Releasing a painful breath, she snapped it closed and glanced over.
Daphne pointed to the copy in Alice’s hands. “You were never one to read scandal sheets.”
No, she hadn’t been. So how to explain her inordinate fascination with them now without revealing her latest scandal? Alice shifted on her feet.
Her sister-in-law didn’t again speak until the footman and butler took their leave.
“But here you are,” Daphne persisted, limping closer. “Each morning, waiting for the latest columns.”
“You know that?” she squawked, wanting to call that revealing query back.
The ghost of a smile played at her sister-in-law’s lips. “I know that.”
Bloody, bloody hell. If Daphne had gathered the reason Alice rushed belowstairs each morning then surely Daniel also had.
Daphne cleared her throat. “Is your frantic search for the morning gossip columns perhaps at all connected to your early return from Lord and Lady Guilford’s?”
Alice winced, letting her silence answer for her.
Her sister-in-law sighed. “I see.”
“You don’t,” she whispered. “Not truly.”
And what will you tell your brother? That she was dragged into a scandal by the pompous arse she’d been betrothed to? Oh, and there was the whole matter of her make-believe courtship with Rhys—her brother’s most recent partner in business. “Does Daniel know?” she squeezed out the dreaded question.
“Does Daniel know what?”
Blast, damn, and double-damn.
The two women looked to the tall figure striding forward. Her brother stopped alongside his wife and dropped a kiss on her lips, before scooping his son up.
Feeling like an interloper on that beautiful moment, she glanced to the opposite corridor. Slinking off, Alice made her escape.
She made it no more than four steps.
“Stop,” Daniel instructed and she froze, her slipper suspended.
Alice forced herself to complete the step.
“What is this all about?”
“This?” She searched her mind for a diversionary reply.
His brow lowered, shadowing his face with suspicion.
Daphne, as she had so often done in the years she’d been part of Alice’s life, rescued her. “She was taking Alex to the breakfast room.”
Her brother frowned. “By way of the foyer?”
Alice gritted her teeth. It had been vastly easier to go on with her own affairs when he’d been the detached sibling. Alas, it appeared there was no happy medium of loving brother… and one who allowed her a life of her own. “I was speaking to Haply about…” From just beyond her husband’s shoulder, Daphne held a palm aloft, urging that thought to cessation. Alice cleared her throat.
The suspicion deepened in her brother’s eyes and he took a step closer. “What were you speaking to Haply about at this hour?”
“I was… I was…” Alice frantically searched for a response and then annoyance slipped in. Daniel had lived the life of a black-hearted scoundrel more years than he hadn’t. What right did he have to question any of her actions or decisions? She brought her shoulders back. “I was waiting for the newspaper.”
His mouth opened and closed several times. “The newspaper?” he echoed. “That merits secrecy?” As soon as the words left him, Daniel’s face shuttered. “What is it?” he asked gruffly.
Alex squirmed in his father’s arms.
“Here, I will take him,” Alice insisted, gathering her nephew.
Another footman rushed forward, with several papers upon his tray. He stopped, and looked between the assembled Winterbournes. “Uh, these have arrived.”
Daniel reached for the latest scandal sheets.
Darting over, Alice intercepted them, plucking them from the tray. “I’ll take those.”
“What in the blazes?” her brother muttered.
A hard knock at the doorway brought their attention to the door.
“Who’s come to call now?” Daniel muttered. “The bloody King of England?”
Slightly winded, Haply ambled forward and drew the door open.
A charge of awareness coursed through Alice and she drank in the sight of the towering, broad-bear of a figure framed in the doorway. Afraid these past days missing him as she had, that she’d conjured him out of the air.
For he was here. Now.
Rhys, as devastatingly beautiful in the flesh as he’d been in her remembrances of him this week.
Doffing his hat, he took in the crowded foyer, before settling his gaze briefly on Alice.
