by Jade Lee
“My wife is increasing.”
“Yes, and I would not wish to endanger her health in the least.”
Brandon released a quick laugh at that. It was startling. Kit could not remember ever hearing the man make so lighthearted a sound. “As to that,” Brandon said, “have no fear. The woman is tireless. Doesn’t even get morning sickness.”
Maddy nodded. “Then it is the spectacle you object to. I quite agree but promised Rose I would ask. Thank you, my lord, for hearing me out.”
Brandon nodded, but his gaze was on Kit, his expression serious. “Do you wish to attend this party?”
Kit did not know how to answer. No, of course he had no interest in Rose’s tea. Certainly not a public one where his every move would be scrutinized and discussed for weeks on end.
“I need to see Scher, Brandon,” he said softly. “After my capture, I would dream of her. I would think I was back home and we were getting married. I would think so many fanciful things. It kept me sane.” He looked at his cousin, trying to find the words to explain. “But there were nightmares too. Where she was hurt or dying and I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t help.” Just like the nightmares he had had of Maddy this morning. “I just need to see her, Brandon. Just . . . see her. If not at this tea, then some other time, some other place. Soon.”
Maddy touched him then. He saw her movement long before her fingers reached his arm, and so he was able to remain still while her heat speared through his body. “But why would you want this to be public?”
He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t put words to his need to see Scher was alive and well. Perhaps he should have done so when he’d first purchased his freedom four years ago, but he’d had no money for passage and knew he was more animal than man. It had taken all this time for him to believe he was fit for civilized company. Clearly, he’d been wrong, but that didn’t change the need.
Fortunately, Brandon understood. “He doesn’t care how he sees Scher. He just needs to know.”
Kit nodded, and in time his cousin came to a conclusion.
“I will speak to Scher. We will do what she thinks best. Agreed?”
“I have waited seven years,” he said. “I will wait a day more.”
“Kit,” Maddy admonished softly. “This will be a shock to her.”
“A day,” responded Brandon. “I will send our answer to the earl’s home.”
“But—” interrupted Maddy. No doubt to explain that he was not really staying at her house.
“That will be fine,” Kit interrupted. Then he took Maddy’s hand. “We must be leaving now. The sun will be up much too soon.”
“Really?” she said, frowning out the window. “How can you tell?”
He couldn’t tell. Not in London where the buildings crowded close and smoke clogged everything. But he shrugged and lied because he did not wish to look like a fool. “There is a rhythm to everything, even here in London. And it tells me that you have dallied too long.”
He thought he was lying but realized at the last moment that it was the truth. There was a rhythm in London. One that he had once known intimately. Perhaps he did not have the knack of it exactly now, but it was coming back. Already he could feel the city as it prepared to wake.
“He has always known the time,” said Brandon. “Even as a boy who could not read a clock, he knew the when of things.”
“Then,” said his angel as she squeezed his arm, “I should listen to you and be off.”
“Take my carriage,” said Brandon before they could leave. “The coachman is very discreet and I have already warned him to be ready. I shall spend the night here, so he knows to return when you are done.”
“You are most kind.” Maddy bestowed one of her most beautiful smiles on his cousin, and Kit found himself fighting the urge to haul her away from Brandon’s too charming presence.
“We must go.”
“Good night, my lord.”
“Good night, Miss Wilson. Kit.”
Kit didn’t respond. His hold on his tongue was tenuous at best, and so he ushered Maddy quickly out the door. The carriage was waiting, and so they were on their way within moments. But once moving, a terrible silence descended between them, all the more awkward because he searched for some way to break it. But everything that came to mind was either surly, impertinent, or ridiculous. In the end, he simply spoke the truth.
“I shall be at your tea, no matter what happens. Just furnish me the date and time.”
“You needn’t worry. I’m sure it will be a strain.”
“I said I will be there!”
He watched as Maddy pressed her lips together. She had been trying to help and in return he had accosted her. He had not forgotten what he’d done before the madness seized him. The shape of her body, the feel of her thighs, the heat of her kisses, all became the thing of feverish desire here in the dark carriage. There were not words that could atone for the abuses she had suffered tonight. Then her voice came to him, soft and melodic through the darkness, breaking him out of his useless brooding.
“Do you truly intend to spend the night at Uncle’s house tonight?”
“What? No, no. I have let rooms.”
“Oh! Good. Good.” Was that disappointment he heard in her tone? Or relief? He could not tell. “Was the price very dear? Can you afford it?”
“No. I mean, yes, I can afford it. And, no, it wasn’t dear. I find my needs are relatively simple.”
It was so dark in the carriage that he could not see her face. And yet, her voice was so soft that he imagined her smiling when she spoke.
“You are much like my father in that. Our home in Derby was very simple.”
“What of your mother? Did she like it so plain? I cannot imagine my own being content with a staff of less than ten.”
“Ten!” she gasped. “Imagine all those people underfoot! No, as my father spoke of her, Mama wanted very little as well. She died of childbed fever, so I never knew her.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been hard growing up without a mother.” He liked speaking this way, whispering together in the dark.
