The Dangers of Doing Good (Arrangements, Book 4)

by Rebecca Connolly

  His touch had been so gentle, so soft, so totally different from any other she had ever known. His manner had confused her. How could one who looked so formidable behave so mildly?

  Then he had smiled.

  Annie was not a girl who had seen much of men, but she felt very certain that there could not be anything more perfect than that man’s smile.

  She knew full well that she had been an idiot before him. She had been fully incapable of saying anything of substance and had been reduced to a shivering, whimpering mess. It was not possible for her to explain why she had only stared at him, why he held her so captive. Why should he have paid any attention to her at all? Why should he care that she was injured?

  It didn’t make sense, even in her imagination. All she had ever known of men was that they would harm her.

  Yet he had wanted to help her.

  He had seen her bruises and the shame and embarrassment that had swelled within her had brought more tears. Then he had reached out to touch them and she had reacted instinctively, defensively, and he let her go without scolding or objection. She was never allowed to do so at home. She could never escape.

  The horror on Duncan’s face at her reaction was something she would never forget.

  She expected him to leave, to turn and run, or to send her away.

  But then she watched as his horror turned to compassion, almost worry, and he reached for her.

  And that, too, was something she would never forget.

  What would have happened if Frank had not fired his rifle and called for her? What if that moment had extended and she could have made the choice? She was a weak, fearful creature, and she had never imagined escape or help, or that she needed it.

  And yet…

  A loud hissing shook her from her thoughts and she shrieked as she saw the soup beginning to bubble over and spill into the fire. She grabbed a cloth and lifted the pot onto the table, then picked up the nearest spoon and gently stirred the soup, sighing when it returned to normal and did not seem to be the worse for the wear. She put the lid on the pot and moved it back near the fire, but far enough away that it was in no danger of boiling over.

  She couldn’t ruin dinner again. Not when he was still so upset about yesterday. He had been furious when she had finally appeared from the creek, demanding to know where she had been and why she had taken so long to come. He had accepted her answer of washing by the creek and had not even glanced at her wound. He’d merely told her he was going to the village and she needed to make sure the horses were all in before she went to bed, then he’d left, warning her not to ruin his dinner ever again.

  Her mind still frazzled by the shooting and by her encounter, she had stood like a fool for a good number of minutes. Then some eager, wild part of her she did not recognize made her whirl around and run back to the creek, hoping against hope that her mysterious stranger would still be there, possibly even waiting for her.

  Of course, he had gone. All was as if he had never been there.

  Reality crashed down around her and she scolded herself soundly for losing her head. All girls were permitted their little whims, she supposed, but hers went above and beyond all idiocy. She, Annie Ramsey, was not the sort of girl that a gentleman from London would even look at twice, except with the utmost of pity. She could daydream and have her fanciful moments all she liked, but she knew very well how the rest of her life would play out.

  She would marry a man her brother picked out for her based on the sum of money he would earn from the transaction, be forced to endure childbirth however many times her husband saw fit, and then raise the children in the best manner she could, given her poor upbringing, poor and loveless marriage, and potentially poorer future.

  It was bleak and she was well aware of it. But perhaps her husband would not be as cruel as her brother. Perhaps they could have a congenial relationship.

  Or perhaps things could get worse.

  It hardly seemed possible, but she supposed things could always get worse.

  She glanced at the soup again, trying to remember what else was required of her before Frank returned. She groaned as she realized she had not gone for bread yet. Frank would never take soup without bread, but there was hardly money for it. He had not given her wages this week, and she dared not ask for them. The little left over from last week would only buy the smallest of loaves.

  But it would be better than nothing.

  She shoved Duncan’s handkerchief down the front of her dress, then picked up her shawl and her fingerless gloves. She donned them both as she slipped out the door, wincing at the bitter cold. A frigid storm had blown through in the night, bringing a great deal of snow as well as even colder temperatures than what they’d had before. She wished she had thought of bread earlier, before it had started to grow dark and colder, for now the snow that reached her mid-calf felt even colder than it would have before. But there was nothing for it.

  She hoped Duncan had made it safely to wherever he was headed and that the snow last night had not adversely affected his journey.

  She hoped he always had good things rather than poor.

  Annie shook her head and exhaled sharply, sending a cloud of air into the darkening sky. She needed to stop thinking about him. He was out of her life, and pining like a silly schoolgirl for a man about whom she knew so little was foolish.

  Dreaming about him had been even less sensible.

  She tightened her shawl around her as she shivered with the memory. From the beginning it had been a fantasy beyond her wildest yet. She’d been soaking in a warm bath filled to the brim with bubbles. It was the grandest tub she had ever seen in her life. She’d only ever seen one, and it had only been half the size and far dirtier. The dream one she had bathed in was pristine and so large she could stretch out entirely without exposing the slightest bit of skin. She had been in heaven, and every moment she lingered, she remembered less and less of the cold of her past.

  Then a maid had come in, looking far better dressed than Annie had ever been in her life, and offered her a dressing gown that looked as though it was more suited for a queen than for her. Yet she had smiled and donned it, gingerly stepping out of the mountainous tub that was still steaming.

