by Judith Stacy
No wonder Noah wasn’t growing, he thought as he headed toward the study. The boy still kept to himself much of the time. He never came downstairs for a meal. Mitch rarely saw him. But he heard him in the upstairs hallway and on the staircase at night sometimes, when Mitch went to the attic to work out with his punching bag.
Maybe that was something else that needed to be changed around the house, Mitch thought.
Silence hung heavy as Mitch went from room to room. Lights burned low, casting long shadows. He supposed Rachel was in her room; that’s where she’d spent most of her time lately.
He found Noah in the library slouched on the settee, dressed in trousers and a white shirt, the sleeve knotted below his shoulder, as always. A bottle of whiskey was in his hand.
The boy watched him cautiously as Mitch pulled a chair over and sat down in front of him.
“Your sister is starving me to death,” Mitch said. “But it’s you and me now. Two against one. I’m going to talk to the cook. Are you with me?”
Noah looked completely lost, as if no one had asked his opinion on anything in so long that he didn’t know how to respond. He drew back a little and clasped the whiskey bottle closer to his chest.
“Yeah…I guess,” he said.
“Meat—real meat. Potatoes. Gravy,” Mitch said. “Cakes and pies for dessert. Every night.”
“All right…”
Mitch gave him a brisk nod. “I’m going to need your help around here, too.”
Noah glanced down at his knotted sleeve and shrugged helplessly. “I can’t…”
“You can add figures, can’t you?”
“Well, sure, but—”
“Then you can help with the family business,” Mitch told him. “You’ll get a tutor, also, and meet with him every day.”
Noah frowned. “I don’t want a—”
“And no more of this.” Mitch plucked the whiskey bottle from his hand.
“Hey!” Noah lurched forward, but didn’t grab for it. He glared up at Mitch. “Just because Rachel married you doesn’t mean you can take over.”
“Yes, it does.”
Noah fumed silently.
“You’ve poisoned yourself long enough with this stuff, Noah. No more.”
The boy’s anger simmered and Mitch could see his mind working, wanting to take the whiskey bottle back, considering fighting for it.
Mitch stood up. That’s all he needed to do. Long ago he’d learned that his height alone was often enough to bully most any man into doing as he said.
Oddly enough, though, his height didn’t affect Rachel that way. When he stood up in front of her, she simply stretched herself up taller and faced him squarely. As if he’d issued some sort of challenge that she was anxious to confront.
But right now Noah backed down, as Mitch knew he would.
“Your family needs you,” Mitch told him. “Come to the study tomorrow morning.”
Noah glared up at him.
“If I have to come get you tomorrow morning, you won’t like it,” Mitch said. He left with the bottle and went hunting for Hayden. He found him in the dining room with Rachel.
“Lock this up,” Mitch said, handing the whiskey bottle to the butler. “Lock up all the liquor in the house.”
“Yes, sir,” Hayden said, taking the bottle.
“What’s going on?” Rachel asked.
“Search everywhere, especially Noah’s room,” Mitch said. “There’re probably bottles hidden all over the house.”
“And the key to the liquor closet?” Hayden asked, his gaze subtly shifting from Mitch to Rachel.
“You keep it, Hayden,” Mitch said. “Serve the liquor when appropriate, but none to Noah. Not a drop. If he gives you any trouble, come get me.”
“Yes, sir.” Hayden disappeared from the room.
Rachel waited until the butler’s footsteps faded before turning to Mitch once more.
“I asked you what was going on.”
Mitch glanced around. There were two entrances to the family dining room, plus the door that led to the kitchen. Rachel knew at once what he was thinking, and she appreciated his discretion.
He jerked his chin toward the door. Rachel nodded and led the way through the house to the study. Mitch closed the door behind them. The lamp on the desk glowed yellow, throwing the room in a warm light.
