No one said a word on the ride over to the Winchesters’ townhouse. Nathan was shaking with terror. For the first time in his life he rebelled against the isolation he’d always enforced upon himself. He needed her, and dear God, if something happened to her before he could prove to her that he could be worthy, could love her as much as she deserved to be loved, he didn’t think he could go on.
In the space of those long, unbearable minutes Nathan learned how to pray. He felt as unskilled as an atheist, couldn’t remember a single prayer from childhood days, and so ended up simply begging God’s mercy.
How he needed her.
The ride over to her mother’s residence wasn’t quite as traumatic for Sara. She wasn’t in a panic because she knew she had enough time to get to her mother first. Her father would have to go to his brother’s townhouse. That ride would take him at least twenty minutes. Then he’d have to spend at least fifteen more minutes working his brother into a rage for the injustices dealt to him. Assuming that Henry would certainly be in the throes of his daily hangover, it would take him time to clear his head and get dressed.
There was also the oddly comforting fact that surely in that amount of time Nathan would put the pieces together and figure out she wasn’t in the washroom. She knew he’d come after her.
Don’t give up on me. His whispered command once again intruded upon her thoughts. She immediately tried to get angry over the insulting demand. How dare he think she’d given up on him. How dare he . . .
She couldn’t work herself up into a proper fury, for in her heart she wasn’t at all certain she had the right to be outraged. Had she given up on him? No, of course not, she told herself. The simple fact was that Nathan didn’t love her.
He had shown her consideration, though. She’d give him that much. She remembered how he’d rubbed her back when she’d been in such embarrassing agony with her monthly cramps. His touch had been so gentle, so soothing.
He was a gentle lover, too. Not that he’d ever given her loving words when he was caressing her. But he’d shown her kindness, patience, and never once had she truly been afraid of him. Never once.
But he didn’t love her.
He’d spent long hours teaching her so many little things he thought she needed to know to become self-sufficient. She thought it was because he didn’t want to watch out for her. And while she did consider it her duty to protect those she loved, like her mother, she left the task of her own protection to her husband.
Like her mother . . .
Dear God, Nora had been right. Without realizing it Sara had been following in her mother’s path. She had been determined to become dependent on her husband. If Nathan had turned out to be a cruel, selfish man like her father, would Sara have learned how to cringe whenever he raised his voice to her?
She shook her head. No, she would never allow any man to terrorize her. Nathan had made her realize her own strength. She could survive alone, and she certainly could stand up for herself.
He hadn’t taught her how to defend herself because he didn’t want to be bothered with the chore of watching out for her. He just didn’t want anything to happen to her.
He was a kind man.
Sara burst into tears. Why couldn’t he love her?
Don’t give up on me. If he didn’t love her, why did he care if she gave up on him or not?
Sara was so consumed with her thoughts, she didn’t realize the carriage had stopped until Caine’s driver shouted down to her.
She asked the driver to wait, then hurried up the steps.
The butler, a new man hired by her father, told her that both her mother and her sister had gone out for the afternoon.
Sara didn’t believe him. She pushed her way past the servant and hurried up the stairs to the bedroom level to see for herself.
The butler sniffed at her lack of manners and retired to the back of the house.
The bedrooms were empty. Sara was at first relieved, then she realized she would have to find her mother before either of the Winchester men did. She went through the stack of invitations on top of her mother’s writing table, but none gave her a clue as to the afternoon activities.
She decided to go back downstairs and force the information out of the servants. Surely one of them knew where her mother had gone.
Sara had just reached the landing when the front door opened. She thought it was her mother returning home and started down the steps. She stopped midway when Uncle Henry strutted into the foyer.
He saw her at once. The sneer on his face made her stomach lurch.
“Father went directly to you with his anger, didn’t he?” she called out, contempt evident in her voice. “I knew he would,” she added. “It’s the only thing he’s predictable about. He thinks he’s so cunning to let his drunken brother dole out the punishment whenever he’s upset. Father’s waiting at White’s, isn’t he?”
Her uncle’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Your mother should have her tongue cut out for turning against her husband. This isn’t your business, Sara. Get out of my way. I’m going to have a word with your mother.”
Sara shook her head. “I won’t let you speak to her,” she shouted. “Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. If I have to force Mother, I will, but she’s going to leave London. A nice visit with her sister will be just the thing. She might even realize she doesn’t want to come back here again. God, I hope so. Mother deserves a little joy in her life. I’m going to see that she gets it.”
Henry kicked the door shut behind him. He knew better than to strike Sara, for he remembered the threat her husband had made when he’d walked into the tavern to get his bride.
“Go back to the cur you’re married to,” he shouted. “Victoria,” he added in a screech. “Get down here. I’m wanting a word with you.”
“Mother isn’t here. Now you get out. The sight of you makes me ill.”
Henry started toward the steps. He stopped when he spotted the brass umbrella stand in the corner. He was too furious to consider the consequences. The chit needed to learn a lesson, he thought to himself. Just one good hit to rid her of her insolence.
He reached for the ivory-tipped walking stick. Just one good hit . . .
