Kathryn Smith (37 page)

They said farewell, and Rachel watched them ride away, with a smile, her heart lighter than it had been in the last few days.

“Are you ready to leave now, Lady Braven?” the footman inquired from his position by the carriage.

Oh, Mr. Smith! She was going to be so shamefully late for their meeting!

“Yes, I’m ready!” she cried, scampering up into the carriage. “Please hurry!”

The carriage sped down the drive, and as Rachel was jostled from one side of the seat to the other she silently, joyfully prayed for tomorrow to hurry up and arrive.

“I’m sorry, Lord Braven, but Lady Braven is out at the moment.”

“Out?” Brave faced the apple-cheeked butler with barely concealed frustration. “What do you mean, ‘out’?”

The older man smiled as though he thought Brave was a complete idiot. “I mean she’s not here, my lord.”

Brave pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Yes, but where has she gone?”

“She had an appointment in the village with Mr. Smith, Lady Marion’s solicitor.”

“I know who he is,” Brave replied with more brusqueness than he meant to. “How long ago did she leave?”

“Oh, not even a quarter hour ago, my lord.”

Damn! She wouldn’t be back for some time—possibly even hours—and he had promised to dine with his mother and Marion that evening.

“Would you care to leave your card, my lord?”

His card? For his own wife? Obviously the old man was loose in the attic. “No, that won’t be necessary. Just tell her I was here, please.” He brushed past the butler and, cramming his hat down on his head, stepped back out into the darkening afternoon.

After all the time it took him to gather his courage and come after her. After he’d labored over just how he was going to beg her forgiveness, she had the audacity to be out? How unfair was that?

Gabe was right. He should have come sooner.

“Begging your pardon, Lord Braven,” the old man called from the doorway, “but the countess won’t believe me when I tell her you were here if you don’t leave a card.”

Sighing—either out of frustration or humiliation, Brave wasn’t quite sure which—he stopped, turned around, and came back up the few steps to where the aggravating man stood smiling.

“Are you sure just the card will do?” he questioned. “You don’t need me to leave some identifying piece of jewelry, do you? Perhaps a lock of hair?”

Pale eyes brightened, round cheeks pinkened as the servant chuckled. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. Just the card.”

Brave shoved his hand into his inside coat pocket and fished out his calling-card case. It was a good thing he had it with him, or else Lord only knew what he’d have to leave to prove he’d been there.

“Here.” He shoved the card under the other man’s broad nose.

The old fool took it and chuckled as he read the inscription on it. “I’ll give it to her myself, Your Lordship.”

Brave didn’t even want to know why that statement was said with so much glee. He just wanted to get the hell out of there. He had the uncomfortable feeling that all of Tullywood’s servants were watching him from the upstairs windows.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Potts, my lord.”

It suited him. “Yes, well, thank you.” Turning away, Brave walked down the steps, to his horse, waiting patiently in the drive. As he mounted, he looked up at Tullywood’s upstairs windows. He didn’t see any faces, but several of the curtains were swaying as though someone had just brushed against them.

If he’d known his coming to see his wife was going to be this much of a show, he would have charged admission.

Sighing, he nudged the gelding into motion and trotted down the drive. He missed his wife and wanted her back. He wanted her to love him again—even if he had to beg for it.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

I
nstead of going straight to Brave and demanding to know why he had come to Tullywood the day before, Rachel breezed through the front door of Wyck’s End and straight up the stairs to her mother’s room.

She wasn’t ready just yet to face him. And she still wasn’t quite sure she totally believed Potts that he’d been there at all! The aged butler had looked far too smug when he presented Rachel with Brave’s card upon her return to Tullywood the previous afternoon.

Maybe he truly had come to see her. Maybe he’d missed her as much as she missed him. From what she’d heard, Brave had been moping around the house like a dejected suitor ever since her departure.

Good. Rachel hadn’t been the only miserable one then. It wouldn’t hurt him to wonder a little while longer. It was his own stupid fault anyway.

Besides, she only had two hours before her mother went
gallivanting off to London and then to France. She and Brave had the next fifty years to sort things out.

Her mother was rearranging clothing in a trunk when she walked in.

“Are you certain you feel well enough to travel?”

Smiling brightly, her mother closed the trunk and came toward her, her arms outstretched. Each step was carefully taken, but there was no doubt that she was healing quickly. Rachel stepped into the embrace.

“I’m fine,” Marion told her with a light squeeze. “Between you and Annabelle, I’ll be lucky if I ever make it to the boat. She’s already decided that we’re going to spend some time at her London town house before we sail. Did you know Balthazar owns his own ship?”

“No, I didn’t.” The news didn’t surprise her, however. From what she’d seen and overheard since their marriage, she’d deduced that her husband was very wealthy, especially since he’d paid Sir Henry ten thousand pounds just to marry her.

Penance was expensive these days.

Funny just how little she cared about his fortune, though. She’d always daydreamed of marrying a wealthy gentleman and being showered in gowns and jewelry, but that was just because she never got anything new unless it was absolutely necessary—not from Sir Henry, anyway. Now that she had the means, those things didn’t seem so important.

