Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (15 page)

‘Damn it, Christy! What am I supposed to do?’

She shook her head. ‘Behave like the gentleman you claim to be, perhaps?’

His throat worked convulsively.
‘Bitch!’
he spat at her, and slammed from the room. Christy leaned back against the wall
with a shuddering sigh. There was no choice. Braybrook must be told the truth. Armed with that knowledge, he could ensure that Alicia no longer viewed Harry as a possible match. Heat pricked at her eyes. She hadn’t wanted this. But what else could she do?

‘Well, well, well,’ came an amused voice from behind her. She whirled and found Ned Postleton standing in the open outside door. ‘What a stirring scene, Miss D.’ His eyes mocked. ‘Dare say Braybrook won’t be too happy, eh?’

F
ighting shock, Christy said nothing, but watched warily as Postleton strolled into the room, closing the door behind him.

‘Very high in the instep about these things, Braybrook is,’ he went on. ‘Quite the fire eater. Nothing wrong with a fellow entertaining himself in the right quarters, of course.’ He smirked. ‘But Braybrook’s sister ain’t the right quarters. Eh?’

Christy found her voice—inextricably entwined with her temper. ‘What are you suggesting, Mr Postleton?’

His gaze crawled over her and she felt unclean. ‘Oh, I just thought you might like to devote a few moments to modifying my memory, eh? Amazing how a pretty woman can muddle a man’s mind.’

‘You think I won’t tell Braybrook?’

He spluttered with laughter. ‘Tell Braybrook? You won’t tell him! He’d call Harry out! Think—Harry’s tongue halfway down the chit’s throat, his hand up her skirts fingering the goods.’

‘That’s a lie!’ she exploded.

‘Now, now, Miss D.’ His eyes jeered. ‘Think it over. It would make pretty telling.’ He shrugged. ‘Lose Harry his position, too. The Pater’s quite the puritan over these things.’

He came a step closer and Christy snatched up a little gardening fork from the shelf beside her.

Postleton stopped, his startled gaze on the gleaming tines. ‘Put that down!’ he snapped, lazy mockery gone.

‘When you leave,’ said Christy. She stepped aside, indicating the inner door with her free hand and making sure there was room for him to pass easily. ‘You’ll want to be very sure of your story before you retail it to Braybrook.’ It was a long shot. She had no idea which way Braybrook would incline, but if she could shake Postleton’s confidence…

His expression twisted. ‘You think he’ll believe
you
?’

She assumed an attitude of amusement. ‘A risk, isn’t it? You see, he might wonder why
you
didn’t intervene when you saw Harry taking such dreadful liberties. Why Harry isn’t already sporting a black eye? And how you managed to see so much through a closed door?’

The stunned look on Postleton’s face told Christy that this had not occurred to him. She held her breath. There were gaps in her bluff that you could have driven a coach and four through. But it might buy her time to reach Braybrook first.

‘He’s tupping you,’ said Postleton suddenly. ‘Braybrook’s already dipped his wick! That’s why you’re so sure he’ll believe you.’

She merely raised her brows, quelling the panic bubbling beneath the surface. The expressions he’d used were unfamiliar, but their meaning was clear.

‘He’ll tire of you fast enough’ said Postleton. ‘And then you’ll be out on your ear, probably with his brat in your belly. Wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘Leave’ she said. ‘Now.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I’m going. I’m not fool enough to meddle with any wench Braybrook’s bedding.’

He strolled towards the door and Christy tracked him with her eyes, moving to allow him passage, stepping back to remain behind him, the garden fork still levelled.

Then the door closed behind him and with a shudder she sagged against the shelves. Whatever riptide had seared her veins, allowing her to face him down, it had subsided to leave her cold
and shaking. She stayed there, wrapping Lady Braybrook’s old shawl close. The riot of birds, butterflies and flowers still shimmered, but now their loveliness served only to mock. She stared at the garden fork. Would she really have stabbed him with it, had he attempted to force her?

Yes. In a heartbeat.

On the thought the inner door opened behind her. Fury, spurred by fear, ripped through her and she levelled the fork as she whirled.

Julian retreated from the virago confronting him.

‘Christy!’

Even as he spoke she sagged back against the shelves, the garden fork clattering to the floor. He took in her white face, the trembling hands, heard her breath rush out.

‘I…I’m sorry, my lord. I thought…I didn’t realise it was you.’

The shaky words scorched him and he put it together in a surge of searing fury. Whoever she had expected she would have greeted him with a garden fork levelled at his guts…

‘What did Postleton do to you?’ He scarcely recognised his own raw voice.

