

He frowned down at her. “Didn’t know I needed a reason.”

“You always have a reason for everything you do. Some ulterior motive. Some scheme. If you’ve somehow sank so low as to use a blind girl to wring money…”

At that, he fled the drawing room. He couldn’t listen to another word. In the old days, he would dash up the stairs and race to the bathroom, barely able to strip out of his dinner jacket before reaching for his syringe kit. Tonight, he did not know what to do with himself.
 

He walked to the garage, and checked on his car. The big, beautiful Bentley—his second in less than a year—had been secured for the night next to Marcus’ Daimler. Brody climbed in, and sprawled across the rear seat. He enjoyed the chill night air and the musty smell of the motor garage.

It was his only place of refuge.

His family would never understand him. Truthfully, he’d given up trying to please them years ago. If it weren’t for Marcus and Mary Rose, he would never have come tonight. He desperately wanted to be a part of their lives, for them to be a part of his.
 

Angelica was part of that life. Besides his one sweetheart during his university years, he’d never had a girl before—certainly not one he considered bringing home to meet his family. Brody had foolishly wanted to bring the people he cared about together, so that he might feel complete. Yet, his parents had only seen another selfish gambit, another grab for money. They had failed to believe that he was past all that. That he was a changed man.

Or, at least, he was trying to be.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Creaking floors. The rush of water through a pipe in the walls. A door groaning on its hinges. Every house made sounds, but Angelica couldn’t shut these out. They were all foreign to her, each one reminding her that she was a stranger here.
 

The maid had led her to her room, undressed her, and put her to bed hours ago, but she couldn’t sleep. Angelica tossed and turned, cringing at every scrape, every creak, every cough. She didn’t know this place. She didn’t know her way out—what if there was a fire, and everyone forgot about her in the panic? She’d be trapped, alone and afraid, with no choice but to jump or burn.
 

Angelica would take her chances out the window. Even if she broke her neck, she’d be better off. It didn’t matter that she was only being paranoid—the chances of the house catching fire were slim—but she swore to herself that she was not going to die here, a forgotten girl in a forgotten room.

She wiped a tear from her cheek. Then, she wiped another. Angelica didn’t know why she was being childish. She cried for a fire that would never happen. She cried for her mother, father, and Freddie, who’d been dead for years. She cried for herself, for Captain Neill, and the lies he almost made her believe.

She was a fool for that man. He didn’t want her love, he only wanted her body—the only thing she had worth giving, apparently. Spreading her legs was the way to keep a man. Offering it up, little by little. Keeping them surprised and satisfied were the only ways to keep them coming back. Not love, not whispered promises, or sighing kisses.
 

Outside her bedroom, a floorboard strained. Someone was there, listening at her door. Angelica sat up, clutching the bedcovers to her chest. She tilted her head, and listened for another telling sound. Yes, another creak of the floor, but, this time, the knob squeaked.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.
 

The door inched open. “It’s me.”

Captain Neill. She frowned at him in the darkness. Could she get no peace in this place? “It’s late. What do you want?”

“I…uh…was on my way back from the toilet. Thought, since I was up, that maybe you needed to go…”

Though he’d shown her the way, Angelica could never find the toilet on her own. It was humiliating, but she was grateful for his consideration. “I’m all right, thank you.”

He didn’t move. “I’m surprised you’re up. I thought you were tired.”

“I am tired, but I cannot sleep. Your house makes noises, and my mind gets carried away.”

“Ah. Well, if it’s any consolation, I can’t keep my mind quiet, either. I’ve been wandering the halls like a specter.”

“Then it was probably you keeping me awake,” she told him. “Stop pacing and go to bed.”

He came toward her. “Angelica…”

“Stay if you want, but shut the door.” She might be his whore, but she didn’t want the entire house knowing it.

The knob clicked, and then the latch caught. He was going to have her—here, now—in his family home. Did the man have no shame? His bare feet shuffled across the carpet, and then he sank down onto the mattress behind her.
 