“Do you have everything you need?”

Her mother nodded. “Yes. Thank you for packing it all for me.”

Rachel smiled. It had felt good to take all of her mother’s possessions out of the drawers and closets and pack them up. It was like closing a bad book and putting it away on a high shelf, never to be read again.

“You’re welcome. Everything else is in storage here, in the west wing of the house. It’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”

“
If
I come back,” Marion replied teasingly. “You never know, I might nab myself some dashing
monsieur
in Paris.”

“Make sure he’s younger than you,” Rachel advised in a similar tone. “That way you can control him.”

Her mother giggled. “You sound just like Annabelle.”

“You should listen to her. She knows what she’s talking about.” Frankly, the idea of her mother with a younger man was something Rachel didn’t want to dwell on. In fact, the idea of her mother having an affair with anyone made her queasy. Mothers weren’t supposed to have lovers.

They sat and talked until the footmen came to collect the last of the luggage. The conversation was purposely kept light. Her mother never mentioned Brave, and neither did Rachel. They talked only of the new life her mother was about to embark upon. It was better that way. Rachel wanted her mother to leave with pleasant thoughts, not worrying about her and Brave.

Rachel helped her mother down the stairs to the foyer where Brave and his mother were waiting.

“Are you ready?” Annabelle asked with a smile as they reached the bottom step.

Her mother positively trembled with excitement. “I am.”

Rachel glanced at Brave out of the corner of her eye and caught him watching her with an expression so intense her own knees went weak. God, how she’d missed that somber face!

He stepped forward to say good-bye to her mother, and so Rachel went to Annabelle.

“Have a good journey,” she said, and was stunned when the dowager enveloped her in a rosewater-scented embrace.

“Take care of yourself, my dear,” Annabelle whispered against her ear. “And take care of my boy.”

Rachel blinked back unexpected tears. “I will,” she promised.

Her mother-in-law stepped back, holding her at arm’s length and staring at her with that same expression Brave
wore whenever Rachel thought he was trying to read her mind.

“I know you will.” She pulled her close in another quick hug and then turned to say good-bye to her son.

Throat tight, Rachel went back to her mother. “You be careful,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I don’t want to have to come to Paris because you’ve gotten yourself in trouble with some aristocrat’s son.”

Marion laughed, her own eyes wet. “I’ll be careful.” Reaching out, she took Rachel’s hand in one of her own and squeezed. “You be happy, you hear? I don’t want to have to come back to Yorkshire just because you’re being hard on yourself.”

It was Rachel’s turn to chuckle, but it came out more like a cough around that damn lump in her throat. “I will be. I promise.”

Her mother pulled her close in a fierce hug that must have hurt her own ribs, but she didn’t show it. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered for Rachel alone.

The tears Rachel had so successfully fought up until that point flowed freely down her cheeks. She couldn’t even talk she was so moved.

“Love always wins, dearest,” Marion went on in the same quiet tone. “You just have to let it.”

Rachel nodded, still too choked up to speak.

Her mother was the first to pull away. She and Annabelle walked to the door with Brave and Rachel following behind. Rachel stood in the door, Brave’s hands tentative and warm on her shoulders as she watched a footman help her mother climb gingerly into Annabelle’s carriage. The tears continued to fall as the carriage door shut and the vehicle slowly rolled down the drive. Marion and Annabelle waved from the window, two blurry figures that grew steadily out of focus as the carriage drew farther away.

And then they were gone, and she was being steered back inside with a handkerchief pressed into her hand.

She was amassing quite a collection of gentlemen’s handkerchiefs.

“Thank you,” she murmured, wiping at her face. She was already feeling better. Her mother was off on a grand adventure, and although it had been hard to say good-bye, Rachel couldn’t help but be excited for her. And now she and Brave were alone, and they could finally make things right between them.

“I’ve missed you,” he told her when she handed the damp linen back to him. He didn’t take it.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Oh, how much!

“You’re staying?” His voice rang with hope. Rachel’s heart fluttered at the sound of it.

She nodded. “I’m afraid there isn’t enough distance in the world that could have made me want to stay away.”

His gaze was hesitant, as if he had no more idea of where to start than she did. Part of her wanted to kiss him, hold him, forget all this had ever happened, but there were so many things they needed to discuss.

“We need to talk,” he said, so soft she barely heard him.

“Yes.”

“Upstairs.”

Rachel wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, but she had little choice in the matter. Before she could even reply, Brave had swept her up into his arms and was bounding up the stairs in his usual two-at-a-time fashion despite her added weight.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, jostling in his arms as he practically ran down the hall.

“I’ve had what I want to say to you swimming in my heard since yesterday. If I don’t get it out soon, it’s going to be garbled beyond comprehension.”

He kicked the door of his bedroom open and shut it again in a similar fashion. Unceremoniously, he dumped her on the bed.

Still bouncing on the mattress, Rachel could only stare at him as he paced back and forth across the carpet.

