by Marie Force
“I would like to make it my concern. Let me help you, Maeve. Please let me help.”
“There’s nothing you or anyone can do. I was a fool to think that I could escape.”
Her hopelessness touched him deeply. “Escape what?” He tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun behind her ear and took the opportunity to trace the fragile shell of her ear with his fingertip. “Tell me what you’re running from. I can help.”
She swallowed hard and blinked as two more tears slid down her cheeks. “I . . . I was married in Ireland, to the son of a very prominent family. He . . . he was sweet and lovely until after we were married when he changed. He became a monster. He hurt me.”
Filled with rage so potent it threatened to consume him, Aubrey forced himself to stay calm for her sake. “How did he hurt you?”
“He hit me. In my face, so hard that my eye was swollen shut for a week. He kicked me here.” She flattened her hand on her belly. “And he tried to force me to do things.” She shuddered.
Aubrey guided her head to his shoulder. “Shhh. He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”
“He’s dead. I killed him.” Her tone was flat, devoid of the usual animation that colored her words.
“Tell me what happened.” He caressed her back in small circles that he hoped would soothe some of the tension from her muscles. He relished the chance to touch her and be close to her. Hearing she had killed the man who’d harmed her didn’t change anything for him. If anything, it made him fiercely proud to know that she’d defended herself and only added to his determination to keep her close so he could protect her from ever being hurt again.
“He beat me. He hit me again and again, until I was certain he was going to kill me. I reached for the pot on the stove, burning my hand rather badly. I threw the hot soup at him and when he came at me, I hit him as hard as I could in the head with the cast-iron pan. When he fell to the floor, I noticed he wasn’t breathing and realized what I had done. I took the money he had hidden in one of his boots, and I ran.”
“You were injured. How did you manage to get away?”
“We lived at the coast, so I was able to find a ship leaving for America. Because I had the money to pay for the passage, they didn’t ask any questions about an injured woman traveling alone. The crossing was dreadful. Storms and high seas. I was sick the entire time, and by the time I arrived in New York, I was very ill. The ship’s captain took mercy on me and brought me to his home to recover. His wife connected me with the employment agency that found the position here.”
“So you only recently arrived in America?”
“Six weeks ago. And now they’ve found me.” A sob erupted from her tightly clenched jaw. “They’re going to take me back to be hung.”
“No, they aren’t.”
“They will. His family is very powerful. His grandfather is a British viscount, and his family was scandalized when he insisted on marrying me, the lowly daughter of a banker, when he could’ve had an aristocratic wife. I was a fool. I thought it was a love match, but he had an unnatural fixation on me that I had mistaken for affection. Almost right away, I realized I’d made a dreadful error in marrying him. When his family threatened to cut off his allowance in retribution for marrying a lowly Irish whore, as they called me, he worked off his frustrations with his fists.”
“I’m so very sorry that happened to you.”
She hung her head. “I’m ashamed of what I did, taking the life of another. But had I not done it, he was going to kill me. I have no doubt of it. The local constable wouldn’t have helped me. He was a friend of my husband’s.”
“You did the only thing you could do.”
“I could’ve just run and not killed him, but he would’ve come after me.” Her body trembled violently.
“Shhh, you’re safe now.”
“I’m never going to be safe as long as they know where I am. It took only two months for them to track me to Newport.” She sat up abruptly. “I must leave at once.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“But they’ve found me! They know I’m here. They’ll take me back and hang me for killing him.”
“No one is taking you anywhere. I’ll send Mr. Plumber to fetch the local justice of the peace at once.”
Her body went rigid with shock and horror. “You’re going to turn me in?”
“No, my dear lady. I’m going to marry you.”
Chapter Seven
Maeve’s shock turned to disbelief. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You heard me. I’m going to marry you and put you under my protection.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why not? You’re no longer married, and I’ve never been married. If you’re married to me, you’ll have the full weight of the Nelson family name and resources behind you.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I still can’t marry you.” She tugged on his arm, seeking her freedom. Thankfully, Mr. Nelson let her go, and she stood to get away from him and his warm brown eyes. It wasn’t possible to have this conversation while seated on the man’s lap, with the scent of his shaving soap filling her senses and making her want to lean in closer to him when that was the last thing she ought to be doing.
She ought to be packing and figuring out where to go next. Thankfully, she had the last of Mr. Farthington’s money tucked away under one of the floor tiles in her room and was due wages from the Nelsons. It wasn’t much but it would get her to Boston where she might be able to secure another housekeeping position. If Mr. Nelson gave her a recommendation, that is.
“Miss Brown?”
She realized he’d been speaking to her while she was busy making plans.
“Tell me why you can’t marry me.”
“Because after I fled my home in Ireland, I made a vow that I would never again shackle myself to a man and give him that kind of control over me.”
Mr. Nelson stood and took a step toward her.
She took a step back.
