by Tracy Kay
Lady Gretchen was past the young girl stage, bordering on spinsterhood, and he was certain she would be pleased to have him as a husband. He was, after all, a good match, and her brothers must be at their wits end trying to find her a suitable husband. He was aware of how they all argued over her suitors and rightly so. Many of her suitors were ridiculous young men unworthy of such a creature. He would be particular as well, if she were his sister.
Lord Ruxford scowled, wondering what was taking his lady so long. He had been waiting for more than a quarter hour and he truly didn’t like waiting. But no matter, once she was his, he would teach her not to make him wait. His nostrils flared as the subject of his admiration rushed into the room, slightly breathless.
“Lord Ruxford, I apologize for keeping you. Please forgive me,” Gretchen managed to say, a bit out of breath. She had not planned on taking any callers today so she had been painting when Lord Ruxford had arrived unexpectedly. Although she had Gracen, the Malany butler, inform him she was indisposed, Lord Ruxford was insistent on seeing her and refused to leave until he did. She was not familiar with the man, having only met him briefly at the ball. He was an extremely formal and imposing man, insisting she refer to him as Lord Ruxford instead of his given name which suited her fine as she had disliked him upon their first meeting. She had no idea what he wanted with her, but being the gracious hostess, she agreed to see him.
Luckily, Gretchen hadn’t needed to change her clothing as she had a smock on over her day dress which was easily removed, but she had a most difficult time getting the blue paint out of her hair. She had no idea how she had gotten it there and she hoped he wouldn’t notice the bit of paint she was unable to remove.
“Now that you are here, my dear, all is forgiven.” Lord Ruxford took her unoffered hand and kissed the back of it.
“Um, thank you.” Gretchen tugged her hand out of his grip, grateful for the gloves she had put on to hide the paint. She was surprised by his inappropriate familiarity with her. She barely knew the man and she wasn’t pleased with his liberties or his endearments. Suddenly feeling a bit dizzy, Gretchen placed a hand to her head.
“You are very welcome, my dear. Shall we sit down?” He asked, not amused that she hadn’t already offered.
Gretchen blinked at him in confusion. “Certainly, please forgive me. I am a bit out of sorts today. Would you like some tea?” She asked politely, hoping he wouldn’t. She was feeling a bit off balance and the room was slowly spinning around. Strange, she had felt fine moments ago.
“That would be most appreciated, my dear.” He nodded with approval, pleased she wasn’t completely devoid of manners.
“Mary,” Gretchen called out softly to the maid who was waiting quietly near the door. “Could you fetch us some tea, please?”
“Yes, my lady.” The young girl quickly curtsied and left the room. With Mary’s departure, Gretchen’s dizziness worsened. She grabbed onto the nearby chair to keep herself from falling.
“Lady Gretchen, are you all right?” Lord Ruxford stepped forward, grabbing her arm.
“Oh, my, I must have over extended myself today,” Gretchen replied as her head began to pound.
“That won’t do at all, my dear,” Lord Ruxford rebuked with a slight smile. “Sit down, my dear. You mustn’t overtax yourself. Whatever were you doing to cause this?”
Gretchen gingerly sat in the chair. Her head hurt so much she could barely see the man in front of her. Not thinking straight, she answered honestly. “I was painting.”
“Painting?” No, that won’t do at all. A wife of his would not be spending her time painting. He observed her closely, noticing the flecks of paint in her hair and a smudge of red on her neck. No, this would not do. No matter, she wouldn’t be painting once married to him. “If this activity taxes you, my lady, perhaps you should find another activity to pass your time,” he suggested as he leaned over her, taking her hand in his. “Perhaps needle work would be a more appropriate use of your time.”
She looked at him oddly. “Whatever for? I despise needle work.” She didn’t like the activity. The threads always knotted up on her and she made a complete mess of things. She stared at her hand in his with confusion as a wave of pain overwhelmed her.
Lord Ruxford smiled patiently. “Because it is a proper activity for a proper lady. Once we are married, I am sure you will come to enjoy it.”
“What?” Gretchen was perplexed and uncertain of what he was talking about.
