Kathryn Smith (18 page)

She took her time walking back to Wyck’s End. What was the point in hurrying when there was only humiliation to hurry back to?

Instead she wandered down to the Wyck and sat down on one of the huge roots at the base of the tree Brave had hung from the night he rescued her. It was hard to believe this gently babbling river had almost killed her almost a month ago.

A month. It felt like years since Brave had swept her up into his arms like a knight out of a fairy tale. Had he any idea of the mess Rachel would drag him into, he would have no doubt tossed her back in the river.

When had her life become so complicated? It used to be so simple—get her mother away from Sir Henry. That had been her one and only goal. Now that she had finally done the one thing that could practically guarantee success, everything else had started falling apart around her. The situation she had thought she had perfect control over was crumbling beneath her feet.

She would save her mother. She would, and nothing, not even her attraction to Brave would stop her. Not even her mother’s foolish belief that Sir Henry could change would stop her. She’d spent almost the last ten years of her life waiting for this opportunity, plotting for it. She was
not
going to
give up so easily. Sir Henry would not win. She was not powerless. She was not!

She didn’t even realize she was crying until one fat tear slid down the tip of her nose and dripped onto her lip. Startled, she wiped at her face with her gloves, but the tears kept coming. Finally, she gave up, buried her face in her hands, and wept—little hiccuping sobs that mixed with the burbling of the river to sound like ghostly laughter.

It was because of her that her mother married Sir Henry in the first place. It was up to Rachel to fix it, but every time she tried to fix it things just got worse. When she was younger she used to wish an angel from Heaven would swoop down and make everything better and take her and her mother away. The angel never came.

“Rachel? Rachel, why are you crying?”

She looked up, and wiped at her eyes. Through her blurred vision, she saw Brave striding toward her, looking strong and beautiful in his buff breeches and greatcoat. It wasn’t until he knelt before her that she saw the concern on his face. She sniffed.

“Rachel, sweetheart,” he murmured, yanking off a glove to wipe away her tears with his fingers. “Whatever is the matter?”

She shook her head, puckering up her face in an effort to hold the torrent at bay.

His fingers brushed her cheek, so soft and gentle. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

His words were her undoing, and she flung herself into his arms, her little hiccups becoming huge racking sobs.

Brave hadn’t much experience with sobbing women in his lifetime. No doubt that was the reason his heart broke at the sight of Rachel’s tears.

And he had obviously said the wrong thing by offering to
make it better because that had just made her cry all the harder, so he resolved to remain silent and allow her to cry it out.

He hadn’t slept for most of the night because of her. Even half a bottle of brandy hadn’t helped. All it did was make his mouth dry and his head fuzzy. In fact, he believed the liquor had only made his situation worse because his mind had conjured up all kinds of carnal images involving himself and Rachel—things he’d never even done before but certainly wouldn’t mind trying now that he’d pictured them.

When he tapped on her bedroom door that morning and entered to find her gone, his first thought was that she was simply an early riser. When he went downstairs and she wasn’t there—and he looked everywhere—he panicked, certain that last night had driven her back to Tullywood.

Then his senses returned and he realized that Rachel was not the kind of woman to turn tail and run—certainly not back to Sir Henry. No, she would be off somewhere trying to sort out how to act around him and how to get her mother out of Sir Henry’s house, because no matter what else happened, Rachel was obsessed with saving her mother.

Did she even know how she was saving him? She thought he was saving her. How would she react to the fact that he’d married her not just to help her but to help himself? Would she feel used or would she simply throw herself into the task?

And when it was all over, who was going to save her from him? Or him from her? After last night, Brave was smart enough to know that neither Sir Henry nor his own guilt were as dangerous as the way he felt when his wife was near.

The muffled sobs against his shoulder were quieting. He couldn’t see her face because the brim of her bonnet was shoved up under his chin, but he could feel her body grow still. Keeping one hand pressed against her back, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his handkerchief with the other. Still blinded by the bonnet, he offered it to her.

