by Joyce Alec
“He hit her last night,” Suzanne continued, a single tear making its way down her cheek. “The side of her face is a little bruised this morning. I wanted to let you know, so her appearance does not shock you.”
Charles closed his eyes, lowering his head to his hands. He felt sick. He remembered the red marks on Martha’s neck the first time he had called on her, and something akin to rage filled him.
“I must go after Lord Crewe and defend Martha,” he growled, getting to his feet, knocking Suzanne to the floor.
“No, Charles, you can’t,” Matthew shouted, reaching out a hand and grabbing the back of his coat.
“Why ever not?” Charles roared, his face red. “After what he’s done to her, the man deserves the grave!”
“No one disagrees with that,” Suzanne said. “But think of the consequences, Charles. I know you are angry, but think carefully for a moment.”
His chest heaving, Charles ran a hand through his hair, knowing deep down that she spoke sense. Ending up hanged himself would not solve anything.
“What can I do?” he asked, wringing his hands and desperation on his face. “I have to save her.”
Suzanne smiled then, a gentle and happy smile that lit her features.
“Charles,” she said, soothingly. “There is one thing you can do that will protect Martha for the rest of her life.”
There was a long pause as Charles stared at her, realizing what she meant.
"Do you think she will have me?" he whispered.
“Why not ask her?” Suzanne replied. “She is staying with us here.”
“She’s here?” Charles cried, running to the door and throwing it open. “I must find her!”
He took to the stairs two at a time, calling her name.
“Will he be all right?” Suzanne asked, turning to Matthew.
Matthew grinned. “I think he will be more than all right,” he said, reaching out a hand and pulling her close to him. “You did very well, my dear.”
11
Martha stared at herself in the mirror, barely recognizing herself. She pushed back her unbound hair, staring at the bruise that marred the side of her face. Gerald had hit her hard. Her face was pale, her eyes dull. Even though she knew that thanks to Suzanne and her family's help she would be able to hide from Gerald for now, her heart was sore. It ached. It ached for Charles, and there was no balm for that kind of pain.
“Martha? Martha?”
Starting with surprise, Martha got to her feet, hastening to the door.
“Charles?”
“Oh, Martha!”
Catching her up in his arms, Charles buried his face in her neck, weeping unashamed tears as he held her close.
“I am utterly ashamed of myself! Please, please, I beg your forgiveness!”
Hardly able to breathe, Martha clung to him, never wanting to let him go. “Charles?” she whispered, barely able to believe he was here.
“Martha,” he said again, pulling back to look into her face. “Dear Martha, can you ever forgive me?”
She cried at his words, tears of happiness and relief flowing down her cheeks. She cradled his face with her hands.
“Of course I do,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his cheek.
Charles breathed her in, moving his lips closer to her own. His kiss was strong and fierce, speaking to her of possession and love. She melted into him, wanting to be a part of him, to have him with her always. He was her soulmate, and with him beside her, she felt whole.
"I am never letting you out my sight again," he sighed, breaking the kiss. "Martha, I have been a fool. I should never have believed a word of what your stepbrother said. I should have trusted what I knew about you."
Martha shook her head.
“He is a despicable man, Charles, and I do not blame you for falling into his trap. I am just thankful to know that soon I will be free of him. Suzanne’s family has agreed to let me stay here for now and hide me if need be.”
"No, my darling. You will always be free of him. There is no need to hide," Charles cried, pulling her against him once more. "I love you so very dearly, Martha, and I swear never to let you go again." Dropping to one knee, he held her hands in his. "Martha, will you have me? Even after all my failings, all my doubts—will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Martha smiled as fresh tears tracked down her cheeks.
“Yes,” she whispered, immediately being pulled into his arms once more. “I will, Charles. I love you with all my heart.”
“Today?” Charles whispered against her neck.
“Today,” she replied, safe and secure in his embrace.
Epilogue
“Well, that certainly was a thrilling day,” Matthew said, leaning back in his chair. “I am quite done in.”
Matthew grinned at Charles, who sat with one arm wrapped around Martha as she rested her head on his shoulder. They were the picture of happiness.
“What did the accountant say?” asked Suzanne.
“It turns out that my parcel of land is actually worth a lot more than Gerald led me to believe. In fact, the income from my land is funding his whole existence. He squandered the inheritance from his own father, and now the inheritance that my father left him is almost gone. That explains why he was so eager to get his hands on my land. Now that I am married, Charles and I will receive the income from the property. He will be left quite destitute.”
“Well, his actions do make more sense with that knowledge,” said Suzanne. “Although, nothing he did was excusable. I still find him to be a wretched man.”
“I must thank you, Suzanne, for your hospitality and for your help,” Charles said seriously. “Without you, this might have turned out quite differently.”
“Indeed,” Martha agreed, in a soft voice. “Thank you, Suzanne.”
Suzanne smiled, accepting their thanks. “It is nothing you would not have done for me, Martha, I am quite sure. Besides, to see your happiness makes it all worthwhile.”
An angry voice interrupted their conversation, as the door was suddenly flung open, and Gerald stormed in. All four of them rose to their feet.