Lord Ruxford continued to smile and began caressing her hand. “Our marriage, my dear. I am sure your bothers will approve of our union.”
“Our union?” Gretchen muttered as her vision blurred. What was wrong with her? She blinked her eyes, trying to clear away the roaring that had begun in her head.
“Yes, my dear. Our union. You will make a perfect wife,” Lord Ruxford leered as he continued to stroke her hand. Ah yes, she would be easy to control.
“Wife?” Gretchen questioned as a sharp pain stabbed at her head. She was frightened. She had never experienced such pain. She couldn’t focus on what he was saying. Something about his wife? She was very confused. Why was he calling her ‘my dear’? She had not given him permission to be so personal with her. She hardly knew the man. Something was horribly wrong. She couldn’t think straight.
“Yes, my dear. My wife,” Lord Ruxford repeated quietly, pleased that he was able to easily manipulate her. “Ah, here is our tea, my dear,” he announced as Mary placed the tray on the table.
When Mary would have poured the tea, Lord Ruxford waved her away, but Mary watched Gretchen with concern, noting how pale she had become. “Lady Gretchen, you don’t seem well. Shall I fetch the Marquess?” The young girl inquired, bringing Gretchen out of her stupor.
Gretchen glanced at Mary through the haze her vision had become. “Please, Mary, fetch Simon.”
Lord Ruxford interjected, holding onto Gretchen’s hand more tightly. “That won’t be necessary, Mary. I can take care of Lady Gretchen.” He was infuriated with the maid’s interference.
Mary bobbed her head and began fussing with the tea. She didn’t like the man and she didn’t want to leave her mistress alone with him.
Gretchen tilted her head to the side as she gazed at him and she saw a black ring surrounding him. A chill went down her spine. Ignoring the pain, she snatched her hand away from Lord Ruxford’s grip and looked at Mary, anger beginning to build within her. He had done something to her. He had caused this feeling in her, this pain. “No, you won’t. Mary, please send for the Marquess. Lord Ruxford, thank you for visiting.” Gretchen dismissed him as she stood on trembling legs. “But I think it is time for you to leave. Perhaps another time.”
Lord Ruxford had no intention of leaving. He was making progress and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip away. “I couldn’t possibly leave while you are this unwell. I will wait for your brother.” He turned to Mary who was pouring the tea into delicate china cups. “Girl, you may go and send for Lord Morelyn,” he ordered. He turned back to Gretchen when Mary had left the room. “You must sit down, my dear.” Taking hold of her shoulder, he pushed her back into the chair.
Gretchen felt an intense heat and pain come over her body when he touched her, and her temper sparked. She quickly stood up and faced him, still trying to be polite. “Lord Ruxford, I will be fine, but you must go.”
“I don’t think so, my lady.” He leered at her and repeated again, “I couldn’t possibly leave you in this condition.” He forcefully pushed her back into the chair, leaving his hand on her shoulder. “You really should stay seated, my dear. You aren’t looking well at all.”
Lord Ruxford’s touch burned through her and her anger intensified. The teacups on the tray began to tremble. She pushed Lord Ruxford’s hand off her shoulder and stood up again. With all her strength, she shoved him out of her way and stumbled to the center of the room. Taking a few deep breaths to settle herself, she turned back to Lord Ruxford. “Lord Ruxford, please,
I wish for you to leave,” she pleaded, gritting her teeth against the pain and the roaring in her head.
Lord Ruxford moved towards her and tried taking her hand again. “My dear, I insist on staying.”
Gretchen took a step back, wondering why she had such a fear of this man. She knew he wasn’t a nice man, but on the few occasions she had met him in the past, he didn’t seem this imposing. “You need to leave. Now.”
Lord Ruxford frowned, his patience growing thin. “No, my dear, I will not leave. You are to be my wife and you will need to become accustomed to my ways.”
Intense pain and apprehension overcame her and she panicked. “Get out!” Gretchen yelled as the roaring in her ears got louder. The fireplace burst into flames and the teacups exploded, spraying tea in every direction. Gretchen bent over, gasping for air.
