by Jaimey Grant
“No,” Bri said quickly. “I hate that man.”
“Do you?” the viscount said mildly. He stopped in front of her and gazed at her intently. “I wonder.” He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, his eyes never leaving her. “You do know what they say about love and hate,” he finally uttered into the lengthening silence. It was not a question.
Of course she knew, but she chose not to think about that either.
Bri stared at him haughtily. “It is not proper for you to be in my bedchamber, my lord.”
He stared at her for a long moment before replying. He fisted his hands on his hips, then dropped them to his sides, then he crossed them over his chest. His eyes were shuttered and she couldn’t read his thoughts. That frightened her more than anything.
“I want something from you,” he said finally.
Lady Rothsmere took and involuntary step back. The sudden blaze in his eyes told her exactly what he wanted. “I will scream if you touch me,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“Scream all you want, my dear. It will do you no good.”
Bri sucked in a sharp breath. “What have you done to Brewster?” It came to her in a sudden flash that Brewster was more than just her jailer. She was also her protector.
A smile of quite frightening malice curled Hadley Steyne’s lips before he took on an expression of false sympathy. “You need not worry that she will interrupt. I have taken care to ensure that she is out for the night.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Bri’s feet seemed to grow wings. The viscount was unfortunately between her and the door leading out into the hall but she thought she might be able to reach the dressing room and lock herself inside. Just as she reached for the door handle, she felt a hand grab her nightclothes and jerk her back with enough force to send her sprawling.
The force of her landing succeeded in freeing her from his hold. She scrambled towards the bellpull. He caught her before she had made it ten feet. She wished her room were about a quarter the size it was. Then she might have had a chance of escape.
Then she saw the book on the floor. It was a rather large volume covered in leather and lying half under the bed. It must have fallen last night when she was reading. Thank God for the laxity of her servants!
With a strength borne of fear and hate, Bri threw the book at her betrothed with all her force. It caught him in the shoulder and he once again lost his hold on her. This time she was able to regain her footing and dash towards the outer door.
She tripped and hit her head on the bedpost.
Steyne rose to his feet with one hand cradling his shoulder and his eyes blazing with rage and hate. With not a trace of gentleness, he hauled her to her feet. She swayed as a wave of dizziness threatened to overtake her. With lightening swiftness, Lord Steyne grabbed her around the waist to steady her and set his lips to hers.
Instead of screaming, Bri nearly swooned again. The man smelled and tasted like strong spirits, stale cigar smoke and sweat and her head was pounding. His hands were on her body and she wished suddenly that Adam had left her to die in Newgate. Anything was better than this!
Even Adam. Oh, God! Her heart and soul screamed out to him, partly in anger and partly in fear. If only life were like the romances. Then her hero would save her before the dastardly villain could steal her virtue.
The viscount’s lips left hers for only a moment as he tossed her onto the bed. Bri struggled to sit up and get away from him but her head protested the sudden movement required and he was on top of her and bruising her lips against her teeth again. His fingers fumbled for the edge of her nightgown and then the button of his breeches.
She kicked and hit him, trying desperately to dislodge him. Her fear was quickly becoming an insanity borne of desperation. She had experienced this all before and she knew how painful it was going to be. She couldn’t let it happen again.
But it was too late. She screamed then as he entered her body in one painful thrust. She felt and saw the blackness rising towards her and she reached eagerly for it. She slipped into blessed oblivion and avoided the worst of the pain and humiliation.
Or so she thought.
“Bri!”
Adam sat up in bed, the sound of his own voice jolting him awake. He realized he wasn’t in his own bed. A sleepy Raven opened her eyes partially and smoothed her hand over his arm. He looked down at her through eyes glazed with a remembered nightmare.
Even as he sat there, mere moments after waking, Adam could not recall exactly what it was he had dreamed. He knew it had something to do with Bri yet he could remember nothing about it. Almost as if it hadn’t really been a dream. More like a feeling. She needed him.
Adam flopped back down on the pillows and stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. Why on earth would she need him, of all people? She hated him. Didn’t she?
There was no help for it. He must pay her a call on the morrow and make sure she was all right.
“Oh, dear God!”
Bri came awake to the sound of a tray clattering to the floor. She opened her eyes and looked around groggily. She recognized her room and her maid, Brewster. The woman’s face was twisted into a mask of horror.
A puzzled frown crossed her own features before she remembered the events of the night just past. Bri’s gaze swung wildly around the room, looking for the source of her pain.
“He’s gone, my lady,” the maid said in a soothing voice. It was a voice one would use to calm a frightened animal.
Bri returned her gaze to her maid and tried to sit up. The searing pain between her legs made her wince and she nearly gasped.
The reality of her situation came crashing down on her in that moment and she inhaled sharply. She was to be subjected to such horrid treatment for the rest of her life. And she could do nothing about it. Her hand flew to her mouth while the other struggled to pull her nightgown back down over her exposed flesh. She saw blood on the bed, her nightgown, and her legs and struggled to hold back hysterical tears.
