To Have and to Hold (27 page)

"No, Christy, I ought to've seen it." He shook his head, miserable. "Poor little mite, wi' no mother and no one to tell about her trouble. Well, what's to do? Have you told the constable?"

"Dr. Hesselius reported it, and Burdy went out to Timms's place yesterday. Marcus admitted he struck her. He showed no remorse at all, and said he couldn't understand why everyone was making a fuss about it."

Holyoake swore again under his breath, then mumbled, "Beg pardon," glancing at Rachel.

"He said it was his right as her father to punish her when she was disrespectful and disobedient. Now the girl's afraid to go home. Since Timms is completely unrepentant, I don't blame her. I'm not sure what ought to be done. I've come to ask you and Lord D'Aubrey for advice."

"Can't a place be found for her somewhere else, William?" Sebastian asked his bailiff. "With another tenant family who could use the girl's help, either for board or a wage, until she's eighteen and can look for something on her own? I suppose this is all assuming Timms doesn't decide to dig in his heels and insist she must stay with him. That would complicate matters."

"I don't think it will come to that. If it does," the vicar said, with quite a fierce gleam in his normally mild blue eyes, "I'll see to it that he's arrested for assault."

"I'm a magistrate," Sebastian said—as if he were just remembering it. "I'll see to it that he goes to gaol."

"I barely know the girl, so I can't say what she's handy at besides general housework. And I can't call to mind anyone who'd be needin' help just now. But mayhap sommat will turn up in the course o' things."

"Yes, but what's to be done for her in the meantime?"

Rachel broke the thoughtful silence to say hesitantly, "One of the kitchen maids gave notice two days ago. Katie Munn—she's leaving at the end of the week."

"Good Lord, another one gone?" Sebastian asked, incredulous. "My chef," he informed the vicar, "is as intolerant as he is intolerable. We go through kitchen help faster than Palmerston goes through deputies. Well, what do you think? Does that sound like a post the girl could handle?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it," Reverend Morrell answered, looking relieved. "She's a bit backward and she hasn't much to say, but she's a bright girl and very willing to work. Thank you very much indeed, my lord—and thank you, Mrs. Wade, for the suggestion."

Rachel said, "You're welcome," with a pleased smile.

They decided that Holyoake would go with the vicar and bring Sidony Timms back with him in the pony gig. Dr. Hesselius had said she was all right, but it would be Rachel's job to decide when she would be well enough to start working—probably only a matter of a few days, everyone agreed. Until then, she could recover more easily at the Hall than the vicarage, if only because there were more people here to look after her.

"My wife asked me to send you her regards," Reverend Morrell told Sebastian at the study door. "And to say we'd both be very pleased if you would dine with us again one night soon."

"Thank you, I'd enjoy that," he answered, sounding as if he meant it. "And then I hope you'll allow me to reciprocate, if only so you'll understand why I keep my insufferable French cook.''

"Delighted," the vicar smiled.

"I've been wanting to ask your advice about a couple of local investments I'm considering," Sebastian went on, and Rachel immediately moved away to the window to give the two men privacy. But she heard him add, "The mayor's invited me to purchase shares in his copper mine, but I'm not convinced that's the best use of my capital right now."

The brief exchange surprised her. She'd taken Sebastian at his word when he'd said Wyckerley was only a stopping place for him while he waited for his real inheritance. Why invest in local enterprises, then? Just because he was a businessman and that was the practical thing to do? Probably. No doubt. To speculate that he meant to stay any longer than he absolutely had to was self-deluding. It would also violate the two strategies for survival to which she was adhering with iron determination: live only for the moment, and hope for nothing.

The minister and William left together. "Wait for me," Sebastian said softly from the doorway, leaving her in the study while he went to show them out.

She'd almost forgotten about the Broad Arrow. The dread and the irrational fear she'd felt before had diminished to manageable dimensions. After all, it was only a piece of cloth. And now she could even guess who had sent it.

Sebastian returned. He paused in the doorway to look at her, and she had time to reflect on the ways in which he'd changed from the bored, sophisticated, impeccably dressed gentleman who had rescued her at the magistrates' hearing. He seemed bigger, for one thing, a perception not altogether in her mind, since lately he'd taken to joining his estate laborers in pursuits as ungenteel as haymaking and fence mending. What the parish thought of such eccentric behavior in their new viscount she could hardly imagine. He might be doing it for a lark, but the end result was that he looked handsomer than ever. The summer sun had ruddied his skin and lightened his soft brown hair, which had grown unfashionably but becomingly long. More subtly, his blase, unsurprised and unsurprisable manner was gone, replaced by a new alertness. He radiated energy. He no longer looked like someone who not only knew everything but was also tired of it. He looked like a man who was finding it an agreeable surprise to learn that his life wasn't going quite as predictably as he'd thought it would.

Right now he looked worried. "What's the matter?" he asked, closing the study door and coming toward her. "I could tell something was wrong as soon as you came in. What is it?"

It almost seemed silly now. She pulled the square of coarse linen out of her pocket and held it out to him. "This was at the post office today, in a package addressed to me."

He frowned. "What is it?"

She told him.

His face hardened. "Who sent it?"

"There was no note, no sender's address. Just this. It upset me at first, but—"

"Yes, of course, you—"

"But I'm fine now, truly. It was only a prank, and there's no harm done. I'm surprised something like it hasn't happened before. It's really—"

He made an impatient sound, interrupting her. He grabbed the cloth from her hand, flung it to the floor, and reached for her, forcibly pulling her into a close embrace. At once all the pain and mortification resurfaced, and she was amazed to find herself fighting back tears. "Bastards," he muttered against her hair. "Ruddy sodding bastards. If I could prove they did this, I'd make them pay."

