“Piper, leave the man alone.” Rockwell chuckled, interrupting Parker’s response. He was grateful that he didn’t have to give an answer. At least not right now.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Gray.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Parker.”
“I love you, too.” His eyes followed her as she trotted down the hall. All the breath left his chest, leaving him deflated. He headed in the direction of his suite ready to put this night behind him.
As Parker stepped through the door to his room, his valet, Dudley, stood. “I told you to go to bed, Dudley.” He puffed out a frustrated sigh rubbing his temple to ease the beginnings of a headache.
“I wanted to make sure you were well after all the commotion before I retire.”
“Dudley, I will not gossip about one of my guests no matter how much you beg,” he said flatly his scowl deepening.
Dudley’s lips pursed as if he had just sucked on a lemon, but he made no move to leave.
“Dudley,” Parker drawled out. “I’m going to sit before my fire and have a drink before I retire.” He raised his brow. “You may leave.”
“Of course, my lord.” Dudley bowed before heading towards his sleeping cot.
Parker went to the liquor cabinet he had installed in his room and poured a large tumbler of his finest whiskey. He needed a burn tonight. He was so full of conflicting emotions.
Every part in his body said she needed to be cared for, protected, helped—and that he should be the one to do it.
But his body was a traitor. It wanted more than to protect or to help. It wanted to conquer and it hadn’t helped holding her softly curved body in his arms while she slept. He sat and took a large swallow relishing the trail of fire that eased down his throat. Leaning back in the chair, he stretched his legs closer to the crackling fire.
Miss Mayton. Claire. He had thought he desired her. He had thought she was the perfect choice to be his marchioness, before the scandal. Now he was not sure what he needed. What he wanted. His jaw tightened until his teeth ground together.
He dropped his head into his hands and heaved an exasperated sigh, a deep anguish edging through his defenses. Parker didn’t want to dwell on what all had been done to her.
He wanted to drown in sweet oblivion.
***
Granville sat behind his large oak desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, a look of casual disregard on his face. “You look like hell, St. Claire.” The earl examined Lord St. Claire with a serious expression. It was clear that he was displeased with the information he had received.
The viscount leaned over Granville’s desk his palms planted firmly on the hard surface. “I have worked diligently in keeping my reputation without spot or blemish, Granville.” The viscount’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. “By God, Granville if you don’t find the chit, I will find her and take care of her for you.”
“Calm yourself, St. Claire,” Granville replied evenly, and gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. “Let me get you a drink.” He signaled to the footman who stood silently in the corner. “I’m known for my discretion.” He gave him a hard look. “Or do you doubt my word?”
“Of course not, Granville.” His eyes held a hint of fear. “If my father should find out, he will cut me off without a farthing.”
“Do you imagine that I would want these sordid stories to be bandied about the drawing rooms of London?” Granville’s laugh did not halt his sneer. “I would not live to see the dawn of a new day.”
“W-w-what?” St. Claire’s brow knit with worry.
Granville shot him an astonished glare. “Did you imagine that you would go unpunished if your degeneracies were made known?” Granville watched with a hard glint in his eyes as St. Claire’s throat worked furiously. “I’m sure your father would understand if he knew you were unable to control the urges that run through your blood.”
St. Claire’s face blanched. “My l-l-lord…” He swallowed hard, taking a few steps back.
He had a feeling St. Claire might be a problem. Perhaps a note sent round to his father, Lord Seighton, would ease his worries. He wasn’t above a little blackmail; it’s what helped keep his coffers filled.
Granville stood resting his shoulder against the window frame, his gaze softening at the thought. When he turned his attention back to St. Claire, his expression tinged with dark amusement. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.” He spoke quietly, feeling a smile nudging the corners of his mouth at the fear that flashed in St. Claire’s eyes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day.
Little Johnny wants to play;
Rain, rain, go to Spain,
Never show your face again!
The next morning Parker went in search of Persephone and found her sitting on the wrought iron bench in Poppy’s wildflower garden looking lost. His mood was less than cheerful as well. He had awoken pissed off. He needed to know about her nightmares. Irritation tightened his gut. Why was she afraid? It was enough to make him wonder what had gone wrong with the world when a woman wasn’t safe. She had said uncle. She hadn’t even been safe with her own family? It sickened him.
Persephone was embarrassed at the memory of him finding her lost in one of her nightmares. She had been trying desperately to remember how much she had revealed in her dreaming state. Did she give him a name? She prayed she was stronger than that.
Even now she could hear the snap of the whip before it struck as if it were happening now and her body froze. The scrape of the key as it turned in the lock of her dark, dank, tiny space where she was unable to stand, forced to remain on hands and knees, turned her hands clammy. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to still the panic. She no longer had to endure hours and hours in darkness, pain, and fear. A wave of shame ran through her as she remembered all she had done and what all had been done to her. She swallowed back the queasiness that threatened her stomach at the horrible memories.
She didn’t look up at the sound of footsteps along the gravel path, confident they belonged to him.
She couldn’t escape him.
He wouldn’t allow it.