Her eyes flew back to the maid. “He-he r-raped me,” she whispered, wide-eyed.
Brewster sat on the bed in a major breach of proper servant behavior and gathered the girl in her arms. “I know,” she said in the same soothing voice she had used before. “I know. Let it all out, do.”
And she did. Brianna Derring, Countess of Rothsmere, wept in the arms of her maid as if her only love had died and she had to face the frightening world alone. She cried until she thought her head would burst. She cried until righteous indignation took over and forced her to dry her tears.
Then she sat back and glared at the window. “This is all his fault.”
Brewster stood and went to draw the drapes to let in the early afternoon sun. “Of course it is, my lady. The viscount is a snake, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
“Oh, I forgive you, since it’s true,” Bri replied calmly as she rose gingerly from the bed. She barely winced this time. She moved over to her dressing room to wash and dress. “I wasn’t talking about him. I meant Adam Prestwich.”
Bri wandered into the drawing room later that afternoon to await the arrival of those gentlemen she had danced with the night before who wanted to pay their respects. She stared at those members of her family already in the room. There was only her Aunt Clara and the woman hired to act as her duenna when Aunt Clara was busy or under the weather.
Mrs. Blodgett was a bulldog type of woman who had a perpetual glare. She invariably treated Bri as if she really were the dimwitted debutante she pretended to be even though the woman knew otherwise. Bri didn’t like her in the least.
“Ah, my dear, here you are at last.” The viscount came towards her with a smile on his face and his hands outstretched.
Bri managed to suppress the urge to recoil from his touch. She hadn’t even noticed him standing near the window. She placed her hands in his and allowed him to kiss her lightly on the cheek.
“Thank you for last night,” he murmured into her ear.
She jer
ked away from him. He released her with a laugh and the look of lust that had just occupied his light eyes disappeared.
She was tempted to tell her aunt what had happened just to see the viscount’s look but she knew the futility of such an action. Women had little rights and if it were known that she had been with him, even forced by him, she would have to marry him immediately. As it was, she only had until the end of the Season to try to get out of her predicament.
Mathers, the butler, entered the room to announce the first set of visitors and Bri sat down to receive them.
Adam had, of course, spent an energetic night in the arms of his mistress just as he had decided he would. His heart hadn’t been in it, but then, it never had been. And he was discouraged to realize that Bri was as much in his thoughts as ever.
More, in fact. There had been that embarrassing scene when he had awakened from a nightmare only to call for Bri like a besotted schoolboy.
And ever since that blasted dream, he actually felt guilty for having been with his mistress. He felt guilty for his life and all the stupid decisions he had made.
His guilt had led to a confession that even now, later the same morning, he cringed to remember.
“I’m married,” he had informed Raven calmly. He could feel her shock in the stiffening of her body as it lay along his. “And she’s dying.”
He had paused and waited for recriminations, for disgust, anything but the silence of his beautiful companion. He should have known better. Raven was far too perceptive to assume the worst of him.
“Tell me about her,” was her reply. He could hear nothing more than curiosity in her husky voice.
Adam laughed, a short, bitter laugh. “I would rather not. I would like to forget her very existence. I don’t like that I am reminded of her now. I was foolish enough to believe that if I just pretended she never existed, she would have the decency to disappear. But decency was something she knew nothing about.”
Raven had lifted herself slightly so she could look down into his face. She said nothing for a few moments. He just looked back at her. He saw awareness in her eyes and then she was rising from the bed and putting on her silk dressing gown. She knotted the sash securely at her trim waist and tossed a matching, albeit larger, robe at him and left the room.
Adam lay back for a few minutes pondering the perversity of life. Here he was, confessing his sins to his mistress, fully intending to cut ties with her, and she knew it.
He finally rose and donned the gown. He followed the path taken by his mistress and found her in her little sitting room. It was her favorite room, he knew, the room in which she could usually be found.
He had found a glass of port thrust into his hand and then she pushed him into a chair. “Relax,” she commanded softly. “Talk when you want. Say what you want. I will listen and it will go no further, Adam. And then you should leave and sort out your life.”
Adam stared at her uncomprehendingly. She sighed. “Adam, you need to talk to someone. I am the only one you can talk to right now. You know me well enough to know that I will not judge anything you may tell me and I will not tell anyone else. You also know I will help in any way I can.”
She left out the part where he was going to end their association, he noticed. He decided not to mention it either, yet. He settled into his chair and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see Raven’s face as he talked.
“Her name is Carlotta. I met her in Spain right after the battle of Vitoria. I fell in love with her and married her. I caught her in bed with another man and left her to her pleasure. After I shot him, that is.” He realized his voice was curt, almost defiant. He struggled for calm.
“Steyne was that man.”
It wasn’t a question, he noticed. “Yes. The bastard deserved far more than he got, I can assure you.”
“So you left her there.”