He took another. “Stop.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he held her in place. While she would’ve been terrified of what was coming if her husband had done that, with Mr. Nelson she wasn’t afraid. Not yet anyway. “I’m not looking to control you, Maeve. I want to take care of you and protect you from harm. You would never have anything to fear from me except, perhaps, an overabundance of affection.”
His hands dropped to encircle her waist, bringing her in even closer to him, until their bodies were aligned. “For if I were lucky enough to convince you to marry me, I’d be the happiest husband who ever lived, and I’d want to hold you and kiss you and touch you as much and as often as you would allow. I would never, ever touch you in anger. You have my word as a man and a gentleman on that.”
With his lips hovering a heartbeat above hers, she could neither breathe nor move nor do anything other than wait to see what he would do next. When his lips touched hers, she knew she should tell him to stop. She should pull free of him and run, but she couldn’t seem to get that message from her muzzy brain to the feet that remained rooted in place as his lips moved persuasively.
“Kiss me back, Maeve.” As he spoke, his lips continued to slide over hers, softly and sweetly, not at all the demanding, painful crush of lips and teeth and tongue she’d been subjected to by the beast she’d married. Nothing about this was anything like that. This was seduction, pure and simple.
“Kiss me back.” He said the words more urgently this time, and when Maeve parted her lips to respond to him, he took that as invitation to deepen the kiss.
She had never been kissed like this or even known it was possible for a kiss to invoke so many emotions, more than she could possibly process all at once.
His tongue rubbed against hers, and her knees buckled. Only his arms around her kept her from stumbling.
Slowly, he withdrew from the kiss, but kept his lips close to hers. “If you marry me, I’ll care for you and protect you every day for the rest
of my life. I’ll never touch you with anything but affection in mind. I swear to you on the lives of everyone I hold dear that you can trust me.”
She looked away so she wouldn’t be swayed by his beautiful eyes or handsome face. “Your family would never understand this.”
“They don’t have to. You wouldn’t be marrying them. You’d be marrying me—and only me.”
“We both know that’s not the case.”
“The only thing that matters is that you’d be safe from anyone who would try to harm you. All you have to do is agree to marry me, and I’ll take care of everything.”
Maeve’s chest felt tight, as if someone were standing on it, the feeling reminiscent of how it had felt to flee in the night after killing her husband. If she said no to his proposal, would he allow her to leave? She had to know.
“If I decline your very kind offer,” she said haltingly, “would I be permitted to leave?”
The only sign of his displeasure with her question was in the tightening of his jaw. “Only if you allow me to accompany you to ensure your safety.”
Maeve took a deep breath, hoping to alleviate the pressure in her chest. He had been kind to her from the beginning, and other than the farce about being the new butler, he’d never been deceitful. His family was obscenely wealthy, and he had the resources to untangle her from the mess she’d left behind in Ireland. And his interest in her, though wildly inappropriate, had seemed genuine from the outset.
She licked her lips and looked up at him, feeling uncertain but knowing the question must be asked. “What about our religious differences?”
“What about them?”
“I’m Roman Catholic. I assume you’re not.”
“You assume correctly. I’m a lapsed Protestant.”
“It would be important to me to be allowed to continue to attend mass as I do every Sunday and to practice my faith.”
“I would never forbid such a thing.”
“It would be another reason for your family to dislike me.”
“I’ve already told you their opinions don’t matter to me.”
As the debate raged on, he surprised her when he dropped to his knees, took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Beautiful Maeve, if you would please do me the enormous honor of being my wife, I’ll care for you until my dying day. Will you marry me?”
Looking down at him looking up at her with his heart in his eyes and his desire for her visibly apparent, Maeve’s resistance crumbled. If she was wrong about him, too, she would know for certain that her judgment was faulty. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’ll marry you.”
He stood slowly, almost as if he was afraid she’d change her mind in the time it took for him to get up. “You will?”
She nodded. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Nelson, for your kindness.”
“I should be thanking you.”
“What did I do?”
“You agreed to be my wife.” He kissed the back of her hand once more and then gazed into her eyes. “I swear on my life you’ll never regret it.”
Months’ worth of panic, uncertainty and fear slipped away as she realized she was no longer alone.
He released her hand. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He went to the door, opened it and stepped out into the hallway where the low vibration of male voices could be heard.
As she waited for him, Maeve hoped that her band of ruffians was seeing to the work she had assigned them. She wanted to go and check on them, but he had told her to stay put. So she stayed put. But she vibrated from the effort required to remain still, to take this day one minute at a time rather than jumping ahead to what came next. She would find out soon enough if he was a man of his word. And if he wasn’t? She had run away once before and would do so again, if it came to that.
But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Today, her greatest fears had come to fruition. Farthington’s family was looking for her and would probably stop at nothing to see her pay for taking his life. It wouldn’t matter to them that she’d been defending herself against yet another ruthless attack at his hands.
