Juddering, he wrenched back. "You little harlot. How dare you?"
He clouted her across the face. Pain exploded through her skull. As she staggered to keep her feet, her vision went black.
Amidst the thunder in her head, she thought she heard the crack of breaking wood. Then through her dizziness, she heard Brock. "You fucking bastard!"
Dazed, she shook her head and sucked in a deep breath. When her sight cleared, she realized that she hadn’t imagined Brock’s arrival.
He was standing over a cowering Cecil. Behind him, the door hung half off its hinges. "I should bloody well kill you. You’d be no loss to the world, you sniveling coward. How dare you raise your fist to a woman?"
An arm slid around her waist, saving her from falling. "I’m here, Miss Selina," Kitty said.
"Don’t hit me again," Cecil sobbed. Blood poured from his nose, and Selina discerned no trace of the hulking beast who had attacked her. When she noted the long furrows her nails had made in his cheek, she felt a savage surge of triumph.
"Don’t kill him, Brock," she said in a thick voice. Her shaking hand touched her jaw, as she wondered if Cecil had broken it. Her face felt like it was on fire. "We’ve got enough trouble already."
Chapter 12
Brock sucked in a shuddering breath and struggled to banish the red, killing mist in front of his eyes. When he’d seen Canley-Smythe hit Selina, he’d gladly have run the mongrel through. Only her choked request stopped him from beating the sod to a pulp.
The thought of what might have happened if he’d turned up even ten minutes later made him feel sick to the stomach. Damn it, it had taken him far too long to reach the Blue Wagon. The horse he’d caught and mounted turned out to be unused to a rider on its back, and the makeshift bridle he’d rigged from the harness hadn’t helped. He’d wasted too many precious minutes convincing the brute who was master.
Now he hauled an unresisting Cecil up to slam him against the wall. "If I don’t kill you, it’s because Selina asked me to show mercy. Remember that when you scuttle away into the dark like the cockroach you are."
Cecil whimpered and shrank back. His nose kept bleeding, staining his face and shirt bright red. "I had every right… Oof."
Brock drew his hand back, shaking it to ease the sting in his knuckles. "Want more?"
"No, devil take you. And devil take that shameless jade. You’re welcome to the bitch."
Another blow to Cecil’s solar plexus had him blubbering and gasping. "All right. All right."
"Apologize to Mrs. Martin."
Despite his physical misery, Cecil was still angry enough for defiance. "I bloody well will not."
"Brock, don’t push it," Selina said.
He glanced back at her. She leaned against Kitty, her cheek marred by the red mark Cecil’s fist had left. Brock’s fury, barely controlled, revived, and he loomed over Cecil. "Apologize, curse you, or I’ll kill you where you stand."
Cecil wiped one fat, trembling hand through the gore on his face before he spoke in a constricted mumble. "I’m sorry, Selina. I shouldn’t have hit you."
"And?"
Brock started when a hand curled around his tense arm.
"Let him go. He doesn’t matter. I don’t need his apologies. I just want him out of my sight."
Brock turned to stare down into her face. "As you wish, my darling," he said, noting out of the corner of his eye how the endearment made Cecil bristle.
The man had the sense to stay silent. Good thing, too. Brock was angry enough to tear him limb from limb. Angry and guilty. He should never have left Selina in the man’s company. He should have driven the bloody carriage himself, if there was no room inside.
"Thank you," she murmured.
She made to pull away, but Brock caught her hand and kept her at his side as he faced Canley-Smythe. "You will leave this inn tonight. You will never again approach Mrs. Martin or her son. You will say nothing to her detriment. If I hear a whisper that you’ve sullied her name by so much as a wink, I will hunt you down and shoot you like the dog you are. Do you understand?"
He saw Cecil wanted to object, but a quick glance at Brock seemed to convince him that discretion was the wiser choice. It certainly was. Brock wasn’t in the habit of making idle threats, and he’d welcome the chance to rid the world of this monster.
"I understand," he said sullenly.
"And do you agree?"