“You!” He pointed at Martha, rage emanating from him. “Did you really think you could hide from me? Didn’t you think this would be the first place I’d look? Get outside and get in the carriage immediately.”
Martha didn’t move, her hands clinging to Charles’s arm.
“Lord Crewe,” Charles said, his voice low and dangerous. “May I suggest you remove yourself from this place at once.”
“Don’t you speak to me like that, you insolent fool! I am taking my stepsister home, back where she belongs. Don’t you dare try and stop me.”
He took a step towards Martha, who let out a frightened cry, hiding behind Charles.
“Take one more step,” Charles warned, standing in front of Martha.
“Get out of my way!” Gerald screamed, lunging for his stepsister.
Charles, without a moment’s pause, dealt Gerald a staggering blow, advancing toward him as he struggled to his feet.
“You listen to me, Lord Crewe,” he said, quietly. “Martha is now my wife, and her home is with me. You are never to come near her again. She is a married woman and safely out of your clutches. I should call you out for what you did to her, but my love for her is the only reason why I won’t.”
Shock crossed Gerald’s face, followed by anger that twisted his features.
“How—”
“Special license,” Charles growled. “The bishop had no qualms in granting my request immediately, once he heard the truth. I have to say, I think your days of good standing in society are at an end.” Charles paused for a moment, reining in his temper, then continued, “Martha’s land will never be yours. Now get out, and do not ever come near us again.”
Charles stood tall and strong, waiting for Gerald to make his choice. Gerald, showing the spineless man that he really was, turned on his heel and made his way out of the door without a backwa
rd glance.
Suzanne let out a long breath, collapsing back into her chair.
“Phew!” Matthew said, pouring himself another glass of port. “Well done, Charles, didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Oh, Charles,” Martha cried, reaching for him.
“Be still, be still, my love,” Charles crooned, rocking her gently. “It is truly over now. Gerald will never be able to hurt you again.”
Martha nodded, feeling a freedom that she had not experienced since before her father died. “Thank you, Charles.”
Smiling, Charles tipped up her chin and dropped a tender kiss on her lips, ignoring Suzanne and Matthew’s presence.
“I love you, Martha, and I swear I will always protect you.”
“I love you too, Charles,” she whispered, bringing her lips to his once more.
Untitled
THE END
Part XI
Secrets of the Duke’s Heart
By Caroline Johnson
1
London, England, 1852
Emma hummed as she flipped the sign on the door over from 'shut' to 'open.' She loved coming to work every day, especially since Carter's bookstore was now hers alone. The scent of books, along with the lemon oil she used to keep the shelves shiny soothed her as if it were a fine perfume. She'd worked side by side with her father for years, and he managed to teach her every aspect of the business before the good Lord took him away, leaving the shop for her to run. So far, she'd been successful at keeping a roof over their heads, and providing enough of an income for herself and her mother to get by.
To keep their modest lifestyle, she needed to sell at least twenty books each month. So far this month, she had made it to seventeen. A quick glance at the calendar assured her she still had a few days left to make up the difference. She progressed to the rear of the little store, turning on the Argand oil lamps as she wended her way through the familiar aisles. She had purchased a fair number of books yesterday at auction and needed to sort through them and assign a price to each before placing them on the shelves.
She had just picked up the first book when the little bell over the door rang, signifying a customer. Emma glanced up and stared at a man she knew well. At least by name and reputation. Whatever was the Duke of Ravenswood doing in her little shop?
She took a steadying breath before she stepped forward. "Good morning, Your Grace. You are out and about quite early this morning. May I help you find something?"
His intelligent brown eyes raked over her, and he brushed away the lock of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead when he doffed his hat. Emma's skin prickled at the intensity of his gaze and her mouth suddenly went dry. The Duke of Ravenswood was, if the scandal sheets could be believed, a rake and a scoundrel, bedding every woman in his path and often not rising until nightfall to hunt for the next woman to fall victim to his charms.
He blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and cleared his throat. "Yes, you may, Miss...?"
Emma extended a hand to him. "Emma Carter, Your Grace, proprietor of this shop."
He took hold of her hand and leaned over it, brushing his lips against her fingers. Then, he straightened and stared deep into her eyes. "It's lovely to meet your acquaintance, Emma Carter. Is it Miss Carter, or Mrs.?"
"Miss Carter is fine." She found her voice again.
"I'm Paul Beckinsale. You can possibly save my skin today." His voice was a deep baritone and reminded her of fine whiskey.
She stumbled over her words as he finally relinquished her hand. "How...how might I do so, Sir? I mean, Your Grace. What in particular are you searching for?"
"I'm here to purchase a gift for the only woman I'd get out of bed before three in the afternoon for." He grinned at her, and Emma's knees threatened to buckle. The man had certainly earned his reputation, since even she was not immune to his striking good looks and his magnetic personality.
"And who might this lucky lady be?" She closed her eyes momentarily, mentally kicking herself for asking such a forward question.
He laughed, the deep sound sending shivers throughout her body. "It's not at all what you think. I need a gift for my mother."