Captain Neill pulled the covers up around them, before pressing her back against him. He wore soft pajama trousers and no shirt. His skin smelled like…car leather and petrol. Reluctantly, Angelica moved to lift her nightdress over her hips.

“Don’t,” he said, stopping her. “I’m not here for that.”

Her cheeks burned. “Then why?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. It was selfish, and I could see that my words hurt you. I’m sorry.” Captain Neill bent his head to kiss the sharp peak of her shoulder. “Forgive me?”

She let him rest his face against her heated skin. “Of course.”

“You’ve been crying…”

“How do you know?”

“The pillow is wet. Either that, or you’ve been drooling.”

She scoffed. “I don’t drool.”

“Then why the tears, Angelica?”

“I was afraid. I convinced myself that there was going to be a fire. That I’d be trapped, and everyone would leave me behind.”

He squeezed her tightly. “I would scorch myself to the bone before I’d let you burn.”

“Brody, please…”

“I’m serious. You never have to worry about that as long as I’m around.”

Damn, the tears. She tried to wick them away before he noticed. “How will you find me in the flames?”

“I won’t have to,” he said. “I’ll be right here with you.”

She turned into him now, weeping. She soaked his bare chest with her tears, while he murmured sweet, indistinguishable words in her hair. She didn’t need to understand them—the sound of his voice, and the strength of his embrace was enough. “You won’t leave me?”

“Never, never,” he chuckled, giving her a playful jostle. “I learned my lesson the last time.”

She shook her head at his words. Couldn’t he be serious for one moment? “I did wait, you know. I told myself that you wouldn’t…do the thing you did to me…and not come back. But, Brody, why did you have to leave? Why couldn’t you have stayed?”

“I went to hospital. I thought it would take a week, perhaps two. It took four months.”

“Were you that badly injured in your crash?” she asked, stunned.

“No, but I was very sick—the morphine, you remember?” When she nodded, he continued, “Turns out, I was worse than anyone ever imagined. Even now, I’m not completely cured. Doubt I ever will be.”

“So you don’t have your injections anymore?” She’d noticed he was better from the moment he’d
 
returned. He didn’t smell like death. His body no longer felt rotten beneath his skin. But she had no idea that this health and vigor wasn’t his normal state.

“No more drink, no more morphine. I am now firmly on the path of sobriety.”

He seemed to want something from her—some response, or words of encouragement. Angelica didn’t quite understand. He did not need her to validate what he’d done, or why. Surely, he hadn’t done it for her…
 

Surely, he wanted to be better for himself.

“You see, my girl? A clear head and a clean heart.” He kissed her squarely on the lips. “If there is a fire, I’ll save you. If there is a demon, I’ll fight him. You’re not alone anymore, Angelica. I’ll not be so impaired that you can’t rely on me.”

“You can rely on me, too, you know.”

“Oh, I know. And believe me, I will,” he told her. “Our life together won’t be easy.”

Together.
She liked the sound of that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Brody…” She yawned and stretched, her hand searching for him between the covers.
 

It was morning, and he was gone. Of course, he couldn’t stay when the servants were up, and the family was moving about the house.
 

They took a great risk simply sharing a bed together. If they were found in each other’s arms, there would be hell to pay.

But Angelica was not alone in her room.
 

“It’s me, Miss,” Bessie said. A swish of heavy silk meant that the maid was opening the curtains.
 

Angelica rushed to straighten her nightdress. She had not made love with Captain Neill last night, but they had kissed and cuddled. For once, she hadn’t needed to give away her body to keep a man at her side. Still, she did not want to look tumbled in front of the maid.

“If you’d like to dress,” Bessie told her, cheerfully, “I can help you downstairs to breakfast.”

She sat up, yawning again, and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. Another day of being washed, dressed, and led. “I don’t want to be treated like an invalid.”

The maid slipped her nightdress over her head. “How would you like to be treated, Miss?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Angelica crossed her arms over her bare breasts. She’d dressed herself for nearly twenty years. She could cook for herself, and wash herself without any help. Now, she was expected to stand and submit while a strange woman saw her naked body. “You’re only here because they don’t trust me not to embarrass myself.”