A longer pause made Brock’s muscles tense in readiness. But in the end, Cecil gave her a brief bow. The unconcealed contempt in the action made Brock itch to hit him again. "I agree. God damn you both to hell."
Brock heard Selina’s soft gasp of relief, and her grip on his hand tightened. "Brock, it’s over."
Brock released a long hiss, and he felt his shoulders lower. He drew Selina toward the door. "Come, Kitty, your mistress needs you."
"Yes, sir, my lord," the maid said, scurrying to follow them out. Brock’s last glimpse of Cecil was of the man slumped against the wall in an attitude of defeat.
"I’m glad you didn’t kill him," Selina murmured.
"It’s thanks to you that he’s alive," Brock snapped.
Now they were out in the corridor, he noticed that a small crowd had gathered in response to the fracas. He put on his most lordly air and glared at them all. A few had already retreated into their rooms before he spoke in the authoritative tone he’d inherited from generations of Highland chieftains. "Just some small trouble. It’s sorted out now. Nothing to worry about. The landlord will be informed."
Nobody saw fit to argue and soon their audience had dissipated. Which didn’t mean they wouldn’t talk about what they’d seen, plague take them.
Once they were alone, Brock stopped to check Selina’s injury. Apart from the bruise spreading across her cheek, she was ghostly pale. She looked sad and frightened and unhappy. His heart contorted in agony. He loathed seeing her like this.
"How is your poor face?" With gentle fingers, he turned her cheek up to the lamplight.
He saw her hide a flinch. "I’ll live."
Brock struggled to summon an encouraging smile. "Yes, you will, but for the next little while, you’ll live with a lovely purple face." His smile vanished, as the true horror of what Cecil had tried to do to her overcame him. "My love, I’m so sorry everything has gone to hell. The last thing I wanted was to cause you harm, and I’ve gone ahead and spoiled everything. Can you forgive me?"
"Of course I can forgive you. You just saved me." Only when she cast a warning glance behind her did he recall that Kitty shadowed them.
He was too used to having Selina to himself. All of a sudden, the need to hold her in his arms was too strong, Kitty or no Kitty. "Come here. You look like you’re about to collapse where you stand."
He swung her high against his chest. She made a muffled sound of shock, but to his relief, she curled against him and hooked her hand behind his neck.
He checked back to catch Kitty observing them with unconcealed approval. He approved of the girl, too. If she hadn’t waited in the innyard to catch him the moment he arrived on that half-trained nag, God knew what might have occurred. "Go and see if the landlord can give you some ice for your mistress’s face, Kitty. I’ll take her to her rooms. They’re at the end of the corridor. You might also need to tell the fellow that I’ll cover the damage that I did to the door when I broke in."
"Don’t you mean we’re going to your rooms?" Selina murmured, after Kitty curtsied and hurried away.
"Right now, it’s my suite. I reserved it last week. But I’ll go downstairs later and tell the landlord it’s now yours. I’ll organize a separate chamber for myself. It’s too late to prevent a scandal, but I’ll do what I can to preserve appearances. It’s best you stay here tonight. I know you’re desperate to get to London, but it’s dark outside and you’re in no fit state to travel."
"I was so frightened when Cecil attacked me," she confessed in a broken voice, pressing closer.
"He won’t frighten you
ever again. You should never have left my side." You should never leave my side.
"Oh, Brock," she said in a broken voice. She buried her face in his chest and burst into a storm of tears.
His gut twisted into tangled knots as he cuddled her closer. He hated to hear her cry.
"Selina, sweetheart, don’t take on so." When he strode down the hallway, his arms tightened around her. "Hush. Hush, my love. He’s not worth it."
Brock shouldered his way into the suite’s parlor and gently settled her in a chair in front of the blazing fire. He dropped to his haunches before her and fumbled in his coat so he could pass her his handkerchief. "Please stop crying, Selina. It’s all right. It’s all going to be all right. He was never worthy of you."
"I’m not crying over Cecil," she said thickly, wiping at her eyes. "In fact, one of the few good things about this shambles is that I no longer have to marry that poisonous bully."