“I—well, yes, sometimes. But I was very happy with just my father.”
Her words petered out, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. And then her voice whispered through the darkness again.
“Might I . . . Would you, perhaps, furnish me with your address? We would like to send you an invitation to the tea.”
“I will do whatever you ask, Miss Wilson,” he said, not at all surprised when the words came out like a vow. “I owe you everything for how you have helped me these last two days.”
“Mr. Frazier . . . Kit . . . please. You have given me such excitement these last days. You cannot know how my days drag on with the very sameness of it all. I should be thanking you.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Miss Wilson,” he drawled. “I once longed for excitement, foreign travel, and a chance to make lots of money. I got my wish, you know. Just not how I thought.”
She fell silent then, and he imagined that she mulled over his words. What did she wish for, he wondered. Could he make any of her desires come true?
“I have a gift for you,” he said as he pulled it from his coat pocket. “Something to show my thanks.” It was a broach weighted with gold and old jewels. He had ripped it from one of Venboer’s victims and secreted it away before any could see. He had intended to sell it to a jeweler years ago, but had never brought himself to do it. And now he was giving it to her.
“My goodness!” she gasped as he pressed it into her hand. “It’s so heavy!”
“It’s gold. And very old, I think.”
She shifted to the window, holding it out so that the moonlight could shine on the piece. “Oh my! I cannot take this! It is much too valuable.”
“Of course you can. No need to tell anyone. Hide it away. Save it until you have need of something to sell.”
She looked at it, turning it over in her hands. The moonlight flashed on
the dull metal as she peered at it first one way then another. “I cannot tell what the design is.”
“A peacock, I think. Or what is meant to be one.”
“A peacock. Oh yes, I see it, I suppose. Though it’s not very clear.”
No, it wasn’t. And truthfully, it wasn’t even remotely the right piece for her. His angel should be wearing something with a simple structure, but oh so elegant that it took the breath away. Something very much like her.
“I should give you something better,” he said. “I learned something of gems when I was away.” He couldn’t manage to say the words: When I was a slave. Not now when they were speaking so easily. “I could design you something better, I think.”
“I wouldn’t think of it!” she cried. Then she gently set the broach back on the squab right beside his leg. “But I cannot take it. You know I cannot.”
His throat thickened with hurt. Did she not understand how he had fought for this piece? Did she not know the thing’s value? Not only in gems, but in blood? He couldn’t speak, so he turned away, his gaze seeking out something—anything—in the darkness beyond the window.
“Kit . . .” she said softly, her voice soothing him even when he wished her far away. “Anyone who saw it would think me a whore.”
“No one need see it!” he rasped. Didn’t she understand what he was trying to say? That of all the things he valued in this world—all his pirate booty hoarded and counted and prayed over until he could buy his freedom—this was a piece he kept. This was part of the treasure he brought home with him. And this was what he gave to her.
Then the carriage pulled to a slow stop. They had arrived at her home. Her sigh filled the carriage as she gathered her skirts about her.
“Be well, Mr. Frazier,” she said softly as she made to push open the door.
He stopped her. He moved without planning it, grabbing the broach off the squab with one hand while his other caught her wrist and peeled apart her fingers.
“I have nothing else to give you,” he said urgently. “I have no sterling with which to buy you an appropriate gift.” He pressed the broach into her palm.
She didn’t speak. The coachman was pulling open the door for her, but Kit refused to let her go. “Keep it hidden, if you must,” he said softly. “And when I am more settled, I will bring you a better gift and you can return this to me.”
“Then why should I take it at all? You can bring me posies in a few days’ time.”
He shook his head. He didn’t know his own mind from one minute to the next. He couldn’t know what he’d do or even where he’d land after Alex was safely settled with his parents. He would remain in London long enough to speak with Scher. Then he had to find funds to outfit his ship and a cargo. That could take him any number of places beyond London.
“Keep it safe for me,” he said. “So you know that I will come back for it.”
She sighed. He heard it distinctly in the darkness. “Kit—” she began, but he cut her off.
“Please, angel. I trust you to keep it safe.” His words made no sense, even to him. He knew only that he valued the broach, and that it was important that she have it.
He felt more than heard her sigh of acceptance. And then there was no more talk as the coachman opened the carriage door.
Chapter 10
The hansom cab pulled up in front of a modest home in an almost exclusive neighborhood. Unlike the first day when they’d arrived in London, the knocker was on the door and Kit could see movement through the windows. Alex’s family was home.
Kit looked at his companion, recognizing the stark fear on his friend’s face. How did one return to family, home, to normal when everything inside you had changed? Kit hadn’t managed it yet. His reunion with Michael had ended in disaster. Last night’s moments with Brandon had been difficult at best. And he just didn’t have the heart to try again with his brothers. It would kill him if Lucas had known. Of all his brothers, if Lucas had known of his enslavement and done nothing, then he would go mad from the pain.
So Kit remained at outs with his family, but he refused to allow fear to keep Alex apart from his. Reaching out, he touched the young man’s arm.
“They are your parents, your brothers, and sister. They love you.”
Alex shook his head. “I’m different now. Everything’s different now.”