She flinched. ‘Postleton? How—?’

‘Damn it, Christy! Trust me!’ Then he forced his voice to gentle and said, ‘He passed me in the hall. Look, if you were wielding a garden fork you were hardly a willing participant! What happened?’

Her eyes searched his face.

‘Harry and Alicia were here too.’

‘I beg your pardon? I thought Postleton—’ Her words sank in. ‘Harry and Lissy? Explain.’

She did. In a detached, clear voice, her gaze steady.

‘Bloody young fools,’ he muttered to himself. Then, realising he’d spoken aloud, ‘I beg your pardon. Go on. Where does Postleton fit into this?’

‘He threatened to tell you.’

‘Not much of a threat since you’ve told me anyway,’ he said.

‘An exaggerated version.’ Her cheeks flamed.

‘Oh?’ They were coming to the nub of it. For the first time
her eyes wavered. Focusing on a point beyond his left shoulder, she said, ‘He intended to tell you that Harry had his…his tongue halfway down her throat, and his hand…his hand—’

‘Very well,’ he said. Her distress was palpable and he had the gist of it.

She went on. ‘He offered to keep silent on certain terms.’

‘What terms?’ grated Julian, although he thought he knew.

She met his gaze. ‘There is only one thing a gentleman wants from a woman of my station, my lord. As you well know.’

Anger roared through him. Anger at the thought of Postleton, or any other man, so much as thinking of touching her, let alone threatening her. And sheer, blistering hurt that she saw his own offer in the same tainted light.

‘I did
not
attempt to coerce you!’ he ground out.

‘No,’ she acknowledged. ‘But there was no difference in what you wanted. Just that you wanted it for longer and were prepared to pay generously for your entertainment.’

Entertainment?
This hot twisting in his gut was
entertainment
?

He opened his mouth, prepared to scarify her, rage at her…

‘I’m sorry,’ he said very quietly.

She stared, clearly confused.

She wasn’t the only one. What was he sorry for? Postleton’s insults? His own offer? All he knew was that behind the calm exterior she was hurt, upset. That she had been exposed to insult and danger in his house and he wanted to hit someone for it. Unfortunately, beating Postleton to a pulp would only cause more trouble. Quite possibly for her.

After a moment she cleared her throat. ‘It doesn’t matter, my lord. And this was certainly not your fault.’ She swallowed, the movement of her throat convulsive. ‘But there is something else I must tell you—’

‘Whatever it is can wait until morning,’ he said. The set of her jaw told him that whatever it was would cause her pain. ‘You’ve had enough. Go up.’

She hesitated, biting her lip. After a moment she nodded. ‘Very well. Goodnight, my lord.’

He meant to let her go. But as she drew level he saw the fine trembling of her mouth, that she clutched her shawl as if the warm night had turned chilly.

He muttered a curse and reached out a hand, laying it gently on her wrist. She stopped, but didn’t look at him.

‘My lord—please.’

He pulled her into his arms, felt the stiffness of her body, the shivering. He would just hold her for a moment. To comfort her. Nothing more. He slid his fingers into the warm silk of her hair and pressed her cheek gently against his chest. For an instant she resisted, her hands pushing back against his chest, but then with a little sigh, she relaxed, yielding to his embrace. ‘Shh. It’s all right,’ he murmured, and rested his own cheek on her hair. It felt right. She fitted—against him, against his heart, in a way no other woman ever had.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady the rising beat of his blood, but breathing in was a mistake. Her soft, warm fragrance, mingled with the soap she used, slid into him and he was lost. He gathered her closer, turning her face up to his. Behind the spectacles her eyes were huge in a pale face.

‘My lord?’ she whispered again.

He should say something. Something reassuring. Comforting. But again all that came out was, ‘I’m sorry.’ And whether he was apologising for what he had already done, or for what he was about to do, he didn’t know.

Slowly, giving her every chance to pull back or stab him with the fork, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Christy’s mind whirled even as her lips softened, returning his kiss. She should say no, pull away. This was insanity. Steely strength surrounded her, yet it was not that which held her. His gentleness, his restraint, the aching tenderness of his kiss held her in thrall. She was cradled, not confined. He would release her if she wished it.

She did not wish it. Rather, as she felt the seeking caress of his tongue against her lips, she parted them on a sigh of longing and he took her mouth. His tongue slid deep, touching hers, possessing her, in a rhythm that sang in harmony with her beating blood.

