Bracing himself for what was to come, Cornelius placed one hand on her uninjured shoulder and then across her rib cage, just beneath her breasts. Under any other circumstances, touching her so would have been a fantasy come to life. The need for it in that particular moment left him not only cold but filled with dread. They would hurt her, necessarily, but it still pained him to think of it.
As Nicholas lifted her injured arm, she whimpered softly. The sound that escaped her when he pressed down and forced the joint of her shoulder back into its natural position was something Cornelius would never forget. Ragged and animalistic, it all but gutted him.
In all, it was done quickly. Nicholas set the joint and then quickly bound her arm to her side so that she could not move it and re-injure herself. For his part, Cornelius was simply in the way. But with that, he still could not bring himself to leave her. His brother was correct in his earlier assessment. He was a lovesick calf. No woman had ever affected him as she did. And it wasn’t simply her beauty. As extraordinary as it was, it had drawn his attention, but it was not the thing which held it. There was a strength in her that he found compelling. She was guarded and cautious; a woman who had seen the worst that men had to offer.
He wanted her to know that they were not all the monsters of her youth, that good and honorable men did exist. It was imperative to him that he be counted in that number by her. But his motives were not entirely altruistic or pure. He wanted her. Craved her. Longed for her. His desires and his intentions could not have been further apart, but he very much feared that desire would win out. Perhaps he was not so different from his father, after all. His baser urges were not without sway over him, despite everything he’d believed about himself to that point.
Finally, Cornelius turned and left the room. He sought the solace of Wolverton’s library and the brandy he knew he would find there. It was only moments later that Nicholas followed suit. Silently, he poured a second glass of the heady liquid and passed it to his half-brother.
“What do you mean to do about her?” Nicholas asked.
“I mean to see that she is well cared for and can recuperate in comfort once we can safely transport her back to Avondale,” Cornelius replied.
Nicholas placed his glass on the desk with a soft thump. “That isn’t what I meant, Cornelius. You realize that, despite the necessity of them, your actions have left her in a very vulnerable position socially? And not just Miss Primrose, but Lila. You wanted to acknowledge her, to one day launch her into society and see her make a suitable match, did you not?”
“That is still my plan!” Cornelius protested. “This changes nothing!”
“And when people begin to whisper that she is not your sister but your daughter and that Prim is not her sister but her mother? When people cast aspersions on her siblings and she is forced to defend the both of you?”
“It is obvious that Prim is not nearly old enough to be her mother!” Cornelius snapped in reply.
“And gossip is always founded in truth, isn’t it?” Nicholas’ chiding response hung between them. They both knew the truth of it. Gossip and fact often shared few commonalities.
“What would you have me do then?”
“Marry the girl, Cornelius. It salvages her reputation and yours. It will prevent ugly gossip from tainting Lila later on when she goes into society… the situation of having the elder Colliers residing in your home was barely respectable to begin with, even with Arabella present. Now there is simply no other way.”
“Her station makes no difference to me… but it will open her up to even more censure from others. They will say horrible things about her,” Cornelius replied. It wasn’t enough to make him refuse the option outright, but when he considered the pain it would cause her to be labeled an opportunist and social climber, it did give him pause.
“Perhaps they will… but would they be as horrible as having the entire world label her your whore?”
Cornelius whirled on him then. “My God, but you are maddening!”
“Whatever sins their mother might have committed,” Nicholas continued, “those girls were raised with the manners and morals of gentility. Somehow, even in all that they witnessed, they managed to hang on to that. You could take her into society. Anyone who looked at her would understand why you gave not one damn for her station or her fortune. Any gossip would die down. Unless you do not wish to marry so far beneath you.”
“I give not a single damn for such things! As well you know!”
Nicholas nodded. “Would it be so horrible to be married to her? Clearly, you have a care for her.”
No. It wouldn’t. It was the thing he wanted more than anything. But it was not solely up to him, and therein lay the crux of the matter. Cornelius sighed. He had never thought to marry at all until he met her. What woman would wish to tie herself to a man who was devoting his life to locating all of his father’s bastards, after all? Then there was his own personal scandal to consider. The murderous son of a profligate womanizer who’d died of a diseased liver from drinking himself into ruin. What on earth did he have that any woman would wish to be bound to?
“And if she refuses?” Cornelius uttered the question softly, not meeting his brother’s inquisitive gaze.
“She may… and for reasons of her own that have little enough to do with you. But I think she can be swayed to the point of reason when it comes to how her choices might impact her younger sister. Can your pride survive such a blow? To have a woman marry you not because she wants to, but because it’s best for someone else?”
If the woman were Primrose Collier, it wouldn’t matter. He would spend his life ensuring that she did not regret the decision.
The thoughts came to him with such clarity that Cornelius was startled by them. But he didn’t doubt the utter conviction behind them. “My pride can survive it,” he answered softly.
“I can’t stay. I must get back to Viola. But I will return the day after tomorrow and see if it is safe for her to be moved. If so, I’ll assist you getting her back to Avondale,” Nicholas said. “It would be best if you secured her agreement as soon as possible.”
