by Meara Platt
Text copyright ©2015 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Kathryn Le Veque. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original World of de Wolfe Pack remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque, or their affiliates or licensors.
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NOBODY’S ANGEL
by
MEARA PLATT
To Kathryn Le Veque for her friendship, brilliant imagination, and thrilling stories
Chapter 1
Lake District, England
December 1817
“You can’t marry him, Suzannah! Bertie must marry me!” Lady Letitia Beresford knew she’d made a terrible mistake the moment the words left her mouth. All seventy guests packed in Woodburne Manor’s elegant dining hall to celebrate her best friend’s betrothal now sat in stunned silence, gaping at her as she stood on an elegant, yellow silk chair wishing she could somehow disappear before their very eyes. “That is... er,...”
“Can’t marry him?” Her father, the present Earl of Beresford, slapped his hands on the polished oak table with a resounding thwack and slowly rose to his impressive height.
“Must marry Bert?” Suzannah’s brother, Brynne, who was seated at the head table beside her father, rose to his even more impressive height and turned toward Albert Summersby, his sister’s betrothed. Albert would become the next Viscount Rossbridge assuming he survived beyond this evening, which didn’t appear likely if Brynne’s expression was any indication.
Poor Albert’s face turned as white as the snow piles covering the countryside since last week’s blizzard.
“No, no!” Lettie cried, realizing Brynne’s hands were now curled into fists as he took a step toward Albert, the look of murder in his eyes. “He hasn’t done anything.” She glanced around the room in desperation, but no one was going to rescue her from this scrape. “He’s the only Bert I know. That’s all I meant by it. And if he isn’t my Bert, then who–”
“Hell, not that again,” Brynne muttered as he shifted direction and started toward her with dark eyes blazing. “Don’t say another word, Lettie.”
She ought to have listened, but she was overset and Brynne was now far too close for her comfort. He always did have the most dangerously appealing eyes and the handsomest face. One she’d missed terribly these past two years. And now he was back home and fiery blazes angry with her. “It isn’t my fault. It’s these clues that Jere– ack!”
Brynne threw her over his shoulder as if she were no more than a sack of potatoes and silently carried her out of the dining hall without so much as breaking his stride. Being hauled off as though one were a root vegetable was embarrassing enough, but the rounds of hearty laughter that followed her out of the hall completed her humiliation.
She tried to squirm out of Brynne’s indelicate grasp as he flung open the door and marched outside toward the enormous willow tree that stood in the middle of Woodburne’s elegant park. She heard the crunch of his boots upon the snow with each long stride. “Put me down, you lummox! It’s cold outside.”
Not to mention that she was wearing her finest gown, a delightful blue silk confection designed by Madame de Bressard, one of London’s most popular modistes, the fabric so elegantly soft and thin that it couldn’t keep a flea warm on this wintery day.
Brynne turned toward her intending to respond, but his face met with her dainty derriere and his lips accidentally planted on her hip bone since she was still slung over his shoulder. He muttered an oath as he hastily faced forward, refusing to say anything more until he’d set her down. She was struck mute for a moment as well, for the unexpectedly scorching sensation of his lips on her body could have melted the snow around them.
Her delicate slippers immediately sank into the snow when he put her down, returning her thoughts to the cold present. “We can’t stay out here. My feet will freeze.”
He ran a hand roughly through his dark hair and glowered at her. “Will you never grow up, Lettie? Are you still talking about your imaginary childhood friend, Jeremiah?”
She returned his glower with one of her own. “He isn’t imaginary. He’s my guardian angel, and he’s the one who told me that I had to do something right away or I’d lose my Bertie forever.”
“Your Bertie?” He shook his head in obvious frustration. “Suzannah and Albert have loved each other since they were babes in swaddling cloths. And you decide today of all days, on the night of their betrothal, to stake your claim on him?”
“It isn’t my claim,” she insisted, gazing up at the full moon as it cast a silver glow upon the snow. Moonbeams illuminated Brynne’s face, although she didn’t need light to see his rugged contours. She’d long ago memorized each curve and angle of his face as well as his big, muscular body. “You know I’ve never felt that way about Bert Summersby.”
“Which makes it all the worse.” He removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, swallowing her up in it as she began to shiver. “They’ve been waiting for this day all of their lives and you just ruined it for them. Suzannah will be sobbing for days. You really hurt her feelings, Lettie. How could you do it? You’re her best friend.”
Lettie’s eyes began to well with tears of her own. “I know. I’ll never forgive myself. She’s the last person I’d ever wish to hurt.”
“But you did hurt her,” he said, gently running his thumb along her cheek to wipe away the tears now falling upon it. “Why are you still mentioning Jeremiah? You don’t really see him, do you? People will think you’re... hell, you scare people when you talk about your ghostly visions.”
“He’s an angel, not a ghost. And for years now, I’ve been very careful not to talk about him to anyone... until now. But you knew I was going to mention him and hauled me off before anyone else realized what I was about to say. I suppose I ought to thank you for saving me from my own stupidity.”