He didn’t take his usual seat behind the desk. Instead he paced back and forth in front of the window. Though it was dark outside, gaslights could be seen burning along West Adams Boulevard illuminating the trolley and the carriages that clipped along. Across the street, the neighbor’s houses were lit top to bottom with glowing windows.
Mitch stared out for a few moments, then turned to Rachel. “I can’t stand by any longer and watch your brother throw away his life,” he said.
“He’s been through a great deal,” Rachel reminded him. “Dr. Matthews said that—”
“I don’t give a damn what Matthews says.”
Rachel paused, surprised to hear the hint of anger in Mitch’s voice.
“Dr. Matthews has dealt with Noah’s problem for a long time,” Rachel said. “He knows what’s to be expected of him.”
“And where has it gotten Noah?” Mitch demanded. “He pushed away all his friends, he never goes out of the house, he creeps around this place like a ghost and he drinks himself into oblivion.”
Rachel sighed. Mitch was right. She knew it. But she didn’t know what to do about it.
“I don’t disagree with you,” she said. “But what should I do?”
“Change everything,” Mitch said. “What’s going on now obviously isn’t working. Do the opposite.”
Rachel smiled gently. “Is that what you advise your business clients?”
He gave her a quick nod. “If it’s warranted, yes.”
She admired his confidence. She always had. Right from the moment she laid eyes on him, Rachel knew Mitch Kincade didn’t lack conviction.
For so long she’d worried about Noah. Despite Dr. Matthews’s assurances she’d known that her brother wasn’t getting any better, wasn’t adjusting to the loss of his arm, wasn’t learning to cope and move on with his life.
“That tutor he had before,” Mitch said. “Get him back here. Tomorrow. Have him come every morning.”
Rachel recalled the shouting matches between Noah and Mr. Hudson that had escalated to her brother throwing every piece of glassware he could get his hand on at the man until he left and never came back.
“I don’t think Noah will like that,” Rachel pointed out.
“Good. It’s time he did something he didn’t like,” Mitch said. “He’ll help me with the family business, too.”
Rachel shook her head. “Noah’s been through so much. I don’t think we should push him into too many things.”
“He’s been babied too long.”
“He’s lost his arm, for goodness’ sake.”
Mitch stepped closer, a look on his face more intense than Rachel had seen before.
“A lot of people have problems, Rachel. A lot of people suffer hardship. A lot of people would be happy that all that was wrong was that they’d lost an arm.”
And what hardship had Mitch suffered? The thought raced through Rachel’s mind. What had happened to him? What had he been through that would make him even think such a thing, let alone say it aloud?
A pang of regret echoed through Rachel. What other mysteries did Mitch hold? And would she ever learn them?
She shook away the notion and focused on her brother again. Everything the doctor had recommended had failed.
Noah wasn’t getting any better. Maybe she should do the opposite, as Mitch suggested.
“All right, then,” she said, drawing a fresh breath. “We’ll try it your way.”
Mitch watched her for a moment, as if he’d expected more of an argument.
“I think it would be good if we shared meals together at the table.” Mitch looked unsure of himself for the first time in their conversat
ion. “That’s what families do, isn’t it?”
Rachel glanced away, feeling a little guilty. Her family had always eaten together, supper especially. Her mother had insisted upon it. Their family meals weren’t etiquette drills from their mother, or quizzes on current events from their father, but quiet, relaxing times that the family shared privately.
Lately, though, Rachel had stayed away from the supper table to avoid her new husband. She hadn’t thought about Noah at all. But Mitch had, and it surprised her.
“Yes, we can do that,” she said. “The family always ate together…before.”
Mitch looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. What was he thinking? She had no idea.
But she did know that she owed him a debt of gratitude for helping with Noah. And Chelsey, too, for that matter. Rachel had gotten letters from her sister already and she sounded happy, truly happy. Rachel would never have let her return to school if it hadn’t been for Mitch. And it had been the right thing to do.
“These family problems,” Rachel said softly. “I’m sure they were the last thing you expected when you came here.”