“When she’s awake and not addled by laudanum, we will discuss it,” Cornelius agreed.
There was a sharp rap on the door and his driver, who had kept his promise and brought Nicholas to Wolverton in record time, entered. He had been tasked with clearing away the wreckage of the carriage.
“Forgive me, Dr. Warner, Lord Ambrose. I don’t mean to interrupt… but I reckon you both need to see this.”
“What is it, Collins?” Nicholas asked.
“It’s the pin what held the wheel in place.” The driver held it in his outstretched palm. It was easy enough to see, even from a distance, that it had been sawed nearly in half.
“It was cut to ensure it would break in transit,” Cornelius said. Recalling Primrose’s question from earlier, he had to concede that she had been correct in her assessment of the situation and that he had been presumptuous in dismissing her concerns.
“So, this was no simple carriage accident. Someone tried to kill you,” Nicholas said.
Cornelius glanced up at Nicholas’ obvious distress at the thought. “I don’t think they meant to kill me. I think it was an attempt on the life of Primrose Collier and perhaps young Rowan. She suspected as much.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Collins asked, shocked. “It’s women and children that don’t have a half-pence between them!”
Cornelius didn’t take umbrage at the driver inserting himself into the conversation. Collins was more than a coachman. He’d served in the Royal Navy with Nicholas and aboard a ship that dealt in more nefarious activities later on. Nicholas had implored Cornelius to take the man on and provide him with reputable employment. Whenever he and Viola traveled, they often borrowed Collins as their driver as Nicholas still feared there might be some sort of retribution from her father.
“Rowan’s father,” Cornelius replied, “Lord Samford. They encountered h
im while out for a walk. Apparently, Brother, you were not the only one to note the uncanny resemblance between Rowan and the man who sired him. It likely does not help that, by all accounts, Primrose is the image of her mother. The connection would have been an easy one to make given the evidence before him.”
“Damn and blast it,” Nicholas cursed. “Well, if you needed a better reason to marry her than her reputation, her life ought to count for something.”
“What the devil does that mean?” Cornelius asked.
“It means, you halfwit, that while Samford might not think twice about killing the daughter of a known prostitute who happens to be living there on your charity, killing the betrothed or the wife of a lord would be viewed as a far weightier offense… one that could see him hanged, despite his title.”
Cornelius knew it to be truth. He despised it, but there was no denying that the world they lived in placed greater value on those with prestige than those without.
“I’ll discuss the matter with her when she wakes… though I doubt she will like it.”
“She doesn’t need to like it,” Nicholas said. “She only needs to agree to it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Her brain was still fogged with laudanum when Prim woke again in a room that was fully dark. Confused, more than a little disoriented, she fought off the encroaching panic. Not even a sliver of moonlight penetrated the heavy curtains that draped the windows. But even as she peered into the darkness, she was certain of two things. She was not at Avondale Hall and she was not alone.
“You’re awake. I can tell by the sound of your breathing.”
The voice from the darkness was achingly familiar to her. Cornelius Garrett, Lord Ambrose. A part of her was immediately put at ease. For as much as she trusted anyone, she trusted him. But another part of her experienced a heightened awareness of the fact that they were alone in a darkened bedchamber together. And if memory served her correctly, they were in a house that was only lightly staffed at the moment because the inhabitants were away.
“I am awake,” she admitted, as memories of the day’s events suffused her. The horrible sound of splintering wood and the screams of her family echoed by the screams of the horses as the carriage tipped and rolled. Then it was all lost to a haze of pain and laudanum, though moments of that were stark in their clarity. He’d stayed with her, helped her and soothed her when she required it. It created a maelstrom of emotions within her, most of them far too tender and far too tempting for her peace of mind.
She heard him rise, his boots striking the wood of the floor as he crossed to the fireplace. The dimly glowing embers suddenly blazed to life as he stoked the fire. The light from it cast his hard features in stark relief in the darkness. She could see the firmness of his jaw, the hard jut of his chin, the strong line of his nose and the high sweep of his forehead. He truly was a man too handsome for words and far too handsome for her peace of mind.
“Your shoulder has been set. It’s bound and should be moved as little as possible. If you need to get up, I will help you.”
She did need to get up and she desperately needed to relieve herself but, clearly, she would die before allowing him to help her with that. “If you could help me sit up and then have a maid fetched to assist me… I would be very grateful.”
“Of course,” he said and moved back to the bed.
She had thought that he would simply help her to sit up. Instead, he lifted her in his arms and carried her easily to one of the chairs before the fire, tucking the blankets about her.
“I will remain outside the door. The laudanum may have lingering effects,” he said and then disappeared into the hallway beyond the heavy door.
A few minutes later, a sleepy-eyed maid entered the room. With the girl’s assistance, Prim managed to see to her most pressing needs and was once again seated before the warmth of the fire when Cornelius entered the room again. With the shadow of his whiskers framing his sculpted lips and highlighting the hard planes and angles of his face, he was intensely masculine in a way that made Prim far too aware of their differences. The maid looked at him, blushed, and scurried out like a scared mouse. Clearly, Primrose was not alone in lacking immunity to his brand of masculine charm.