Chapter Sixteen
She damn near killed him.
Tortured screams echoed into the street. The carriage hadn’t come to a complete stop before Nathan jumped to the pavement and started up the steps. The god-awful screaming made him crazed with fear for his Sara—so crazed, in fact, that he didn’t stop to notice it was a man’s voice making all the noise. He didn’t stop to open the door, either. He went through it. The frame bounded off his shoulder and landed with a thud on Henry Winchester’s head. The heavy piece of wood muffled some of the louder cries.
Nathan wasn’t at all prepared for the sight he came upon. He was so stunned, he stopped dead in his tracks. Caine and Sir Richards crashed into his back. Caine let out a low grunt. He felt as though he’d just run into a block of steel. Both he and Sir Richards recovered their balance and moved to the side to see what held Nathan transfixed.
It was difficult for the men to take in. Henry Winchester was shriveled up in a fetal position on the floor in the center of the large foyer. His hands were clutching his groin. The man was literally writhing about in agony, and when he rolled over their way Sir Richards and Caine immediately noticed his bloody nose.
Nathan was staring at Sara. She was standing at the bottom of the steps. She looked thoroughly composed, absolutely beautiful, and completely unharmed.
She was all right. The bastard hadn’t gotten to her. Yes, she was all right. Nathan kept repeating that fact inside his mind in an attempt to calm down.
It didn’t work. His hands were shaking. He decided he needed to hear her tell him she was all right before he could start breathing normally again.
“Sara?” Nathan whispered her name in such a hoarse whisper, he doubted she could hear him above the racket her Uncle Henry was making. He tried again. “Sara?
Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
The anguish in her husband’s voice was almost her undoing. Tears filled her eyes, and she realized that Nathan was just as misty. The look on his face made her heart ache. He looked so ... scared, so vulnerable . . . so loving.
Dear God, he did love her. It was so apparent to her.
You love me, she wanted to shout. She didn’t, of course, because there were other people present. But he loved her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t quit smiling.
She started toward her husband, then remembered her audience. She turned to Caine and Sir Richards and made a perfect curtsy.
Caine grinned. Sir Richards was in the middle of an acknowledging bow when he caught himself. “What happened here?” he demanded in a fluster of authority.
“Damn it, Sara, answer me,” Nathan strangled out at the same time. “Are you all right?”
She turned her gaze to her husband. “Yes, Nathan. I’m quite all right. Thank you for inquiring.”
She looked down at her uncle. “Uncle Henry had a little mishap,” she announced.
The director bent on one knee and lifted a remnant of the door away from Henry’s chest. “I surmised as much, my dear,” he said to Sara. He tossed the piece of wood aside, then frowned at Henry. “For the love of God, man, quit that weeping. It isn’t dignified. Did the door fell you when Nathan came charging through? Speak up, Winchester. I can’t catch a word of your blubbering.”
Caine had already put the pieces together. Sara was rubbing the back of her right hand in what appeared to be an attempt to work out the sting. Henry was clutching his groin.
“Uncle Henry had his mishap before the door fell on him,” Sara explained. She sounded incredibly cheerful, and she was smiling at Nathan when she made that statement. Nathan still wasn’t calm enough to reason it through. He couldn’t understand why his wife looked so damned pleased with herself. Hadn’t she realized the danger she’d been in? Hell, his nerves still felt as raw as a fresh wound.
Then she was slowly walking toward him, and all he could think about was taking her into his arms. He was never going to let go of her, not even when he lectured her on her sinful habit of taking off on her own.
Caine’s smile proved catching. The director found himself smiling, too, though he still didn’t know what was so amusing. He stood up and turned to Sara. “Please satisfy my curiosity and tell me what happened.”
She wasn’t about to explain. If she told him exactly what she’d done, the director would certainly be appalled by her unladylike behavior.
Nathan wouldn’t be appalled. He’d be proud of her. Sara couldn’t wait until they were alone and she could give him all the details, blow by satisfying blow.
“Uncle Henry tripped over a walking stick,” she said, unable to stop smiling.
Nathan finally came out of his stupor and took a good look around him. Sara had just reached his side when he grabbed hold of her and stared intently at the red splotches on the back of her right hand.
That low growl she found adorable was working its way up Nathan’s throat. She could also see the rage coming over him. She wasn’t at all frightened, however, for she knew he would never turn his anger against her.
She didn’t want him to get all worked up on her behalf. Sara wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and hugged him tight. “I’m really all right, Nathan,” she whispered. “You mustn’t worry so.”
She rested the side of her face against his chest. The hammering of his heart indicated that her soothing words hadn’t calmed him at all. Yet his voice was deceptively calm when he asked, “Did you have the walking stick, or did he?”
“He had the stick when he started up the steps to get me,” she explained. “He grabbed it from the umbrella stand.”
Nathan pictured it in his mind. He tried to peel her hands away. “Nathan? It’s over now. He didn’t strike me.”
“Did he try?”
