Kathryn Smith (7 page)

Letitia was Julian’s younger sister, and the only family he had left. Like Julian and Gabe, he’d lost his father at a young age. In fact, Julian had been the first to come into his title. Gabriel had been the second. Julian lost his mother and father at the same time, becoming both parents to two young girls. Brave couldn’t imagine the responsibility, but he knew that Julian had also been overcome by grief at Miranda’s death, blaming himself for not raising her as his parents would have wanted. Did he still carry that guilt?

The silence was short-lived. Gabriel’s gaze went from Julian to Brave. “Not this again. If the two of you get maudlin on me, I’m leaving.”

Brave flashed him a crooked smile. Gabe would leave, too. The toughest of the three of them, Gabe had been brought up by parents who cared more about parties than their son.

He didn’t know all the details, nor did he want to, but Eloise Warren had been known for her promiscuity and Gabe’s father had been a notorious gambler. And then there had been Lilith. Brave didn’t know what had happened between Gabe and the girl he loved. He only knew that one day Gabe had wanted to marry her and the next he never spoke of her again. That had been the day Gabriel became
hard and cynical, caring only about his two school chums and little else.

Julian raised his head, also smiling. “Maudlin? My dear friend, I get paid for being maudlin.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You get paid for making young ladies titter and fan themselves, Julian. It’s dem fortunate that you don’t need the money to live because that fool Murray doesn’t pay you half of what you’re worth. He doesn’t even buy your good work.”

Brave and Julian exchanged glaces. Julian’s topaz gaze twinkled. It was an old argument. John Murray was Julian’s publisher, the very same who published Byron. Julian seemed very pleased with his arrangement with Murray. It was only Gabriel who believed he could do better.

“I don’t need the money.” Julian took a drink of his brandy. “My poetry is a lark. Nothing more.”

Gabriel shot him a dark look. “It could be more.”

Brave smiled. That was Gabriel. He had to be the best at everything. There was no point to a venture if one didn’t want to be the best or make a success of it. For him, there was no such thing as doing something simply for the pleasure of having done it.

Julian sighed and shook his head, sending a thick chunk of reddish brown hair over his brow. “I’m not having this discussion with you again, Gabe. Why don’t you tell Brave about the strange invitation you received.”

Arching a brow in an expression of surprise, Brave turned to his friend. “An invitation? Surely it was a mistake. No hostess in her right mind would invite a critic like you anywhere.”

Gabriel shrugged. “One doesn’t have to be a recluse to be sought after, my friend. Not even my scandalous mama keeps my name from the guest lists. In fact, this time I believe she might be the cause of it.”

Brave was too intrigued to be bothered by his friend’s of
fensive remark. Besides, it was true, so what point would there be in being insulted?

“So what kind of invitation was it?” He demanded when Gabriel offered no further information.

The dark-haired man sipped his drink and smiled—it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve been invited to an orgy.”

Now
that
did surprise Brave. No one who knew Gabriel would ever dream of inviting him to such a thing. Anyone close to him knew that he was as far from promiscuous as a normal man could get.

“An orgy.” Brave turned to Julian for verification.

Julian nodded, barely hiding his mirth. “Is it not the most laughable thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Obviously the host is not a close acquaintance.”

Gabriel grimaced. “Not bloody likely.”

“So where is this den of licentiousness anyway?” Brave asked, taking a drink. He’d almost forgotten about his brandy.

Gabriel set his empty glass aside. “Viscount Charlton’s.”

Brave’s gut clenched. “Charlton?” Did Sir Henry know the man he wanted his stepdaughter to marry held orgies in his home? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. He already felt a surge of unaccountable hatred for the man. The idea that he’d willingly sell Rachel to such a degenerate made him see red.

“That’s the one. His estate’s a few miles north of here.” Gabe shook his head. “Never liked the man much myself. This just proves what an excellent judge of character I am.” This was said with just a hint of sarcasm. That was a habit that had started when the relationship with Lilith ended.

“Naturally your good judgment made you decline,” Julian added, smiling at Brave.

Gabriel snorted. “I never even bothered to acknowledge him with a reply. The cretin.”

Brave managed a smile. It was good to see his friends. Very good. In fact, it felt just like old times. Too much like old times, because for the first time in two years, Brave had the overwhelming urge to stick his nose in where it didn’t belong—namely preventing Rachel from marrying a man who was little more than a whoremonger.

