Regency 02 - Betrayal (14 page)

“Why did you not simply kill her?” Raven
asked calmly. “Or have her killed?”

He stared at her in open disbelief. Was she
jesting? She had to be. Raven had not a violent bone in her
body.

“Yes, I was jesting,” Raven replied with a
half-smile, reading his mind with an ease that frightened him. “I
needed you to calm down. Please sit.” He sat. “You do not love her.
But you did once. One does not feel so strongly about infidelity
when one is indifferent. And you are not the type to view a woman
as your own personal property no matter how much dislike or even
liking you hold for her. You feel guilty for having abandoned her,
however, and now you plan to bring her here, do you not?”

Prestwich sat in stunned silence for a
moment. Then he shook his head slightly and said, “Not here,
exactly. I planned to bury her in Cornwall.” He chuckled at his
ill-chosen words. “Not literally, of course. But she lives in
virtual poverty now and I do feel some responsibility towards
her.”

“Of course,” Raven replied evenly as she
handed him a new glass. “Now tell me about Lady Rothsmere.”

He started. “What about her?”

“You’re in love with her, for one thing. You
are also planning to give me my
congé
because of her.” Her
face revealed nothing but acceptance.

“Will you be all right?”

It was her turn to start in surprise. Then
she grinned slowly. “Of course I will. I have a small fortune
saved. My family and I will survive comfortably if I continue to
live frugally. You have been a very generous protector.” Her smile
faded. “The question is, will you be all right?”

Will you be all right?

Her question stayed with him all the next
day. He heard her voice in his head over and over again.

He had gone early that morning—after only a
few hours of sleep—to inform his solicitor of his decision to bring
Mrs. Prestwich to England.

He paused in the act of pulling on his boots.
Mrs. Prestwich. Or,
Lady
Prestwich, rather. Carlotta. How he
had hoped never to hear that name again. How he had hoped never to
see her again. But it could not be helped. She was coming to
England to live until she died.

Which he was told would be soon. He didn’t
want to think about her death. He was afraid he would feel relief
or even eagerness for the event. He was afraid he would pray for
the freedom that it would bring him. He didn’t want to feel that
way about anyone, not even his wife.

Adam rose to his feet and left his room. He
planned to call on Bri to assure himself that she was okay before
he left for Cornwall to prepare the way for his wife. His wife. He
hated calling her that but that was what she was.

He arrived late that afternoon. The room was
still nearly overflowing with gentlemen. Bri sat in the center
smiling and laughing just as if nothing had happened between them
last night.

Perhaps nothing had.

“Mr. Prestwich, how delightful to see you!”
she exclaimed when she caught sight of him. She rose gracefully to
her feet and approached him, both hands outstretched.

He took her hands, raised them both to his
lips, and bowed. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” he
replied.

He straightened and as he did so, he noticed
two things. First, Steyne was there with a smug look on his face
even while his eyes blazed with hatred for Adam or Bri, maybe both.
It was hard to tell. Second, something in Bri had changed
overnight.

He wasn’t sure what it was. There was an
anger in her eyes that was all for him, he knew. That was not
surprising. He had often been informed of her dislike of him. But
there, in the back of her eyes was a wariness, a fear even, that
had not been there before. It reminded him of something but he was
unable to recall the memory that hung just on the edge of his
recollection.

He smiled charmingly at her. “And how goes
your morning?” he asked politely.

“Very well, indeed,” she murmured with false
brightness. “What more could a girl want than a roomful of gallant
young men eager to bow to her every whim?”

There was a cheer from some of her devoted
swains at this pronouncement. She smiled sweetly at them and then
turned her hard emerald eyes back to Adam. He was taken aback at
the new emotion in her eyes. It was…a plea for
help
? No,
it couldn’t possibly be. He pushed the thought away.

His visit was over in the regulation ten
minutes. Bri watched him rise to take his leave and felt a mixture
of longing and relief. She had to quell the urge to stop him and
beg for help. She knew instinctively that he would do everything in
his power to help her if she only asked. He was an honorable man.
He would do so for any girl in distress no matter how much he
disliked her.