“Use this.”

She took it with muttered thanks and pulled free of his embrace to wipe her face and blow her nose. She’d left a huge wet spot on his coat, but Brave lamented the loss of her in his arms more than any damage done to his clothing.

His knees were beginning to ache, and dampness seeped through his trousers from the grass, so he moved onto the root beside her. They were so close their shoulders touched. He half expected her to pull away. She didn’t

“Would you like to tell me what has you so distraught?” he asked once all the sniffing and blowing had stopped.

She didn’t look at him, but he caught a glimpse of swollen eyes and a red nose as she gazed out over the river. Odd that he had known she would come here, to this place where both their lives had been irrevocably changed. He’d been drawn back there more than once in the last few weeks himself.

“I feel so foolish.” Her voice was thick and heavy from her tears. He hadn’t heard anything so utterly pathetic sounding in all his life—excluding his own self-pity, of course.

He turned his own gaze to the river. “About what?” As if he didn’t have a good idea. He felt rather foolish himself.

Rachel was very still beside him. “Many things. Are we pretending last night never happened? Because I don’t want to talk about it if we are.”

He laughed. Dear sweet, blunt Rachel! “I don’t think either one of us is a good enough actor to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“No,” she agreed, a hint of a chuckle in her voice. “We neither of us are that.”

Clasping his hands between his knees, Brave looked down at the grass between his feet. “So do you feel foolish because it went as far as it did, or foolish because we stopped from going any further?” Why was he torturing himself like this?

“Both.” She still did not look at him as she laughed humorlessly. “I feel foolish for both, and I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

Something Brave couldn’t identify bloomed hot and giddy in his chest at her words. “I feel foolish, too,” he admitted.

Now she looked at him. Her nose was as pink—
rose
—as her cloak. “You do?”

He met her gaze. “I do. I should have handled things differently.” Such as the location. He should have at least taken her to bed. And no doubt he’d frightened her with intensity of his desire.

Reaching over, he took one of her hands in his own. Hers was so small compared to his. His gloves were cleaner, too. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman, and you’re very beautiful and attractive.”

She smiled at that.

“It’s only natural that I would be drawn to you, just as your natural curiosity about…what happens between a man and a woman would draw you to me.” He didn’t dare allow himself to believe it to be more than that. “We were swept up in the moment. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I know what happens between a man and a woman,” she informed him defensively.

Brave stared at her, amused by the defiant angle of her jaw. “Do you?”

“I’ve been told the basics, and I’ve got an imagination, Brave. I’m not completely witless.”

Oh, but he was. He definitely was when it came to her. Clearing his throat, he nodded. She knew in theory, but there weren’t enough words to describe what she did to him. “The fact that you’ve never experienced it makes you curious, and the fact that I have experienced it makes me want it.”
Badly.
So much in fact he was growing hard just talking about it.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you. I hope you know I would never intentionally hurt you.”

How neat and tidy it sounded—how simple! He didn’t be
lieve it for a minute. How could he have lost his control so completely; after all the months of trying to keep everything inside, he’d almost unleashed it all on Rachel.

“You didn’t frighten me.” She glanced around the brim of her bonnet. “The act itself is a little intimidating, but not you.”

He squeezed her hand. “Then we’ll take things slowly until you’re more comfortable.”

Rachel nodded, like a woman committed to her fate. “You are right. We are adults, not children. Surely we can deal with this in a mature manner. And after all, the marriage must be consummated.”

She said it as though the word left a bad taste in her mouth. Did the idea of making love with him disturb her that much?

“Quite right,” Brave agreed. “You must let me know when you’re ready.”

