Secrets of Surrender (5 page)

“I believe that, having met you now. But your children…”

Kyle halted a few feet from one of the doors in question. Easterbrook was a clever devil. Dangerously perceptive. He knew that it was one thing for a man to play the hand fate had dealt him and another to deny his children better cards.

A son or daughter born into this life that he had built would be painfully aware of what his background denied them. The hell of it was that one’s blood mattered. There were more important doors than those to drawing rooms that would not open to his children.

A mother born to a gentry family would not fix that completely, but it would make a big difference. Especially if that mother was related by marriage to a marquess and received by him, and included in Lady Alexia’s circle.

“You may not care about the social connections for yourself, but I think you would not mind the business ones. My brother Hayden manages the family’s affairs, and is famously successful in his schemes. As a relative of sorts, you will be included.” Easterbrook spoke to his back, but in a tone that assumed that they had opened negotiations.

He turned around. “There have not been any schemes of late.” He knew why, but he wondered if the marquess did.

“He has been distracted by his new wife. Trust me, you will grow richer than you ever dreamed. You have been successful with those syndicates, I have heard, but no one can surpass my brother in such matters.”

Kyle suspected the marquess could, if he ever put his mind to it. As for Lord Hayden, he currently felt the pinch, but he was certain to recover.

“A lovely wife of gentry stock, the chance of wealth untold—now, what was the rest of the bribe that I worked out? Ah, yes. Five thousand to replenish the coffers.”

“Ten.”

Easterbrook smiled slowly. “I expected you to want twenty.”

“If you were prepared to pay twenty you would have offered more to start.”

Easterbrook appeared pleased with himself. “Can I assume that we have reached an agreement? I am sure that Alexia would be delighted to speak with Miss Longworth about it.”

“You do not have my mark on the bill of sale yet.” Kyle aimed for the door again. “And if I decide to do this, I will speak to Miss Longworth myself.”

CHAPTER
FOUR

R
oselyn folded the sheet of paper and sealed it. She picked up the letter that she had received the day before and copied the address it contained.

Her eyes rested on her brother’s signature at the page’s bottom. His pen had faltered at the end.

Poor Tim. She gently touched the spots on the letter where her tears had smeared the ink. He was so alone now. His words had been so sad. There were those who would say he deserved no better, and some who would insist he should receive far worse, but he was her brother. He might be weak and wrong, but she still loved him.

His letter had made her weep at her losses like nothing else had. Even saying good-bye to Irene had not left her so empty, and so aware of how their family was gone now, destroyed by its own mistakes. Tim’s news about the death of his traveling companion had just been the most recent, horrible spin of a merciless downward spiral.

She stood and tied on her bonnet, lifted her basket, and tucked her letter inside it. Tim would never manage on his own. He would be lost now. Sad and lost and alone in a strange country. He wrote that he wanted to come home, but of course he could not.

Her thoughts dwelled on him while she walked to the village. She would have to tell Alexia about the contents of Tim’s letter. Alexia would need to know.

She stepped into the grocery near the edge of the village. Two women left the shop as soon as she entered. The grocer, Mr. Preston, was not pleased by the way her presence had interfered with his trade.

He filled her list silently, lining up the flour and salt and other items on the counter. A month ago they would have had some conversation while she shopped here. Mr. Preston would have laughed and smiled in his avuncular way. Now his mouth formed a hard line that said he would sell to her, but she deserved nothing more.

She plucked a few coins from her reticule to pay. Mr. Preston had never told her that he would no longer allow her any credit at his shop. Three days ago his wife had followed her out to the lane and explained it.

The scandal had made its way to Watlington a week ago. It seemed to float in on the wind. People who had been helpful and sympathetic after Tim fled, friends who had known her for years, managed not to see her anymore. She would live even more isolated than before from now on.

She handed Mr. Preston another coin and the letter. “Would you please see that this is sent for me? Here is the money to make it postpaid.”

She packed her items in her basket and left the shop. Once more, Mrs. Preston appeared out of nowhere and followed her out to the lane.

“There was a man looking for you,” she said.

Rose stopped walking. “What man?”

“Didn’t give his name. Gentleman from the looks of it. He came in about a half hour ago and asked where your house was.” Mrs. Preston tried mightily to keep both censure and curiosity from her round face, without success.