Mitch turned away and went to the window. He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and gazed out at the darkness.
Rachel stepped closer. His shoulders were wide and straight enough that surely they could carry a lot of weight, even as many family problems as Rachel had. But it wasn’t right to burden Mitch.
“Thank you for all you’ve done. It’s not expected, but greatly appreciated,” Rachel said. “And I apologize for involving you in the family problems.”
“Don’t apologize for having problems,” Mitch said, still gazing outside. “Problems mean that you have people in your life. People living real lives, with joy and excitement and heartache, depending on each other, helping each other. Not silence, walking in straight lines with your head down, waiting for it all to be over with…”
Mitch stopped and looked back at her. Even in the dim light she saw the pain in his expression. He’d said too much. Revealed something of himself that he didn’t want her—or anyone, apparently—to know.
Rachel’s heart ached for him. She wanted to go to him, press her palm against his cheek, throw her arms around him and hold him close. By comparison, she was slim and small, yet she could shoulder this just-revealed burden of his easily. She knew she could.
But he wouldn’t let her. Without another word, Mitch moved past her and out of the study.
She almost went after him. She wanted to. But something told Rachel that it would do no good. Mitch had always been secretive about his past and she’d been content to let him have his way.
Now she wished she’d been more insistent before she agreed to their marriage. Because now that he had what he wanted, why would he ever reveal his past to her?
Chapter Eighteen
It was the most difficult decision she’d ever made.
Rachel stood in the doorway as the family carriage pulled away. Inside were Dr. Matthews, the nurses, Uncle Stuart and her father.
Her father. Tall, strong, fearless Edward Branford, now thin and shriveled, a mere shadow of his vibrant self, heading for a convalescent hospital.
Making the decision to allow him to go had been heartwrenching for Rachel. She’d put it off as long as she could, then finally, after one of her long afternoons at her father’s bedside, she’d known what she had to do.
The opposite. That had been Mitch’s advice for Noah. If the current course of action wasn’t working—and clearly it wasn’t with her father—then do the opposite.
Only time would tell if her decision was the correct one.
Sadness gripped Rachel’s heart as the carriage turned onto West Adams Boulevard. The sole certainty, at the moment, was that yet another member of her family was gone.
She sensed Mitch move closer behind her and, with effort, choked back her tears. He’d waited outside her father’s bedchamber this morning while Rachel had said her goodbye, and stayed at her side as her father was loaded into the carriage. Mitch hadn’t said much, just stood close keeping an eye on everything, then watched with her as they pulled away.
At least she’d gotten to see her father leave. Not like the others.
Images of all the important men in her life flashed in Rachel’s mind bringing with them the hurt they’d created and instilled in her heart. Tears filled her eyes. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and held her breath, as if that might hold back her emotions. Then she felt Mitch’s hand on her shoulder and she broke down.
He turned her into the circle of his arms. Rachel sobbed against his jacket. He pulled her closer.
And what a natural place that seemed to be. Sheltered in his strong arms, tight against the hard wall of his chest. Safe, to cry out all the anguish in her heart. Rachel knew she could stay in his embrace forever.
But Mitch wouldn’t be here forever.
Rachel pulled away and looked up at him, fighting to push away the comforting halo his embrace had wound around her.
“You’re just like all the others,” Rachel said, gulping back tears. “Georgie, Benjamin and now Father—Noah, too, in his own way—”
“Who’s Benjamin?”
The name sliced through Rachel, tearing at the slim hold she had on her emotions. It had been well over a year since he’d courted her, called on her, claimed to care for her, only to walk out. She’d thought the incident was behind her. Yet his name came easily amid the list of the men in her life who had abandoned her.
And now she was looking at Mitch, yet another man who would do the same. He’d told her so. Even given her the date. She had it in writing.
“Benjamin Blair—the last man who walked out on me,” Rachel declared, the sadness turning into anger. “At least you had the good grace not to claim you love me.”