“I’m sorry if I was a bit heavy handed.” His lips curved upward in the slightest smile.
She sighed. “You were right to do what you did. But you’ve always protected me, your little sister’s friend.” She began to hop from one foot to the other to ward off the cold. “I’m not completely hopeless. Truly, I haven’t spoken about Jeremiah in ages. Only my parents and sister know that I still do. And now you know, too.”
He stared at her a long moment, saying nothing.
“I’m not mad as a hatter, Brynne. I haven’t changed that much in the two years you’ve been away.”
A gleam sprang into his eyes and he laughed softly. “Oh, Lettie. You sure have.”
By his tone, she sensed he was not at all displeased with her changes.
“And yet you’re still you,” he continued a little more sternly so that she was certain he hadn’t meant it as a compliment even though they’d always been good friends.
He began to pace in front of her, obviously wanting to say something more and obviously holding back.
A gust of cold wind struck her just then and she shivered.
Brynne stopped pacing and his expression immediately softened to one of concern. “Still cold, Lettie?”
She nodded.
“I’d take you back inside, but I don’t think it’s safe to do so yet.” He made certain his jacket was securely wrapped around her shoulders and then lifted her slightly so that her feet rested atop his dry boots. He kept his arms around her to keep her from slipping off, a circumstance she did
n’t mind at all. She’d always liked Brynne and his protective nature, even more now that he’d come back home, big and muscled, and handsome as ever.
She inhaled the scent of him on his jacket, a scent of island spices and salty sea air. “I missed you, Brynne. I wish you hadn’t gone away.”
“Don’t get used to me,” he warned. “I’ll be off right after Suzannah’s wedding... and I’m not coming back.”
Lettie’s heart sank into her frozen toes. “Why not? This is your home. You belong here.” With me.
“No, I don’t.” He frowned and his eyes turned thunderously dark. “You keep forgetting that I’m just a foundling. Woodburne isn’t mine to claim. In truth, I’d have no home if it weren’t for the grace of Lord Woodburne.”
She knew his circumstances, as did everyone else in the village. But the unfortunate circumstance of his birth did not diminish his good character or his other fine qualities. “He and Suzannah love you.”
“They’re the only ones in that family who ever did. The others can’t abide me. Didn’t you notice the tension that existed in the room long before you hopped on your elegant chair and brought the festivities to a dramatic halt?” He shook his head and laughed softly once more. “You certainly got yourself noticed.”
She tipped her chin upward in moderate indignation because he was right, she had behaved unpardonably. “We’re talking about you now. You can’t leave.” Please don’t leave me. “And who cares about Suzannah’s horrid relatives? I’ve always tolerated you. We’ve been friends since forever.”
His big hands shifted on her waist as though he was preparing to let her go, but fortunately he decided against it. “Well, we were young and it was acceptable back then, but no longer. You shouldn’t like me or consider me a friend. You’re an earl’s daughter and I’m a nobody.”
“I detest it when you talk like that. You shoot arrows straight through my heart when you do. You’re one of the finest people I know. I wish you were my Bert. You could be, you know. B-E-R-T doesn’t have to be part of an actual given name such as Hubert or Bertram or Albert.” She grimaced. “Poor Albert. I hope he’s recovered from the shock. Do you think he has?”
He plunked her off him and set her gently, but firmly, aside. “Stop it, Lettie.”
“I will not. You have the first letter. B for Brynne. Now we just have to connect you to the E, R, and T. Brynne Edward Robert Tremayne. That’s a distinguished name and it contains all the letters that my guardian angel keeps whispering in my ears. B. E. R. T.”
“Stop making up names for me. And kindly tell your irritating angel, Jeremiah, to do the same.” He ran a hand roughly through his dark hair. “All I know is that I was named Brynne.” Still agitated, he grunted bitterly. “So thoughtful of my parents to leave that one hint of my identity before they abandoned me... assuming my mother even knew who my father actually was.”
“We also know that you have a birthmark in the shape of a wolf on the back of your shoulder. Is it still there?” She reached out to touch the spot, her heart aching for his lifetime of hurt. Why would anyone leave their child to strangers? She couldn’t imagine his mother being the sort of woman who took a different man into her bed each night. No, not his mother.
She felt Brynne tense the moment she set her hand on his muscled shoulder, so she quickly drew it away. “Sorry. That was awfully forward of me.” But it always felt good to touch him, even though he always tensed and backed away.
Lettie wanted to say more, but noticed her father approaching.
Brynne followed her gaze, his mouth set in a grim line. “My lord, I apologize for the manner in which I dealt with your daughter. I didn’t know how else to get her out of the dining hall before she made matters worse.”
“You have no cause to apologize to me, Brynne.” Lettie’s father turned to face her, sighing as he cast her a fatherly look of admonition. “However, you do. Not only to me but to the entire Woodburne family.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.” Lettie emitted a shaky breath that formed a vapor about her mouth. “I’ll go back in and express my sincere remorse to Suzannah and Bert.”