“I find it odd that Charlton didn’t invite me to his gathering. Don’t you find that odd?”

“What I find odd,” Gabriel replied, fixing him with a curious expression and eyes that looked too deep. “Is that you even care. I wouldn’t have thought this the kind of party you would care to attend.”

A falsely bright smile lit Brave’s face. “But like you said, Gabe, I don’t get out enough. This might be a good place to start.”

Gabriel and Julian exchanged puzzled glances.

“Well, if you think so…” Julian’s bewildered tone trailed off into a shrug.

“Excellent,” Brave enthused. Clapping his hands together, he wondered just how much of an impact on his quiet life Rachel Ashton was truly going to have. “When is it?”

“I
t’s a little daring, don’t you think?” Rachel turned to the woman on her right.

Belinda Mayhew, Rachel’s dearest—and only—friend, leaned in closer to study the fashion plate on the page before them. The thick mass of black ringlets circling her head obstructed Rachel’s view. “I think it’s lovely. Don’t you agree, Mrs. Ford?”

Bending in from the left, Mrs. Ford nodded with great enthusiasm. “I think that dress in a shade of dark blue would be most becoming.”

Unconvinced, Rachel peered between their heads at the print. It certainly was a lovely gown, even if the V-shaped neckline was lower than what she was accustomed to. Its style was simple and elegant, and most importantly, plain enough that Rachel could easily make it over with a few well-placed ruffles and ribbons. But…

“Do I really need an evening gown?” She turned to Belinda.

Belinda’s brown eyes widened. “Dearest,
everyone
needs at least one evening gown.”

Rachel smiled, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Belinda didn’t know there were more important things in life than gowns and fashion. They’d been friends since childhood, having grown up just two miles from each other. They would have gone on to the local ladies’ academy together had Rachel’s circumstances not changed so drastically. Funny how her mother had actually married
up
but her consequences went
down
.

While they had been born into similar situations, Belinda’s father was still alive and supporting his family. Belinda had a beautiful wardrobe filled with up-to-the minute fashions, and several successful London seasons spent studying what was fashionable. The fact that she was now engaged to a wealthy landowner from Derbyshire was the reason Rachel’s mother had suggested Rachel invite her friend to accompany her to Mrs. Ford’s.

Glancing from Belinda’s encouraging countenance to Mrs. Ford’s hopeful one, Rachel knew she was outnumbered. It seemed like such a frivolous expense, but she had to admit, she
really
would like to own such a beautiful gown.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll take it.”

Belinda and Mrs. Ford beamed.

Rachel had chosen her three gowns. All that was left was to choose the fabric. Bottle green muslin for one day gown, lightweight plum merino for another, and a sapphire-blue silk for the evening gown. By the time the material had been chosen, Rachel felt positively decadent—and tired.

“What do you want to do now?” Belinda asked as they stepped out into the gray and chilly afternoon. “Shall we go buy you a new bonnet at the milliner’s?”

“Lord no!” Rachel stifled a yawn. “Even if I could afford a new bonnet, I haven’t the energy to shop anymore today.”

Linking her arm through Rachel’s, Belinda pulled her down the street. “Then you can come and watch me shop instead.”

Rachel wondered if that hadn’t been the plan all along.

“All right, but then I have to go home.” Rachel didn’t like leaving her mother alone for very long. Even though Sir Henry was out hunting with some of his cronies, there was always the chance he wouldn’t have killed anything that day and would decide that beating her mother was just as satisfying, especially if he’d been drinking.

“I promise not to stay very long.”

Rolling her eyes, Rachel allowed herself to be led. Asking Belinda to shop quickly was like asking the sun not to rise. She knew she had at least a few hours before Sir Henry would return home as it was still early afternoon. Besides, she was enjoying this time with her friend.

Inside the shop, Rachel planned to sit quietly and wait, but Belinda wouldn’t stand for it.

“Try this one.”

The bonnet was rose velvet and perfectly matched the cape Rachel wore. She’d made it out of a pair of drapes she’d found in the attic, purchased when Sir Henry had decided to redecorate her mother’s bedchamber three years ago. Her mother hated the color, and for once, Sir Henry had caved in to her wishes. Wearing the cape always made Rachel feel stronger, more confident.

She shook her head. The bonnet was lovely, and if she tried it on, she’d only want it.