"He’s an odious toad," Brock said, starting to rise, but pausing when she caught his hand.
"Don’t go."
"Some brandy might make you feel better."
"You make me feel better."
A shaken sigh escaped him. The sight of Selina staggering under that blow had taken ten years off his life. It would haunt him forever. "My darling, what am I going to do with you?"
He leaned in and kissed her with great care, because he was agonizingly aware of how hurt she was. Her lips trembled under his. They tasted of tears.
"Cecil is an odious toad," she said, with an attempt at a smile. "It’s almost worth losing my reputation if it means that I’ve avoided marrying him."
This time, she let Brock go and pour some brandy. He went down on his knees in front of her and helped her hold the glass steady so she could drink. "Shall I send for a doctor? I imagine a quack is already downstairs, seeing to Erskine."
"No, thank you. I don’t want the doctor." She took a few sips before she pushed the glass away. "I’ve still got all my teeth and while Cecil’s fist hurt like blazes, I’m sure I’ll heal, even if I look like a fright for a while."
"You could never look like a fright to me." His eyes roved her ashen face. Her lovely hair fell in a knotted tangle. Her eyes were swollen after her tears, and her bruises made him wish he had killed Cecil after all. He emptied the brandy glass – his nerves weren’t entirely calm either – and set it on the floor beside him. "Although right now, you do look like you’ve had a few adventures."
"The world will view me as an adventuress, once word gets out about my affair with the wicked Lord Bruard." The brandy went some way toward restoring her spirits, he was relieved to see. "Adventuresses have adventures."
"Will you mind so much?"
"I don’t mind losing Cecil. I mind how all this will affect Gerald."
There was a soft knock on the door. Brock crossed to find Kitty outside, holding a linen bag full of ice. "Thank you, Kitty. Can you please go downstairs and help with my injured coachman, and also talk to the landlord about rooms for you and Mrs. Martin’s driver? Use my name."
"Yes, my lord."
He shut the door and carried the ice across to Selina. "Put this on your face. It will help with the bruising."
With unsteady hands, she accepted the bag and pressed it against her jaw. "Thank you."
"Do you feel dizzy? Do you want to lie down?"
Her free hand dismissed his concern. "No. To both questions."
"Do you want more brandy?" He loathed feeling so helpless.
"Stop fussing, Brock. I’m not at death’s door." The wry fondness in her tone eased the roiling turmoil in his gut. "Come and sit beside me."
As he had so often at the house in the marshes, he folded himself on the rug at her feet. He caught her hand and brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.
Quiet reigned long enough to allow the churning rage in his gut to ebb. As so often before, Selina’s presence gave him peace. Now word was out about their affair, they faced a hell of a dilemma, but at least they remained together. After a day when he thought he was sure to lose her forever, having her beside him gave him cause for hope.
After a long while, he rose and leaned over her. "How are you feeling?"
Her lips turned down in a smile that looked more convincing. "Like I ran into Cecil’s fist."
He didn’t smile back. "Do you want more ice?"
She shook her head and passed the dripping bag to him. "No."
The bruise darkened already. Brock stifled a renewed surge of hatred for Cecil, as he crossed to the washstand and dropped the bag in the bowl. Selina’s former suitor was lucky he’d made it out of that room alive.
Brock turned to face her. "Shall I ring for dinner? You must be hungry."
She shook her head. "Perhaps later." She paused, and her expression intensified. "Brock, we need to talk."
"No, we don’t. We can talk tomorrow, when you’re feeling better."
Selina linked her hands in her lap with a nervous gesture he’d first noticed at Derwent Hall. "I…I’d like to talk now. Please."
He would have argued further, if not for that final fervent "please." Hunkering down in front of her, he took her hands. He noticed they were shaking. Delayed reaction to Cecil’s attack, or fear about what she meant to say to him?
"What is it, my love?"
Searching brown eyes settled on him. "What happened today has changed everything."
"Aye," he said with a hint of wariness, not sure where she went with this.
A tremulous smile curved her lips, and her next words emerged in a rush. "Now I’m no longer the respectable Widow Martin, I’m free to become a rake’s mistress. That is if the rake will have me."
