Rescue Me Please

by Nichole Matthews

  “I am perfectly able to entertain myself, Parker.” Adele looked amused at his concern. “I’m not in my dotage as of yet.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply…” Parker’s voice trailed off when he saw the smirk upon his aunt’s face. His whole family adored her. He had always loved his aunt. She had been the one to coddle and sneak him sweetmeats after his mother had died. The person with whom he had shared confidences and the only one who truly knew what had happened during that fateful Season. She was the only one who knew how profoundly affected he was by the whole unsavory incident.

  “I know, dear, I’m only teasing you.”

  “Perhaps I will occupy my time with redecorating this room.” Parker grimaced, glancing around at all the fluff. “I would hate to entertain my friends in this god awful pink room. I would be the laughing stock of my club.”

  “Don’t you dare, Parker Mathias Peregrine,” Adele objected, her tone strong and reprimanding, her finger wagging enthusiastically. “Your sisters would be devastated if you altered one item in this room. It’s all they have ever known of their mother. You’ve plenty of other rooms to occupy if you are unable to stomach this one.”

  “The portrait can remain; however, they no longer live here,” he said, gesturing toward the crushed velvet pink settee. “Why must I be subjected to this horrendous color scheme day after day? I grow more and more nauseous the longer I remain.”

  “Fiddle,” Adele argued. “I won’t allow it. I will write to Poppy posthaste and then we will see how quickly you change your mind.”

  “Oh, stuff,” Parker retorted, sitting forward in the rickety chair. “Am I not the master of my own home?” He held back a grin, but the crease in his cheek gave him a way. “Poppy is going to deliver a baby at any moment, a possible heir to the Duke of Hawksley. She has more important ventures to occupy her mind. She doesn’t have time to dwell on the color scheme of a room in a house she no longer resides.” He sat back, smug with his argument.

  “This conversation attests to the charmed life you lead, Parker Peregrine,” Adele pointed out, her brow raised. Her nephew, the sixth Marquis of Ashford and to top it off, handsome to boot. Well over six foot, dark wavy brown hair, piercing blue eyes. Oh, he had sown many a wild oat in his life, but she was proud of the man he had become.

  The man he was forced to become.

  A good man, just as his father had been, but he had grown used to getting all that he desired with what appeared minimal effort.

  “You gain great pleasure in reminding me of my charmed life, Aunt.” He slanted her a look. “It’s not as if I’ve shirked my duties. I have seen you well taken care of these many years.”

  “I disagree,” she countered. “Indeed you have many duties associated with the marquisette, but you also have a duty to yourself, Parker. Your needs are just as important as those around you.”

  “I daresay the Ton would feel differently,” he retorted, exhaling a comical sigh.

  “Oh, poor thing,” Adele exclaimed, her eyes dancing.

  He eyed her warily. “Aunt, you’re being quite aggravating.”

  “If I were so inclined, I could point out that your tone is analogous of Peyton’s over the summer.”

  “Never say!” Parker blanched visibly, then he sighed, slumping back into his seat. “How right you are, Aunt.” He chuckled.

  She clucked her tongue. “Perhaps if you stopped dallying with the muslin company…”

  “Aunt, I’m astonished,” he quickly interrupted her train of thought.

  “I seriously doubt that. Perhaps you should spend some time at the school.” Ashford Lane School for Girls was Adele’s special project. It was a school that housed and educated indigent girls that she had started with her inheritance and the only other place that held her heart besides Rosebriar.

  “What would you have me do at your beloved school?” He cocked his brow arrogantly. “I believe I have many talents, Aunt, but teaching impressionable young women is not one I would relish.”

  A ready smile sprang to her eyes, the lively twinkle inciting immense concern in Parker. “Perhaps you could muck the stables, my dear.” She ignored Parker’s loud sputtering cough and flying dark brows and continued to pull the thread through the fine cloth in her hand without dropping a stitch. “I’ve heard that physical labor helps clear the cobwebs and keeps one from succumbing to the tedious monotony of forced ennui.”

