Mary Brendan

by Wedding Night Revenge

Rachel removed her hands, relinquishing the weapon to him, and covered her wet face. ‘It isn’t loaded…is it?’

  ‘Let’s find out…’

  The deafening report had her muffling a shriek and jerking against the wall. Her fingers slid from her face to cover her ringing ears. Cordite clung acridly in her nostrils. Stupefied, her wide eyes flicked to Connor’s critical gaze, followed it to the magnificent chandelier. One candle had been reduced to a smoking stump. The rainbow light was pendulating entrancingly and thus dodged danger as a clump of ornate plaster suddenly detached itself from the ceiling and landed with a dusty thud on the carpet.

  She barely twitched. ‘Were you aiming for that particular candle?’ she asked almost normally, but for a hoarseness stealing volume from her voice.

  ‘No. Just its flame.’

  Rachel looked at him and he looked back. He smiled at her, really smiled at her, and with a lazy lob the gun bounced on to the seat of the striped settee. ‘I could do it clear-headed,’ he boasted impishly. A dark hand rose to cradle her chin, slid to a cold shivering cheek, stroking away the wet with infinite tenderness. ‘I’m permanently afflicted with the vices of a misspent youth, I fear. It’s one of the reasons I never introduced you to my too-truthful grandfather. He would have felt it his duty to tell you so. And I was scared you’d leave me…’

  The door opened and Joseph, eyes wide and swivelling, hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Connor moved away from Rachel and elevated enquiring eyebrows at his startled butler.

  ‘Pardon me, my lord; I thought I heard an explosion. Like a gunshot…’

  ‘Yes, you did. Miss Meredith finds the rose salon a mite too feminine in style. We’re adding a few masculine touches… Have the carriage brought round,’ he tacked incongruously on to the end as he collected his jacket from the chair and shrugged, superbly nonchalant, into it.

  After a comically aghast look, Joseph roused himself enough to scoot away to do his master’s bidding.

  Connor stared at the vacant doorway before sending Rachel a sideways look. ‘If I’ve terrified you, I’m sorry. I was about to add I didn’t mean to…but that would be a lie. I think I did, at first…’ He gave a wry, private smile. ‘But you’ll be relieved to know I’m more myself now.’ He paused, looked up at the ceiling as though contemplating the damage.

  ‘You seem to have sobered up somewhat,’ Rachel ventured softly.

  ‘Army training. The sight of a weapon pointing one’s way, the sound of gunshot, can usually be relied on to restore the faculties to a soldier.’

  He started to speak, stopped, and his dark fingers pinched at the tension between his eyes. ‘Come, I’ll take you home,’ he stated quietly.

  Several times on the short journey through the streets to Beaulieu Gardens, Rachel had glanced at Connor, hoping to engage him in conversation. He had seemed to deliberately avoid her eye. He lounged in the corner opposite, gazing impassively out into the dusk. She guessed it to be approaching midnight and the streets seemed unusually quiet. No night watchman shouting, no vagabonds darting to the coach to cling on and beg for pennies, few other vehicles rattling alongside to convey revellers home.

  She lifted a corner of the leather blind that blocked her view from her side of the coach and glimpsed familiar landmarks. Within a minute or two she would be home. He would stop the coach and set her down and she knew she would never see him again.

  She had meant what she’d said about meeting him tomorrow so she could properly apologise and thank him and so many other things, but he would avoid doing so. She knew that as simply as she had known Sam Smith had risked his life to protect her and to safeguard her family’s reputation.

  The carriage was slowing; Connor seemed to stir himself as though just realising they had reached their destination.

  Rachel folded her hands on her lap, looked at his beautiful, carved profile through the sombre interior. ‘Shall I see you tomorrow?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer.

  ‘No.’

  She nodded, bit down on her lip. Despite knowing what she proposed was highly improper, she said huskily, ‘Would you come in with me so I might say what I must?’

  ‘No.’

  She swallowed, blinked at her fingers straining awkwardly in her lap. ‘May I delay you a few moments then and say it now? Please?’

  Connor looked at her at last, but she couldn’t see his eyes and she wanted to. She so wanted to see the look in his eyes, but his face was hidden in shadow.