Lord Ruxford scrutinized her and smiled arrogantly. Ah, yes, she was perfect. A perfect mate. They would make strong, powerful sons together. A little more work and she would be under his control and she wouldn’t be asking him to leave again. “No,” he replied menacingly, taking another step closer to her.
Gathering all her strength, Gretchen straightened upright and commanded fiercely, “I don’t know what you are or who you are, but get out of my house.”
Lord Ruxford smiled malevolently and moved closer to her. She could smell his stench and his fetid breath. He made her skin crawl and she wanted to throw up. She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t think. She had to get away from him and now. She took another step back and bumped into a table. Lord Ruxford grabbed her arm and jerked her close to him. She could feel his breath on her face and she shivered with fear.
“What is going on here?” Simon, the Marquess of Morelyn, came rushing into the room with his brother, Warren, behind him. Where Simon was tall with wide shoulders, dark blond hair and intense, gray eyes, Warren was stocky with a deep chest, thick, auburn hair and sharp, hazel eyes. The two men filled the room with an imposing presence and neither of them were happy to see Ruxford man-handling their distressed sister.
“Gretchen, Mary said you were unwell?” Warren asked, watching her with worry.
“Gretchen wasn’t feeling well. I was helping her to a chair,” Lord Ruxford explained without taking his eyes off Gretchen. “You are mine,” he whispered in her ear. He turned to Simon and Warren as he guided Gretchen into a chair.
“Thank you, Lord Ruxford.” Simon studied the man with concern, unsure of what was going on. “We will take care of her from here. Perhaps it is best for you to leave,” Simon said in a tone of voice that indicated he was not making a suggestion.
“Yes, perhaps I should. I will call again on another day.” He bowed to Simon before turning to Gretchen. “I hope you feel better, my dear. I will show myself out.” He was feeling very pleased with himself and his visit. He nodded to Warren as he passed by him at the entrance.
Simon watched Lord Ruxford leave, then turned to his sister who was bent over with her arms wrapped around herself, gasping for air. He put a gentle hand on her back. “Gretchen?”
Taking a deep breath, Gretchen stood up and put a hand on her brother’s arm to help balance her. “I am better now, Simon,” she replied. The roaring in her head was gone, leaving behind only a dull, throbbing headache.
“What the hell happened here?” Warren questioned, pointing at the shattered teacups.
Gretchen regarded the teacups and the spilt tea and frowned, unable to remember. She looked at her brother and shrugged. “I was angry he wouldn’t leave,” she answered blandly. Holding her head high to hide her embarrassment, she swept past her brothers. “I am going to my room to lie down. I have a terrible headache.” She truly hated it when she lost her temper. The teacups always suffered.
“Are you sure you are all right, Gretchen?” Simon asked before she left the room.
“I will be fine, Simon. I only need to rest,” she assured him and left the parlor, heading for the stairs and her bed.
As Simon watched her leave with worry in his gray eyes, Warren began picking up the broken pieces of china. “We need to find her a husband soon, Simon. Once she has a husband, these episodes of hers will end.”
Simon glanced at his brother, the burning fireplace, the pieces of china and sighed. “I know she needs a husband, Warren, but I don’t think a husband will cure her of this ability she has.”
“Ability, my ass. It is a curse,” Warren growled, absently putting pieces of broken china on the tray Mary had brought in with the tea.
“Mother had it and Miles has it, as does Anthony. Warren, she just needs to learn to control it. If Mother had lived . . .” Simon trailed off.
“Yes well, she didn’t live, and she didn’t have much control over it either and neither does Miles or Anthony for that matter. Gretchen needs a husband. Perhaps Ruxford would be a good choice. At least he didn’t go running from the house like some of the others,” Warren grouched. He truly believed that if his sister was wedded and bedded, her episodes would end and she would be happy. Ruxford had approached him over a month ago, expressing his interest in Gretchen. He had convinced Warren that he would be patient and understanding with his sister, and that he, too, believed her high emotions would calm once she was married and had spent regular time in the marriage bed. Warren believed they would make a suitable match.