Paul nearly laughed again as he caught the play of emotions on Emma Carter's face. What did she think? It seemed his mere presence made her jittery. His reputation preceded him into every drawing room in London, so he should not be surprised that it preceded him into this little bookstore, with its dusty labyrinth of aisles and books stacked every which way.
His gaze fell to her lips as she took a deep breath. Beautiful lips, he had to admit. There was something different about this one. The way she carried herself. Her smile. The way the light from the lamp reflected off of her hair.
She glanced up at him; her blue eyes grazed over his face before she quickly lowered her gaze and became enamored with the knot in the floorboard beneath their feet. "I have a collection of books that appeal to the ladies over here." She pointed a finger to the far wall and took a step forward.
He reached out a hand and laid it on her arm. Her body went rigid, and she stopped, glancing at him questionably. She gently removed his hand and gave him a warning look.
"What appeals to most ladies is mundane to my mother." He flashed his trademark grin at her, knowing the dimples in his cheeks would emerge. "She wants The String of Pearls in its entirety. I've been told if any bookstore in town has the complete eighteen-part story, it would be you."
Her gasp was audible, but he couldn't tell if it was a reaction to his dimples or the subject matter that enthralled his mother.
"Sweeney Todd?" she squeaked. He had his answer. She was immune to his dimples, it seemed. The first lady in a long time not to swoon when he flashed his grin. Miss Emma Carter presented a challenge, and he was ready to play this game. He shifted his eyes away from her. His immediate knee-jerk reaction to make her a conquest was nothing more than being momentarily mesmerized by her rosy lips, which reminded him of raspberries. And her large, expressive blue eyes. Her obvious intelligence was a refreshing change, as well.
But she was no trifle to be toyed with and then gently set aside when he tired of her. Trifles were the only type of woman he deserved, the only type he desired. He did not want to have Emma Carter as his next fallen woman. His behavior was reprehensible, and he had best finish his business and leave, before he lost his better sense.
"Yes, Sweeney Todd. My mother has very eclectic tastes. Do you have it? All eighteen parts? She doesn't want me to scurry all over town searching for the remainder of the story while she waits with baited breath for a climactic scene." He smiled at her again.
Emma ran a hand over her perfectly coiffed deep brown hair. "I believe I have the complete set. Let me check." She moved out of his gaze and scurried over to the far wall, removing books from the shelf. "Ah, yes, as I thought. I am missing one part of the story. The seventeenth." She lifted her gaze from the stack of pamphlets and met his. "But I can retrieve it and have it here tomorrow, if you'd like."
"Are you certain you can lay your hands on it?" He glanced at the stack of literature she'd compiled.
"Yes, Your Grace, I remember exactly where it is." The blush in her cheeks became more pronounced. "You see, I have it at home. Your mother's not the only one mesmerized by such stories, it would seem." She smiled slightly.
He nodded at the stack. "Perhaps I could return tomorrow, to retrieve the entire set. You need to read the eighteenth part after you finish what you have at home. Will one night be enough time?"
She hesitated, brushing her fingers over the stack of pamphlets. "One night should suffice, Your Grace, thank you. I am a fast reader."
Her hands were still on the pile of literature, hesitating as she met his gaze. She must want payment for the purchase, even if he wouldn't pick it up until tomorrow. He'd be gracious and be the one to bring up the subject of payment. "I don't want anyone else coming in here today and buying the odd one from the stack, so I'm prepared to pay for all of them now." H
e reached into his waistcoat for some coin.
"There's no need to pay now. I can put them under the counter for a day, and keep them safe for you. I trust you will return." She picked up the stack and tucked them away from prying eyes.
Paul stared at her delicate features as she moved to hide his purchase. No one had said they trusted him since Margaret. And he remembered, every day of his life, what her trust in him had cost her. "No, please, let me pay you for them now. It's only fair, since they're now out of circulation in your shop."
She pondered his suggestion momentarily before lifting her head. "Only half. You can pay me the remainder when you pick up the entire set."
"That is most fair." She quoted him a price. He passed over the coins to her and then bowed to her. "I shall return on the morrow, at which time I will assume you and Mr. Todd will have come to a satisfactory conclusion."
Her raspberry-colored lips curled up into a smile. "A satisfactory conclusion for Mr. Todd is not necessarily a satisfactory conclusion to my way of thinking. I'd like to stay alive for a while longer."
Paul's cravat suddenly became very constricted around his neck. He tucked away the receipt Emma had given him and scurried out from the shadows of the shop as if past discretions were chasing him. Perhaps they were.
2
Emma merely wanted to finish Sweeney Todd's adventure, nothing more. That had to be the only reason why she put the Duke of Ravenswood off. She drummed her fingers on the countertop as she relived her morning. By his purchase of not one, but eighteen, volumes, he had single-handedly not only helped her meet her sales goal for the month, but he also carved a healthy amount out of what was needed next month. It gave her some breathing room. Yes, she had found the reason for her uneven breathing. She wanted the other half of the purchase price, that was all. It could not be that she had fallen victim to his charms as had so many others. She cautioned herself even as she counted the hours until his return.