She stood awkwardly while the maid pretended not to care that she was cross, and completely naked, or that she’d woken up expecting to find Captain Neill laying beside her.

“I think you should wear…this. Pear-green silk with a floral appliqué. The touch of blue in the flowers will bring out your eyes,” Bessie said, helping her into a pair of lacy step-ins. “You have some very fine things, Miss. I’ve never seen such lingerie in all me life.”
 

Angelica allowed her to slip on the frock. “That’s kind of you to say, but there’s no need to flatter me. I’m sure Mrs. Neill and Mary Rose have far lovelier things.”

“Oh, to be sure. But I only dress Miss Mary Rose, and she don’t have any need for silk drawers and lace nighties.”

“And I do?”

She stooped to slip one stocking onto Angelica’s leg. “You’re a few years older than her, I wager.”

“We both know that isn’t what you meant.” Angelica lifted her other leg, and Bessie rolled the stocking up to her thigh. “You and I will get on much better if you’re frank with me, Bessie.”

“You’ve got bruises on your backside as wide as a man’s hand, Miss. I saw them when I was dressing you last night.”

“I fell in the bathtub. That’s why Captain Neill doesn’t trust me to wash and dress alone.”

“Or sleep alone?”

There was no denying it. “Does the rest of the house know?”

“Oh, there’s speculation, but I haven’t said anything. It’s just that Captain Neill has never brought a lady home before. He’s a favorite of the staff, you see, and we all want to see him happy and settled.”

Captain Neill had never brought a woman to meet his parents. Angelica wanted to read more into that than was wise. They’d had a good night together, but nothing out of the ordinary for a man and his mistress. “There’s no ring on my finger, Bessie. And not likely to be one, either. It’s not that sort of arrangement.”

“I am sorry to hear you speak like that, Miss.” Bessie brushed her hair, and helped her slip on the silk, buckled shoes that best matched her frock.
 

“Does it change how you feel about me? I understand if you’d rather not dress me anymore…”

“I’m not such a prude,” the maid said. “If you make Captain Neill happy, and he makes you happy, then who am I to say it ain’t right? Besides, I’d rather be here with you than down the hall. You might get snippy when you’re cross, but at least you don’t slap or pinch me like Miss Mary Rose.”

Angelica let Bessie escort her downstairs. She didn’t much care for having a servant—a handler, whether she admitted it or not—but she enjoyed having an ally in the house. If they took Bessie with them when the week ended, at least she would have someone to talk to on the long, lonely days when Captain Neill was gone.

“Here you are, Miss,” the maid said once they reached the drawing room.

Angelica heard a great commotion of chairs, all scraping the floor as the men stood to greet her. In an instant, Captain Neill had taken her hand. “Good morning, Angelica. Feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you,” she said, letting him help her into a seat. “Who’s here?”

“Oh, just Markie and me.”

In response, Marcus said, “Good morning, Miss Grey.”

“Good Morning, Mr. Neill.”

Captain Neill spoke from somewhere over her shoulder. “Let me fix your plate. What will you have? There’s bacon, ham, eggs, fruit—”

“A little bit of everything, please.”

After a moment, he sat the plate in front of her. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“To your right,” he said, placing the steaming cup at her elbow. Then, he settled into the seat beside her. “It’s usually just us chaps at breakfast. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you were coming down.”

“A pleasant surprise, I hope…”

He laughed with his mouth full. “Absolutely. But, if you’d rather have tea and toast in your room—”

“No, I’d rather be down here,” she said, stirring milk into her coffee. She had to be careful, because his flirting was a distraction, and she’d hate to spill a drop. “You two can keep me entertained.”

Captain Neill pretended to pout. “The lady laughs at us, Markie.”

“Don’t they always?” his brother said, good-naturedly.

“Ha! At you maybe. Not at me.”
 

She smiled at her plate. “You’re chipper this morning, Brody.”