Regency 02 - Betrayal (9 page)

Adam drew to a halt before his mansion but
didn’t move to step down. Jem ran around to the horses’ heads and
waited patiently.

Adam wished Connor was still in Town. He
might have some idea of how to help.

Damn it, she didn’t need his help! He had
helped
enough. But he had to do something.

“Get back on or get out of the way,” Adam
commanded curtly, coming to a sudden decision. Jem jumped back on
and they were off again, this time to Haymarket.

“You want me to
what
?” asked Raven in
disbelief.

“Don’t sound as though I’m asking you to
commit some crime. I just want to know what Breckon is up to. How
would you do that without putting out a few lures?”

Adam’s tone matched his expression of
unconcern. He leaned back in his chair, regarding his mistress
complacently, waiting for her response.

“No, Adam. In fact, I am surprised you even
have the audacity to ask me to do anything for you.”

His black brows lifted slightly at this.
“Why?”

Raven stared at him for several shocked
moments. He was truly perplexed that she would be upset. Angrily,
she shoved her hand under his nose and snapped, “Look at that and
try to tell me I have no right to be upset with you!”

On her wrist was a dark bruise about an inch
wide. Adam looked from her wrist to her dark, flashing eyes. His
expression changed not a jot as he said, “I apologize.”

Whether he was apologizing for inflicting the
bruise or for assuming she would help under such circumstances was
a mystery to Raven. She did know, however, that it was the best she
could expect from her protector, so she shook her head in
exasperation and returned to their former topic.

“I would rather not hint to the viscount that
I have any interest in him. He is a snake and a personal crony of
Percival Winters. No two more dangerous men do I know.” A
thoughtful expression crossed her beautiful features. “Except
perhaps the Duke of Derringer. But even with his ruthless
reputation, he still possesses something human.”

Adam’s curiosity was piqued by his
companion’s assessment of a man society deemed the most dangerous
man in England, possibly the world. But he pushed it to the back of
his mind and asked instead, “Are you sure about Breckon’s
association with Winters?”

“I am an actress, Adam. I am inundated with
importuning gentleman on a regular basis. Those two are as close as
inkleweavers.”

Her protector pondered this a moment, then,
“Forget about attracting him, then. Just watch.” He rose to his
feet. “And watch Bri as well. Inform me the instant something
strange occurs.”

As it turned out, all their plans were for
naught.

Lady Brianna, Countess of Rothsmere was taken
from Town the day after her return to the bosom of her family.
Everyone assumed she was taken home to her estate in Lancashire.
But Lady Rothsmere’s holdings were nearly as vast as Denbigh’s, so
she could be anywhere in England.

Raven watched her protector pace around her
small sitting room and wondered what he could possibly do now that
the object of his distress was gone.

Adam was wondering the same thing. He
suspected he wouldn’t see Bri again until the Season, which was
still several months away. It was frustrating to realize that there
was nothing he could do.

Why did he feel the need to
do
anything?

Adam stopped suddenly and stared at his
mistress. She was standing off to one side of the room watching him
intently. Her dark eyes were alight with worry and her mouth was
set in a grim line. She wore a gown of pale blue that curved low
over her perfect breasts and flowed out from the high waist in
gentle folds of shimmery silk and gauze. Her hair was unbound as
was her preference and lay in a sheet of shining black silk down
her back. Her eyes widened as he watched her and her facial
features relaxed slightly.

What the devil was he thinking? Here he was,
one of the richest men in England, possessed of the most
sought-after, most beautiful mistress in the realm, and he was
worrying about a sharp-tongued hoyden who had made her aversion for
him obvious on more than one occasion.

A slow smile of wicked intent curved his
lips.

Raven saw that look and knew exactly what he
was thinking. He had pushed Bri from his mind and now thought of
only one thing. She smiled back and decided to enjoy what time with
Adam Prestwich she had remaining. She knew it would be short.