When he gazed at her, it was as if he could see into her soul. Impossible, but it frightened her still. Why couldn’t he stay impersonal? She watched as the toes of his highly polished boots stopped in her line of sight and she released a heavy sigh.
Parker stopped in front of the bench and stared down at the top of her head, nearly chuckling when he saw her shoulders rise and fall with her deep sigh. He squatted down, cocked his head, propped his index finger beneath her chin and tipped her head back a bit so he could capture her gaze completely. Visible lines of worry surrounded her eyes and her white teeth worried her bottom lip. A wave of compassion wrapped in something stronger, something that he didn’t want to name washed over him.
“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked. “That is, unless you prefer to be alone?”
She shook her head, gesturing to the space next to her on the bench, but he could see her go white.
He settled in the spot she indicated and let a slow, easy smile cross his face.
His smile was devastating, showing his deep dimple and crinkling the lines around his eyes. She sucked in several steadying breaths before she spoke and was caught by the masculine heat and scent of him. “Your sister has a beautiful space for her butterfly garden.” She turned her head a little to the side. She desperately wanted to steer the topic of conversation to something safer. She had no intentions of ever saying the words aloud. She would never admit to her acts. Never acknowledge her grave transgressions.
Especially not to him.
She wanted to stand and move as far away from him as possible. She felt that she was tainting him with her very presence. That by being in such close proximity her vile, evil self would smother him.
“She calls it her wildflower garden.” He leaned back and shifted so th
at he was even closer to her. She didn’t shrink away so that gave him much needed reassurance that she wasn’t frightened of him. “I believe she relished its chaotic beauty. She definitely fought against the rules that governed her very existence, expressly while in polite society. I think that is why she loved the country much more than being in Town. Why she loved Rosebriar.”
“It is quite lovely.” She nodded and plastered a weary smile to her face. Poppy’s wildflower garden did grip her in its passion. She wasn’t quite sure why? Was it the possibility of the vibrant hues that would inundate the small space during the spring and summer? Or could it possibly be the chaos? She couldn’t imagine finding chaos beautiful. Not now. Not after all she had gone through. She relished the rigid peacefulness of rules where she was not required to think, but just act accordingly by the exacting strictures she had been taught as a girl by her governess. She did not desire to be wild and free. She couldn’t afford to live a carefree existence any longer.
Parker surprised her by quickly changing the topic of conversation as if he realized she was growing increasingly agitated by its path. “Were you able to sleep the rest of the night?” He turned to her, staring at her questioningly.
Persephone cringed inwardly while maintaining her smile. She swallowed hard, irritated that he turned the conversation to a topic that was equally uncomfortable and one that she would readily avoid if given the choice and nodded. Her throat too clogged to speak, a small, subdued smile tugging at her lips.
He studied her for a minute. “Do you often have nightmares, Persephone?”
His resonant voice relaxed her and her shoulders fell, but she didn’t say anything. She was unable say anything.
“Persephone?” he repeated in a deeper voice, then waited patiently for her to answer.
She stared at him with wide eyes willing him to change the subject and when he just sat there and patiently waited for her to respond, it was as if she couldn’t take the silence any longer and her words stuttered out of their own accord, “I-I-I didn’t have them before.” And she stopped with no further explanation.
“Before what?” He lifted an eyebrow. When she didn’t answer he said, “I won’t tolerate lies or half-truths, Persephone. I don’t know what else you expect me to do to prove that I am trustworthy?”
His words gave her pause. She shook her head and gathered her scattered wits. The tone of his voice was such that it tugged at her, more than the words he spoke or the feel of his hands, so she finally whispered, “M-m-my parents died.” I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. She drew a deep breath, her gaze shifted, her lashes lowering over suddenly sad eyes.
He stared at her for a long moment. “Who cared for you after your parents died, Persephone?” He covered her tightly clasped hands with his own.
Persephone went still, her blood pumping violently. She tried to tug her hand away from him, but he held it fast.
“I don’t wish to upset you. I’m trying to know you. I’m attempting to help you and your daughter.” His face rigid and uncompromising.
He watched her stiffen before she answered, “My uncle.” She whispered around the knot in her throat. She didn’t elaborate but her voice quavered. Unbidden images of the man taunting her flashed in her mind. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, wanting to erase the memory of his ruthless grip. She didn’t want to remember. She bravely fought back her tears.
He was impressed beyond belief by her indomitable spirit wrapped in a fragile, scarred body. “Did your uncle harm you, Persephone?” He could see her eyes glistening with hard fought tears.
She stared at him without blinking, her hands clenched into fists and the vise around her lungs tightened almost stealing her breath.
He watched her closely and saw the tell-tale signs of distress and heard her breath hitch at his question.
“Ridiculous. Why would you ask such a thing?” Everything was fine. Now.
“Where is your uncle now?” His blue eyes darkened and he looked dark and dangerous and like an avenging warrior sent to rid her of all her demons. Tears filled her eyes and she worked vigorously to will them away.