Her arms tightened reflexively around her nephew and he squirmed, batting at her head in protest. She immediately lightened her grip.
Rhys’ stare locked with hers. The piercing intensity of it sucked the breath from her lungs.
“Brookfield?” Daniel shattered that pull. “I believed our meeting was not until later this afternoon.”
A bitter cold chased away the thrill of seeing him.
Of course. “You’re here on business,” she whispered, the revelation slipped out.
Everyone swiveled their heads in Alice’s direction.
Her brother puzzled his brow. “Do you know… Brookfield?”
Striding through the entranceway, Rhys approached with long, sleek steps that set his black, wool cloak swirling about his ankles. Ignoring her brother entirely, Rhys stopped before Alice. “I am here on business,” he confirmed, dashing the last sliver of hope responsible for her still frantically pounding heart.
“Oh,” she managed through bitterness stinging her throat. She hugged her nephew close. “I will leave you and my brother to your… affairs.”
“You misunderstand, Alice,” Rhys called after her and she came to a jerky halt.
“Alice?” Daniel echoed, his expression darkening at Rhys’ intimate use of her Christian name.
“I came to speak with you,” he said somberly.
Alice’s heart jumped and she dimly registered Daphne rushing over and scooping up Alex.
He is here for me…
Until Rhys drew his last breath and took his leave for the great hereafter, he would always remember Alice as she’d been when Montfort’s door had been opened: a babe cradled close to her chest, as natural as if the boy himself had been born to her.
And he hungered for that life with her.
“What do you mean you’ve come to speak with my sister?” Lord Montfort growled. He took a threatening step forward, jerking Rhys back from those tempting musings.
The pretty, redheaded young woman at his side, laid a staying hand on his sleeve. She murmured something in hushed tones.
“I would like to speak to your sister, Montfort,” Rhys said quietly.
“I’ll ask you one more time before I throw you out on your damned arse,” his business partner gritted out. “How do you know my sister?”
Given the vein bulging at the earl’s temple, it wouldn’t do for Rhys to point out that he, in fact, hadn’t asked that same question. Rather, Montfort had wondered about the business Rhys had with his sister. The other man was rightfully suspicious. If a wicked scoundrel like Rhys had shown up for one of his sisters, he’d do far worse than throw the bugger out on his arse. As such, the earl was deserving of some explanation. He cleared his throat. “I—”
“You needn’t explain yourself to my brother,” Alice interjected in brusque tones. Wholly in command, asserting herself over her brother, there was nothing meek, mild, or demure about her. And how he loved her for her spirit.
“Yes, yes, he does.” Seething, Montfort took another step closer.
The other woman stepped between the earl and Rhys, and thrust the squirming babe in her arms into Montfort’s arms.
The tension immediately left the earl, as he folded the boy in a tender embrace.
“Forgive my husband,” she said, confirming her identity. “I’m Daphne Winterbourne, the Countess of Montfort.”
Rhys sketched a bow. “M
y lady.” The lady was an ally. That much was clear.
The countess smiled. “Allow me to accompany you and Alice to the parlor.” She paused to favor her husband with a stern look. “Will you bring Alex to the nursery.”
A silent battle waged between husband and wife; some unspoken language that only they two understood. Over the tops of their heads, Rhys’ gaze caught Alice’s.
She offered him a tentative smile, and the hope that had sent him here breathed to life. For the first time since she’d gone, he grinned.
“Shall we?” Lady Montfort interjected, ending that silent connection. Without awaiting to see whether anyone followed, she started forward. The bottom of her cane marked an incessant beat upon the floor as she led the way, her pace made slow by the slight drag of her left leg. Casting a glance back at him, Alice fell into step alongside her sister-in-law.
“I’ll have answers, Brookfield,” Montfort vowed on a steely whisper that contained the threat of death.
He lifted his head in acknowledgement. “After I speak with the lady.” The earl’s gaze burning into his back, Rhys strode after the pair of ladies.