Mary Brewster was a rawboned, grim-faced
woman of indeterminate years. Her bearing was that of a warden,
gruff and lacking in compassion and fellow feeling. She seemed to
lack a soul.

And yet, Bri found in her a most unusual
friendship.

The woman was hired to guard the young
countess, it was true. And she knew it would be more than her life
was worth should she try to help the poor girl. But they managed to
come to an understanding: Bri knew she was better off with a guard
that treated her with respect and Mary was intelligent enough to
know that a headstrong girl treated with respect was less likely to
give one trouble.

And so the months passed with the two women
engaging in conversation and Bri avoiding her family as much as
possible.

Mary was efficient in her work as ladies’
maid. She had a good eye for color and a satisfactory skill in
arranging hair. Bri actually would have been immensely pleased with
her performance had it not been for the fact that the woman was in
fact her jailer. This grated on Bri, but she could do little about
it.

Lady Brianna was being constrained to marry a
man ten times worse than the gentleman to whom she was engaged
before. Her new fiancé was Viscount Steyne.

She remembered him from when she had worked
for Lord and Lady Feldspar in Hereford. Steyne was the man who had
repeatedly refused to take no for an answer whenever he had pressed
his unwelcome attentions on Verena, now Lady Connor Northwicke.

He was of average height with sandy brown
hair and expressionless brown eyes that were so light they appeared
quite colorless. He had a pleasant face that was often marred by a
sneer. His heart was as black as his reputation and Bri knew her
life with him was going to be hell. But she could see no way
out.

He made no secret of the fact that he was
after her money and he was equally vocal on what her duties as his
wife would include. He had on several occasions tried to force her
to commence those duties early but she had somehow managed to avoid
his attempts at rape. Brewster had always managed to be there just
when Bri needed her. For this, Bri was eternally indebted to the
woman.

His grace of Corning had spelled out for her
the consequences should she run again.

Bri had stood silently in the pale light of
early morning while she was roundly chastised for her flight more
than three years ago. Her uncle was cruel and merciless in his
anger and Bri just waited patiently for his tirade to end. The end
was not what she had expected.

The duke had walked over to the bellpull,
rang for a servant and turned back to face his niece. “You will now
have the rebellion beaten out of you as it should have been years
ago,” he said brutally.

Bri had turned paper white.

She really shouldn’t be surprised, she
thought numbly after the horrible beating. It shouldn’t have been
any different than if a stranger had beaten her on the street. It
wasn’t as if any of her relatives loved her. Or anyone else for
that matter.

This last thought caused such a painful
wrench in her heart that she gave in and indulged in a hearty bout
of tears brought on by self-pity.

So, why did she not simply run away from her
problems?

Bri was tired. She was tired of running,
tired of fighting, and tired of trying to stop that which was
essentially unstoppable. Her family wanted her money and would stop
at nothing to possess it. She gave in to this thought and allowed
them to bully her. She allowed them to believe she was as broken as
they ever could have wished and thereby preserved at least a
modicum of her sanity.

She often thought about Adam and plotted
revenge on him for returning her to such a hell. But deep down she
realized that he really had had no choice. He would have been
brought up on charges had he tried to help her. And that she
couldn’t have endured. He had saved her life after all.

Saved it for what, she wondered now. Saved
her so that she could give it up to a man who would have little
care for her as a person? Saved her so that she could be her
family’s sacrificial lamb and bear the burden of her uncle’s years
of stupidity and blackmail? Saved her so that she could once again
face the threat of institutionalization? Saved her so that she
could die a more painful, prolonged death at the hands of those who
hated her?

Oh, yes, he had saved her life all right.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bri looked up from her contemplation of the
early spring morning outside the drawing room window and met the
compassionate stare of her cousin, Levi, the Earl of Greville. She
hadn’t seen him since he had helped her escape from the madhouse
three years ago.

She wasn’t sure she was seeing him now. He
stood before her in all the glory of Weston’s tailoring with a sad
smile on his boyishly handsome face. His deep brown eyes watched
her closely and his hands knotted into fists at his sides.