“Must you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?” he replied.
“Send the maids into a tizzy with a look!”
He frowned, his confusion quite obvious. “I don’t recall looking at her.”
Explaining that he hadn’t looked at the maid and that, instead, the maid had looked at him would only stroke his ego. That was the last thing that needed to happen.
“Of course not,” Prim said, for lack of anything better to add.
He eased himself into the chair across from her. She could see that he was tired. There were hollows beneath his eyes. His hair was tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it.
“How long have I been asleep?” she asked.
“It’s after midnight. Nicholas gave you the laudanum and set your shoulder at four.”
Nearly nine hours. Had he stayed with her the entire time? “Have you not slept at all?”
“I dozed,” he answered. “I wanted to stay close if you needed anything.”
“There are servants for that,” she pointed out. “You need not have attended me personally!”
“The footmen are in residence in Bath with Lord and Lady Wolverton. The butler who is running the house is an ancient pensioner who forfeited his retirement to do so. There are a handful of housemaids and an aging cook on staff at present,” he answered. “They could hardly lift you from the floor to the bed if you fell from it.”
“Did I fall from it?” she asked.
“No. But you were thrashing about and very nearly re-injured your shoulder. They could not have held you.”
Phantom memories of his hands on her, pressing her back against the bed and of soft, soothing whispers in her ear flooded her mind. Were they actual memories or just fantasies offered up by her traitorous mind? “I see.”
“There are things we must discuss, Primrose. Things that cannot wait.”
“Such as?”
“You have been alone with me… for far longer than society would forgive.”
“I am not in society,” she pointed, “So it hardly signifies.”
“You are not now. But Lila will be eventually. There will already be many factors set against her… she does not need the scandal of having her paternal half-brother’s ruin of her maternal half-sister to be among them,” he stated matter of factly.
“Who will know that we have been alone together, Lord Ambrose?” she demanded.
“Anyone that Aunt Arabella was imprudent enough to mention anything to. Anyone that the servants here at Wolfhaven gossip to. You forget, Primrose, that my name is scandalous. All of society views me as a murderer, despite the circumstances in which those events occurred. Everything I do is subject to gossip,” he insisted.
“What are you suggesting?”
“That when you are well, we shall travel to London immediately and be married by special license,” he answered succinctly. “It’s the best way to avoid scandal and to ensure that Lila does not suffer any consequences for this folly.”
“That’s a terrible reason to get married.” The protest was quick to her lips, but no less true. There were many reasons they shouldn’t wed. Too many to list, if she were to be perfectly honest.
“There are other reasons,” he suggested.
“Such as?” Prim demanded. It was ludicrous. She was ill-prepared to be the wife of gentleman, much less a lord. And he had no real wish to marry her. He desired her. Of that, she was certain. It wasn’t vanity or conceit. She recalled easily enough how beautiful her mother had been and how men had responded to her. And she knew that she looked like her mother. But beauty was not a blessing to her mind. It was a curse. Beauty was something others longed to exploit or to possess. Her nature would allow her to submit to neither of those things.
“You were correct in your earlier assessment… the carriage did not overturn as the result of an accident. The pins holding the wheel in place had been cut nearly clean through. I believe that Lord Samford was responsible,” he explained. “The man is in debt up to his eyeballs and if what Nicholas said is true, means to snag himself an heiress. Having his by-blow for a neighbor is apparently more objectionable to him than I might have imagined.”
“That is a reason for us to leave, Lord Ambrose, not a reason for me to marry you and stay forever,” she snapped.
“Protection, Primrose. Without the protection of my name, you and your brother would not even warrant an investigation into your deaths should something terrible happen. But if you become Lady Ambrose, and young Rowan becomes the brother-in-law and ward of a peer, that would make the stakes infinitely higher for Samford.”
She didn’t like it. But then the truth was rarely ever a pleasant thing. Her mother’s life was a cautionary tale, after all. The daughter of a gentleman, when her father had passed away, she had married unwisely to a man who squandered her meager fortune and got himself killed in a duel. Penniless and alone, with only her beauty and her body for currency, her path had been set.
“What about Hyacinth?”
“Your sister may remain at Avondale for as long as she wishes. I am not a villain, Primrose. I would not deny you, Lila or Rowan the family that you know and love,” he insisted.
“And would this be a real marriage or a marriage of convenience?”
He said nothing for a long and taut moment, but his eyes glittered in the dim glow of the fire. “Is a marriage of convenience what you desire?”
There was a wealth of meaning in that question, most of it imparted by the roughened and graveled tone of his voice. What she desired and what she could allow herself were entirely different things. “I don’t know. We know one another so little.”
“It will be a real marriage, Primrose. I will be your husband and you will be my wife… but I will not pounce on you the moment we leave the church, if that is your concern. You may have time. You may get to know me as you wish.”
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6) Page 12