Rose’s heart sank. This was all she needed—a stranger asking for directions to Miss Longworth’s house. The last gentleman who had called had been Lord Norbury, and now everyone knew what that had meant.

She could not bear the insult of a stranger at her door, introducing himself as if she were the whore that the scandal said she was.

“I am expecting no callers, Mrs. Preston. Nor do I wish to receive any. I ask that you and your husband not satisfy a passing stranger’s curiosity regarding where I live.”

“Oh, we didn’t tell him anything. Not for us to aid the devil.” Mrs. Preston’s head lifted and her gaze shot down the lane. “Well, there he be, coming out of the tavern.”

Rose snuck a quick look over her shoulder. She caught a bare glimpse of a man swinging onto a horse.

She decided that her visit to the butcher could wait until tomorrow. It wasn’t as if she could afford to buy much meat anyway. She walked back up the lane toward the countryside and her home.

She heard nothing, but she
knew
that man had seen her. She felt him following her. Eventually the subtle thuds of his horse’s hooves approached behind her.

“Miss Longworth? Is that you?”

She knew that voice. She turned.

“Mr. Bradwell, what a surprise.”

He gazed down at her, his remarkable blue eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. Like the last time she had seen him, his garments showed not the slightest sartorial excess or individuality. The dark riding coat, fawn breeches, and high boots had been chosen to be unobjectionable.

“I was in the county and thought that I would see how you are faring, Miss Longworth.” He glanced back at the diminished village, then ahead on the road. “May I walk with you?”

It would be rude to refuse, and in truth she would not mind the company. “Yes, you may.”

He swung off his mount. They strolled down the road while he led the animal by its reins. He took the basket from her hand. “I wondered if I had misunderstood where you lived. No one back there seemed to know who you were.”

“In their own way I think that they were protecting me. You are not known here.”

“Of course. I understand.”

That was something that she liked about this man. He understood. He had that night too. Understood that she had given herself to a man when she shouldn’t. Understood that the auction would probably lead to her rape. Understood that he could spare her that horror, but not the rest of that night’s consequences.

She looked over at him on occasion while they walked. She had never seen him in daylight before. The strong bones and planes of his face did not appear so rough now, without lamps and moonlight chiseling them into harsh angles. It was a thoroughly masculine face, and its expression and his manner reflected the calm confidence that had led him to play the rescuer.

Her other impressions from that night were not much changed by the bright light of the sun. She still sensed a leashed energy in him despite his polite, almost quiet speech. His size and presence still seemed to force the air to roll away to make room. He even incited the same little buzzing caution.

That made no sense. There was no reason to fear this man. He had proven himself most trustworthy and more than decent. She actually experienced secure safety with him beside her. And yet she also experienced a physical alertness. That was not entirely unpleasant, but she was too aware of his size and of the manner in which her blood and instincts reacted to him.

“Has it been bad for you in town? The scandal, I mean.” She asked to make conversation, not that he appeared to require any. The way he merely walked beside her had become a little awkward, however. For her, at least. Without words, all they shared was the road itself, like the strangers they practically were.

No, not like strangers. There existed a palpable, silent intimacy borne of that dreadful night’s events. The awkwardness came from feeling such a stark familiarity with a person she hardly knew.

“It is already passing, and another man might have even enjoyed the attention.” He gave her a sympathetic half-smile. “Such is the injustice in the world, Miss Longworth.”

“I am relieved to hear it still exists. Your role was chivalrous, and I would not like to think that you paid with your reputation as well as your purse. I expect that I am goat enough for the wags to prod. Am I still the topic of choice in town, or will word of my sins be passed around only county drawing rooms now?”

His expression grew more serious. “Has your cousin not communicated with you? I think Lady Alexia would be a better ear for you.”

“Alexia has written twice, even though she should not. Lord Hayden either does not know that she risks her own name in continuing such congress, or else he cannot deny her. I returned both letters unopened.”

“No one would know if you read them.”

“It is astonishing what people come to know. I will not risk Alexia being tainted by any of this. However…” She thought of Tim’s letter, and how her resolve also created problems. “Will you be returning to London soon, Mr. Bradwell? If so, perhaps you would bring my cousin a message from me. There are times when one has to address the living even if one is essentially dead.”