  ‘What do you want to tell me, Rachel? That you’re sorry and ashamed and grateful? I know that.’ He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and speared five fingers through his raven’s-wing hair. ‘If it helps salve your conscience, I feel that way too. I’m sorry I once wanted to hide from you my past. I’m ashamed I wanted to coerce you to sleep with me, and I’m grateful you brought me to my senses by pulling a gun on me before I did something neither of us would have ever got over. Go home. Go home tomorrow to Windrush and your parents…’

  ‘Windrush belongs to you.’

  ‘I gave it to you. I gave you the deeds in front of witnesses. I don’t want it.’

  ‘I can’t take them,’ she gasped on a suppressed sob. ‘I left them behind on your table.’ She fumbled for the door handle, wanting to be gone before she was dismissed.

  ‘You wanted Windrush so badly you were prepared to risk gaol. Now you’ve suddenly given up on it? What about Isabel and her son?’

  Rachel swivelled back on the seat, a frantic hand swiping tears from her eyes. ‘What? What did you say?’

  ‘You heard what I said, Rachel. I think you wanted Windrush as a refuge for Isabel and her son. Did you?’

  Rachel felt her heart slowly pounding in dread. Nevertheless she answered simply, ‘Yes. After June and then Sylvie were married, some time in the future, when there was no more need to bow and scrape to society’s idea of etiquette, when my parents were lost to me and no one left but me to please…I thought it would be so nice to have Isabel home…and my nephew. I know it might never be, but still I dream of it sometimes…’ The silence lengthened and she added softly, ‘My aunt Florence is not in good health, she is quite old now and almost blind and Isabel has no one else in York. She’s twenty-four and lives almost as a recluse, but never complains.’ Her golden head bowed beneath the pain. ‘She never complains. Who told you? My father?’

  ‘No. William Pemberton came to see me today, having just returned from visiting your sister in Hertfordshire. He thought I should know.’

  Rachel’s head dropped further towards her hands. ‘June told William? She should not have. Not yet.’

  ‘She should not have? They’re soon to be man and wife but she should not have? She should have kept her secrets and risked letting lies and deceit taint their lives as I let it ruin ours?’

  Rachel snapped her head up to look at him, barely seeing his face behind the blur. ‘It…it was a private matter. Just for family. And we’ve not lied; we’ve let others draw their own conclusions about Isabel’s absence. We’re guilty of failing to correct conjecture, nothing more.’

  ‘I thought my past was just for the family to know. It was to be kept private that I’d been a wild hedonist who’d challenged an elderly man to a duel over his wife: a woman I lusted after but had no right to. You sensed that something about me was bad. You were right to be wary and reject me. And you couldn’t have foreseen your sister being violated in York.’

  ‘She says she was willing. Had she been forced, I think my parents might have been more able to bear the shame.’ She shook her head in despair at that. ‘As it is they would rather join strangers in believing her dead. There was an outbreak of scarletina in York; neither of us was ill but we remained quarantined for some time to be sure we would not bring the infection home. By the time it seemed safe to travel Isabel knew she was pregnant, although she would divulge none of the circumstances, even to me, and we were always close. It was assumed she’d not returned with me to Hertford
shire because she’d succumbed to the disease. When the months passed and still no sign of her, and her pictures were put away, and people saw how mention of her made us all cry…’ Rachel’s voice trembled into silence. She stared at her clasped fingers, knowing she must alight and go in now, for she’d said far too much. But what was she betraying? He knew the essence of their secret. Why shouldn’t she tell all to this man who’d been a catalyst to the disaster? The temptation to share those six years burdened with Isabel’s shame and isolation was overwhelming.

  ‘Sylvie thinks that her sister is dead. She was only six then, too young to understand; now she’s twelve but my mother won’t tell her. She fears she is too immature, too forthright to be trusted to keep the confidence. She might jeopardise her future happiness and security with an unguarded word. The Saunders don’t know either. June and I were forbidden by my parents to speak of it, even to close friends. The deception is now too well entrenched in history to be remedied. My parents are in an awful predicament. They love Isabel still, but with three other girls to settle, what are they to do but discreetly give her financial help? If our disgrace became public knowledge, there would be no weddings and no respite from supporting four spinster daughters. Isabel understands all that and refuses even to move closer to Hertfordshire in case the scandal is uncovered and she blights us all. Yet it was I who did that. My selfish folly at nineteen has caused untold suffering to so many.’ Rachel blinked rapidly at the leather blind at the window, lifted a corner to stare blearily at her home. ‘I…I don’t know why William has told you,’ she suddenly said. ‘I pray he tells no one else. Should his mother hear a whisper of it…’ Rachel’s voice cracked on imagining the chaos that would ensue. ‘I trust I can count on your…on your—’

  ‘Decency? Discretion?’

