Kathryn Smith (21 page)

Another shrug. “Few people do, since Lady Easterly claims to have hired the blackguard for her own stables. Her own
private
stables.”

The aristocracy were sometimes the most disgusting creatures. “And that’s all you know about Braven?”

Belinda nodded. “I can’t think of anything else, except that he apparently fell into the Thames one night whilst deep in his cups. He would have drowned if the Earl of Angelwood hadn’t been with him, although Angelwood wasn’t in much better condition. Of course there were those who believed Braven tried to commit suicide.”

Rachel couldn’t imagine Brave doing something so drastic.

Belinda’s information only served to deepen the mystery about Brave, not help her solve it. The death of the woman he loved would certainly account for the perpetual aura of sadness around him, but it hardly explained why he was seeing a physician.

She slammed her fist down upon the bed. “This is so blasted maddening!”

Obviously surprised by her outburst, Belinda could only stare at her, her mouth agape. “What’s maddening?” she eventually asked.

“Braven!” Rachel cried, waving her fingers in the air. “Lord of Secrets. What?”

Being laughed at by her one and only friend did nothing to improve her mood.

“What do you care about his secrets?”

Folding her arms across her chest, Rachel tucked in her lower lip, which was in danger of falling onto her bosom she was so churlish. “I just don’t understand why he won’t tell me what’s going on.”

Belinda smiled teasingly. “Perhaps it’s none of your business?”

“I’m his wife!” Rachel yelled, scowling so deeply she could see her own eyebrows.

Most people would have probably shied away from her right then, but not Belinda. No, she just sat there laughing as though Rachel was a rambunctious kitten rather than a full-grown woman.

“Stop that!”

Much to her surprise, Belinda did. Dabbing at her eyes with a corner of a coverlet, Belinda drew a deep breath and turned to face her with a smile.

“And you’re certainly acting like a wife as well but, dearest, I didn’t think you were interested in being his wife? I thought all you wanted was to get your mother a divorce.”

“That is what I want.” Then why did she sound so utterly pathetic and pouty?

This time Belinda’s smile was gentle, and perhaps even a little sad. “Then his secrets are none of your business. Why should he confide in a woman who’s only using him to get what she wants?”

That stung. “You make it sound so mercenary.” She plucked at the lace ruffle on one of the pillows.

The smile drooped a little, became sadder. “It is. Rachel, he offered to marry you to help you. You accepted for the same reason. You can’t expect him to treat you like a real wife in some ways and then not allow him to in others.”

Cheeks burning, Rachel averted her gaze. Her friend’s
meaning was perfectly clear. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“We both know that’s a load of hogwash.” Flinging back the covers, Belinda scooted off the bed.

Rachel’s head snapped up. Dejection was replaced by annoyance. “What’s that supposed to mean? You know I have to look after my mother!”

Belinda padded across the floor and shrugged into a white dressing gown that matched her nightrail. The expression on her face was unimpressed. “From what I saw last night, your mother is perfectly capable of looking after herself.”

“L-last night?”

Her countenance softening, Belinda walked back toward the bed. Lifting one leg on to it, she plopped down onto the mattress. “Sir Henry and your mother were at the party last night.” She reached over and took one of Rachel’s hands in her own. Her palm was warm against Rachel’s icy fingers.

“I’m not sure how Sir Henry managed an invitation, but the two of them were the very picture of domestic bliss. Your mother did not look like a woman who wanted to be rescued from her husband. In fact, she was quite the opposite.”

A flock of birds seemed to take flight in Rachel’s chest. She was going to be ill, but first, she was going to scream.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered.

The warm hand squeezed. “Rachel, as your friend, I’m begging you, give up this foolish obsession with getting your mother away from Sir Henry and get on with your own life. If there’s any part of you at all that wants to be a real wife to Braven, don’t push it aside.”

Looking into her friend’s pleading gaze, Rachel couldn’t even speak. What was wrong with everyone? How could both Belinda and her mother possibly believe Sir Henry had changed? And how could either of them expect her to walk away? Not when it would be her fault if her stepfather seri
ously harmed her mother. Didn’t they see that? Didn’t they know it was all her fault?