"Whft?"

"SoHy, who else? Him and his worthless mates."

"Sully!" She pulled back to look at him. That possibility had never occurred to her. "I thought. . ."

"What?"

"Perhaps I'm mistaken. I shouldn't say."

"Rachel, tell me whom you suspect."

"But if I'm wrong—"

"Tell me."

"All right. I thought it might be Lydia. She despises me—I couldn't tell you the things she said to me that day. She could have done this. Easily. I think it was she."

He slipped his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, soothing her. "If it was she, she won't do it again, I promise you that."

"What will you do?"

"Speak to her. Threaten her if I have to."

"Oh, no. Please don't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because she's not well, not responsible. I think her hatred of me has affected her mind. If you talk to her about this—she might grow worse. She might do something more."

He considered that. "Very well, but I will speak to her aunt. Don't worry, I won't eat her; I'll tell her what we suspect and advise her to keep a sharper eye on her niece, nothing more." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Is that all right?"

The novelty of being asked for her approval kept her silent for a few seconds. "Yes. But, of course, it might not be Lydia at all."

"True. Another reason why I'll be gentle."

He was gentle now, brushing her damp lashes with his fingertips. He stroked her lips with his tear-wet fingers and then kissed her, tasting her with the tip of his tongue. She was helpless when he touched her like this, in thrall to his erotic tenderness. "Come to me tonight," be murmured, nuzzling her lips, finding the most sensitive places to kiss. "I have something to give you."

"But you mustn't give me any more gifts."

"You'll like this one."

"No, Sebastian, I mean it, I don't want anything."

"This isn't a gift. Or not a
thing,
I should say." A devilish glint in his eyes made her stomach flutter. "You're blushing. God, how pretty you are."

"I'm not blushing." She wasn't pretty either, but when he looked at her like this, she felt as if she were. "I have to go, have to get ... a bed ready in the servants' quarters for the new maid, tell the others ..." She sighed and let him go on kissing her, because he was just too hard to resist. He could melt her with the simplest touch, sometimes with only a look. She thought of the brittle, ice-cold woman she'd been, dreading the thought of a man's touch, because she'd only known one kind of touching and it had been horrific.

Ironic that the man who could bring her body to life was exactly like her late husband in one way— interested in her sexually to the point of obsession. But the comparison ended there, because Sebastian only wanted to give her pleasure, and Randolph could only find pleasure in giving her pain. Sebastian insisted the two extremes were a little closer than she thought, to some even indistinguishable. The key, he said, was consent, and she had never consented to Randolph's cruelties. She'd never consented to Sebastian's softer ravishment either, and yet she'd taken a secret, incipient pleasure in it.

It was all so confusing. What he knew and she didn't know about sex could fill half the library in the British Museum.

"Come at ten o'clock," he instructed in a warm whisper, breathing in her ear. "The time is important, so be punctual. But don't be early or it'll spoil the surprise. Will you come?"

Once more he hadn't ordered, he'd asked. But did it really matter? His eyes held such a sweet, tantalizing promise, it was hard to think of any circumstances under which she'd have refused him.

*
 
*
 
*
 
*
 
*

"Everything is in readiness, my lord."

"Good. Right on time, too. Preest, you're a treasure."

"Thank you, my lord." The valet inclined his totally bald head in dignified acknowledgment.

"And you were discreet about the arrangements, were you?"

He looked hurt. "Of course, my lord."

"Of course." Preest relied on years of experience in arranging romantic assignations; discretion, after reticence, was his finest quality.

"Will there be anything else, my lord?"

Sebastian thought of asking him about the status of below-stairs gossip concerning Mrs. Wade and Lord D'Aubrey. The answer would tell him not only what was being said at the Hall but in the village as well, one being so intimately connected with the other. But he couldn't bring himself to mention her name, not even to Preest. Remarkable, considering how freely he used to discuss with friends and acquaintances the most private details of his amorous liaisons. It was expected; it was part of the sport. Now the shallow-ness of that behavior embarrassed him. He would as willingly speak of Rachel in public as strip her, or himself, naked in a roomful of strangers. Unthinkable. She was private. She was his.

"No, there's nothing. Good night, Preest."

"Good night, my lord."

Exactly four minutes later, a soft knock sounded at the door. Sebastian smiled to himself, came off the bed, and padded barefoot across the room to the door. "Perfect," he greeted her, taking her hand and pulling her inside.

"You said ten."

"I don't mean the timing. You."

She gave a little shake of her head, which was how she dismissed most of his compliments. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black trousers, and her light-eyed gaze traveled from his face to his feet and back again with frank interest. He felt his body tighten.
Steady on,
he told himself,
the night is young. The night is a mere infant.

He brushed his lips across the backs of her fingers. "You look beautiful, Rachel."

"The dress is beautiful. Thank you."

It had arrived from the dressmaker's last week; tonight was the first time she'd worn it. "It suits you." It was lovely, relying on simplicity and the rich, understated garnet color for its graceful effect.' 'If you would let me ... ah, well." Useless, he knew, to try to persuade her to take everything he wanted to give her—more beautiful dresses, soft, feminine underclothes, shoes and boots, kid gloves and saucy hats, parasols, embroidered handkerchiefs, fans, reticules— all the pretty, frivolous, beguiling items in a fashionable lady's wardrobe. She wasn't a fashionable lady, she argued, she was a housekeeper. He would press the point again, but not tonight. Tonight they would have no disagreements.

"Your gift is in the bathroom."

She looked dismayed. "But you said it wasn't a gift."