  Then, impossibly, the maid helped her dress. Undergarments, stockings, a corset… she had only ever heard of corsets and one of the milkmaids in the village had shown her a very old and probably outdated one, but she had never imagined she would wear one… and though Annie was a slender girl, the dream version of her was just a little fuller in places. Still small by any standard, but not so frail looking. And the corset gave her the most perfect posture and figure she had ever seen.

  Her shock only increased when the dress was brought forth. It was exquisite. It was the palest of pinks, the color of a blush, and the faintest hint of a golden shimmer flickered in the delicate embroidery along the neckline and skirt. Even the dream version of herself was stunned by its beauty. The maid helped her to put it on, then buttoned up the back. But still she could not see herself, for there was no mirror in the washroom.

  She walked into an elegantly furnished bedchamber, where the mirror was covered, and sat herself into a chair. The maid followed her in and began doing the most elaborate twists and turns and curls with her hair. Annie was amazed, as her hair was and always had been hopelessly straight. Yet it curled with ease under the skilled hands of the maid.

  Just when she thought it was imaginative enough, she heard a deep voice that made her toes curl in heated delight.

  “You are exquisite.”

  She turned her head to see Duncan standing in the corner next to the covered mirror, his face clean-shaven, and only halfway dressed himself. His pristine linen shirt was properly tucked into his breeches, but it lay open at the collar, exposing the very top of his blatantly well-muscled chest and his strong neck. She swallowed at the sight of him. Faintly, it had occurred to her dream self to wonder where the rest of his clothing was, but it seemed a small matte
r.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks flush.

  “I think you need to see yourself,” he replied, pulling the sheet from the mirror.

  Annie looked back at the maid, who grinned and nodded at her in encouragement.

  “Annie,” Duncan said in a low voice, instantly bringing her attention back to him. He held out a hand. “Come.”

  Nerves tingling, she rose and took his hand. He pulled her directly in front of the mirror, and she gasped at the sight.

  She looked like a completely different person. A fine lady, a woman of fashion and airs, one of importance and worth. The only thing she recognized were her eyes, which were exactly the same as they had ever been, except now they sparkled with an unfamiliar light. And her smile, which grew on her face until her cheeks began to ache.

  Duncan moved to stand behind her, his large hands resting on her shoulders. “Beautiful,” he whispered, moving his hands down to wrap around her waist and pull her securely against him. She covered his hands with her own and leaned back against him.

  “You make me so,” she said in her own soft whisper.

  He pressed his lips against her hair, and then dropped his head to place a startlingly hot kiss to the nape of her neck, his breath dancing along the sensitive skin there. Her eyes fluttered shut and a breathy sigh escaped her lips.

  Annie stumbled on a rock in her path and fell into the cold snow, only just catching herself with her hands before her face would have directly landed in a snow pile. She exhaled slowly, collecting her wits, and pushed herself back up. She wiped her hands off on her apron, tightened her shawl around her, and moved forward once more, the baker’s shop in sight.

  Even now, the dream left her wanting something. She had thought of little else all day, ridiculous and fanciful though it was. She had always considered herself a creature of sense and calm, yet here she was imagining the most scandalous things about a man she had only known a day, and for barely fifteen minutes at that. He could have been a true scoundrel, a thief, a duke, or next in line for the throne.

  She doubted the last one, but then, she had never been able to keep straight the monarchy and all its dealings.

  It would not do for her to dream any more. Nothing good would ever come of it.

  She was nothing more than Annie Ramsey, the pretty daughter of a horse tradesman who had been killed by his partner, raised by her illiterate mother who died of a fever, and further brought up by a drunken and vicious older brother who viewed her as his personal servant and the means to an end. She was not worth the spit beneath the shoes of a man such as Duncan Bray. And she would do well to remember it.

  The baker was kind enough to give her a slightly larger loaf than she could afford, but he and his wife had always been considerate where she was concerned. They could not offer her butter this time, but she did not care. So long as she had the bread, she would be safe tonight.

  She hurried back to the house as fast as she could manage in all that snow, feeling her brow perspire in spite of the freezing temperatures. Her fingers still ached from the cold, even though they now held a warm loaf. She would warm them by the fire later.

  She arrived at the house when there was just enough light to see without help. She rushed over to the pot of soup, and was relieved that it was still very hot. It seemed that, for once, fate would not frown on her. She set the bread on the table, removed her shawl and gloves, and began slicing the bread.

  At that precise moment, her brother burst into the house, already scowling. The hunt had not gone well, then. And based upon the smell currently coming from his general direction, it was not difficult to imagine why. He glared at her, but couldn’t seem to find anything to fault, so he merely grunted a greeting and set his rifle against the wall. His hat went flying into a corner and he sank into his customary chair.

  Annie turned to the soup and filled a bowl for him, then handed it to him with a spoon and a large slice of bread.

  He didn’t look at her as he ate, nor did he take any care for table manners. This wasn’t surprising, but she wished he would at least pretend to be human.