“Try it on.” The tone of Belinda’s voice brooked no refusal.

“All right,” Rachel gave in. “But only because you look so ridiculous in that hat.”

Belinda adjusted the befeathered turban so that it sat straight on her head. “Whatever you do mean?” she demanded with a grin.

The bonnet did suit, and Rachel took it off as quickly as she had put it on. She couldn’t afford it, but she didn’t want Belinda to see how bothered she was by the fact. Maybe if there was any money left over after she paid for her mother’s divorce and once they were resettled, she’d buy herself a new hat, but for now she had go without.

“How about this one?” She asked, cramming a chipped-straw bonnet loaded with faux fruit down on her head. The brim stuck out a good four inches around her face, and the fruit was so heavy, her head tilted to the left.

Belinda clapped her hands together in mock enthusiasm. “I love it!”

“Personally, I preferred the pink one.”

Rachel’s stomach fell at the sound of that rich voice. Slowly, she reached up and removed the foolish fruit bonnet from her head. Smoothing her hair with the palm of her hand, she turned.

“Rose,” was all she could think of to say, as the shop suddenly seemed to shrink around her. How could one person’s presence make a room so much smaller?

He shook his head, as though he hadn’t heard her right. “I beg your pardon?”

“The bonnet. It’s rose, not pink.” Clutching a handful of wooden cherries, she curtsied. “Good day, Lord Braven.”

He raised a brow.

My, aren’t we the expressive one today.
So maybe she wasn’t quite herself. What did he expect after that kiss? Maybe he could pretend it meant nothing, pretend it didn’t happen, but Rachel couldn’t, not when practically every waking moment since had been spent dwelling on it!

“Good day, Miss Ashton—or do you go by Westhaver now?”

She’d sooner cut off her own arm. “No. I’ve kept my father’s name.”

He nodded, as though he should have known. “And good day to you as well, Miss Mayhew.” He bowed his head in greeting. “Might I introduce you ladies to my friends? Lords Angelwood and Wolfram.”

More curtsies, more bows. More niceties. Rachel felt as though they were at court.

“And might I inquire what brings you in here today, Lord Braven?” She didn’t fool herself that he had come in specifically to see her, even though it would have been nice. But there was no way for him to have known she was there, unless he saw her through the window.

“Lord Angelwood”—he pointed to the black-haired man now browsing a rack of gentlemen’s hats—“has a nasty habit of losing hats. We’ve come in search of a new one.”

Rachel smiled, a little too brightly perhaps, but at least she wouldn’t look disappointed. Perhaps he wasn’t pretending. Perhaps the kiss really had meant nothing to him. Of course, he really couldn’t say anything about it with all these people around, could he?

“And of course seeing you makes the trip all the more worthwhile.”

Nicely said, she thought as her heart floundered in her chest. Was it just her or had his voice lowered just the slightest bit? He sounded almost…seductive.

Then again, the Earl of Braven could recite a grocery list and make it sound erotic. It was that low voice of his, that melancholy lilt that made every word sound almost like a sigh. But his expression was unchanged, and there was nothing in his gaze—his oh-so-intent gaze—that would lead her to believe he was nearly as affected by her presence as she was by his. She was making far too much of the situation. They were both adults. There was no need to be uncomfortable.

Rachel’s smile was more natural now. “Indeed,” she quipped, “I shudder to think how deplorable the afternoon might have been had we not met.”

He gave her one of those half smiles of his. “A deplorable thought.”

His other friend, the tall brunette, interrupted their banter. Blushing lightly, Rachel realized she’d forgotten all about him. “Please excuse me, Miss Ashton, Brave, but I want to purchase a new pair of gloves for tonight.” With a bow, he left them.

His exclusion of Belinda, made Rachel look for her friend. She found her at the counter, having her purchases wrapped. She and Brave were completely alone—or as alone as they could be in a busy shop.

“And what mischief are you boys up to this evening?” she teased, in an effort to conceal her own sudden shyness.

The humor faded from his eyes. “Viscount Charlton has invited us to a party at his estate.”

“Viscount Charlton? I did not think you knew him.” The very idea of Brave and Charlton together disgusted and alarmed her. She didn’t want to put him in the same category as Charlton, and she was distinctly uncomfortable that he was going to spend at least one evening with the man Sir Henry wanted her to marry.