The pervasive, sickening fear of what would happen if they found her had haunted her days and nights. She’d been plagued by nightmares that had them tearing her from her bed to take her home to be hung. On many a night, she had awoken in a cold sweat after dreaming about the hangman’s noose.
They’d hated her before she took his life. She could only imagine how they felt about her now.
Mr. Nelson returned. “What is it? Why are you pale as a ghost and trembling?”
She thought about dissembling but found she couldn’t be dishonest with him after everything he was doing to help keep her safe. “I’m afraid of them finding me.”
“They’ll have to go through me to get to you, and that’s not going to happen.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
“I do know that. No one will get into this house unless we allow it, and we’ll not allow Mr. Tornquist in again. We told him you weren’t here.”
“People know I’m here. The ragtag army . . . If one of them were to confirm it . . .”
“I’ll speak to them and ask for their discretion.”
“That doesn’t mean we will get it.”
“Maeve, sweetheart, please take a breath and settle yourself. You’re safe now. I’ll see to it personally.”
“It’ll take some time for me to stop being afraid.”
His warm smile lit up his beautiful eyes. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here by your side any time you’re frightened.”
“I worry mostly that you’re too good to be true.” She’d no sooner said the words than she wanted to recall them out of fear of offending him.
“I’m exactly what I appear to be—a man who has convinced the woman he wants above all others to spend the rest of her life with him. I’ve never been more elated in all my life.”
She wanted so badly to believe him but her many concerns about marrying him couldn’t be pushed aside like the piles of dust in the hallways. For one thing, his parents would be incensed when they learned he’d married the Irish housekeeper. She’d already begun one marriage under similar circumstances and that had ended in disaster. Mr. Nelson’s mother had hoped for an aristocratic marriage for him. Marriage to the Irish housekeeper was as far from an aristocratic marriage as one could get.
“What are you thinking now?” He went to the sideboard to pour amber liquid into a glass that he handed to her.
Even though it was early in the day, her nerves needed the fortification the liquor could provide, so she took a healthy sip of the whiskey. “I’m thinking about your mother.”
His brows furrowed adorably. “What about her?”
“She’ll be furious when she discovers that you married the housekeeper.”
“That’ll be her problem, not ours.”
She gave him a withering look. “Do you honestly believe that?”
“I do believe it. I care not what she or anyone else thinks of my choice of a bride.”
“Not even your friends the duke and duchess?”
“Especially not them. They aren’t the kind of people who judge someone unkindly simply because they’re different or foreign. They will care for you because I care for you.”
“You make it sound so simple when we both know it’ll be anything but.”
Aubrey took the glass from her and put it on a side table. He grasped the hands she had clenched tightly together, pried them apart and brought them to his waist while he placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m more than up for the challenge. Are you?”
Her backbone stiffened. “I’ve never met a challenge anything less than head on.”
He unleashed that potent smile. “There she is, my fierce Irish warrior. You should know that the norms of society mean nothing to me. I haven’t the first concern about what anyone says about me or thinks of me, and you shouldn’t either. I’m marrying the only woman who has captured
my attention since I lost Annabelle ten long years ago. That should count for something with my family.”
She feared he was being overly optimistic but refrained from saying so. They would find out soon enough. Glancing down at the drab, olive-colored dress she had donned for what she’d thought would be another long workday, Maeve had a thought. “Would you mind terribly if I went upstairs to change? I have a dress that my benefactor in New York gave me that would be more suitable for . . . To be married in.” She tried not to stumble over the words, so he wouldn’t know how terribly nervous she was about exchanging vows with him. Despite his sincere assurances, she still had her doubts that this was a good idea.
“Of course. Do you require assistance?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll wait for you right here.”
“I’ll hurry.” Maeve rushed from the room and went up the main staircase, which was quicker than using the staff stairwell. She reached the third floor just as Mrs. Allston appeared on the far end of the hallway. “Is it true? You’re to marry Mr. Nelson?”
The cook’s scandalized expression only confirmed Maeve’s greatest fears. No one would understand or accept this union. And why should they? Mr. Nelson could have any woman he wanted. Forcing herself to remember why she had accepted his proposal, she gave a tight nod.
“It’s true.”
“Are you with child?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Then why?”
“He . . . I . . . He’s helping me.”
“With what?”
“I’m in a spot of trouble, and he’s offering his protection.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“I would prefer not to say.” She glanced at the cook, who had been so nice to her from the beginning. Would that change now? “Could I ask a favor?”
“You may ask.”
“I came up to change into a more appropriate dress but could use help with the buttons. Would you be willing to assist me?”
After a long pause, the cook made a sound that somehow managed to convey her reluctant willingness to help. She followed Maeve into the bedroom where she quickly removed her work dress, her face flaming with shame over the dingy state of her undergarments.
