by Ava Stone
“Like it is at any country estate, I would imagine,” she finally said evasively.
“Ah. Yes, because we are all so very much alike.”
Almost as an afterthought, his right hand came over hers where it rested upon the bend of his arm. Even through all the layers of outerwear his sisters had insisted she wear, she could feel his warmth seeping through. She missed it a moment later when he removed his hand just as suddenly as it had come, as though he’d been scalded.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“It’s quite all right.”
But it wasn’t.
Nothing was all right, and she wasn’t certain it ever would be again—not anything at Bexley Court; not her constant worry over what would happen to Mama and Edie; not the way Lord Preston made her feel when he touched her or looked at her; not the way she couldn’t determine if he believed her a thief in the making or a lady who’s company he could enjoy; not the way she couldn’t decide if she wished he would touch her again; and especially not the way she wished they could be in one another’s presence without such an intense lack of trust forcing a wedge between them.
When had she started wanting to be in his presence? True, he was liable to drive her mad with his hovering. Yet at the same time, she was growing more comfortable with him. She liked how he would speak to her in an intellectual manner, as an equal. Over the last few days, she’d watched him with his nieces and nephews, with his sisters. He treated them all with the same sort of care and love Papa had always shown them—and Percy too, before Papa died. No matter how many wrong paths her brother had taken in the intervening years, he had once been as loving and caring as any man she’d ever known. She believed he could be again.
She had to believe it.
She had to hold on to the hope that someday, Percy would remember who he was and what was important.
That sort of love—the love of a father or a brother, a man—had been gone too long from her life. Mama and her sisters loved her, of course, and Monty had done his best to fill the chasm created by Papa’s death and Percy’s inability to come to terms with it…but that was far from the same thing.
A bird took flight, lifting off from a branch overhead and sending a shower of snow down upon them. Freddie laughed, despite the cold it brought down upon her.
“You don’t laugh often enough,” Lord Preston said.
Her head shot up, and she met his gaze. Bother and blast, there was that expression again. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking when he looked at her like that, but it felt as though he was looking all the way through her to her very soul.
That was more than just a little bit unnerving.
“I’m sorry. I don’t try not to laugh. It’s just…” It’s just so hard to feel lighthearted when there are so many things to worry about.
“It’s just that you’re too busy worrying,” he finished for her.
How did he do that? Was he truly seeing the depths of her soul when he stared at her so intensely? She couldn’t imagine how else he could know her thoughts in such a way.
Lord Preston stopped walking again and faced her. Bits of snow were slowly melting from the top of his hat and his shoulders, disappearing against the dark fabric as though they’d never been there. With his right hand, he reached up and brushed some flakes away from her cheek. The trail of leather against her skin left goose flesh in its wake.
“There is much to worry about,” she whispered without thinking it through.
“Shouldn’t Stalbridge be the one to ease your worries?”
Percy had been the head of their family for several years now. Her brother should be the one to do that very thing, yet instead he was the cause of more worries than he had ever alleviated.
Someone had had to determine what to do for them all, and it seemed to always fall on Freddie’s shoulders. Or perhaps she had taken the responsibility upon herself. She always had felt responsible for her sisters as they were growing up. And after Papa died, Mama had grieved so deeply for her loss that it had only been natural for Freddie to take up that mantle.
She’d been wearing it for so long now she didn’t remember how to take it off.
At the moment, it didn’t help matters any that Lord Preston’s stare had once again taken on that heated nature, the sort which made her feel as though she would melt from the inside out and be happy to do so.
Another sprinkling of snow drifted down upon them from the branches above, scattering over her upturned face.
Freddie’s breath caught when, instead of brushing the snowflakes away with his fingertips as he’d done before, his lips came down upon her cheek just where the snow had fallen.
His was such an unexpectedly tender touch. Despite the cold, flame burst through her veins to every extremity, heating her through as his kiss traveled slowly over the bridge of her nose, her forehead, the lids of her eyes.
Nothing could have prepared her for the sudden increase in her pulse or lightheadedness she experienced when he put both arms around her and held her like he could somehow shelter her from all that was wrong within her world. On a sigh, she lifted her arms and held on to his broad shoulders to steady herself.
Gentle kisses trailed along the line of her jaw, then upwards.
His lips pressed to hers.
It felt heavenly—nothing at all like the hen pecking kisses Lord Calbourne had given her before. She wanted more, but when she pulled him closer, he pressed her away.
“I’m sorry.” His breathing was ragged, his voice little more than a rasp. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Freddie felt more confused than she already had, particularly because she wasn’t sorry he’d kissed her. No matter what she thought she felt or knew about Lord Preston, his kiss had been one of the most delightful things she’d ever experienced. Yet he was sorry? Was it for kissing her, or for making her want him, or for something else entirely?
For the first time in her life, she’d been kissed by a man who made her feel something she’d never felt before, only to have him apologize for it.
How dreadfully lowering.