“Yes. I returned to Cornwall after the war was over and tried to forget that chapter of my life. Then Boney escaped and I left to fight him again. I was wounded at Quatre Bras and so escaped being in the actual slaughter of Waterloo. I was sent home with a fever and a minor wound.”
“And you were awarded for your bravery.”
“And I was awarded for my bravery,” he growled. He finally looked at her. He wanted to see her reaction to what he was about to say. “I was a coward, my beautiful swan. I was not supposed to be on that field. I was not supposed to be anywhere near it. I was there praying for death.”
“You must love her very much.”
He had looked for mockery, for contempt, but her face was full of compassion. Damn it, he didn’t want her compassion! He didn’t want her pity. He wanted her to hate him, to despise him for his weakness. Instead she was watching him with that damned sad look and tears in her eyes.
Adam came to his feet and hurled his glass at the closed door. “I don’t love her! I hate her. I wished for death to escape her. To rid myself of her.”
“Why did you not simply kill her?” Raven asked calmly. “Or have her killed?”
He stared at her in open disbelief. Was she jesting? She had to be. Raven had not a violent bone in her body.
“Yes, I was jesting,” Raven replied with a half-smile, reading his mind with an ease that frightened him. “I needed you to calm down. Please sit.” He sat. “You do not love her. But you did once. One does not feel so strongly about infidelity when one is indifferent. And you are not the type to view a woman as your own personal property no matter how much dislike or even liking you hold for her. You feel guilty for having abandoned her, however, and now you plan to bring her here, do you not?”
Prestwich sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then he shook his head slightly and said, “Not here, exactly. I planned to bury her in Cornwall.” He chuckled at his ill-chosen words. “Not literally, of course. But she lives in virtual poverty now and I do feel some responsibility towards her.”
“Of course,” Raven replied evenly as she handed him a new glass. “Now tell me about Lady Rothsmere.”
He started. “What about her?”
“You’re in love with her, for one thing. You are also planning to give me my congé because of her.” Her face revealed nothing but acceptance.
“Will you be all right?”
It was her turn to start in surprise. Then she grinned slowly. “Of course I will. I have a small fortune saved. My family and I will survive comfortably if I continue to live frugally. You have been a very generous protector.” Her smile faded. “The question is, will you be all right?”
Chapter Sixteen
Will you be all right?
Her question stayed with him all the next day. He heard her voice in his head over and over again.
He had gone early that morning—after only a few hours of sleep—to inform his solicitor of his decision to bring Mrs. Prestwich to England.
He paused in the act of pulling on his boots. Mrs. Prestwich. Or, Lady Prestwich, rather. Carlotta. How he had hoped never to hear that name again. How he had hoped never to see her again. But it could not be helped. She was coming to England to live until she died.
Which he was told would be soon. He didn’t want to think about her death. He was afraid he would feel relief or even eagerness for the event. He was afraid he would pray for the freedom that it would bring him. He didn’t want to feel that way about anyone, not even his wife.
Adam rose to his feet and left his room. He planned to call on Bri to assure himself that she was okay before he left for Cornwall to prepare the way for his wife. His wife. He hated calling her that but that was what she was.
He arrived late that afternoon. The room was still nearly overflowing with gentlemen. Bri sat in the center smiling and laughing just as if nothing had happened between them last night.
Perhaps nothing had.
“Mr. Prestwich, how delightful to see you!” she exclaimed when she caught sight of him. She rose gracefully to her feet and approached him, both hands outstretched.
He took h
er hands, raised them both to his lips, and bowed. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” he replied.
He straightened and as he did so, he noticed two things. First, Steyne was there with a smug look on his face even while his eyes blazed with hatred for Adam or Bri, maybe both. It was hard to tell. Second, something in Bri had changed overnight.
He wasn’t sure what it was. There was an anger in her eyes that was all for him, he knew. That was not surprising. He had often been informed of her dislike of him. But there, in the back of her eyes was a wariness, a fear even, that had not been there before. It reminded him of something but he was unable to recall the memory that hung just on the edge of his recollection.
He smiled charmingly at her. “And how goes your morning?” he asked politely.
“Very well, indeed,” she murmured with false brightness. “What more could a girl want than a roomful of gallant young men eager to bow to her every whim?”
There was a cheer from some of her devoted swains at this pronouncement. She smiled sweetly at them and then turned her hard emerald eyes back to Adam. He was taken aback at the new emotion in her eyes. It was…a plea for help? No, it couldn’t possibly be. He pushed the thought away.
His visit was over in the regulation ten minutes. Bri watched him rise to take his leave and felt a mixture of longing and relief. She had to quell the urge to stop him and beg for help. She knew instinctively that he would do everything in his power to help her if she only asked. He was an honorable man. He would do so for any girl in distress no matter how much he disliked her.
But she was relieved that he was leaving. She had been so tempted to blurt out that she hated him for what he had allowed to happen to her the night before and for what would be happening to her for the rest of her life. She wanted to tell him that it was all his fault and he should have left her to die in Newgate with her pride intact.