“I don’t.” From his expression she thought he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stared at her. She stared back, her gaze drawn to his mouth, the firm lips that had been so soft, so demanding on hers. He’d tasted of champagne, and the taste had stayed with her long after he left her on the balcony. What, she wondered, would he taste like if she kissed him now?

Her gaze flickered to his. He was staring at her mouth, and for a moment Rachel thought she saw something hot and urgent in the dark depths of his eyes. Then he caught her gaze, and all the warmth vanished, replaced by an unreadable wall.

“Ah, well,” she said after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. “I hope you have a good time.”

“Thank you, although I can assure you there will be little pleasure in the evening.”

She frowned, and although she knew it was impertinent, she couldn’t help but ask, “Then why are you going?”

“For a friend.” He gave her that same strange look, and understanding dawned.

“Ohhh.” She nodded. Obviously one of his friends had asked him to go for some personal reason. Perhaps a gaming debt or something. Charlton was a reputed gambler. “That’s very good of you.”

“Thank you.”

His expression gave her pause. Was it possible that
she
was the friend? It was almost too much even to dare entertain.

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, interrupting her foolish thoughts. Belinda was standing by the door, her packages in her arms. She studied a straw gypsy hat with all the interest of someone enthralled, but Rachel knew her friend was just being polite.

“I see my friend is ready to leave.” She placed the rather battered fruit bonnet back on its rack. “I should take my leave.”

“It was good to see you again.”

He meant it. Of that she was certain, but his expression was so solemn, so utterly remote, she couldn’t tell how much he meant it, or in what manner. “I agree.” And with that, she walked away.

Fortunately, Belinda waited until they were outside and in her awaiting carriage before opening her mouth.

“What was that all about?” Tossing her packages on the seat, she turned to face Rachel with an eager expression.

Rachel leaned back against the squabs, glad to be out of the shop and glad that her first meeting with Brave since their kiss was behind her.

“What was what all about?”

Belinda nudged her leg. “Lord Braven was flirting with you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t think the man knows how to flirt.” He
had
said that seeing her made the trip worthwhile. Of course, any well-bred gentleman would have said the same thing. Wasn’t a change of expression required while flirting? Or did flirting have its own countenance? Regardless, she was fairly certain Brave’s face hadn’t looked flirtatious at all.

Belinda stripped off her gloves. “Do you have any idea how sought-after he is? How wonderful that you caught his eye.”

“I haven’t caught his eye,” Rachel replied with some exasperation. Between her mother and Belinda she suddenly felt like an old maid everyone was trying to marry off to any man who looked at her. She wasn’t that old yet, and everyone seemed to forget that she had no plans to get married.

“That’s not what they’re saying in town.”

The hair on the back of Rachel’s neck stood on end. Gossip ran rampant in a small town, but talk of her and Brave was becoming far too common. “What are they saying?”

Belinda smiled coyly, oblivious to Rachel’s distress. “Only that he rescued you from certain death and gave you one of the countess’s gowns.”

Oh God. Closing her eyes, Rachel allowed the fluttering in her stomach to wash over her in time with the swaying carriage. Her blood shivered in her veins. The servants had been talking. They were the only ones who could have known about the dress—except for Sir Henry, and he had too much at stake to risk letting such a thing become general knowledge. Thank God no one had seen her and Brave on the balcony that night, or they would have been forced into marriage.

If she wasn’t more careful, the rumors could do just as much damage to her reputation as that kiss. And as the stepdaughter of Henry Westhaver, her virtue was all she had.

“Just think. You could be a countess!” Belinda giggled.

Groaning, Rachel dropped her head back on the cushions—and realized she’d left her bonnet in the milliner’s. She had no intention of going back after it now. It would look completely contrived if Brave was still there. She would fetch the bonnet tomorrow.

“Then you could have all the gowns you could ever want.” Belinda’s own fashionable bonnet was tossed into the corner, with its brim bent against the seat. Rachel frowned. Did Belinda take wealth so for granted that she’d treat bonnets like old rags?

“Gowns have never been at the top of my priority list,” Rachel reminded her, rubbing her eyes. “Not because I don’t like them, but because I have other things to worry about. Remember my mother? The woman who married a totally despicable man just to put a roof over our heads? I vowed to free her from him, remember?”

Belinda frowned, marring her perfect white brow. “You wouldn’t risk your own chance at marriage just to—” She slumped against the seat. “You would, wouldn’t you?”