  Parker smiled, unable to stop the chuckle that erupted, watching as his aunt bit her lip to keep from giggling aloud. He was impressed with the witticisms that rolled off her tongue without even the slightest quiver in her voice. “Perfectly, delightfully, irascible as ever, my dear Aunt, I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

  “Indeed.”

  He stood suddenly, his muscles protesting their prolonged inactivity. He stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the ache from sitting in the uncomfortable chair for the afternoon. He bent over to place an affectionate kiss on his aunt’s softly wrinkled cheek. “I believe I will take a turn about the garden before the weather decides to change.” He held out his arm. “Would you care to accompany me?”

  “It is quite lovely this afternoon, my dear, but I have almost completed this pillow cover and I am unable to bring myself to set it aside until it is finished and I can place it in my linen closet to never be seen from again.”

  He chuckled, bowed, and shut the door behind him.

  ***

  The parterre garden was as usual a source of great comfort to Parker. He supposed he could have walked in privacy in Poppy’s walled wildflower garden but the symmetrical pattern of the contained discipline soothed and he would have deprived his aunt of entertainment. He smirked as he looked towards the Rose Room’s windows and saw his aunt’s face peering unabashedly down. He knew that she watched his every step. Studied his every mood. He loathed taking that joy from her.

  The scent of the remaining roses calmed his nerves and allowed him the peace of mind to think. He felt a peace now that Poppy and Piper were both under the protection of good men, powerful men, who were able to shield them from the evils of this world. The tension that had held his shoulders prisoner for the past four years, since the death of their father, had begun to ease over the past few months. He felt his responsibilities lighten. He didn’t truly worry about Peyton’s future. He was a man. He could take care of himself.

  Aunt Adele was right. A new day had come. Was it wrong of him to think of himself? What of his desires? What of his life? What did he truly want?

  He walked down one of the paths, his long legs making fast work of their length, his left hand trailing lightly over the low hedge as he went. He enjoyed the feel of the trimmed edges scraping across his palm. He really should wed and produce an heir. Aunt Adele would then leave him be and he would have done his duty. He could think of a dozen names off the top of his head that he could throw into a hat. He could withdraw one lucky name and be done with the whole bloody thing.

  What woman would balk at the chance at becoming his marchioness? He almost chuckled aloud at his arrogant thought.

  But he felt at a loss for a strategy. He couldn’t very well leave his life to chance. The draw of a name could have disastrous effect on his future. He was desirous of a lady that heated his blood. That challenged him. One with whom he could have an energetic battle of wits from time to time.

  He wanted an all-consuming love.

  He could not see himself settling for a lukewarm relationship for the sake of an heir.

  He needed more than mediocrity.

  He wanted more than demure obedience.

  With all of his ruminating, he barely noticed the beautiful surroundings of his garden or the cool air as he meandered through the landscaped paths deep in thought. He stopped only when he reached the edge of the garden and could continue no further. Taking a deep draw on his cheroot, his eyes narrowed as he blew out a long stream of smoke, watching the curling gray cloud rise into the air. He let his gaze drift over the g
arden and wrinkled his nose at the stench masking the heady smell of the wintering garden.

  His lips quirked. He couldn’t fathom why he indulged in such a vile habit. He threw his cheroot down, crushing it beneath his boot heel with a grunt. He took a moment to loosen the simple cravat around his neck, and stood there; hands shoved deep into his pockets and stared at nothing in particular.

  A narrow opening in the box hedge led to a wide open lawn of freshly cut grass that ended at a wooded expanse. The leaves on the trees had turned and fallen long ago leaving naked branches for his background in which to gather his turbulent thoughts. He exited the contained garden and stepped out into the wide open lawn. Perhaps he should use this as a guide to what he should do with his life?

