Kathryn Smith (15 page)

He led her into a twirl, and she stumbled. He caught and lifted her so that she fell against him, rather than twisting her ankle or getting stepped on. When he set her back on her feet, she was staring at him strangely.

“What?”

“You’re always rescuing me.” Did she actually sigh when she said that?

Brave smiled. She was definitely well on her way to a hangover the next morning. “I seem to, don’t I?”

Rachel nodded. “I think you must be quite the knight-errant.”

“Oh do you?” He couldn’t keep the chuckle from his voice.

“I do. I think you like rescuing me.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and inhibition as she stared up at him.

Did she know how she teased him with those eyes? Did she even realize that he could feel every inch of her delectable body through the flimsy silk of her gown? Could she
feel how hard he was getting just from holding her and breathing in her scent?

“Well, I do prefer rescuing you over the alternative, Rachel.” For the sake of his sanity, Brave tried to step back and put some distance between them.

She followed him, her body still maddeningly close to his. “Have many women come to you looking to be saved, my lord?”

“A few.” His breeches were becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

“And have you rescued them all?” Her tone was lighthearted, but he detected the slightest tremor in her voice. Despite their arrangement, she obviously wanted to feel like she was special in some way. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand women, but he could honestly admit that no woman had ever affected him as she did.

“Not all, no.” He would not think of Miranda. He would not ruin this moment.

“And what do you hope to gain from those you do?”

Brave stared at her, at the uncertainty in her gaze, the raw vulnerability in her expression. She deserved nothing less than his complete honesty.

“That one of them might be able to rescue me,” he replied, his chest clenching with the admission.

Wide eyes locked with his as her fingers came up to touch his cheek. He flinched at the gentle contact.

“Show me how,” she whispered.

His heart stopped. She understood. Of course she understood, she had been trying to save her mother for years.

Desperately, he hauled her against him. She didn’t even gasp in surprise. It was as though she had anticipated his move.

“Please.”

They seemed to be making quite a habit of kissing on balconies, Brave thought with a groan as he brought his mouth down on hers. Her lips parted, eagerly welcoming his tongue
as he plundered the sweet recesses of her mouth. She tasted of champagne and caviar and life. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

Her tongue met his, not with virginal tentativeness, but with womanly assurance. Matching him stroke for stroke, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts and hips against him. He held to her as though he were drowning and she was the only thing keeping him afloat.

The only thing that could save him.

“I
now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The cool brush of Brave’s lips against her own was nothing like what Rachel had experienced on the balcony the night of their engagement party. And this stiff impartial kiss was certainly nothing like the blazing embrace she had spent the last fortnight fantasizing about.

She understood that he could hardly thrust his tongue into her mouth in front of half the village, but couldn’t he show a little warmth? There was no indication, not even the slightest bit of pressure, that he remembered the kiss they had shared that night. It was as though he had forgotten.

Or
wanted
to forget.

Was that it? Did he regret the kiss and wish to discourage her from believing it meant anything to him? But that made no sense. He’d told her he wanted their marriage to be more than in name only. He wanted an heir. He’d shown her that he wasn’t indifferent to her.

Looking up, she could see nothing in his dark gaze that
told her otherwise. Concern, relief, yes, but no passion, no remembrance. Strange for a man who claimed to be attracted to her.

And it certainly wouldn’t dispel the rumors that he’d been tricked into marrying her. She knew she wasn’t much of a marriage prize where many of the townsfolk were concerned, but she would like to think that she wouldn’t have to stoop to trickery to capture a man’s interest. Of course, this wasn’t just any man. This was the Earl of Braven, and he was a catch indeed.

It really shouldn’t matter. She hadn’t entered into their agreement in order to gain an attentive husband. She’d done it to save her mother. Nothing could get in the way of that.

She would have to be more careful in the future. Acting on this attraction she felt for him was trouble with a capital T. She knew that, but whenever she was around him, all her common sense seemed to go right out the window.

She would not allow such flights of fancy to happen again. No matter what happened between them she would not fool herself into believing it meant anything. Theirs was a marriage based on mutual benefit. If she hadn’t been foolish enough to go rushing off to his house alone, they wouldn’t be in the mess right now.

Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to regret it—not when it might mean her mother’s freedom.

Hooking her arm around his, she allowed him to guide her down the aisle. She stared straight ahead, concentrating not on the solid warmth of his forearm beneath her hand but on the one visible wheel of the Braven carriage.

“Are you feeling ill?”

She started at the sound of his voice and almost tripped over the hem of her gown. Blushing furiously, she mumbled, “I’m fine, thank you.”

Outside, the sun was shining high in the late-October sky, but there was a definite chill in the air. Brave handed her up
into the open carriage where thick woolly robes were laid out for them to bundle up in.