  Rachel caught sight of a brief flash of white in the coach’s murky interior. His mordant tone betrayed the smile as sarcastic. ‘I’ll beg you to say nothing, if need be,’ she informed him quietly, proudly.

  ‘I know you consider me a villain, Rachel, but I was under the impression William has always found favour with you. Would such an upright character have told me if he suspected I might repeat it?’

  ‘I can’t imagine why he told you.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you why: he was warning me that if my dealings with you over Windrush resulted in the same sad condition befalling you as has afflicted Isabel, I’d have him to answer to.’

  Rachel’s audible gasp made him grunt a laugh. ‘Had the possibility of a wedding-night baby not occurred to you, sweetheart?’

  ‘Of course I knew of the…the risk. But for William to imagine I might…I would…’

  ‘It wasn’t your morality he was doubting, it was mine; and my powers of seduction. Perhaps I should be flattered,’ Connor wryly remarked. ‘And you need not fear his mother will learn anything from him. His firm intention is to marry June and protect you as his sister.’

  ‘He’s a fine man. My father should be grateful to have secured such a son.’

  ‘I’m sure he shall be.’

  ‘Yes.’ After a pregnant pause, Rachel murmured, ‘You have put yourself in an awkward position, sir.’

  ‘I have?’

  ‘You implied we were betrothed. You said it in front of witnesses.’

  ‘I’ll never ever get engaged again. I’ve said that in front of witnesses, too.’

  ‘You said I was your bride-to-be, you gave me wedding gifts. The magistrate heard. So did Sam and your butler.’

  ‘I’ll jilt you. What could be better? It’ll close the circle.’ He jerked backwards into the squabs. ‘I’ll gazette a notice that we’re to be married at the end of this week, then publicly jilt you. You’ll have an avalanche of sympathy, I’ll be despised. We’ll be even. It’ll cure everything. You can take the deeds to Windrush home with you. It would be the least a breach-of-promise attorney would extract and I won’t contest it.’

  She gazed at him through a mist of dignified tears. ‘Yes. I understand. Thank you. That should cure everything.’

  She had sat a full minute longer with him in the dark, unwanted, delaying him. Quickly she felt for the door handle before the swelling hurt in her chest exploded. She conquered it long enough to blurt, ‘You’re wrong in thinking I had an intuition you were wild and that was why I jilted you. I swear I never knew. I believed you were honest and ethical…tediously so. You played your part well. I ran away because…’

  ‘Because…?’ he prompted, dulcet yet demanding.

  ‘I hoped you would follow me,’ Rachel murmured, a tiny watery laugh choking in her throat. ‘I thought if you truly loved me you would come and get me.’ With that she was out of the coach and running for her door.

  She banged on the knocker, her body shivering with anguished sorrow. Within a moment Sam Smith, buttoning up his waistcoat, was peering through a crack at her. He pushed the door wide, solicitously ushered her in and was closing it when a hand and a booted foot stayed it so powerfully that he was sent staggering back a few paces. ‘Go to bed. Now!’ Connor ordered the lad. Sam didn’t hesitate in obeying. With a subtle look and a nod he was gone towards the servants’ quarters and Noreen’s snug, welcoming arms.

  ‘Whose servant is he?’ Rachel demanded querulously, shaking from head to foot. She self-embraced, chafing at her arms to warm them. ‘Yours? Mine?’

  ‘Ours,’ he said as he stalked her back against the front door.

  She turned her head, avoiding those penetrative, glittering eyes. ‘Go away, Connor, I’m tired. I shall go home tomorrow, I’ll be out of your way, for good, I swear.’

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I’m going home, tomorrow, I swear,’ she gasped, trying to pass him, but he trapped her with flat palms slamming against the timber either side of her head.

  ‘Not that! Tell me again why you ran away.’

  She turned her head, shielding her distress. ‘No,’ whispered out of her.

  ‘Tell me…’ a mellifluous voice threatened.

  ‘I wanted…I wanted you to follow me. I wanted you to properly love me…’ she cried.

