5
“Mr. Elliot? That is, I mean, Lord Southam? I—”
“I hardly think we need to concern ourselves with social politeness at the moment,” he responded wryly, as Rosalind found herself staring at him in utter shock, closing her mouth when she realized it was hanging open. “Good Lord. Rosalind.”
“William, I — oh, I am so happy to see you!” She didn’t think about what she was doing, but flung herself in her arms, relieved that somehow he — inexplicably — had come to her rescue. She reveled in his warmth, feeling his hard chest against her, but quickly stepped back, realizing that no matter the circumstances, she had gone far beyond the bounds of propriety. “I am so sorry. It is simply that I am so grateful you are here. I have no idea why you are here, but somehow you are. You see, my coach was attacked by highwaymen, and I was taken here, to this shack. They mean to ransom for me, but they do not seem to be aware that no one will care. Thank—”
“Please,” he cut her off, and she realized she was blathering like an idiot. “Stop thanking me.”
“Why ever not? The fact that you found me—”
“I did not find you,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, confused by his response. “Well, where am I then?”
“You are on my land.”
“Your land? But … but how…?” She watched him as he joined her in the cottage, striding back and forth in front of her as he rubbed at his temples.
“Your abductor … was my brother. Alfred!” he called out the open door. “Perhaps we should all come inside.”
“No!” she said, shaking her head fiercely as she pushed her way out the cottage door, nearly tripping as the sun hit her full in the face, almost blinding her after the near darkness of the room. “I am not returning to that shack.”
She shook the fog from her head as she tried to understand the situation. Alfred Elliot, the brother of William, a man she had known nearly her entire life, had robbed her carriage and abducted her, holding her ransom on William’s land? She had met Alfred before but had never known him well. What was the meaning of all of this? It was utterly unheard of.
“You didn’t … that is, did you know, of what, of me, I…” The words came out of her mouth garbled, and Rosalind closed her eyes, willing it all away. This was ultimately her own fault. She should have had more sense when she made her travel plans. She should not have been as proud as she was, and should have taken a mail coach. Or asked Olivia’s husband to come accompany her. But now….
“No, of course, I knew nothing of this,” William said as if sensing her distress. “Lady Templeton, I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am for all that has happened to you. I know that there is no way to properly make amends, but if you come to the house, we can discuss this civilly, I promise you that.”
She eyed Alfred, who was standing to the side, arms crossed over his chest as he looked everywhere but at her.
“Alfred will not hurt you again,” he added, and she turned to look pointedly at Alfred’s accomplice.
“Nor will Richard,” added William, and she caught his glare toward the man.
“Very well, Lord Southam,” she finally responded. She didn’t want to agree, she didn’t want to go anywhere with any of these men, but at the moment she saw no other choice.
He led her over to his horse, and she was reminded of two days ago, when Alfred made her ride with him. It made sense now why Alfred had looked so familiar. He had the same deep blue eyes as William, his sandy hair a slightly darker shade of red and a little less controlled than William’s, but that unique color all the same. She had met Alfred before, she recalled, but only very briefly.
She stepped toward the horse, finally completing the internal war that raged within her. For at the end of it all, where else was she to go?
If anything, this proved what she had come to realize with Harold. No one could ever truly be trusted, for more often than not, people hid their true selves from all around them — even family and fiancées.
She put her hands on the horse’s flank and was about to mount when she suddenly heard a great thrashing in the greenery to her left.
“What is that—”
She had no time to react as the giant dog came bounding of the brush. It swiveled its head from side to side as if assessing the situation before running up to Rosalind and leaping up on her, his great paws coming to her shoulders. Rosalind staggered back, nearly falling but managing to catch herself before she tumbled.
William shouted to the dog as he raced toward them, but stopped suddenly when Rosalind waved him back.
She reached out and scratched the giant beast between the ears, and it seemed to calm him as he leaned into her, apparently enjoying her touch as he gave her a big lick on the cheek. She laughed then, some of the tension of the situation abating, and she looked up to find William staring at her in astonishment.
“What is it?” she asked.
William looked down at her. “He typically doesn’t like anyone … except me. Apparently, now you as well.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she turned her attention back to the dog, taking strength from him as she brought her nose to his. She finally straightened and turned to William.
“Very well, then. Let’s go.”
He nodded, and she walked to him stiffly, hoping that he realized just how angry she still was.
When he placed his hands around her waist to help her up onto the horse, however, her reaction to him was nothing like it had been toward Alfred when he had done the same — far from it, in fact. Where Alfred’s touch had been sent shivers of disgust up her spine, William’s hands on her did make her tingle … but in a decidedly different way.
Once she was on, he mounted behind her, his body encompassing hers, his arm around her waist, and she wanted to lean back into the closeness of his hard chest.
She told her body — and possibly her heart — to stop being such a traitor, and resolved to feel nothing but anger toward these men. She said not a word over the short ride to the house, holding herself stiff and straight, as far from the man as possible.