Perhaps if he were the respectable gent like Pup Pratt who’d snagged Alice’s heart, Rhys would have done the honorable thing and spoken to her brother. He would have asked the other man for her hand in marriage and had a proper courtship, betrothal, and then a staid marriage.
But Rhys was not, nor would he ever be one of those sorts. He didn’t know a bloody thing about being proper, and he knew even less about marriage and courtship. They were anathema to everything he’d vowed.
“Here we are,” the countess murmured, bringing them to a stop outside a cheerfully lit parlor. She motioned them inside. “I’ll remain on guard for my husband,” she whispered, a mischievous twinkle glittered in her eyes.
Nor could there be any question that, even now, Montfort was, no doubt, racing through the stucco townhouse to hand the babe off so he might listen at the keyhole.
After Alice and Rhys had entered, the countess drew the door closed behind them.
He’d thought of nothing but her these past five days. Nay, she’d been all that had consumed him since he’d found her in The Copse. And yet, in this instant, all the carefully crafted words, questions, and thoughts he’d assembled in his mind melted.
Alice clasped her hands before her. “I trust you are… well?” she asked, breaking the impasse, proving herself, once again, more brave with her forthrightness than he’d ever been in the whole of his roguish existence.
“I am… well,” his voice emerged garbled. Fingers shaking, he reached inside his cloak and fished around. “You left this.” He pressed the small leather tome into her palm.
Alice stared at the cover, briefly tracing the title etched in gold. “Oh.”
Did he imagine the disappointment in that single syllable? Was it merely crafted of his own yearning?
Folding his hands behind him, Rhys rocked on his heels. “I had this planned.”
“Planned?” she repeated, slowly lifting her head from the book. Her golden lashes veiled her eyes, shielding her thoughts.
Terror rattled around his chest.
He managed an unsteady nod. “What I was going to say when I came here. I’ve thought of nothing else since I set out. I had it scripted in my mind.”
The pink tip of her tongue darted out and traced the seam of her lips. “What were you going to say?”
“I don’t know,” he explained hoarsely, turning his palms up. “Everything in here,” he touched his head and then moved his fingers to his chest. “And here. It is all jumbled. It has been that way since you entered my life… and then left.”
Alice set her book down slowly on a rose-inlaid sidetable. “Try.”
Try.
“My heart was broken,” he said quietly. “Badly. After Lillian, I never wanted to love again but, more, I thought I was unable to love—until you, Alice.”
She sucked in a shuddery breath. “You… love me?”
How could she not know?
“My life was empty—until you. You reminded me what it was to laugh and smile.” An agonized laugh rumbled from his chest. “I never knew there was a woman like you. You are clever and spirited and you throw a snowball, Alice. And skate.”
She cocked her head.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “My God, I’m blundering this.” Rhys began to pace, his cloak snapping angrily about his legs. “I always knew what to say. I would have once had pretty words for you, perfect ones, and they came easy to me.” He took her hands in his, lightly squeezing them. The warmth of her palms was a balm to his trembling ones. They gave him strength, allowing him to continue. “Those roguish words once came easy because I didn’t feel. You made me feel.” His throat spasmed. He released her hands. “The night I saw you with Pratt… I was destroyed in ways that even Lillian’s betrayal hadn’t left me.”
“Oh, Rhys,” she whispered, brushing her fingers over his cheek.
He leaned into that caress, craving more of her tender touch.
She let her hands fall to her sides. “Is that why you didn’t come sooner?”
The hurt there shredded him, but also stirred hope within him.
“No,” he shook his head. “That is not why.”
Alice bit at her lower lip.
“I know you love him and I’ve accepted that you always will, b-but…” His voice broke. “I love you so very desperately, I will take even the smallest piece of your heart, if you’ll but trust it to me.” He sank to a knee.
Alice slapped a hand to her mouth, catching the gasp that filtered from her lips. “What are you doing?” she breathed, backing up a step.