Rachel looked so alarmed that the decision would be hers that Brave found her expression strangely heartwarming. He wanted her, knew that he’d give anything to have her and could easily imagine waking up beside her for the next fifty years or more. But truly having her as his wife would mean being completely honest with her about his past and he wasn’t certain he wanted to risk her reaction. Perhaps giving them both a little time to get used to each other would be a good idea, despite how much every inch of him railed against it.

“Surely our…indiscretion of last night isn’t the sole reason for all these tears?” He tried to make his tone light.

She shook her head. “I went to visit my mother this morning.”

“Ah.” Thank God his lack of control hadn’t been entirely to blame. “And things were…good?”

She made a disgusted scoffing sound. “He’s promised to be good, and she wants to give him a chance. I can’t believe she’s being so foolish. She told me that she doesn’t know if she wants to leave him or not. She wants to wait.”

If Lady Marion didn’t leave Sir Henry, how was Brave going to help Rachel? How was he going to make amends for Miranda’s death? Brave shook his head. It was those kinds of selfish thoughts that had led to the tragedy in the first place. Rachel was what mattered right now. Why was she so upset?

Was it because she was worried Sir Henry might seriously injure her mother in the meantime? Or was she upset because things weren’t going the way she’d planned them? Or did she feel as though she’d married him for nothing?

Deciding it was perhaps better not to ask, Brave tried another tact. “Rachel, men like Sir Henry don’t change overnight. You and I both know that. Your mother knows it as well. Sooner or later he will revert to his old ways, and she will leave. In the meantime all you and I can do is wait and start preparing our case.”

She turned to him, her gaze so full of cautious hope it hurt to look at her. “What if he really hurts her next time? I fear he’s going to kill her, and that by staying there she’s giving him permission.”

Brave slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close in a firm hug. “I don’t think Sir Henry wants to kill your mother. His kind usually just wants to keep women under their control. I don’t want to frighten you, but your mother is in less danger now than she will be once she is removed from the house. Lulling Sir Henry into a false sense of security is probably the best course of action we can take at the moment.”

“Do you really think she’s safer with him right now?”

He nodded. “So long as Sir Henry believes he is in control, yes. Trust your mother, Rachel. Do you really think she’ll stay with him if he beats her again, especially knowing that she can come to us?”

“I…I don’t know. I’d like to think she’d come to me at the first sign of trouble.” Her eyes filled again. “I just don’t know what to do!”

“Listen to me.” He gave her a little shake. He hated to see her tearing herself apart over this. “You can’t do anything but carry on with your life and wait for your mother to make her decision. In the meantime you are free from your stepfather and can start living your own life. And when Sir Henry falters, we’ll be ready for him.”

She dried her eyes. “We?”

He smiled at the sight of her damp lashes and pink-rimmed eyes. She looked like a wet rabbit. “We. You didn’t think I married you just for your looks, did you? I promised to help you in any way I could, and I meant it. Now, why don’t we go back to Wyck’s End and have Cook make us some chocolate? We can play at cards if you like.”

He stood and helped her to her feet. With a hearty sniff, she flashed him a tremulous smile. “How about billiards?”

“Done.” Smiling, he tucked her arm around his and steered her down the path toward his home.

Things were almost normal between them by the time they arrived back at the house. Brave doubted that they could ever return to the relaxed friendship they’d started to build before their marriage. Their relationship had been forever altered by the passion they’d shared in the library, but somehow he didn’t think it had been altered for the worse. Talking about their attraction—even if they had both downplayed it—had made it easier to deal with one another and had deepened a bond between them. There was a closeness between them that hadn’t been there before, and he had no intention of giving it up.

A black-lacquered carriage was parked in the drive when they rounded the corner. Footmen unloaded trunks and boxes in a steady stream of traffic that could mean only one thing.

“My mother,” Brave replied when Rachel asked who their visitor was.

Could the woman possibly have worse timing? He’d seen her maybe a handful of times in the last two years—the ma
jority of those while he’d been under Phelps’s care. She’d never really come out and said it, but Brave knew he’d disappointed her with his illness.