She felt as if she were clinging to a statue, so rigid had his stance become. She let out a little sigh, increased her hold on him, and then answered, “Yes, but I wouldn’t let him hit me. I remembered your instructions, and I evened the odds, just as you promised I would in such a situation. As to that,” she added, “I also had the element of surprise on my side. Uncle Henry isn’t at all used to having women defend themselves. He looked . . . astonished when he fell backwards.”
“Caine? Take Sara outside and wait for me. Richards, go with them.”
All three of them told Nathan no at the same time. They all had different reasons. Caine didn’t want the mess of getting rid of the body. Sara didn’t want Nathan to go to the gallows. Sir Richards didn’t want the paperwork.
Nathan was still rigid with fury when they’d finished giving him their arguments. He couldn’t get Sara out of his arms long enough to rip the Winchester bastard apart. He found the situation extremely frustrating. “Damn it, Sara, if you’ll just let me—”
“No, Nathan.”
His sigh was long. She knew she’d won. She was suddenly in a hurry to get him alone so that she could win another victory. Come hell or his hide, she would get him to tell her he loved her.
“Nathan, we can’t leave until I know Mama’s going to be safe,” she whispered. “But I want to go home with you now. What are you going to do about this problem?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “I meant to say, Nathan, what are we going to do about this problem?”
Her husband wasn’t one to give up easily. He still wanted to kill her uncle. He considered his plan a perfectly logical one. It would not only eliminate Sara’s worry about her mother’s safety, but it would also give him the tremendous satisfaction of putting his fist through the man’s face. He kept staring at the walking stick and thinking of the damage a man could inflict with such a weapon. Henry could have killed her.
Caine came up with a nice solution. “You know, Nathan, Henry looks in need of a long rest. Perhaps a sea voyage to the colonies would be just the ticket to improve his health.”
Nathan’s mood immediately brightened. “See to it, Caine.”
“I’ll give him to Colin and let him arrange the details,” Caine said. He lifted Henry up by the nape of his neck. “A few ropes and a gag are all the baggage he’ll be needing.”
Sir Richards nodded agreement. “I’ll wait here until your mother returns, Sara. I’ll explain that your uncle had a sudden desire to take a long trip. I’m also going to wait for your father. I want to have a few words with him, too. Why don’t you and Nathan run along now? Take my carriage and have my driver return for me later.”
Henry Winchester had regained enough of his sensibilities to make a doubled-over dash for the doorway. Caine deliberately shoved him toward his brother-in-law.
Nathan seized his opportunity. He slammed the back of his fist into Henry’s stomach. The blow sent Sara’s uncle back to the floor for another bout of writhing.
“Feel better, Nathan?” Caine asked.
“Immensely,” Nathan answered.
“What about the papers you had drawn up?” Sir Richards asked Nathan.
“Bring them to Farnmount’s ball tonight. We’ll borrow Lester’s library for a few minutes. Sara and I should get there around nine.”
“I’ll have to go back to the office to fetch them,” the director said. “Set the meeting for ten, Nathan, just to be on the safe side.”
“May I ask what it is you’re discussing?” Sara interjected.
“No.”
Her husband’s abrupt answer irritated her. “I don’t want to go out tonight,” she announced. “I have something most important to discuss with you.”
He shook his head. “You will have faith in me, woman,” he muttered as he dragged her out the doorway.
She let out a gasp. “Of all the galling things to say to me . . .”
She stopped when he turned and lifted her into the carriage. His expression looked bleak. She noticed his hands were shaking, too.
He wo
uldn’t let her sit next to him but took his place across from her. When he stretched out his long legs she was trapped between them.
As soon as the carriage started forward he turned and stared out the window.
“Nathan?”
“Yes?”
“Are you having . . . aftermath now?”
“No.”
She was disappointed, for she hoped he’d need to vent his frustration the way she had when she’d experienced aftermath. The memory of just how her husband had helped her get over her tension made her face turn pink.
“Don’t men have aftermath after they fight?”
“Some do. I shouldn’t have hit Henry in front of you,” he said. He still wouldn’t look at her.
“Do you mean that if I hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have hit him, or that you regret—”
“Hell, yes, I would have hit him,” Nathan muttered. “I just shouldn’t have struck the bastard in front of you.”
“Why?”
“You’re my wife,” he explained. “You shouldn’t be a witness to . . . violence. In future I will refrain from—”
“Nathan,” she interrupted, “I didn’t mind. Truly. There are times when it will happen again. I am opposed to violence,” she added in a rush, “but I will admit that there are times when a sound punch is just the thing. It can be quite invigorating.”
He shook his head. “You wouldn’t let me kill the pirates, remember?”
“I let you hit them.”
He shrugged. Then he let out a loud sigh. “You are a lady. You’re delicate and feminine, and I will behave like a gentleman when I’m with you. That’s the way it’s going to be, Sara. Don’t argue with me.”
“You’ve always been a gentleman with me,” she whispered.
“The hell I have,” he countered. “I’ll change, Sara. Now cease this talk. I’m trying to think.”
“Nathan? Were you worried about me?”
The Gift Page 36