Shock shuddered through him, and he sat back on his heels. "Selina…"
She frowned and spoke even faster, as if afraid he mightn’t hang about long enough to hear her out. "You said…you said in the carriage that you want me to stay with you."
"Of course I want you to stay with me," he said with fond impatience, tightening his grip on her hands as she started to pull away.
She raised her chin. "Then I will stay with you."
He released her and rose, a wry smile twisting his lips. "I’m devilish happy to hear that."
Her frown deepened. "You don’t sound happy."
His hand swept through the air. "You weren’t born to be someone’s mistress, Selina."
To his horror, hurt darkened her eyes and she pressed back against the chair’s floral chintz upholstery. "Have today’s events convinced you that I’m too much trouble?"
Brock shook his head. "Never. Anyway, the blame for this mess is all mine."
She didn’t look convinced. "No, it’s my fault. I’m the one who ignored the dictates of morality. I set out to deceive Cecil. Losing Gerald is a fair punishment for what I’ve done. I’m not a fit mother."
Brock stared at her aghast. "By God, tell me you don’t mean that."
"I don’t." She made a despairing gesture. "Although I ought to. After today, the world will call me every vile name under the sun."
He released a sigh of relief. "You sounded as if you hated yourself."
Her expression didn’t ease. "I might in the future." She spoke with renewed determination. "But first, for as long as you’ll have me, I intend to go well and truly to the bad in your company."
He should be overjoyed that she consented to stay with him, but his heart cramped with pity as he looked at her, so brave, so ardent, so fragile. "You ask so little of life. You humble me."
"If you give me more of what we shared at the hunting lodge, that’s more than a little."
"No," he said slowly. "No, it’s not enough."
"You’re frightening me, Brock." She stared up at him with an anxious expression. "Have I got it wrong? Don’t you want me anymore?" Her voice cracked on the last word.
He fought the urge to catch her up in his arms and carry her through to the next room, where a large bed waited in the shadows. The communication between their
bodies was always perfect.
He spread his hands. "I’ll die wanting you, Selina."
His declaration didn’t seem to reassure her. "Then why are you hesitating?"
He straightened and squared his shoulders. This week had been the most important part of his life. These next few minutes were the most important part of that week. "I don’t want you as my mistress, Selina, although I’ll always cherish knowing that you offered to come to me without any promises."
To his horror, he watched the blood drain from her face. The bruise stood out starker than ever. She bit back a whimper of distress. "I…I see."
He hissed with self-disgust and ran his hand through his hair. "Hell, I’m making a complete dog’s dinner of this. Forgive me."
Her chin rose with a bravado that became tattered with overuse. "It’s not easy to give a mistress her marching orders."
Despite the fraught atmosphere, a grunt of bleak laughter escaped him. "I’ve never found that the case." He stepped forward and caught her hands again, drawing her to her feet with gentle insistence. "I’m not giving you your marching orders, you muddleheaded lassie. Nor am I asking you to be my mistress."
She tried to withdraw, but he held firm. The gaze that always pierced to his soul examined his face. "I don’t understand."
He gathered all his courage. Odd how terrifying this was. At this moment, he was more afraid than he could ever remember feeling. Perhaps because nothing in his selfish, ramshackle, hedonistic life had ever meant so much. "Selina, can’t you see that I’m trying to work my way up to a proposal?"
"A proposal?" she repeated, as if the word made no sense.
"Will you marry me, sweetheart?"
He waited for some joyful reaction, because he was sure that after the week they’d just spent together, she must feel as he did. Instead moisture filled beautiful eyes that, in his opinion, had already shed enough tears for the day. "Oh, Brock, you’re too good."
He frowned with bewilderment and the beginnings of hurt. This wasn’t the response he’d expected.
"That’s not something I’ve ever heard anyone say about me," he said dryly, even as uncertainty stirred inside him like a snake in a woodpile. Uncertainty was an unfamiliar companion, and he could already tell he didn’t like it.
The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress Page 16