  He loved this time of year; he inhaled the sweet scent of leaves, grass and winter roses. He inhaled savoring the stillness and the crisp air. No parties. No guests. Just family. Family seemed like such a loose term now. Poppy was gone and at home with her husband awaiting her first child. Piper recently married and along with her devoted husband determined to set London on its ears with her very own literary salon. Then there was Peyton; only God knew what Peyton was about. And here he was alone.

  Suddenly out of the quiet came a mewling cry interrupting his maudlin reflections. Parker perked up, gazing out into the distance, trying to make out the direction of the sound. His aunt would be amused that he was now hearing cries in the silence. This was utterly ridiculous. He should pack and leave for places less quiet. Perhaps Seymour would allow him to join in his holiday festivities? Seymour was his last unmarried friend. He sighed as he thought of the lack of possibilities for entertainment at this time of year, besides it would soon grow too cold to travel far. He would rather be comfortably ensconced in his study or even seated in the library in front of a roaring fire.

  There it was again. He moved further onto the lawn, scanning the surrounding area as he went and waited once again. When suddenly he spotted a dark speck amongst the browning grass at the edge of the wooded area and he quickened his pace.

  The further he went, the clearer the cry. It sounded like that of a hungry baby. Impossible. None of his tenants currently had infants and this area was far from the main road. It couldn’t be a lost traveler. However would they have made it this far without being seen?

  Startled, he faltered at what appeared in front of him. A raggedly dressed young girl lay on her side with her knees curled to her chest and a tightly swaddled baby lay on the ground beside her.

  Damn. He wiped at his eyes so he could make sense of what he was seeing.

  A baby? What the hell was he going to do with a baby?

  He was a fool for a woman in trouble and toss a baby into the mixture and he might as well hand over all of his worldly possessions.

  Not wanting to frighten the sleeping trespasser, he slowed his pace, circling around until he was within a few feet of their resting spot. The child looked as if it had finished its reprieve and was attempting with all its might to make its needs known to the entire county. The baby’s face mottled red in frustration. The piercing cries enough to bring even the toughest man to his knees, but somehow didn’t even faze the sleeping girl.

  Parker hesitated for only the briefest of moments before he moved slowly towards the mewling bundle, crouching down to lift the baby to his shoulder. He felt clumsy and overly large with the tiny body nestled against his chest. He knew next to nothing of babies.

  “What has you so upset, little one?” he asked calmly, even though he knew no answer would be forthcoming. Not wanting to distress the baby more. He gazed down at the red-faced infant in his arms, then ran his hand over the infants back, pulling back with a grimace when he encountered the baby’s soggy bottom. “Ah, I see now what has you flying up in the boughs, little one.” He held the infant away from his shoulder, only then noticing the dark stain on his jacket. He grinned at the wide green eyes that stared back at him, a string of drool dangling from its toothless smile. “I would be surly as well if I were forced to endure this uncomfortable condition for too long.” He looked into the baby’s big green eyes with a furrowed brow. “We must remedy this situation immediately.”

  He looked around, his gaze landing on the small satchel that lay at the sleeping girl’s feet. He kept the baby far from his body, watching as its mouth widened into a toothless grin. “Well, it appears you are in good spirits, little one.” He lifted his brow, letting out a deep swoosh of air. “Soaked, but in good spirits.” To Parker’s amusement, the infant let out a sweet coo, as if in agreement. “Forgive me, I don’t know if I will make a bigger mess, but I’m willing to give it a go.” Dear Lord, help me. He raised his pleading eyes to the sky as if searching for some kind of sign.

  Parker leaned forward and reached across the girls’ still sleeping body to rifle through the satchel on the ground near her feet when his forearm accidently brushed against her skirt setting off a maelstrom.

  Cheeks pink from sleep, alarm flashed in her tired green eyes as they flew open. A split second later, she jumped up from where she lay nearly knocking him on his backside. Inching backwards until a couple of feet separated them. He caught her completely off guard, unprepared. A mistake she could little afford.