Simon frowned. “I don’t think Ruxford is the one for her.”
“Simon, if you don’t choose a husband for her soon, I will take the matter out of your hands,” he threatened.
“This is not your decision, Warren,” he said in a tight voice. “I don’t want to force Gretchen to marry someone she doesn’t want. That isn’t fair to her. I love her too much to do that to her.” Simon sighed with frustration. He knew it was time for his sister to marry, but he wanted her happy. He wanted her with a man who would understand and accept her eccentricities.
“I love her too, Simon, but she needs a normal life, not being cooped up in that room painting, or catering to us. For that matter, it is time you married as well,” Warren pointed out. “You are getting up there, old man.”
“Warren, don’t start on me. I could say the same thing about you,” he replied, annoyed with his brother and the old argument.
“Yes, but I am not the Marquess, you are. You need an heir,” Warren countered. “Why not Madeline Cathcart? She would make you a good wife and I know you are attracted to her. What man wouldn’t be?” Warren smiled in male appreciation.
Simon grinned in return. “She does have some very nice . . . assets. And yes, I have considered her and have even spoken to Brandon about her. He and I both agree it would be an appropriate and fortuitous marriage.” Simon ran a hand through his blond hair. “But I am not ready, so subject closed. As for Gretchen, she needs more time.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Warren put his hand up before his brother could disagree. “I know how you feel, but it is time for us to seriously think about her future. Her choices are becoming more limited. It is time, Simon. She needs a little push. I think I am going to look further into this Lord Ruxford. He may be the perfect choice.”
“I don’t know, Warren.” Simon shook his head with indecision. “There is something about that man I don’t like.” Simon shook his head again. “I had thought perhaps she could consider Nicholas Cathcart, but he recently became engaged to Lady Joselyn which leaves Brandon, who isn’t ready for marriage either. However, I have heard that Graives may be considering marriage and he would be a suitable choice.”
Warren snarled. “Lord Graives, that reprobate, I don’t want him anywhere near Gretchen.”
“There are a few other possibilities, but I am not partial to them,” Simon sighed with irritation. He hated this chore of his. He didn’t want his sister unmarried, but neither did he want her in an unhappy marriage. He couldn’t do that to her. He wanted it to be her choice, someone who could make her happy.
Warren cocked his head. “Simon, you don’t like any of Gretchen’s sui
tors, and well, neither do I,” Warren scowled. “No man is going to be good enough for our sister.”
Simon chuckled. “You are right. Go ahead and look into Ruxford. We will talk about it then,” Simon grudgingly agreed and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gathering her courage, Joselyn took a deep breath and knocked on the door of an old, dilapidated building in a not so reputable part of London.
“Come in,” a loud voice called.
Joselyn opened the door slowly and took in the sight before her. The room was a drab white with a closed door opposite her and a tiny window on the left which allowed in very little light. There was a bed to the right of the far door and to the left of her was a small dresser with a chipped, china pitcher and bowl resting on top of it. In the center of the room, there was a chair, and sitting with his hands tied behind him on that chair, was her brother. Aaron Farrington stood behind him, holding a knife to his throat. Jeremy had been gagged and his eyes stared at her intently.
“Lady Joselyn, punctuality is certainly a virtue of yours, I see, luckily for your brother,” Farrington said nastily.
“Let him go,” she demanded with a slight quiver in her voice, much to her dismay. She had to stay strong and show no fear to this man. She had no idea how she was going to do that when she was shaking uncontrollably. She hoped it didn’t show. She took a brave step into the room, making eye contact with her brother.
“No, I like him right where he is,” Farrington smirked and moved the knife closer to Jeremy’s throat.
Joselyn took another step closer to Farrington, boldly confronting him. “What do you want? If you want my lands, fine, you can have them or money, jewels, whatever you want. Please let my brother go.” Joselyn prayed for strength. She couldn’t let him kill Jeremy. He was all the family she had left.
“I intend on having everything that belongs to you, including your life and your brother’s,” Farrington explained casually, enjoying his sense of power over her.