But she was relieved that he was leaving. She
had been so tempted to blurt out that she hated him for what he had
allowed to happen to her the night before and for what would be
happening to her for the rest of her life. She wanted to tell him
that it was all his fault and he should have left her to die in
Newgate with her pride intact.

With her pride intact? Even Bri had to admit
that to die at the end of a rope was not an act of pride. In her
case, it was an act of cowardice. It was also humiliating and
degrading.

Much like last night was. Humiliating and
degrading.

As she sat in the crowded drawing room,
surrounded by people, it hit her again. Last night, she had been
raped. A man had come into her room and taken his pleasure of her
against her will. He had invaded her body and caused her the worst
pain and humiliation she had ever known.

She wasn’t even sure what was so different
from this rape than the others she had experienced. Perhaps it had
something to do with the fact that a
gentleman
had never
before raped her. They were supposed to protect ladies, not attack
them.

She actually couldn’t count how many times
she had been raped but she had never felt this sense of fear and
helplessness. The other times she had just lain there and let it
happen, she had never fought as she did last night. Throughout it
all, she had had the feeling that she could escape again. All she
had to do was run. All she had to do was leave. This time, she was
trapped.

A sob escaped her before she quite knew it
was coming. She looked down quickly and tried to stifle the tears
that longed to follow. She needed to escape. She wanted to have
another good cry.

“Lady Rothsmere? I wonder if perhaps you
would care to stroll with me on the terrace?”

Bri looked up into Adam’s face. She tried to
smile but knew it was a hopeless effort. “Thank you, sir,” she
replied instead.

She rose to her feet and laid her hand on his
proffered arm. She ignored everyone as he led her through the open
French doors and onto the terrace beyond. He released her and
handed her a large handkerchief as soon as they were out of sight
of the guests in the drawing room.

“I was right,” he said softly. “There is
something very wrong.”

Her head snapped up, all her fear and
distress replaced by an unreasoning anger. “There is nothing wrong.
If there was anything wrong, Mr. Prestwich, you can hold yourself
accountable. Had you minded your own business and stayed out of my
life, I would be fine. I would be happy. I would…”

“You would be dead,” Adam retorted bluntly.
His own feelings of guilt rose to the surface and he lashed out at
her. “If you were not such a headstrong, spoiled brat, you would be
far better off! I almost feel sorry for Steyne. He will stuck with
you for the rest of his life.”

Her hand seemed to fly of its own accord. He
easily caught it and held it in an iron grip. “You will not strike
me again, my lady,” he said in measured, even tones. “You will not
blame me for your own stupidity, either. You will take
responsibility for your actions.” He released her hand and stepped
back. “And I will take responsibility for mine,” he added very
softly.

He performed a rather stiff bow, turned on
his heel and took his leave by way of the garden path. Bri watched
him go, not realizing that she still clung to his handkerchief as
if it were the last thing of value in her life.

Blast the woman! He should not be feeling
guilt for returning her to where she belonged. He should not feel
the need to beat Steyne to a pulp if he dared hurt her. He
shouldn’t feel this overwhelming urge to kiss her senseless just to
prove that she was not indifferent to him.

Oh, but she wasn’t indifferent, he admitted
sardonically as he climbed into his phaeton. She was far from
indifferent. She hated him.

And he wanted her. God, how he wanted her. He
would not admit even to himself that he loved her. Raven was wrong.
What he felt for Bri was nothing more than lust. He could not
possibly love such a headstrong, willful, infuriating young
woman.

He pulled to a stop in front of his mansion
and leapt down. He entered the house and told the butler to make
sure his curricle was ready to go in the morning, early. He didn’t
even bother telling him where he was going. It was really none of
the man’s business.