  Her breath escaped in soft pants as she brandished a lethal looking knife, her frown grew fierce, but her voice quivered when she spoke, “Return my baby to me this instant or I will be forced to-to—harm you.” She flushed and stammered a little as all the blood left her face and she swayed dizzily. Why of all days did she choose to forgo eating? She closed her eyelids briefly battling, the all-consuming weariness that pursued her relentlessly. Not now. She needed to be strong. She drew in a deep breath, afraid and yet determined to survive at least for Tillie’s sake. She was fragile. Helpless without her.

  Parker’s eyes narrowed as she swayed. “Miss,” he inquired, reaching out to her. She flinched. “My God, I won’t harm you.”

  ***

  Granville stroked his latest plaything’s artfully arranged golden curls. He really didn’t like the word slave. It had so many negative connotations, but he liked being his Master. He frowned as he looked down at the top of Hunter’s bowed head where he knelt on the floor at his feet behind his desk. He had needs and Hunter had needs that they were able to fulfill with each other. It came quite by happy accident.

  “You’ve been so good today.” Granville resisted rubbing his tired eyes; he had spent the entire night searching for his ring with no luck.

  Hunter gazed up at him, adoration plain in his eyes, leaning into Granville’s soft touch. “Thank you, Master.”

  Granville leaned his head back, remembering the sound the whip made on Hunter’s white flesh and he hardened. The hiss. The crack. His toy. The sound of Hunter’s screams, then release and he grew even harder.

  “Perhaps next time I won’t have to be so rough.” He pressed Hunter’s head against his thigh, the young man sighed with obvious pleasure. “But you made me angry.” He ran his hand over Hunter’s hair, before tangling his fingers in the loose strands, pulling his head back and tipped his face up to take his lips in a demanding kiss. “You must obey, Hunter.” He didn’t feel guilt, he felt anger.

  He gripped Hunter’s nape hard and felt the telling quiver that ran through him. “I do hope you last longer than the last.” His fingers tightened enough to make Hunter’s muscles jump under his palm. “I hope you won’t disappoint me again, will you Hunter?” He could feel Hunter’s whole body tighten, perhaps in fear. Perhaps in desire. Perhaps a little of both.

  A slight hesitation before Hunter answered, “Never, Master. Never.” His eyes dilated and a flush of arousal washed over his cheeks.

  Granville gave him a nod of approval before he picked up his drink and took a healthy swallow, harnessing his rage, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Good, my pet.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  A wise old owl lived in an oak

  The more he saw the less he spoke

 
The less he spoke the more he heard.

  Why can’t we all be like that wise old bird?

  Helplessness nearly suffocated Persephone in its chokehold. Goose bumps broke out on the surface of her skin, but from fear, not from the cool air that flowed over her exposed flesh. The coldness seeped into her bones making them almost ache. She looked around, no idea where she was, or how close help would be. There were trees to her right and a flat field to her left. She raised her chin to peer farther, releasing her breath when she caught sight of a manicured box hedge and past the garden to an enormous three-story redbrick home.

  She forced herself to calm, to not panic. She had been so exhausted; she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open a minute longer. She had practically slept where she fell. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to go further and now fear lodged in her throat, its grip almost paralyzing her where she stood. She knew his pursuit would be ruthless. He would never stop as long as he thought her still alive. She could little afford to stop. She really shouldn’t have taken the luxury to rest. And now she would pay for her weakness.

  It took her a long moment before she was able to draw another deep breath, urging her heart beat to calm its race in her chest and her knees to stop their persistent shaking.

  She was caught by surprise, that even in her frightened state, the man standing before her made her catch her breath. A devilishly handsome face framed by dark waves with sharp masculine features. Tall. Imposing. Clear blue eyes sparkling with amusement. He was broad, nearly blocking what little sun appeared on that winter’s day. Perhaps it was his kind eyes or the humor hinted at in their depths? She reined in her thoughts, a determined set to her mouth. Almost as if an afterthought, she reached for the ribbon tied around her neck, tugging slightly, then she patted her bodice clutching at the small lump between her breasts.