What on earth had he been thinking to kiss her? Clearly he hadn’t been thinking at all or else he never would have done it. He wouldn’t marry anyone, and he didn’t fully trust her, so he had no business kissing her.
Even now, she still looked so flushed and pretty, and entirely too kissable. If he wasn’t careful, he’d do it all over again. And then he’d really be in trouble.
But she also looked hurt.
God’s teeth, he’d been the one to put that haunted look into her eyes. Even if he wasn’t fully responsible for its presence, at the very least he’d drawn it back to the forefront from wherever it might have been in hiding.
Lady Frederica Bexley-Smythe was not the sort of woman he could kiss and forget about, even if such a woman existed—but whether he’d made a pact with his old school chums or not, he couldn’t marry her.
She might not be a thief, like he’d thought she would become, but how could he trust she wouldn’t stab him with a fire poker or do something equally horrifying?
The longer he stood there looking at her, the more he wanted to kiss her again and more…something he couldn’t do without either losing his honor or taking her to the altar.
Instead, he had to take her back to the house. Now.
The maid who’d come with them was conveniently looking in the opposite direction, though, so maybe she wouldn’t say anything about what had taken place. There was one tiny blessing in the whole sordid ordeal.
This wouldn’t do. Preston put a reasonable distance between himself and Lady Frederica again and held out his arm for her to take. When she did, her brown eyes filled with confusion, he turned them around and started back towards the main house.
He needed to get her talking again, about something dry and dull and boring. The first thing which came to mind was to renew their discussion of the flaws in Gauss’s proof.
He was as surp
rised, therefore, when instead he asked, “Where is Stalbridge spending his holiday?”
Why on earth did he ask her that? Talking about her brother had been what led him to kiss her in the first place. She had looked so careworn when she spoke of the ne’er-do-well lout, like she could never come out from under the weight of his mistakes. It had brought out Preston’s protective instincts in a way he hadn’t been expecting.
He had enough other people in his life who were in need of his protection. He didn’t need to add another.
“I could not say,” Lady Frederica said solemnly. Some of the light had gone out from her eyes, and she seemed suddenly distant. “The last Mama or I heard from him was in a letter from my sister Mattie, when he was in Scarborough for a brief visit this summer.”
“You have not seen him at all? He hasn’t written to you?” Preston was aghast at the thought. He corresponded with his sisters at least once a fortnight, usually far more often than that, and he visited with each of them as often as was possible. “How has he seen to your care?”
Mistreatment, in any its many forms, was something he could never bear to see.
Stalbridge had certainly neglected his sisters and mother, based not only on the fact that he was absent from their lives, but also on what Rachel had learned from Lady Stalbridge before inviting them for Christmas. But how far had the neglect gone? And—heaven forbid—what if he had been right about Lady Frederica thinking of stealing some of those jewels? Had Stalbridge’s delinquency fallen to such great depths that she would become so desperate? Would she steal to aid her brother?
Preston could think of no other reason for her to even dream of such a thing. She was a gently bred lady. She knew right from wrong. There was no denying that Stalbridge had fallen very low. The only question was how low.
Now Preston thought he had a much better idea of the answer to that question.
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I do not think this is something I ought to speak with you about, my lord. It is a family matter.”
Her soft words only confirmed what he already believed to be true.
Damnation.
“Of course, you’re right,” he murmured.
The snow crunched beneath their feet as they slowly made their way out from the arbor and back towards the main house. Preston was at a loss as to what he ought to do about his newfound knowledge.
Clearly, something must be done about Stalbridge, before his sister resorted to thievery or before she and her mother and sister were forced to leave their home. But what? Lady Stalbridge could remarry, of course, but that would not guarantee protection for her two daughters.
Then there was Lady Edwina. The youngest Bexley-Smythe sister was still not out, and really oughtn’t to marry just yet. What could guarantee her protection if Lady Stalbridge’s new husband refused?
The lady on his arm was more than eligible, but again, her marriage would not necessarily protect the mother and the sister. She seemed the most likely solution to their problem, however, should she find the right gentleman who would also offer protection to Lady Stalbridge and Lady Edwina.
The trick was going to be finding the right gentleman for the task, since it clearly couldn’t be him.
As they passed into the final clearing, a solitary horse and rider came into view coming down the lane towards the house. Preston knew Upton Grey wasn’t expecting any more visitors now. He’d made certain, insisting that both the earl and Rachel tell him the whole of it so he could prepare himself. They had both sworn there was to be no one but family and Lady Stalbridge and her girls.
Nevertheless, someone was coming.
“Percy?” Lady Frederica’s breath caught, and she tensed. “Percy!” Before he knew what was happening, she took off at a near run to meet this man.
Percy? But that had to mean…Stalbridge. How utterly convenient.
Preston increased his pace. He wanted a word with the marquess.
Freddie nearly flew into her brother’s arms as he dismounted from his horse.
She instantly recoiled from the stench enveloping her and masquerading as his arms, fighting not to gag.