For someone who claimed to have a lot to say, he was certainly silent.

“I’m sorry I never told you the truth about Miranda,” he began. It was a good place to start. “Yes, I offered to marry you because of some kind of harebrained notion of making amends.”

Rachel wasn’t so sure she wanted to hear this right now. She opened her mouth, but Brave cut her off.

“That was before I realized that marrying you was so much more than making up for the past.” His eyes were bright as he faced her, as though he was trying to will her to believe him. “Marrying you gave me a chance for a future I never dreamed of being able to obtain. When you asked me about her I had already decided that our marriage was more than just a way to pay for past sins. It was more than me helping you. I felt as though
you
were helping me—and you didn’t even know it.”

“I wanted to help you,” she admitted softly. “I would have done everything I could if you’d only been honest with me.”

Sighing, he raked both hands through his hair. “I
was
honest with you. When you asked me about why I married you I was already falling in love with you.
Why
didn’t matter anymore.”

He’d been falling in love with her? “It mattered to me.”

He stared at her, raw emotion in his gaze. “I know.”

“It mattered because I would have liked to have known that you were starting to care for me. Instead of thanking God for sending you to us to save my mother and praying that you might someday come to love me, I might have found the courage to tell you how I felt!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be!” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she didn’t care. All the hurt and the hope bubbling inside her boiled over. “I spent nights worrying over how I was ever going to
repay you for your kindness! Hours wondering if I was ever going to come close to Miranda in your eyes. I held you up above all other men only to find out that you’d been using me to make peace with some spoiled brat that didn’t even deserve you!” The tears spilled over.

Brave looked stunned as she wiped her hands across her cheeks.

“A stupid, cowardly girl who gave no thought to her friends or family but only herself!”—
sniff!
—“An idiot who took her own life to pay back a man who probably never even gave a second thought to her or his child! A…a selfish
cow
who would rather die than face the consequences and didn’t have enough sense to love you!” She was openly sobbing.

He reached for her. “Rachel, I—”

She grabbed him by the arms, her face wet as tears streamed unheeded from her eyes. “And you felt sorry for her. You felt responsible for it. You probably still feel responsible for it. It makes me so
angry
, Brave! Doesn’t it make you angry?”

“What it makes me,” he replied, brushing his fingers along her temple, “is thankful beyond measure that you found me, Rachel.”

Thankful? He was thankful for her?

He continued, “Because if you hadn’t, I would still be lost, blaming myself for something that wasn’t my fault and scared that I was doomed to disappoint or destroy everyone I touched.”

Sniffing, she arched a brow. “You don’t think you disappointed me?”

Brave chuckled, and Rachel was tempted to kick him. She was serious, blast it!

“I know I disappointed you, Rachel.” Dropping to the bed beside her, he cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to meet the startling, wonderful honesty of his gaze.

“And I know that by coming back here today you’re giving me a chance to make it up to you.”

It was tempting to tell him she’d only come back to say good-bye to her mother, but there had been enough lies between them, even little ones.

“But what I realized through all this was that the person I had disappointed the most was myself.” His thumbs brushed away the stray tears that trickled down her cheeks. “And I knew that if I let you go without telling you I loved you, I would never, never forgive myself.”

More tears, fat and scalding, spilled over her lashes. “I wouldn’t forgive you either.”

He wiped her cheeks again. “Do you forgive me now?”

Something in his tone made her look up. As her vision cleared, her breath caught at the molten softness of his gaze.

“Yes,” she whispered. She’d forgive him anything if he promised to love her and look at her like that for the next fifty years.

A slow smile curved his lips. A smile so sweet and so pure it was heartbreaking just to look upon it. This was her husband’s smile—the smile she’d been wanting to see since the night he pulled her from the Wyck.

He loosened the knot of linen at his throat. “Prove it.”

Rachel knew what he had in mind and had no desire to stop him. Along with the trickle of desire that pooled low in her belly, spreading heat to her pelvis, was the gut-wrenching happiness that came from knowing she was the reason for that smile. Toeing off her shoes, she kicked the leather slippers across the room. Her fingers then went to the bodice of her gown.

Brave’s eyes widened as the wrap-front gown fell open.

“Were you expecting this?” he asked jovially, tossing aside his cravat and yanking his shirt over his head.

Rachel yanked on her sleeves, transfixed by the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen as he unfastened his falls. “I’ve been expecting this forever.”

Standing, he kicked off his boots. “I’ve been waiting forever for you.”

Her heart swelled at his words. “I know.”

He flashed her a grin as his hands unbuttoned the front of his trousers. Watching the ripple of muscle across his back as he peeled the soft buckskin down the hard length of his legs, Rachel thought she’d been waiting an eternity just for him to get his clothes off.

She had taken down her hair, shucked off the gown and demi-corset, and was struggling with her shift when he joined her, nude and hard on the bed.

“May I offer some assistance?”

The hard length of his sex was just inches from her hand, and Rachel’s mouth went dry at the stark want unfurling in her womb.

“Yes,” she croaked.