Rachel smiled vacantly at the well-wishers as Brave, dressed splendidly in a blue coat and ivory breeches, threw handfuls of silver coins into their festive midst. How easily he smiled and joked with them all, his teeth flashing in the sun.

She found some satisfaction that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. For all her wanting to get a reaction out of him, the idea that he might be truly pleased to wed her would be too much for her to handle. She didn’t know what had happened to him to make him so sad. Part of her wanted desperately to find out. Another part wanted them to remain as distant as possible. She didn’t want to fall in love with him, not when she had the feeling his heart wasn’t available.

Finally, he dropped onto the seat beside her, hastily wrapping both of them in the warm blankets as the carriage rolled out onto the long lane that led to Wyck’s End.

“Well, that is done,” Brave remarked brightly. “Now we only have to make it through the breakfast, and then we can relax.”

“I’m sorry to put you through such bother,” she replied with more tartness than she intended.

His head turned, his eyes narrowing against the sun in his face. “What makes you think you’ve been a bother?”

Rachel arched a brow, and he chuckled. “I can’t say the situation has been entirely enjoyable, but I can honestly say that
you
have not been a bother at all.” He reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She hoped the blush that surged to her cheeks would simply be mistaken for cold.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Many of the wedding guests joined them for breakfast at Wyck’s End, and the eating and festivities went on for hours. Even the servants joined in the celebration, and Rachel was touched by how kind they were to her.

Rachel couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten or
talked quite so much. Nor could she remember a time when she’d felt so hopeful—and the implications of that joy were more than she wanted to face.

Finally, her stomach full to bursting and her jaw tired from so much talking and eating, she escaped from the banqueting hall, finding refuge in the two-story library.

The heavy door muffled the sounds of laughter and loud conversation. Closing it behind her, Rachel crossed the gold-and-blue carpet to the window with a grateful sigh. She was unused to spending so much time in society—not just because of Sir Henry’s frugality, but because of the pity, and sometimes censure, she saw in so many eyes.

An instant calm washed over her as she stared at the majestic scene spread out before her. The sloping lawn spread out along the front of the house was still green despite the time of year, and was spotted with sunshine and half a dozen ducks. A stone bridge arched over this lazy section of the Wyck. It was serene here, not like the spot where she had almost drowned, and reflected shades of amber and blue on its calm surface. Its glassy surface was rippled only by the bobbing of birds and the flurry of harried fish. Beyond that were rows of brightly colored trees and rolling hills dotted with tiny sheep.

She was mistress of it all. This house and these grounds that she had so adored as a child would be hers to explore at her leisure. A genuine smile spread across her face as she thanked fate for tossing her into the river the night she met Brave.

She had no right wishing for more than he had already given her. Where would she be if he had not found her that night? Dead? Married to Viscount Charleton? Both?

So what if Braven didn’t feel the same attraction, the same emotional pull toward her? She already owed him her life, and so far he had asked for nothing in return but children. Most women would be satisfied with that. It might not
be a marriage like the one her parents had enjoyed, but it was better than most.

The thought did not lift her spirits as she hoped it might.

“I thought I saw you sneak in here.”

Rachel did not turn to face her mother, but smiled over her shoulder at the welcome intrusion.

“The crowd was beginning to give me the headache.” Her gaze returned to the sheep on the far hillside. “This was all I needed to cure it.”

“It is a lovely prospect,” Marion agreed, coming up to stand beside her. “You’re a very fortunate young woman.”

Rachel’s brow puckered as she turned her head. “The fortune is not mine alone. You’ll soon benefit from my marriage as well.”

Her mother blushed as she cast a sidelong glance in her daughter’s direction. “Seeing you happy is benefit enough for me. Besides, I may soon benefit from my own marriage.”

This time her entire body turned. Hands on her hips, Rachel stared at her mother with dawning horror. “What the in the name of God are you trying to tell me?”

Marion’s flush deepened to the roots of her hair. She stared down at the carpet and traced its pattern with the toe of her slipper.

“I didn’t see any of the maids preparing a chamber for you,” Rachel continued, her voice beginning to rise. “You are staying for a
visit
, aren’t you, Mama?” Her mother had agreed to stay with them for as long as she could—hopefully as long as it took to begin the divorce.

Marion lifted her chin, but her gaze remained averted. “Sir Henry thought it missish of you to want your mother to stay with you on your wedding night. He said a few days apart will do neither of us any harm and that I might come visit in a few days’ time.”

“And you
agreed
?” Rachel whirled away. Facing the window again she was overcome by the sudden urge to put her
fist—or her head—through it. Instead, she pressed her knuckles to her temples to ease the pounding there.

