The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "I see."

  "You certainly don't sound so eager now. What is it?" Antony asked, staring at him.

  "I'm just worried about dragging Alistair into this. At least not until I've married Althea safely and spoken to Philip about what to do. This fire has raised all sorts of questions."

  "Perhaps if we work together we'll all find our answers. Who knows, Oliver might get lucky."

  Matthew opened his mouth to reply, but Althea began to shiver anew.

  "It's all right, sweetheart. I'm here."

  "Don't go to the house. It's dangerous. A trap."

  "But-"

  "Please, you promised not to leave me. Don't go there."

  Her tone was so urgent he nodded. "It's all right. I won't go. I promise."

  She began to cry softly.

  He did his best to soothe her, murmuring, "Anything you want, dearest, just ask. You can talk to me, trust me. I give you my word I'll try to do my best to tend to all your needs. Just so long as you know I only want to help you. Do my best for you as your father would have wanted."

  "Thank you." She put one hand to his cheek. "I'm sorry to put you to all this trouble."

  All of Matthew's pent-up emotions finally gushed forth at her sweet apology and he gathered her into his arms and cried as he had not cried in years. Hot tears ran down into her hair in rivulets, and he felt scorched by her body, so close under only the thin sheet.

  He longed to bury himself inside her sweet softness, yet hated himself for the need. It was thanks to him and men like him that the poor girl had been brought to such a sorry pass.

  As he wept, her arms came up around him, and he felt flooded with peace.

  Antony patted him on the shoulder, and Althea's soft slender fingers came up to caress his cheek and wipe his tears away.

  "Thre's no need to cry, Mattie."

  The use of his childhood nickname nearly caused him to break down utterly once again. "Oh Lord, Althea, I'm sorry, so very sorry."

  She shook her head. "Not your fault. You came to save me. You've always been there to save me. Remember the vicious dog?"

  How could he forget? It had been a family legend for more years than he cared to count.

  "And the time the horse bolted when I was twelve?"

  "I remember," he rasped past the lump in his throat.

  "Then there was the time we pretended we were hunting for treasure in the old ruined monastery, and the wall began to crumble?"

  "Yes." It had only been a year or two ago.

  "Except that was on purpose."

  He stiffened and looked at her in shock. "But who-"

  But there was no reply. She was already out like a light once more.

  Matthew sighed and sat heavily in a chair, clinging to her hand as though to a lifeline. Every time he spoke with her he ended up with more questions than answers.

  What had she meant about the house? The house here in London, or her home down in Enfield? If she had gone missing from there so many weeks ago, why had he not heard from her step-mother? Surely she would have inquired as to her whereabouts?

  Unless she thought she was in London or the country with one of her schoolfriends? Or some other explanation accounted for her disappearance?

  He kept thinking Althea might have fallen in with some scoundrel who had wanted her to elope. But surely she would not have been so glad to see him, and would have said something about such a sorry state of affairs.

  He wanted her awake, wanted some answers. He dried his eyes with his cuffs and asked the doctor, "Can we give her that tea now?"

  Antony checked the temperature of the beverage. "Yes, if you're sure she is fully awake. Be careful of choking."

  He poured it into the feeding beaker, added cream and sugar, and helped her to drink, supporting her around the shoulders with one strong arm.

  She made a face after one or two swallows. "Sore," she complained.

  "I know, love. How about some honey? I'll even let you lick the spoon."

  It was another of their shared memories, and a small smile lit her face.

  "What was that lovely dessert we would get with the hazelnuts, honey and pastry?"

  "I can't remember what it's called, but I feel sure your old nanny would remember. We can ask."

  Her eyes flew open wide. "Mrs. Briggs is gone."

  "Gone? You mean she left Enfield? But she was supposed to be a lifetime pensioner."

  "No, she's dead. Heart attack six weeks ago."

  Well, that explained a lot. The old woman had guarded her charge as zealously as her own mother. Far better than her step-parent. Not that it could have been easy for the woman, being the second wife of a man who had adored his first wife to distraction, and had only re-married to try to provide some domestic stability for the little girl bereft of her mother.

  But Matthew had had no use for the woman since he'd come to the house for Althea's sixteenth birthday and the much older woman had tried to quiddle his cod. Matthew had been completely revulsed, and had gone to visit less and less.

  During her Season, Althea had been up in London, and he'd called upon her formally, but she had looked such a regal young lady, he'd been almost afraid of her.

  As had his mistress. Matilda had accused him of being mentally unfaithful with Althea. At the time he had been outraged and confused, for he'd never really admitted his deepest longings even to himself. Never dared to own up to the terrible truth: that his love for his beautiful cousin could easily spill over into pure raw lust if he didn't keep his desires under firm control, and never, ever allowed himself to be alone with her.