Kit shrugged as if it were of no moment. It was a lie, but one he would hold on to. “You are a man now. That is to be expected.”
Alex’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I still have nightmares.”
“Your mother held you during your nightmares as a boy. She is desperate to do so again, I assure you.”
Alex flashed a look of both horror and longing at that. It was so comic that Kit released a sharp bark of laughter. The sound was startling to them both, and soon they were grinning. And then the moment was past as the cabbie rapped sharply on the roof.
“Oy! Come along now!”
With a silent nod, Alex squared his shoulders, pushed open the door, then stepped out into the street. Kit followed, his heart in his throat as he prayed for this to end well. Just this once, for this boy, let the family reunion be good. Let the boy heal.
They never made it up the walk.
A squeal went up from inside the house. Kit saw a flash of a female face in the window, before the girl was gone. Then the front door flew open and another delighted squeal arose. Thank God for little girls, Kit thought, as a girl of about thirteen ran down the steps. She’d hitched her skirts up to her knees and her hair streamed behind her in a disordered mess. But she was beyond excited to see her brother.
With a rather impressive leap, she launched herself into Alex’s arms, and he caught her as only a brother could: with strength and love and a groan at her weight.
“God, you’ve gotten heavy,” Alex grumbled, then he buried his face against her neck and hugged her tight.
“And you’ve gotten strong!” she gasped.
Then Kit could hear no more of their words because more squeals and good natured roars came from the door. Mother, father, and two brothers came rushing out of the house, and behind them stood a butler, footman, and a pair of maids. This was no small household, Kit realized, and he found himself mentally upgrading his estimation of Alex’s background.
Meanwhile, he stepped backward outside of the mayhem. It was hard to remain unemotional as Alex’s mother openly sobbed, alternately clutching her son to her and pouring her tears out onto her husband’s shoulder. Alex’s father was similarly affected, though with less noise. He simply touched his son once on the cheek while tears spilled down into his beard. Then the father was pushed aside by two younger sons both in their gangly, awkward years.
It was the girl who finally noticed Kit. She had backed away from the group, letting her mother clutch Alex again. She turned to Kit with bright curious eyes before moving closer. “Are you the one then? Did you rescue my brother?”
It took Kit two attempts to answer, but he finally got the words out. “I tried,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then he took a step sideways, purposely emphasizing his limp. “But I only got us part way. In the end, he had to rescue me.”
The girl studied him with a serious expression, her gaze seeing much too clearly for one so young. “I think,” she finally pronounced, “that Alex is very lucky. And that you are a man who creates luck.” Then before Kit could recover from that shock, she spun around, her hair ribbons fluttering behind as if they were trying to catch up. “Papa!” she cried. “Papa!”
Her father turned to her, though it was difficult to manage around both wife and children in a tight clutch. He had to hush everyone before he could finally raise his brow in question.
“Papa,” the girl pronounced. “We must invite this gentleman to dine.”
Maddy was still gripping the broach that evening, but this time it was in her pocket as she argued wearily with her family. Both Uncle Frank and Rose were peering at her with varying degrees of sus
picion and annoyance. It was just after dinner, right before they departed for their evening’s entertainments. Why was it so hard for her to beg off for one night?
“It is nothing,” she said for the hundredth time. “I have run myself ragged trying to arrange for your tea, Rose. And with the unexpected guests, there have been chores to do. That’s all.”
“Are you sure you’re not ill then?” pressed Rose.
“Just a headache, sweetheart. You will have much more fun at the party without me, I am sure.”
“But it’s just a quiet gathering. You know Father will be bored chaperoning me. Then he gets short-tempered. Are you sure you can’t come?”
Far from being annoyed by the description, Uncle Frank added his own slow nod. “Perhaps I could escort you there, Rose, and then ask one of the other ladies to chaperone you. I will come back here and care for Maddy.”
It took a moment for Maddy to understand what her uncle was thinking, and longer still for her to believe he was serious. And in that time, Rose had brightened considerably. “Oh yes, Papa, what an excellent suggestion.”
“No, it is not,” Maddy said firmly. Coldly.
Rose turned to her in shock. She doubted she had ever heard Maddy speak in so furious a tone, but Maddy’s eyes were on her uncle. She needed him to comprehend—in no uncertain terms—that she had no interest in beginning a liaison with him tonight. Or any other night.
“You are my uncle,” she said firmly. “I can never see you in any other capacity than that.”
Uncle Frank narrowed his brows, the message clearly understood. Rose, of course, had no knowledge at all and frowned at them both.
“Well, certainly he’s your uncle,” the girl said. “What else would he be?”
Maddy offered her cousin a gentle smile. “A nursemaid, sweeting. He was offering to be my nursemaid,” she lied.
“Perhaps you ought to rethink,” Uncle Frank inserted with hard, crisp syllables. “You have only this Season to catch a husband. Are you sure you wish to miss even one night?”
Maddy heard the underlying message. She had only this Season left under his roof. After that, she would either have to get married or become his mistress. She bit her lip, offering a silent prayer to God that a man find her attractive soon.