Parker’s eyes remained locked on hers; his scowl eased to a frown and he didn’t answer her question, but asked one of his own. “Then who gave you the scars, Persephone?”
Her eyes shot up. Oh, God. She had prayed that he hadn’t seen them. She closed her eyes and tears squeezed from beneath her closed lids. Her insides curled up in a tight ball. She couldn’t. She couldn’t say it.
He met her eyes; saw so much more than he had even a few minutes before. “Who hurt you, Persephone?” His scowl grew blacker. “Surely you didn’t harm yourself.”
Her face lost what was left of its color and her eye went blank. “I do not know to what you are alluding.” The words were stuttered out, utterly unconvincing.
Parker seethed with barely controlled anger. He worked hard at keeping his hands from curling into tightly curled fists. “Tell me, Persephone.” A command.
Everything in her shriveled at his command, her lungs constricted until she couldn’t get any air. She sucked in a painful breath and shut her eyes. Wheezing, she clutched at her chest and Parker cursed.
He placed his arm around her waist and felt her stiffen at his touch, which made him mutter a curse. “Breathe, Persephone. Slower.” His deep voice held her, made her listen, and there was air again. “Breathe.” He paused. Then he sighed, ignoring the way she flinched away and slowly stroked her hair. “It can wait, but you will need to tell me sooner or later. I need to know because I cannot be around you and know that someone made you afraid. Not just of me but all men. They instilled a fear so deep that you flinch whenever I come close.” He squeezed her tightly and waited for her to grow comfortable with his touch.
Her eyes widened and tears welled up again when he ignored her silent protests and his strong arms pulled her tightly to his chest. He cupped the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her hair, never more grateful that he had lived in a house full of women then at that moment. He knew that his words could make a difference.
“It’s all right. Go ahead and cry. I’ll take care of you.” He meant it with every fiber of his being. He was surprised at how much. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
She stiffened more and tried to move away from him. Pushing at his chest, but it was solid muscle, his arms like solid bands of steel around her body and he would not budge.
His hand lifted to stroke her hair, the touch gentle. She tried to push away again, but he wouldn’t give. “You’re safe now, Persephone.” He checked his anger for her sake forcing his erupting emotions back. She didn’t need to see the fury that raged in his eyes. If he ever found the bastard that did this to her, it would take an entire militia to stop him for killing him.
He felt her swallow hard as her cheek rested against his chest. The rough wool of his hacking jacket rasped against her skin. She could hear the even beat of his heart under her ear. Its steady thump comforted. It was easy to sink into his warmth and absorb his strength. She let her hands wrap around his neck as he pulled her into his lap. At first her muscles tightened, pushing away. He shifted her closer, his arms strong around her. Her skin eased, no longer crawling when touched and her breath no longer spiked with fear at the intimacy.
Her heart skipped a beat as he touched her hair, then the side of her neck, then his nose nuzzled into her nape. There was nothing inherently sexual about the touch, just two people who were intimate taking comfort in closeness.
Emotions swelled and broke loose as Persephone was unable to hold in her feelings any longer. She sobbed against him. She let herself go as his arms folded more tightly around her surrounding her in his warmth and comfort. She cried for Tillie and she cried for all she had lost. She was so young, she had had dreams. Desires. She cried for herself. She cried because she’d been strong for so long, that it felt good to let go.
All the while, Parker held her close, sometimes murmu
ring soothing words in her ear, sometimes just rocking her against him. His body strong and sure eased around hers, a salve to her chafed emotions. After a long while, she heard the strong beat of his heart again as she began to slowly come back to the present. He was a solid warm body to cling to. She knew what she should do. She should push him out. She should be strong, but she seemed to have used all of that strength up. She wanted to lose herself completely in his strength.
“Persephone.” Parker’s voice was soft and close to her ear. “You’re thinking too much.” They were curled around each other like newborn kittens and Persephone was ashamed at her body’s response to his proximity. She thought those feelings would have been beaten out of her by now. She had resigned herself to living in fear of a man’s touch, not melting under his heated caress. The feelings frightened her and aroused her at the same time.
Parker’s blue eyes grew soft, and he ran his hand through her hair. Everywhere he touched, she felt the connection to him, felt his strength. His deep voice pulled at her. “Let me help you.” His chest tightened.
She stiffened at his statement, but forced herself to look directly into his kind blue eyes. She wanted nothing more than to give in to her feelings, and yet something kept her distant. He didn’t know all and she was certain that when he did, he would want nothing more to do with her or Tillie. She pulled away, her green eyes looking straight ahead, but he still saw the flash of pain in her eyes. The sadness, the uncertainty was still there. Her green eyes were wide and filled with tears. He wanted them gone. He tightened his hold on her hip securing her in place when she tried to slide off his lap.
What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to relieve the pain if she wouldn’t trust him? Couldn’t trust him? Anger ran through him, knotting his muscles. The desire to kill the bastard who made her feel that way still too strong. Why? But what shook him to the core was when she looked up at him with desire in her big green eyes that she quickly shuttered behind at first a hint of wariness, then a vacuous stare.
Rescue Me Please Page 14