William could not convince her to believe him that he could make amends.
“My brother was desperate,” he said, pacing around the bright study, the drapes pulled back to let the light in upon an oak table, tan leather wingback chairs, and the walls, papered in a mint green. “And desperate men do things they would never normally do.”
“That matters not,” she said quietly from her seat across the desk. Her small frame seemed dwarfed by the chair, and he winced at the dark circles under her eyes. “No matter what the circumstance, there is always an honorable away. Desperation is no excuse.”
“You are right,” he said with a sight frown, sighing as he came to a stop and threw himself into the chair matching hers. “There is nothing I can do to change the past, and I am sorry my brother did this to you. All I can promise is to do what I can to make it right.”
“And you would do that by…?”
“I am not sure,” he said, rubbing at his temples once again. Once the ache set in, it was hard to be rid of it for the remainder of the day. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?”
She was silent for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she retreated into her own thoughts.
“Can you make sure that James is all right following the incident?” she finally asked, to which he was confused.
“Who is James?”
“The driver of my carriage. Last I saw him, he was tied in rope underneath a tree.”
“Oh dear God,” William said, still hardly believing that the acts they were discussing were perpetrated by his brother. “Absolutely. I will speak to Alfred as to what he did with the man. I sincerely hope he simply released him and he returned to your home. Why, even now, likely someone is looking for you.”
Her head snapped up at that, and he didn’t miss the look of fear that crossed her face befo
re she quickly turned her face away.
“I must ask, Lady Rosalind … why were you traveling unaccompanied, and to where were you going?”
When she said nothing, his gaze followed hers to her hands, which were twisting the material of her dress round and round her fingers. Clearly he had agitated the woman even further, though how he wasn’t sure.
He hastily added, “I do not mean to pry. I am simply ascertaining how I can help you reach whatever destination to which you were attempting to travel.”
She retained her look of concern, but cleared her throat and met his stare, which he hoped was encouraging, before breaking her eyes away, allowing them to flit about the room.
“I was going to visit Olivia — that is, the Duke and Duchess of Breckenridge.”
He nodded. “Were they aware of your impending arrival?”
“No,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “It was … to be a surprise of sorts.”
Clearly, something more was at play here, something of which she did not care to speak. She obviously didn’t trust him, though William didn’t blame her after all that Alfred had done to her. He wanted to help her, but first he would have to convince her to let him.
“I will have word sent round to Oliv— the Duke and Duchess that they can expect you soon. You are most welcome to stay here, and then I will personally accompany you once we receive word that they are in residence.”
“In residence — oh, I had never considered that they wouldn’t be,” she said, her eyes widening, “How very stupid of me. Of course I should have written Olivia first. It is just, you see, that I left somewhat hastily, and so, as I know that Olivia was not in London, I simply assumed she was in the countryside…”
“It’s no matter,” he said, trying to reassure her. She was a slight thing, but she looked even more drawn than he had remembered her. Perhaps the tragedy of losing her husband had taken its toll on her over the past year.
They were both quiet for a moment, clearly contemplating the severity of all that had happened.
“Well then,” he said, filling the silence. “Why do we not see to finding you a bedchamber, for tonight at least. I’ll have my housekeeper prepare a room.”
“There is one thing,” she said, setting her chin resolutely. “I will not stay under the same roof as your brother. I know this is his home, but I cannot — I should not be able to sleep. If he must stay, then I will look for other lodging for tonight.”
“That is understandable,” he responded, sighing inwardly. It only made sense for her to ask it of him, but it was inconvenient, as they were in the middle of the countryside. “I’ll speak with him. Why don’t you wait here for a moment? I’ll have a tray sent in for you, and then Mrs. Cranbourn will make sure you are comfortable.”
“Thank you,” she said, quietly.
The pounding in his head increasing with every breath now, he tried not to let the pain on his face show as he walked out of the room.
6
Rosalind felt all of the tension that she had been holding in release as he left, and she sank back into the chair. She hated conflict, and had always done her best to avoid any sort of confrontation, be it with her parents, her husband, or anyone else who had crossed her path.
She should be livid with all of the Elliots for what Alfred had done to her, and yet, she had been as agreeable as ever with William. Not only that, but she had thanked him — thanked him! The words had come, unbidden, from her mouth before she had even time to consider what she was saying.
She collapsed her head forward into her hands with a groan.
She was awkward enough in a regular social situation. Oh, she knew how to make polite conversation, was aware of what she was supposed to say and when she should refrain from speaking. It was in these more intimate conversations with people, particularly people she did not know very well, that she often struggled to find the right words, the words that she felt would truly portray what she was feeling.
After an exchange had concluded, she always knew what she ought to have said. Even now, she longed to be able to revisit her conversation with William and tell him just how frightened she had been when his brother had held her captive in the hunting cottage, how desperate she had been for escape, and how worried she had been that Bart actually would come to collect her. But no, she had simply sat there like an idiot, nodding and agreeing with nearly every word he said.