Bri rose slowly from her seat and waited for
him to disappear before her very eyes. He was the only one that
loved her, the only one she could count on. She was sure that he
wasn’t real. He was conjured out of her desperation for a release
from her own personal hell.

She kept repeating this to herself even as he
advanced into the room and reached out to her. When his fingers
very lightly brushed her cheek she was suddenly struck with the
urge to weep bitterly for her sorry lot in life. But pride
stiffened her spine and she was determined that Greville not know
how much she was suffering.

“Talk about what, pray?” she asked languidly
after hugging him quickly and offering a quick smile.

“About this marriage I hear you have
contracted. Why the devil are you marrying Steyne of all people?”
he demanded.

She gasped before she could think. “Where did
you hear that?” she asked breathlessly. The engagement had not been
announced yet and wasn’t supposed to be until the start of the
Season when everyone would return to Town and then know of her
great good fortune in bringing the illusive and dangerous Lord
Steyne up to scratch.

“At the club last week when I went to London
looking for you. Steyne himself was spouting off how he had managed
to capture the wealthiest heiress ever to grace London. I assume
it’s true. Why are you doing it?”

Bri sat down carefully and arranged the
skirts of her dark brown dress around her before answering.
“Because I love him,” she finally replied. Her voice sounded
unconvincing even to herself.

His eyes narrowed. “The devil you do,” he
retorted after a moment. “You have no more love for that man than I
do. Tell me what is going on.”

Bri gave him her coldest look. “I am marrying
Lord Steyne, Levi Sterling, and you can’t stop me.”

The earl was taken aback by the vehemence in
her tone. And her use of his second name. She only did that when
she was particularly upset with him. The only thing worse was when
she started addressing him as ‘my lord.’

Seeking to placate the fiery beauty that was
his cousin, Greville smiled his most charming smile and seated
himself beside her on the settee.

And Greville’s most charming smile was
nothing to take lightly. He was impossibly handsome, even Bri had
to admit. And yet…she thought Adam Prestwich was far more
intriguing with his dark features and cynical humor.

Pushing the infuriating Mr. Prestwich
determinedly from her mind, Bri continued to glare at her beloved
cousin.

“Aw, come on, Bri. You now I didn’t mean
anything by it. If you want to marry the bas—I mean, viscount, then
far be it for me to try to convince you otherwise.”

Bri almost gave in to impulse and confessed
to the earl how she was being forced into all of it. Then she
hardened her heart and closed her mind to the possibility of
escape. The die had been cast. She would marry Viscount Steyne and
hand over her money along with her freedom and whatever shred of
innocence she might have retained over the last three years.

She smiled brightly at Greville and ignored
the warm, cozy feeling that the thought of suicide gave her.

Dinner that night was an abomination. She and
Lord Greville were treated with a cold courtesy that just bordered
on contempt. Bri noticed he bore it all with fortitude although she
knew he must be seething with rage. He was normally very easy-going
and although he tended to get involved in some rather hair-raising
and often incredibly stupid stunts, he had never been known to have
a temper.

But Bri had been present when Greville had
laid into her first fiancé for his ungentlemanly conduct and for
that lord’s part in her incarceration for her supposed madness. She
was surprised the man had lived through it. Greville was a very
muscular young man, larger than Adam even, who was no lightweight.
Even at the age of only twenty, he had been larger than most men.
And now, at age twenty-four, he was positively massive. But her
intended husband had walked away with his life. Greville had merely
rearranged his face until it was no longer the pretty mask it once
was.

Bri had to admit to a certain amount of
satisfaction at the result of the lord’s pummeling. There had been
enough hurt in her to want the young man to pay for his treatment
of her. Now, she just felt like three years of her life had been
wasted in heartache and constant fear. She would have been better
off with a wastrel than the scoundrel she was now being forced to
marry.