  She scolded herself soundly in her mind. She ought to keep a civil tongue in her head or she would speak these things out loud someday, and that would not serve her well at all.

  “This is better than normal,” Frank managed around a mouthful of soup and bread, ignoring the few drops that fell onto the table.

  “Thank you,” Annie replied softly as she sat down with her own small bowl.

  He snorted. “Don’t go thinkin’ it was you. Must be better spices from the shop.”

  She ignored that comment. “How was the hunt?”

  He ignored her and continued eating.

  It was destined to be a typical meal eaten in silence, until Frank pushed his now empty bowl away and cleared his throat. Annie looked up in surprise.

  “I’ve picked a man for you,” he said, looking at her at last.

  The soup she had just swallowed suddenly felt like rocks in her throat. She tried several times to clear it before the sensation vanished. “Oh?” she asked finally.

  “Yes. The price is good and you won’t get anything better around here.”

  Considering the quality of people considered as “around here,” that was something she could agree with him on.

  “Who will I have, then?”

  He barked a laugh and stood, taking his jacket off. “You will have no one. But Albert Thorpe wants you badly and is going to pay a considerable sum, considering what a disappointment you are destined to be. But he’s determined and he’s outbid all the rest, so there it is.”

  Annie’s blood ran cold and she had to latch onto the table to keep from collapsing out of her chair and into the fire. “M-Mr. T-Thorpe?” she stammered, stuttering so badly she nearly bit her tongue.

  Frank’s brows rose in surprise, knowing she hadn’t truly spoken with such difficulty since she was a child. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  She shook her head and released a gasping breath. That was beyond the worst she could have imagined. Thorpe was a recent addition to her brother’s group of potential bidders, and the one she feared the most. He enjoyed cornering her, whispering his plans for her, his black eyes glinting with such danger she trembled.

  He never touched her, he knew that was forbidden and would cost him, but she felt more filthy after his encounters than she imagined any touch feeling. His plans for her included all the same types of beatings her brother was prone to and beyond, and then he ventured into darker, more disturbing details that she had nearly vomited from hearing.

  If Frank knew, would he have stopped it? Would he have chosen someone else? Anyone would have been a better choice, and anyone else at all she would gladly accept as alternative.

  “I can’t,” she hissed, clenching her eyes shut.

  “What?” Frank drawled, clearly no longer paying attention to her.

  “I can’t marry him,” she said a touch louder.

  Suddenly her head was forced back and her brother’s stench threatened to choke her. “Open your eyes, and say that again,” he growled.

  Unable to restrain the smallest of whimpers, she opened her eyes. His face was directly before her, eyes bloodshot, chin stubbled, breath horrendous and potent. Her jaw quivered and she bit her lip hard.

  “Say it. Again,” he ordered.

  “I can’t marry Thorpe.” She tensed in anticipation.

  “And you think you have a say in this?” he sneered, his fingers digging into the back of her head.

  “He is horrible,” she tried, her chest beginning to heave in panic. “He will do things to me that you cannot even…”

  “You think you have a say in this?” he bellowed, screaming into her face so fiercely she could feel the drops of his spit flying onto her face. “You will marry who I tell you to when I tell you to and you will obey me in all things!”

  “Frank…”

  He slapped her across the face so hard she
fell from the chair and clattered onto the floor. “You obey me, Annie! You obey me!”

  She crawled to the other side of the table. “I won’t marry him, Frank. I won’t!”

  He roared and turned the table onto its side, stalking towards her. “If I say you will, you will! You have no choice! Do you understand me?”

  “Frank,” Annie tried, shaking as she tried to evade him, unable to stop the tears that flowed helplessly down her cheeks. “Frank, please.”

  “Shut up!” he yelled, still coming at her. “I’ve had enough of you! You will marry him and you will do everything that I say! Do you understand me?”

  “Frank!” she screamed as he latched onto her and hauled her backwards.

  “I’ll teach you to mouth off to me.”

  He threw her against the nearest wall and her head crashed painfully against the stone. Her vision spotted for a few moments, then cleared as he began rolling his sleeves up, his chest heaving like an angry bull. He was a small man by height, but in this moment, he might as well have been a giant.

  “All these years,” he seethed as he glared at her, “and still you disrespect me. Clearly I have not done a very good job. But you’ll learn. Before you marry Thorpe, I’ll have you crawling on the floor if I order it.”

  “Frank,” she whispered, feeling the faintest sense of something trickling down the back of her head. “Please.”

  “I said shut up, Annie,” he said in a quiet, dangerous tone. “Shut up, or lose your teeth.”

  She clamped her lips together, shaking all over. She felt the handkerchief at her heart and her mind seized upon that faint glimmer of imaginary hope. Frank started towards her again, and she shut her eyes, waiting.

  Chapter Three

  “Does it always snow this much at once up here?”

  “Very rarely, sir. Never, in recent memory.”

  Duncan grunted and looked out of the window at the blowing snow and the drifts that had formed. He had been forced to remain an extra day and night due to the storm that had come in, and he was not happy about it. Not that this place or this inn had been such a terrible thing, but now he was headed home, he really would just rather get there.