Perhaps it was because William was every bit as handsome and agreeable as he had always been. True, he wasn’t classically good-looking, but his features suited him. His light brown hair was tinted red and was given to a slight curl, his eyes so deep a blue they made many a woman envious. His smile came quickly and frequently, and he loved to laugh and generally enjoy life.
It was likely why he had always been so drawn to Olivia. As a girl, Rosalind had watched him closely, longing for his affections, and instead had simply been more attuned to the way his gaze followed Olivia everywhere she went. Not that she blamed him. Olivia was not only striking, but she had a way about her that drew people. She said what she wanted, when she felt it, and cared not what others thought of her.
Was it age, her friend’s marriage, or perhaps the responsibilities of the estate, however, that had brought more lines to William’s face than she remembered, more tension to his bearing that he had never previously held?
Her ears perked at voices in the hallway. They were murmurs at first, but as their speakers drew closer to the door, she closed her eyes and made not a sound as she tried to concentrate on what they were saying.
“Alfred, for the duration of time Lady Templeton is here, you shall have to leave,” came William’s voice, as even and tempered as it always was.
“Leave?” Alfred’s bellow sounded incredulous. “But where should I go?”
“I am not sure …. perhaps the hunting cottage?”
“The hunting shack?”
“Yes, the hunting shack,” William repeated. “You seemed to think it was appropriate quarters for Lady Templeton, so I am sure it will do just fine for you as well.”
“William, be reasonable,” a cutting, female voice chimed in. This must be his mother, thought Rosalind. She had met Lady Southam a handful of times, none of the experiences being particularly agreeable. “You simply cannot send your brother away.”
“Mother, please tell me you are not condoning Alfred’s actions. What he did was unspeakable. Why—”
“You put him in a precarious position, did you not?”
Rosalind’s eyes widened at the woman’s words. What was wrong with this family?
“Enough!” William sounded angrier than she had ever heard him, and the other voices ceased. “Alfred, for the time being, you cannot stay in this house. Find somewhere else. Mother, I will hear none of your protestations. They will not sway me.”
At that, she heard a bellow of anger, and then loud footsteps retreating down the hallway.
Moments later, William re-entered the room, his face drawn. Rosalind noticed that he continued to rub at his forehead and his temples, and she wondered if he were suffering a megrim.
“Are you all right?” she asked, and he looked up in astonishment, as if he had forgotten she was there.
“Yes, yes, fine,” he said, his words now short and terse, which made her pause. Normally he was one of the most affable, kind men she had ever met. Although clearly the situation was one that would test the limits of anyone, no matter how normally considerate one was.
He walked to the windows, pulling the curtains closed, before rounding his desk once more and sitting down heavily.
“Alfred will be gone from the house within the hour, so you need not worry,” he said briskly, as if trying to work his way through the situation as quickly as possible. “I will write a note to the Duke and Duchess of Breckenridge as we speak, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Cranbourn, will be in to collect you shortly. Ah, here is a tea tray for you in the meantime.”
He beckoned the maid in with
the tray and took a piece of paper from a desk drawer before dipping his quill pen in the ink blotter and beginning to scratch out his note.
More for something with which to keep herself busy rather than having a need for it, Rosalind poured herself a cup of tea. She didn’t mind tea, but she actually much preferred coffee. She typically didn’t ask for it, however, not wanting anyone to have to go to the trouble of preparing it just for her. She realized as she looked at the tray that she was hungry, and she appreciated the pastries in front of her.
“Would you like a cup of tea, my lord?” she asked, to which he simply shook his head, and she began to be slightly affronted by his manner. It wasn’t as if she had done anything wrong in this situation.
Finished with his note, he sat back and found an envelope, sealing it with his stamp.
Rosalind looked at him over her tea cup. There was something she needed to know, as much as she did not particularly want to ask.
“Did … did Alfred mention what exactly was said when he contacted my family regarding my ransom?” she asked, dismayed when his deep blue eyes met hers and she saw the pity within them.
“He did,” he responded slowly, as if trying to determine what to say to her.
“They cared naught, did they?” she asked, more as a statement than a question.
“It seems your parents determined that you were now the responsibility of the current Earl of Templeton,” he said with a sign. “And Bartholomew Branson, now Lord Templeton and cousin of your late husband, of course, demanded your return but said he had no funds with which to pay anything for you.”
“I see,” she said, her cheeks warming in embarrassment. “That would be as I would have expected. No matter. Would you mind ensuring that Bart does not learn of my current whereabouts?”
William cocked his head as he looked at her, as if wanting to know more.
“Are you in some sort of trouble, Lady Templeton?”
He was being kind, she knew, and would help her if she asked for it, but the man had barely looked at her their entire lives. Now that it was just the two of them, together in this study, she was not going to further his pity for her and her current situation. Besides, what could he do, besides help her make her way to Olivia’s?
Loved by the Viscount_A Historical Regency Romance Page 4