“I will begin back this afternoon. I will do it gladly.”

She watched the slight swing of her basket along his slow stride. “Perhaps it would be better if you did not speak with her, but with Lord Hayden. He will then let her know. Yes, that would be best.”

“I will do it however you prefer.”

She steeled her composure to speak without emotion. “Please tell him that I have received news from Timothy. Tell him that Tim writes that the companion who traveled with him died of a fever contracted in late summer.”

“Nothing more? No news of how he fares or where he is?”

She looked over to find him watching her. His blue eyes appeared dark beneath his hat’s brim. Dark and curious and…hard.

“He fares well enough for one alone and sad.”

“You also appear alone and sad. I trust he does not fare better than you. That would be unjust.”

She thought that a peculiar thing to say. It contained a good dose of truth, but this man would not know why.

“I do not mind being alone. The sadness you see is only today’s spirit, made low by the letter from my brother. If you had chanced by tomorrow I would have been better company.”

They reached the lane to her house. Mr. Bradwell turned down it with her.

“You avoided my question. I take that to mean the gossip about me still rages, and is as bad as I feared,” she said.

“If it is any consolation, Lord Norbury is not escaping unscathed.”

“For every criticism, he will receive two dinner invitations. Being a libertine has never damaged a man much.”

The trees flanking the lane thinned and fell away as they arrived at the house. Mr. Bradwell removed his hat and surveyed the property with a slow, alert scan. He appeared to approve of what he saw.

She paused and looked at her house, seeing it anew through this man’s eyes. It had more charm than distinction in its stone block center and assortment of wings that did not really match. It rose only two stories, so it sprawled more than towered. It was big, while not especially grand, but the gardens crowding its walls sent wonderful fragrance into every chamber in spring and summer.

“My family has lived here for five generations. Our estate was once much larger, but there is still some land left, and six small farms.”

He narrowed his gaze on the outbuildings barely visible beyond the eastern wing. “Is it a freehold?”

“There is no entailment. My grandfather did not approve of them, and my father neglected to arrange one before he passed away.”

“Careless.”

She opened the door. The house’s gaping emptiness crackled with her arrival. It waited to echo with her solitary footsteps.

She thanked Mr. Bradwell as she took the basket from him.

To her surprise he stepped back and tied his horse’s reins to a post.

“I have an interest in buildings, Miss Longworth. Perhaps you would be so kind as to let me see the inside of yours.”

He waited patiently for her to respond. Tall. Imposing. Impressive. There was very little breeze today, but again she sensed the air churning in the space between them. That silly, almost exciting sense of caution pulsed through her more strongly.

She glanced around the empty yard and their isolation. “It would be comical for me to stand on ceremony now, wouldn’t it? Inviting you inside is a small impropriety in light of the big ones attached to my name.”

“If you prefer to avoid this small one, I understand.”

Of course he did. But it would still be ludicrous, and he understood that too. This man would probably not ask such a thing of a woman with a shred of reputation left to be risked. Like his garments, his behavior would be unexceptionable in the extreme.

She did not make her decision on that basis, however. The cruel truth was that she hungered to hear a voice other than the one in her own head. His unexpected visit had lightened her mood and helped relieve her sorrow about Tim’s letter.

“Please come in and study the house to your content, sir.”

He had not lied. He had been in the county and came to see how she was faring. But he had ridden far out of his way, and Easterbrook’s offer had occupied his mind for days during those spells when that mind was not occupied by other things.

He had recognized her on the road even at a distance. From the back all he could see was her bonnet and cloak, but she had drawn his eye at once. The pride with which she walked had identified her more clearly than any portrait ever could.

He stepped across her threshold, accepting the invitation that a good woman should not give. He was glad that she had not stood on ceremony. There might yet be games between them, but she was too sensible to try to play the cards of virtue, propriety, or safety with him.

He was curious about this house, and her. As he looked over the former, he knew at once how she was faring. Not well. The chambers were all but empty. Whatever furniture had once graced this home had been sold.

It went without saying that there were no servants. The yard had been empty and no sounds had come from the stables or gardens. Now the house quaked with a silence that their presence only seemed to amplify.