“He was so reasonable,” her mother explained. “He says he just wants us to have some time to ourselves.” A soft hand came down on her shoulder. “Rachel, I do believe he’s trying to change.”

Surely something snapped inside her brain. “Change?” The flat of her hand crashed into the window sash, reverberating all the way up her arm. It hurt, and the pain numbed her anger.

Her mother, who had been the victim of so much violence during the past ten years, blanched and backed away.

Oh, so she was the villain now, was she?
She
was the one who’d suffered a split lip, not Sir Henry.

“He’s going to kill you,” Rachel seethed. “And you’re going to let him.” Blast it! And there would be nothing she could do to stop it.

Marion’s head jerked back and forth. “No, he promised things would be different now that—” She looked away.

“What? Now that I’m gone?” She flung her arm wide in an effort to burn off some of her frustration. “Certainly things will be different. There will be no one in that house to keep him from doing exactly what he wants to you!”

Marion wrung her hands. “The two of you never liked one another. Perhaps things will be better now that you have left the house.”

Rachel couldn’t believe that her usually intelligent mother was spouting such drivel. She didn’t honestly believe what she was saying, did she? What if she did? Trying to convince her that Sir Henry meant her harm might just achieve the opposite.

Sighing, Rachel pushed her anger and frustration deep down within herself. She relaxed her shoulders, not surprised to find them hunched up almost to her ears.

It took every ounce of her strength to keep her voice level.
“Promise me you’ll come stay with us if he so much as raises his voice to you.”

Her mother nodded, a relieved smile curving her thin lips.

“You’d better get back.” Rachel tilted her head toward the door. Spots danced before her eyes. Her headache was back in full force. “Sir Henry will no doubt have noticed your absence.”

She was embraced in a cloud of jasmine and roses as her mother wrapped her arms about her shoulders. Rachel bit her lip in an effort to not burst into tears of helplessness. Foreboding swirled within her. She knew her stepfather too well to think he could have possibly changed so quickly. And unless Sir Henry seriously injured her mother, Rachel was powerless to remove her from his home. The law was on his side.

“I promise to come in a few days,” Marion said with a smile as she opened the door.

Rachel only nodded in reply, managing a weak smile as her mother slipped outside.

Alone again, Rachel sank into a generously padded armchair and ground the heel of her hand into her forehead. Her plans were crumbling around her. What would Brave think when he discovered her mother had returned home with Sir Henry? Would he think she really had tricked him into marriage as the gossips hinted? Or would he realize just how Sir Henry had tricked her mother?

What if her mother decided to stay with Sir Henry for good? What would happen then? Would Brave cast her aside? She couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—go back to Tullywood. Perhaps he would still want her to stay and fulfill her part of their bargain. Or perhaps he’d give her enough money to get to London and she could spend the rest of her days working in a dress shop sewing until her fingers bled.

She didn’t even want to think about it.

Instead, she leaned back against the plush velvet and closed her eyes. She thought about the way he had kissed
her at the engagement party. Over and over again she relived the sweet pressure of his mouth against hers until the pain went away.

And darkness claimed her.

She was curled up sound asleep in his father’s favorite chair when Brave found her. A happy smile curved her lips.

What was she smiling for, he wondered as he stood watching, unwilling to disturb her just yet. Surely it wasn’t because her mother had left with Sir Henry more than an hour ago.

In fact, all the guests were gone. Marion had informed him immediately of his wife’s—his
wife’s
—headache, and Brave had made all the necessary excuses. Out of consideration to the clearly overwhelmed bride, the well-wishers had begun to leave shortly thereafter.

Julian and Gabriel had been the last to leave, with the promise that they would both be back after their trip to London. Brave was sorry to have disrupted their plans, but he was glad to have had them with him. No doubt they would have left sooner if it weren’t for the fact that they wanted to make sure Brave hadn’t completely lost his wits.

His friends’ concern aside, it had been hours since Brave had seen or touched his wife, and the need to do so now was more important than whether or not he’d done the right thing by marrying her.

It had taken all his resolve in the church not to kiss her the way he wanted. The kiss they had shared the night of the engagement party haunted him. The desire in it tortured him. For those brief moments he had allowed himself to believe that she might actually want him as he wanted her. But she had shown no other signs of it, and he could only assume that he had mistaken her drunken passion for something more. Something he had no right to hope for.

It had been a mistake to kiss her. Just as it was a mistake
now to drop to his knees beside her chair. Her lips were so close he need only lean forward…

Her eyelashes fluttered just inches from his own. Brave froze, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. His breath caught and held, waiting for her to open her eyes and see him so close.

“Aghh!” she cried, her eyes and arms flying wide.