Regency 02 - Betrayal Page 7

  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.

  Chapter Eleven

  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 drawin
g 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.

  “And so we will be leaving for London for the Season,” Aunt Clara said with a flutter of her bony hands.

  “What?” Bri asked faintly. She had not thought she would have to endure the eyes of Society ever again. She wasn’t sure she could continue her act under the watchful eyes of Adam Prestwich. Or Verena. Oh, dear, Verena would know instantly that Bri was less than pleased with her situation.

  The Duke of Westbury eyed her coldly. “London, miss. Cannot you hear?” Westbury adamantly refused to address her by her title.

  “I heard,” Bri replied shortly. “I simply wonder at the necessity of such a step.”

  “Why does anyone attend the Season, think you? To see and be seen, of course,” her grace of Corning said haughtily. “To grace the metropolis with our august presence.”

  “Dear me,” Bri muttered sarcastically, “how could I have forgotten?”

  “I’ll have none of your impertinence, my girl! Keep a civil head in your tongue and remember the respect you owe us as your betters.”

  Bri looked at the duchess and allowed a certain amount of her hatred show through. Then she masked her expression and replied demurely, “Very well, Aunt. You do know what is best.”

  “Old hag,” Greville muttered beside her. Bri had to fight to keep a straight face.

  “What was that, Greville?” Lady Corning demanded imperiously.

  Greville leveled a charming smile at her that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I said, wise decision, your grace. London is just the answer.” The look he sent Bri after this shocking pronouncement nearly had her in stitches.

  Lady Corning rose to her feet to signal the ladies to adjourn to the drawing room. Bri sent a look of loathing to Lord Steyne who sat on her other side and firmly removed the hand that was creeping up her thigh. For the first time she could recall, she was relieved to be able to escape with the sharp-tongued ladies.

  Chapter Twelve

  Adam had successfully pushed a certain flame-haired, green-eyed countess firmly from his mind. He had succeeded so well, in fact, that he nearly dropped his coffee one morning several months later when he glanced at the social column of the London Gazette.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, much to the amusement of Lord Connor Northwicke who had stopped over that morning.

  “Bad news?” he inquired casually.

  “Depends on who you are, I suppose,” his friend replied cryptically.

  Connor reached for the paper and soon saw what has his friend so pensive. “Oh, Lord,” he said then.

  “Exactly,” Adam said almost to himself. “I had tried to tell myself that she would be fine. She was with her family and surely she had exaggerated their treatment of her. Now I wonder.”

  “As do I,” Connor responded thoughtfully. “I had heard, of course, Steyne himself spouting off some rubbish about being engaged to her, but I just thought he was in his cups.”

  Adam concurred. “I still felt like calling the bastard out,” he growled.

  “Good thing you resisted,” Connor replied dryly. “You’d look no end the fool now if you had given in to your impulse.”

  Adam did nothing more than grunt in reply.

  “And apparently, she is in Town for the Season,” Connor added as he turned the page. “Why do you suppose that
is?”

  “To flaunt her wealth and title?” Adam suggested cynically. “To show us how happy she is to be engaged to Steyne?”

  “Or to beg for help to escape?” Connor said softly.

  “Oh, yes,” Adam scoffed. “That one could be standing on the gibbet with the noose around her neck and she still would tell a man to go to hell if he offered to help her out of it. That’s very nearly what happened.”

  Connor remained silent and watched his friend. He wondered what thoughts were going through Adam’s head. Then he realized that with Bri in Town for the Season, Verena was bound to run into her and his part in keeping Bri’s presence a secret would assuredly come to light. It wouldn’t be long before she realized who the Countess of Rothsmere was. He groaned.

  “What?” Adam asked sharply.

  “Nothing,” Connor replied quickly as he rose to his feet. He rushed from the room without so much as a goodbye.

  Adam watched him curiously, one brow raised. The footman near the door wisely exited before closing it after the retreating Lord Connor.

  Any tiny shred of confusion over Connor’s erratic behavior was squelched later that afternoon. He entered Adam’s study with an apologetic look and opened his mouth to say something but he was forestalled by the avenging fury that exploded into the room right behind him.

  “How could you?” Verena, Lady Connor demanded with a decided lack of her usual meekness. “What possessed you to send her back to them? Do you realize who she is marrying?”

  “Yes,” Adam replied dryly, answering only her final question. He leaned back in his chair and did not bother to rise as good manners demanded he should with a lady present.

  Verena stared at him in sudden silence. “She can’t possibly want to marry that man,” she said firmly but much more calmly. She sat down across from Adam and watched him closely.

  Adam was uncomfortable with the situation in which he currently found himself. He had mistreated Verena horribly in the past and he still felt guilty every time he saw her. He wanted to forget that he had misjudged one woman and that alone meant there was a possibility that he had misjudged another.