“I have to go.” Jerkily, she climbed off the bed, her stiff limbs tangling in the blankets.

Belinda reached for her. “Rachel, I’m sorry. Don’t leave.”

Scooping up her cloak and bonnet, Rachel shook her head. She was cold, bone-cold. “No. I have to go.” She turned toward the door. “Good-bye.”

Belinda called out after her as she ran out of the room, but Rachel didn’t stop. She ran down the stairs, through the foyer, and past the puzzled footman who held the door for her.

“Take me home,” she instructed the driver before clamoring into the carriage. “Quickly!”

Yes, home. Home to Wyck’s End. Home to Brave, who despite all his secrets, seemed to be the only person still on her side.

Standing in front of the row of windows that lined the wall of his study, Brave watched the carriage as it sped up the drive. A few seconds later, he heard the front door open and shut, followed by voices in the entrance hall.

Rachel was home.

Where had she been? He’d arrived home shortly after ten to discover she’d gone out. Had she gone to her mother’s so they could commiserate on what awful husbands they had? Or perhaps she’d simply gone into town to purchase herself some more new clothes. Lord knew she needed them. He’d purchased a few things for her, but not enough. Maybe she’d forgive him for being such an ass if he bought her more.

“Did you get my note?”

Brave jumped. She hadn’t even knocked. Perhaps he would make a wife of her yet. Turning to face her, he schooled his expression into one of careful neutrality.

The sight of her was still like a rock to the gut. She was wearing one of the gowns Mrs. Ford had made her, some
purply, fruity color he didn’t know the name of. It made her eyes seem bluer and her skin seem brighter. Or perhaps it was just the fact that he had missed her that made her appearance today seem all the more lovely.

“About your mother and Sir Henry?” he asked when he finally found his voice.

She nodded.

“Yes, I’ve read it. You were very detailed in your descriptions. Even the most stoic of men would have to be moved by your mother’s plight.” He didn’t plan on telling how horrified he’d been to read about some of her mother’s injuries. He understood why she was so desperate to free her mother from Sir Henry’s rule. The man was a monster.

Or should he say, had been a monster? From what he’d heard the last few days Sir Henry had been conducting himself as the model husband.

“Good. I would like to begin proceedings as soon as possible. Today.” She swept around to his desk, perching herself on the edge of one of the chairs in front of it.

Brows raised, Brave clasped his hands behind his back and strode toward her. Her back was to him and he could see just how rigid her shoulders were. She was pulled tighter than a spinster’s topknot.

He leaned against the side of the desk and faced her, folding his arms across his chest. “Would you care to tell me what has happened to make you so upset?”

She met his gaze. “Would you care to tell me why you’re seeing a physician?”

Oh, she was good. “Back to that, are we? Dr. Phelps has been a friend of my family for years, Rachel. He occasionally comes to call, especially when my mother is in residence. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” At least he wasn’t lying—not outright anyway.

She didn’t look completely convinced. Lord, but she could be annoying! She was like a dog worrying a bone.
Still, her interest warmed him. It had been a long time since anyone had cared so deeply about his welfare. However, he couldn’t afford to have her snooping around. He didn’t want her to uncover the truth—not before he was prepared to tell her himself.

“I occasionally visit with Mrs. Johnson, the midwife as well,” he told her, his tone mocking. “Would you care to ask whether or not I’m with child?”

Rachel blushed—not the delicate pink of debutantes and gently bred girls, but a hot, impossible-to-hide red. She never did anything halfway, his Rachel. She was constantly full speed ahead and damn the consequences. She gave her all or nothing.

She would give her all in bed. The very thought of it sent a surge of longing straight to his loins, causing them to stir and tighten.

God, was he to lose all his dignity where she was concerned?

Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice his growing erection. In fact, she kept her attention focused on his boots. Her stare was so intent Brave wondered if she could see her reflection in the shine.