As Adam entered his room and stared
unseeingly at his reflection in the mirror, he remembered the look
in Bri’s eyes when he had bowed over her hand. At the time, he had
not wanted to notice. He had even told himself he was wrong. But
after exchanging such heated words with her, words that she
obviously believed, he could not longer ignore it. And he knew the
truth of it before the word had even fully formed in his mind.

She had looked, she felt, betrayed. By
him.

Adam Prestwich left Town early the next
morning without informing even his best friend. Only his solicitor
and his now former mistress knew his destination, knew that he had
even left. He preferred it that way. He didn’t want anyone
following him and discovering his best-kept secret.

He was running. And he knew it. And he hated
himself for it even as he told himself it was necessary. He had to
arrange things for Carlotta and he had to get away from Bri. He had
to sort out his feelings and come to terms with his past. And he
needed the time alone to do it.

She would probably arrive within the month.
He had approximately four weeks or so in which to examine his heart
and mind. It was something he was not looking forward to. Like a
visit to the toothdrawer. He grimaced.

Adam may have been considered an absentee
landlord since most of his time was spent in London or Denbigh
where he had practically grown up. But he had a very reliable
steward who happened to be a relative and he was respected by his
tenants since he was not too high-in-the-instep to work alongside
them when he happened to be around for the planting season or the
harvest.

The estate had actually only been his for a
little over three years. He had only become aware of the fact after
Toulouse when he had returned home in some disgrace. He had been
disgusted with the extent of decay in which he found his family
home. His father’s debts had been every bit as bad as he had
suspected.

He was never more thankful for the fortune he
had amassed than at that moment. He hired Miles Prestwich as
steward and the man had proven invaluable. Between the two of them,
they were able to return the estate to its former prosperous glory
in record time.

Adam arrived in Cornwall a few days after his
departure from London. He strode into the house, much to the
surprise of West, the butler, and Miles, who was crossing the hall
as Adam walked in.

“Adam!” Miles smiled in welcome and walked
forward, extending his hand as he did so. The cousins shook hands,
both smiling. “What brings you home?”

Miles was a well-favored young man with dark
hair and an open, friendly countenance. He had Adam’s height but
lacked his broadness. Adam had thought upon first meeting him that
if Connor and himself could be combined into one person, the result
would be Miles. Adam had always liked Miles. It was actually hard
not to.

“I have some things to take care of,” Adam
replied evasively. Miles led the way into the study, which was
located on the ground floor of the Elizabethan mansion.

Adam removed his greatcoat, threw his hat and
gloves on a table, and sat down in a large leather armchair with a
deep sigh. “It’s good to be home,” he said almost without
thought.

Miles’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s not what
you usually say,” he remarked in surprise.

Adam frowned. “Well, I say it now,” he
replied dismissively.

Miles shrugged and sat down after pouring two
bumpers of brandy and handing one to his cousin. “Will you disclose
the nature of your business? Or must I wait until the very last
moment, as usual, and try to adjust accordingly?”

Adam threw him a look, half annoyed, half
amused. “Is that what I usually do?” he asked.

“Usually,” Miles admitted candidly.

“I see.”

“I don’t think you do,” Miles murmured. He
sipped his drink thoughtfully. “Do you realize what a strain it is
to try to accommodate every possible outcome of a situation of
which you know absolutely nothing?”

Adam’s brows shot up this time. It was
interesting to see his cousin with a glass of brandy, a sight he’d
never before beheld. The man must indeed be under a great deal of
strain.

Adam remained silent for a moment, downed his
brandy, set the glass aside, and rose to his feet. “I think I will
wash the travel dust from my person. See you at dinner?”

Miles sighed. “Very well, Adam.” He rose to
his feet and bowed. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

While Adam played gentleman farmer in the
wilds of Cornwall, Lord Connor Northwicke sat behind the desk in
his study in Grosvenor Square two weeks later taking care of some
paperwork. His wife, Verena, sat curled up in a chair by the fire
reading the latest book by that anonymous author who was revealed
as a young lady of gentle birth by the name of Jane Austen. The
couple often spent mornings in this companionable way before having
to dress to receive visitors and today was no exception.