Her father held her back. “No, you had better not approach them yet. Suzannah is racked with sobs and doesn’t want to see you again. Ever. Your mother and sister are talking to her now. She might calm down in a year or two and agree to renew your lifelong friendship despite the pain you just caused her. One can only hope.”
She knew her father wasn’t purposely trying to make her feel worse, merely trying to impress upon her the havoc she had wreaked with her thoughtless words. But she and Suzannah had been friends all of their lives and surely she’d be forgiven soon for her one mistake. Granted, it was a very big mistake. “Her wedding is in two weeks.”
“That’s right. And you’re not going. The Woodburnes have requested your absence from the festivities. Considering your behavior, I had no choice but to agree.” He turned and gazed toward the portico. “Wait there for me while I fetch your mother and Eugenia. I’ve called for the carriage to take us home.”
While her father trudged off, Brynne remained behind with her to help her make her way through the snow in her impractical slippers. She was obviously having difficulty and her right slipper kept falling off. “This would be a lot easier if you just carried me the rest of the way.”
“For you, perhaps. Not for me.” He tensed again, which she found most confusing.
“You had no trouble earlier, although I’d much rather be swept into your manly arms than tossed over your shoulder and–”
“Forget it. I’m not taking you in my arms again. Ever.”
She stopped as the slipper fell off her foot again. “Ever is a very long time. Are you that angry with me, too? I couldn’t bear it if you were. I’ll do everything in my power to make things right. I want to be in your arms again. I shall make it my life’s mission.”
“Why?” he asked with a gentle ache to his voice, bending to secure the slipper on her foot. “You need to find yourself a proper husband. Isn’t that what your theatrical spectacle was all about?”
She blushed. “Well, yes. But what’s wrong with you as a husband? You’re a proper catch.”
“Another mistake on your part, Lettie.” He released her foot and stood up again so that she had to look up to face him. “I have no family connections. I have no prospects.”
“You have intelligence and good character,” she said as they reached the portico and she knew they’d have little more time to talk before her family and possibly some very angry Woodburnes came outside. “And bravery and valor. You served with distinction under Wellington.”
“And now I’m not even a soldier.” He frowned at her to signal his displeasure with their conversation. “Don’t ever consider me as a marriage prospect, Lettie. We’re friends and nothing more. I’m not meant to be anything else to you. I’ll only break your heart.”
Chapter 2
The sun shone brightly against a cloudless blue sky, but Brynne hardly noticed the beauty of the cold day as he rode Valiant, his sturdy black gelding, to Beresford Hall the following morning. He was in foul temper for so many reason and all of them having to do with Lettie.
He’d come all the way back from the Americas for Suzannah’s wedding and now he was not going to be permitted to attend. Suzannah and her father had been too distraught to fight with their worthless relatives who’d demanded his expulsion. Those bounders lived in fear of being disowned and Woodburne Manor left to him since few of Lord Woodburne’s assets were entailed and the old man was free to do with most of them as he pleased.
Of course, Brynne knew that Lord Woodburne would never cut out his family. He loved them even though they were a most unworthy lot, especially his nephew, Mortimer Woodburne, a mean and arrogant horse’s arse who would be the Woodburne heir.
The grand Beresford home came into view as Brynne rode up the long drive. Lettie had been born and raised here by parents and a sister who adored her. He’d always loved
coming to Beresford Hall. Neither the occasion nor the season mattered, for the welcome had always been warm and inviting.
He glanced up to view the particular corner of the house where Lettie’s bedchamber was located. Third window from the left, one level above her father’s library. Knowing Lettie, she’d be gazing out her window, probably hanging out of it while awaiting his approach, her red hair a beacon against the white snow that still covered the ground.
Damn. Why couldn’t he stop thinking of her and how beautiful she looked last night?
She’d grown lovelier than he thought possible, her green eyes soft and sparkling. Her dark red hair vibrant and silky. Her body... exquisite. She had shed her skinny, girlish frame to emerge from her cocoon as a magnificent butterfly, now as beautiful on the outside as she’d always been on the inside.
He slid off his mount and handed the reins to the young groom who’d come running to his side. “I won’t be staying long, Tom.”
The lad’s eyes widened in obvious surprise. “Gor, you remember me, sir? Always nice to see ye, Master Brynne.”
Brynne laughed as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m surprised you remember me. You were hardly old enough to toddle when I last saw you.”
“It’s only been two years since ye left.” The boy grinned back. “I’m almost eleven now. I’ll take good care of Valiant, never ye worry.” Horse and groom trotted off together.
Brynne watched them for a moment before turning to the house and walking in as the butler opened the door. “Good to see you, Master Brynne.”
“Are you still around, you old buzzard?” he teased Jergens, the long-time Beresford head butler. “Well, I’m glad that you are. I hope you’re faring well. I recall you had a lung congestion at the time I left home for far off places.”
“I did, sir. But Lady Beresford and her daughters took excellent care of me. I’m forever in their debt. Thank you for asking, sir.” He led Brynne through the marble-floored entry hall into the earl’s library, a cozy room lined with dark oak shelves that were filled from top to bottom with books. “My lord, Master Brynne has arrived.”