“What…?” She blinked up at him in astonishment. His hair was haggard; his jaw hadn’t been shaved in a week or more; he looked to have been wearing the same clothing for at least the same amount of time. He’d taken it a bit farther than the typical devil may care look, but through it all his handsome charm came through, even if he was more than just a little unkempt. “What are you doing here?”
There could be no denying the overpowering smell of whiskey that seemed to be flowing through his veins instead of blood.
“An excellent question,” Lord Preston said as he came up behind her.
She jumped slightly when his hand settled against the small of her back in what felt entirely too much like a protective—or even possessive—manner. There was no reason he would need to protect her from her brother, of all people, and he certainly didn’t own any right to her. Yet his touch didn’t feel unwelcome.
Percy smiled even as he staggered. “Went to Bexley Court for Christmas, but Stillwell said you’d all come here.” He grabbed hold of the horse’s bridle, more to support himself than to keep the animal still.
He’d wanted to come home for Christmas? Percy hadn’t joined the family for anything in over two years. Perhaps he was finally ready to settle down and take up his responsibilities.
Freddie’s heart felt lighter for the first time in a long time. “We would have sent you word that we were here, if we’d known where we could reach you.”
His eyes were bloodshot and unable to focus. He squinted at her for a long moment. “Not a place for…a lady,” he finally said.
It seemed as though putting words together coherently was a struggle. Was he that deep in his cups? Heavens, it was a miracle he’d arrived at Padmore Glen safely. He could have fallen from his horse or been accosted by a highwayman, or God only knew what else.
“Come inside.” Freddie reached for his hand to help him up the steps. “We can discuss it inside once you’ve had a bath and some clean clothes.”
“Lady Frederica,” Lord Preston said with a warning tone, but she paid him no heed.
Percy released the horse’s bridle, but then nearly dragged her down as he fell to his knees. Indeed, he might have done, if not for Lord Preston prying Percy’s hand free from hers and pulling her backward.
At just that moment, Mr. Goddard hurried through the front door and raced down the steps to help Percy to his feet, with Lord Upton Grey following close behind.
But then Freddie realized Goddard wasn’t exactly helping Percy to stand so much as he was restraining him. She started to move towards her brother, but Lord Preston held her back with a hand upon her elbow.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Upton Grey demanded.
“I have—I…I need.” Percy stammered for a few minutes, his eyes flashing about him wildly, never settling on anyone or anything until they met hers and latched on with more fear than she’d ever seen in them. “Freddie?” It came out as a plea.
Hot tears sprang to her eyes. Never in her life had she imagined she’d see her brother in such a state. Lord Preston’s grip on her elbow grew firmer, more secure.
“It is freezing,” Lord Upton Grey said. His steely gaze was fixed firmly upon Percy, never wavering. “You are filthy, and while your mother and sisters are invited guests, you are not, Stalbridge. I’ll allow you inside to get warm and clean, and when you’ve become more decent I’ll allow you to speak with Lady Frederica, but you will not be staying.”
“Just need—I need Freddie.”
After a nod from Lord Upton Grey, Mr. Goddard and a footman half carried Percy inside. They left Freddie and Lord Preston alone, save the maid, outside by the steps.
Freddie started to go up the steps, but Lord Preston still did not release her arm.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
She didn’t particularly car
e for the situation either, but she was fairly certain her distaste was for an entirely different reason. It was difficult to see her brother in such a state.
Lord Preston came around to stand in front of her, and then had the audacity to chuck her under the chin. “I’ll allow him to talk to you, but I want to be present, too.”
“You’ll allow him to talk to me, will you? How terribly kind of you, my lord.” Freddie made to skirt around him, but he gently took her by the wrist and stopped her again.
“I don’t think you should be alone with him. I know he’s your brother, but—”
“But nothing.” She tugged against him, to no avail. “I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me from my brother. He may not have the most savory of reputations, but he will not harm me.” Not physically, at least. All the harm Percy has caused has been on another plane. Not that Freddie had any intention of saying anything of the sort to Lord Preston or anyone else. It was a family matter. “Now kindly unhand me.”
When he finally released her, Freddie stalked up the stairs and into the main house. After her walk, she still hadn’t managed to get away from Lord Preston, and now she was more confused than ever before.
After she had talked to Percy, she might very well have to suffer the megrim she’d been falsely claiming for the better part of a week.
“You’ve done what?”
From one of the leather armchairs in Lord Upton Grey’s study, where he’d granted her a private audience with Percy once he’d bathed and become at least somewhat more sober, Freddie stared aghast at her brother. He stood by the hearth, even his defeated posture reflecting the broken man he’d become. Percy Bexley-Smythe, Marquess of Stalbridge, was virtually unrecognizable as the carefree and charming brother she’d known for the whole of her life.
It was gradually growing clearer to her that the redness in his eyes and his state of distraction weren’t due solely to inebriation, but also—and perhaps even primarily—due to panic.
“I didn’t know what else to do!” He dragged a shaking hand through his overlong hair, nearly ripping some of it free. “He wanted Edie. She’s only sixteen, for God’s sake. I couldn’t…”