A large hand drifted over her waist as though entranced with
the curve, lifting to cover her breast. Even through her gown and chemise, the sturdier defence of her stays, she felt it. Her body leaping to life as her nipples peaked in a burning rush, pressing against the confining stays in a hidden plea so that she pushed against him. With a groan his kiss deepened, his arms tightening around her…

Lord, she was sweet. Her shy, untutored kisses set him ablaze as nothing else ever had.

A violent crash broke them apart and he broke the kiss to see the door bouncing off the wall.

‘You bloody hypocrite, Braybrook! Get your hands off my sister!’

Harry Daventry’s words and his contorted, mottled face as he glared at them from the doorway dashed over Julian like cold, dirty water. Beyond Harry, Ned Postleton’s smirk mocked. Beside him, Christy tried to step away, a small sound of distress escaping from her. It pierced him and instinctively he caught her wrist.

‘Dear me. Are we interrupting something?’ drawled Postleton.

Julian’s fists balled. ‘Get the hell out of here, Postleton,’ he said, stepping forwards. ‘This is nothing to do with you!’

Postleton grinned. ‘Oh, come, Braybrook! Hardly the first time you’ve slipped away to enjoy a lady’s charms. Romance in the air tonight?’

‘Romance?’
spat Harry, advancing on Julian. ‘I’m not good enough to raise my eyes to
his
sister, but mine is good enough for his amusement! Thanks for the tip-off, Postleton!’

‘Harry! No!’

Christy stepped around him, facing her brother. Damn it! Was she protecting
him
? He caught her shoulders and pushed her behind him. ‘Don’t be an idiot!’ he told her, and swung to face Daventry. At this point nothing mattered but protecting Christy from the consequences of his own stupidity.

‘I’m willing to offer whatever satisfaction you like, Daventry, but this is neither the time nor place unless you
want
to see your sister’s reputation ruined!’

‘A fat lot
you
cared about—!’

‘I say, sorry to interrupt, Mr Daventry, but have you seen my brother?’ Matthew appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh, there you are, Julian. Mama was wondering where you’d vanished…’ His voice trailed off as his widening eyes took in the scene. ‘Er—’

‘I’ll tell you where he’d vanished to!’ roared Harry. ‘Seducing my sister! That’s where!’

A dull flush rose on Matthew’s cheeks and he flung a hasty glance back over his shoulder. ‘Um, George—why don’t you go back? I’ve, er, found him now.’

And George Endicott’s voice. ‘Oh, ah, right you are, Matt. I’ll see you later, then.’

Julian swore under his breath as Mr Endicott’s footsteps retreated swiftly. Doubtless in a hurry to pass the story on to his sisters, who would tell all their friends. And so on. The story would be all around the ball within half an hour and all over the county inside of a sennight.

‘Sorry,’ said Matthew.

Behind him he heard Christy draw a shaky breath. He swung around, jaw set. ‘We’ll talk in the morning—’ he began.

‘Talk?’ snarled Harry. ‘What’s to talk about! You’ll marry my sister or answer to me!’

Christy’s mind reeled. ‘Harry—are you
mad
? I don’t want to marry him!’

Braybrook shot a startled, measuring glance at her. Damn him! Did he imagine she’d marry a man who preferred her in the role of mistress?

Harry glared at her. ‘You should have thought of that before he tupped you!’

‘He didn’t—’

‘One more insult to your sister, Daventry,’ snapped Braybrook, stepping forwards with clenched fists, ‘and
you
will answer to
me
!’

Oh, this was ridiculous! They were like two dogs snarling over a bone! She had to stop it before one or the other of these
idiots
said something from which there was no backing down.

‘Well, my lord?’ growled Harry, ‘Which is it? Pistols or marriage?’

‘It will be neither!’ said Christy. Dragging in a breath, she steeled herself to deliver the final blow. And saw Ned Postleton lounging in the doorway.

Her breath caught. There was still a chance that if she told Braybrook the truth privately, Harry could retain his position and she might scrape a reference. But if Postleton learnt the truth their ruin would be absolute.

‘Get rid of him,’ she told Harry, indicating Postleton.

Postleton’s smirk intensified. ‘No, no, Miss D. Independent witness, you know!’

‘Exactly!’ blustered Harry. ‘Damned if I will. Postleton’s stood my friend this evening, and—’

‘He deliberately stirred up trouble!’ snapped Christy. ‘I’m warning you, Harry—it makes little difference to me, but it might make a difference to you.’

A split second of incomprehension, then Harry’s face drained of colour. ‘Christy, you…you wouldn’t! You
can’t
!’

‘I can,’ she said softly. ‘Get him out. And make sure he doesn’t listen at the door as he did to your tryst with Alicia!’