Mitch shook his head, concern causing him to frown. “What happened?”
“He courted me for months. We were a couple. Everyone expected to hear an engagement announcement,” Rachel told him, anger and hurt bringing on tears again. “Then the train accident. Mother dead, Father ill, Noah crippled. My entire family was in turmoil. And what did Benjamin do? He left. He wrote me a letter explaining that the tragedy was simply too much for him to bear, and he left for Europe.”
Mitch’s frown deepened. “He walked out?”
“Don’t you understand? Every man in my life leaves me!” Rachel sobbed harder. “And you intend to do the same. I even know in advance when you’re leaving. You wrote it into your contract—no surprises there.”
Mitch didn’t respond. He just looked at her.
She wiped away her tears and choked back another sob.
“But don’t expect anything from me in this coming year,” she told him. “Oh, I’ll keep to our agreement. I’ll give you what you want. But don’t for a moment think I’ll go out of my way for you, simply because I’m your wife.”
A moment passed while Mitch simply looked at her, as if absorbing her anger along with her words.
“That’s understandable, Rachel.” Mitch spoke softly, with no anger or malice in his tone. “But you should know that, in the year we have together, if you want to cry again, you can use my shoulder. If you want to share an unkind rumor, you can tell me and know it won’t go further. If you wish for anything, you can come to me and I’ll do everything in my power to get it for you. Simply because I’m your husband.”
Another onslaught of emotion overtook Rachel. She’d just said the most horrible things to Mitch, and he was being nice to her.
It was too much to bear.
She burst into tears again and ran to her room.
Pink dress. No, not pink, exactly. Rose colored? Not the same shade he’d seen in the other dresses she’d worn. This one was different. Deeper, richer. With red trim along the hem and cuffs, and down the front.
Rose dress. Rose underwear?
The thoughts ripped through Mitch’s mind in the few seconds it took Rachel to walk from
the entrance of the dining room to her chair at the breakfast table.
Mitch got to his feet, circled to the other side and pulled out her chair.
Rose dress, rose underwear. It made sense. What else could it be? The only other color on the dress was—
Red.
Desire bloomed in Mitch with the certainty of the rising sun peeking through the dining-room window, made worse by the lovely view of her bottom descending into the chair. And her trim waist, of course, along with the gentle curve of her back, her long graceful neck, the few loose strands of her dark hair that he wanted to curl around his fingers.
And red underwear beneath everything? Mitch’s mouth went dry.
“Thank you.”
Rachel’s words broke through his thoughts, her tone suggesting she’d said them more than once. Mitch glanced around and saw Noah, in the chair next to his sister, staring at him, and the servant at the buffet giving him an odd look. He gave up his grip on the chair—and his view—and returned to his own place.
“Good morning,” Rachel said to Noah.
The boy grunted and continued to pick at his food. Mitch hadn’t gotten much more conversation out of him when he’d walked into the dining room and found Noah already seated at the table.
But the boy was there, as Mitch had instructed. He intended to have Noah help audit the family books—busy work, really—under Mitch’s direction after the morning tutoring session ended.
But Mitch was more glad to see Rachel at the breakfast table—relieved, actually. After yesterday when her father had left for the convalescent hospital, he wasn’t sure if the hurt she’d felt wouldn’t cause her to abandon their agreement.
Without Rachel’s help, there was no reason for him to be in the Branford household. The contract Stuart Parker had drawn up detailed their financial arrangement, but nothing could compel Rachel to do as Mitch asked if she chose not to.
The old familiar ache rose in Mitch. Helpless. Powerless. At the mercy of someone else. But this time something more twisted his insides.
The red underwear? No, he decided. But what?
Rachel looked refreshed this morning, Mitch saw, as one of the servants filled her coffee cup. No sign of the tears she’d shed yesterday, or the heartache caused by that bastard Benjamin Blair and the other men in her life who had abandoned her.