Rhys withdrew the thick ivory velum; marked, inked, and sealed. “I wanted to come sooner but I wanted to have this with me.” He set it down. “It is special license from the Archbishop.”
“You want me to marry you?”
“It is all I want,” he said hoarsely. It was all he’d never known he wanted. “But my desires are secondary.” Her happiness was everything and, even as it would break his soul to lose Alice, if that brought her joy, he’d set her free.
The clock ticked away atop the mantel, stretching the silence into a never-ending beat that drilled a slow, hollow wall of emptiness inside.
And when she spoke, hers was not the simple “yes” he longed for.
“You would marry me, Rhys, even believing I’m in love with Henry.”
How he despised that name and all it represented. “I would,” he said unequivocally.
Then, one word contained within that string of others, penetrated his misery, and he replayed that statement over in his head.
…You would marry me, even believing I’m in love with Henry…
“I do not love him, Rhys.”
His heart slowed to a stop. “You do not?” It had been that thought that had eaten him alive since he’d come upon her and Pratt together.
“I do not.” She took a hesitant step closer, when there had never been anything tentative about Alice Winterbourne.
“I saw you—”
“You saw him kissing me.”
What was she saying? Rhys’ mind raced and then slowed to a stop. “I saw—”
“He was drunk,” she said bluntly. “And jealous… because of my feelings for you.”
“And it was not a display to sever our pretend courtship?” he breathed that revelation out on a slow exhale.
She gave her head a tight shake. “Certainly not. Your sister-in-law paid me a visit. We spoke, and she encouraged me to follow my heart.”
It was as Philippa had said. A lightness suffused his chest… and then as quick as it flickered to life, died as the implications settled around his mind. An animalistic growl started low and climbed to his throat. Primal rage consumed him. “Then Pratt’s embrace?”
“He forced on me.”
The air exploded from his lungs on a sharp hiss. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing his mind bac
k to that night. Rhys had been so consumed by his own grief and heartache, he’d failed to see that which was before him. Hatred consumed him; for himself for failing to see and protect her as she’d deserved and loathing for Pratt who’d dared put his hands upon her.
I’ll kill him.
“You won’t.”
Unaware he’d uttered that threat aloud, his eyes flew open. She’d defend a cur who’d never deserved her and who was long overdue for a good thrashing?
Alice continued. “You won’t kill him because he’s a pathetic man who’ll suffer an empty life with a woman he does not love because of his lust for power. That’s punishment enough. No, I never loved Henry,” she said softly, drifting closer and then stopping when a mere handsbreadth separated them. “I loved the idea of love. I loved the idea of someone I could sit and read with; a man who didn’t try to change me but accepted me as one who’d forever challenge Societal conventions. And I found him.” She cupped his face. “In you.” Alice lowered her brow to his. “I love you, Rhys Brookfield.”
“You love me?” he asked hoarsely.
“Only you. It has only ever been you.” She smiled a watery smile. “I just did not know it until you rescued me in The Copse, and then you saved me in every way.”
His heart sped up. “Nay, we rescued one another.” Gathering her hands in his, he raised them to his mouth, placing a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist. “Is that a yes, Alice?”
Her grin widened. “That is a yes.” She hurled herself into his arms and he caught her, holding her close.
Montfort’s steady stream of black curses filtered through the oak panel. Alice and Rhys’ laughter melded together as they let go of their pasts and embraced the future that awaited them—together.
The End
Other Books by Christi Caldwell
“The Rogue Who Rescued Her”
Book 3 in the “Brethren” Series by Christi Caldwell
Martha Donaldson went from being a nobleman’s wife, and respected young mother, to the scandal of her village. After learning the dark lie perpetuated against her by her ‘husband’, she knows better than to ever trust a man. Her children are her life and she’ll protect them at all costs. When a stranger arrives seeking the post of stable master, everything says to turn him out. So why does she let him stay?
A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle Page 188