  ’Properly love you?’ he gritted with such guttural passion that she cringed. ‘What I felt for you then Rachel, was very proper and God knows I loved you.’ His head lowered as his savagely taut lips steamed warm breath against her neck making her head angle languidly. ‘Do you know what it took to be so gentle and respectful and restrained when what I really wanted to do was—’ His eyes abruptly closed, his jaw tightening until a muscle jerked by his mouth. ‘You drove me mad. I thought I’d go insane with wanting you, yet I stayed faithful. I didn’t take a mistress, fearing you’d suspect me a philanderer if you learned of her existence. I was rarely tempted; it was only you I wanted. For four months I was celibate. I continued waiting, tolerating your teasing, your flirting, your provocation.’ A hand jerked her averted face up to his. ‘Now you say I didn’t properly love you? I’ve never loved anyone more properly in my entire damned life!’

  ‘You loved her…’

  ‘Who? Maria Laviola?’ Connor asked, his incredulity tinged with amusement.

  ‘No…’ Rachel saw genuine incomprehension in his eyes. He had no idea who she meant. ‘The wife of your grandfather’s friend. You loved her, surely?’

  ‘Perhaps I did, at first, if I was capable of such an emotion at that time. But it was hardly proper. Bernadette was married to a nobleman and satisfied with her situation until I happened along and coaxed her into a liaison. I was arrogant, egotistical and covetous of many things. The fact that she was initially reluctant and needed wooing was probably an inducement rather than a deterrent. To my shame I can still recall feeling quite relieved when my grandfather brought the affair to an abrupt end after six months, for she’d become unattractively clinging and possessive…rather a nuisance. Her husband welcomed her back but I knew, as did she, that their life together was irreparably damaged by scandal and suspicion; scandal and suspicion that I had caused. I knew all that
yet it bothered me little at the time. Within a month I’d found someone to replace her. I began returning her letters, unopened.’

  Rachel watched self-disgust curl his lips as his eyes shifted to bleakly stare at the wall. He had his own conscience to salve, she realised. Connor Flinte, a heroic, decorated Major in the Hussars, with an earldom and a fortune and a reputation as an admirable, honourable gentleman, was tormented by a youthful folly of his own. He had acted as rashly, as selfishly in adolescence as had she. A pale hand tentatively smoothed his saturnine expression. The wonderful sensation of warm abrasive skin beneath her fingertips emboldened her to slide the hand and comfortingly cradle his cheek. He turned his head so his lips brushed a reciprocating caress on her palm.

  ‘At eighteen I thrived on challenge…confrontation. I’d been spoiled as a child by a rogue of a father who knew at thirty-six he wouldn’t ever be forty. For three years, from when I was thirteen years old and the physician told him his lungs were too badly inflamed to cure, until I was approaching my sixteenth birthday, and he died, he tried to give me a lifetime’s affection and attention. He indulged me with too much money, tolerated my excesses; praised them sometimes. He instructed me in the ways of the world and its baser pleasures, led me to believe anything in life was attainable if you were prepared to grasp every opportunity and live for the moment. And he told me constantly that I was like him. And I am, aren’t I? He abducted the woman he wanted; I would have coerced you into bed. Gallant charmers, the Flinte men…’ he remarked satirically. ‘Blood will out, I suppose…

  ‘Despite his failings he was a charismatic character. I loved him. So did my mother; she adored him, despite knowing of his weakness for women and riotous living. He idolised her, too; she was the only woman that mattered in his life, the only one who could to any degree control him.’ He stole a look at Rachel. Her wide-eyed, rapt attention was all the encouragement he needed to continue enlightening her about his early life.

  ‘After the business with Bernadette, I enjoyed a year or so more of debauchery before army discipline and my grandfather’s quiet homilies tempered my licentiousness. Throughout my wild youth my grandfather had persevered in bestowing on me his wisdom. Despite my best efforts to ignore such worthy education, it had rooted in my mind, and maturity had helped me to appreciate it. When a brat I thought him a sanctimonious old miser who’d preach about abstinence and duty. Still I loved him. Now I thank God that his influence on me was as great as was my father’s. He threatened to kill my father on numerous occasions. It was only my mother’s constant mediation—and her physical presence—that kept them from each other’s throats. I expect your father might have dealt the same way with me. He would have joined forces with Pemberton in tracking me down had I managed to seduce you.’