He clasped his hands in front of his groin. He seemed to do that a lot these days. No one would ever know he’d been practically impotent—devoid of all sexual interest—for months. Rachel had brought all those long-dead urges back with a vengeance.

“What happened?” Perhaps this time she would answer rather than counter with a question of her own.

She lifted her chin and her face regained something of its normal color. “Sir Henry took my mother to a party last night.”

Brave shook his head. Had he heard her correctly? “I beg your pardon?”

“He took her to a party!” Her throaty voice was hoarse
with indignation as she flopped back in the chair. She gazed at him as though she expected him to understand why this revelation was so horrifying.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Yes, if it had been one of Charlton’s. His gut tightened at the thought.

“Yes, it’s a bad thing!” She leaned forward, pressing her face into her hands. “He took her to the Coles’s.”

Brave’s forehead constricted and relaxed in a brief frown. Tilting his head thoughtfully, he tried to wrap his mind around her distress. “Rachel, I understand your suspicion, and you’re right to have it, but I would think you would be glad Sir Henry is treating your mother with some kindness.”

Rachel looked up. “Why? So it can be all that much more of a shock when he stops making the effort?”

“No—”

Her laughter was humorless. “When a man’s made a habit out of a certain kind of behavior, he doesn’t just give it up overnight, Brave.”

Something in her words struck a chord deep within him. Was that what he had done? Fallen into a habit he didn’t know how to break?

“You don’t think he can make a habit out of the right behavior?”

“Do you? If you’d spent most of your life being picked on by a bully, wouldn’t you wonder what he was up to if he suddenly announced he wanted to be your best friend?”

She had a point.

“Even if Sir Henry is sincere in his efforts, what do you think will happen when the glow wears off?” Her face was taut with emotion. “What will happen when my mother displeases him in some way? Do you think his first instinct is going to be to talk about it? No. His first instinct is going to be to hit, and my mother will be his target.”

“And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

She shook her head and pressed a hand to her face.

Brave knew how powerless she felt. He’d felt much the same way when Miranda died. As much as he believed he should have stopped it—that he
could
have stopped it, he had no way of knowing that it would have made a difference. There was no proof that he could have made her happy.

“And the worst part is that Sir Henry’s good behavior will damage our case.” Rubbing her forehead, she continued, “People will ignore his violence and concentrate on the good because he is a man and a baronet. Everyone will think it really was my fault he abused her.”

“Your fault?” Was she deranged? “How could anyone possibly believe that you were to blame?”

Rachel’s gaze was weary as it met his. “Because he told me it was. And that’s what he’ll tell everyone else. He’ll tell them that I was a reminder of my father, that I provoked him, that I tried to come between him and my mother, and people will believe it.”

“People who don’t know him might believe it, but—”

“Do the men who’ll be hearing our case know him?”

For a woman who had spent most of her life in rural Yorkshire, she certainly knew the way of things. Sir Henry would no doubt play upon the number of unhappy marriages among the upper ranks. Without evidence of violence—especially with testimony that Sir Henry had changed once Rachel left his house—Sir Henry would end up inspiring the sympathy of his self-indulgent, arrogant peers, and Rachel would become the villain.

But the men who would be hearing their case were Brave’s peers as well. “They also knew my father,” he informed her, and if his erratic behavior after Miranda’s death hadn’t convinced them he had lost his mind, they also knew him. He had more respectability behind him, more money and prestige than Sir Henry Westhaver could ever hope for.

“I’m not certain how much good it will do us, but it might keep them from being completely swayed by Sir Henry.
Plus, if he does injure your mother before then, it will look very bad for him.”

Her hopeful expression faded. “He’s going to have to hurt her. She won’t leave him unless he does. And if she doesn’t leave him, then we have nothing.”

Brave’s heart went out to her. “Then we have no choice but to wait for your mother to come to a decision.”

“I’m afraid that could take some time.” She sighed. “I’m so sorry I had to drag you into this. No doubt you were hoping this mess wouldn’t last more than a couple of months.”

He didn’t care if it lasted a lifetime as long as he could help her, but he couldn’t tell her that. He shrugged. “My calendar is free. Will you be all right?”