  Shocked at himself and Matilda's perceptions, he'd vehemently denied the accusation. At the time he'd been convinced that his protestations were completely sincere. But in his dreams....

  Now all he could see was Althea in bed, her ripe young body spread for his delectation, and he could feel his cullions gather so tightly he was sure he'd burst.

  Yet in the blink of an eye he could see all of her bruises, and wanted to cut off those very same cullions for having driven him to do what he'd done.

  "Come, love, drink up. Then you can have the honey."

  "Who's that singing?" she asked when she had finished the tea.

  "Singing? There's no one."

  "I can hear someone singing 'Barbara Allen'."

  He looked at the doctor in confusion.

  "Addicts can often hear things," he said with a shrug. "And feel them too."

  A short time later she began to scratch her hands repeatedly until they began to fear she would draw blood.

  "We need to stop her. Her nails are filthy and ragged."

  Antony nodded. "They must have kept her imprisoned somwhere, then took her out for a bath today. I'll have Clarissa come in and cut them as best she can, and get them soaked and washed."

  "Can she have a whole bath?"

  "No. A sponge one is all right, though."

  Her fingers were sore enough as Clarissa tried to help, but eventually they got the nails cut and cleaned with good strong soap. Then they let her rest for a time, before embarking on the sponge bath.

  "Like the kitties' claws," she said with a fond smile. "Right, Mattie?"

  "I remember. You always had a special cat."

  "Including the one named after you."

  "Now he was a most bedraggled and wretched specimen," he said with a laugh. "I have to admit I was quite insulted to have been given such a feeble namesake."

  "Yet he went from being a malnourished stray to the best cat I ever had. A fabulous mouser, and I could swear he understood every word I said to him. And so handsome, just like you."

  "Er, thank you, if you think being covered in ringworm and mange is handsome."

  She giggled girlishly. "Not when we first found him, silly, afterwards."

  "I know. I was just teasing you, sweetheart. He was truly magnificent, sleek tawny, jet black."

  "Like you. Except we're all still waiting for you to live up to your potent
ial."

  "Are you now?" he asked coolly.

  "Aunt Pemberton is."

  "Well, she's certainly getting one of her wishes now, for I'm about to get married, am I not."

  Her face fell. "Do I know the girl?" she asked in a tiny voice.

  "You most certainly do. Very well indeed. After all that's happened, dearest, we really need to be married at once."

  She gazed up at him and shook her head. "Oh, no, I can't have you-"

  "Please, Althea, my dear. You know what high regard and esteem I've always held you in. I became your lover tonight. I have to accept any and all consequences of what my ravening lust has wrought."

  "But you've never been loverlike towards me, and-"

  He kissed her hand tenderly, silencing her protest. "I'm sorry for the practicality and lack of romance, but I shall make it up to you once we are man and wife. We have a wonderful shared family life together, the same tastes. We were always happy in the past, do you remember?"

  "Yes, I do. It wasn't just a dream, was it, Matthew?"

  "No, it wasn't. You've had a bad nightmare, but it's over now."

  "But we can't get back the past. We're man and woman now, not boy and girl."

  "They were such happy times. Utter bliss. All the more wonderful for having shared them with you." He clamped his mouth shut when he realised what he'd said. "You can be happy again."

  Clarissa indictated the sponge. "If you're going to be making an honest woman of her, I'd better teach you how to tend to her needs. Watch and learn."

  His mouth went dry as the sheet was peeled back, baring her lush charms to his avid gaze. He nearly swallowed his tongue as she pressed the sponge into his hand and said, "Here, now you try."

  "Er, um-"

  "It's all right, Matthew. I trust you. You can touch me. I won't break."

  Hands trembling, he washed the other half of her body, though when he got to her feet he balked.

  "You can do her back, Clarissa, if you don't mind. I don't think she's too happy with most people touching it."

  Matthew saw Althea's face go white, but the helper reassured her, "There, there, dear, be done in a trice. Clarissa gave her a few efficient swipes.

  "There now, all done," Matthew said with a significant look at the woman which she interpreted readily enough.

  "I'll get her some more ointment and clothes to put on."

  "Thank you."

  A short time later, Althea was decently clad in one of the clinic's spare gowns, and reclining on a pillow drowsing.

  Matthew looked out the window and saw dawn was breaking. He shivered. It had easily been the longest night of his life, and was by no means over. He needed to get her to a warm safe place, and knew that the battle to save her from her addiction was only just beginning.

  Antony gave him some ointment, and laudanum for emergencies, and a few more last-minute instructions, then had one of the porters go around for a cab from the livery stables.

  "Send a note around if you need anything. Otherwise I'm going to go home to get some sleep, and I'll come in the afternoon."

  "Thanks, Antony. I won't forget this."

  "Say hello to Philip and Jasmine for me."

  "I will."

  He gathered Althea in his arms, and with a last heartfelt thank you to everyone, slipped out the back way and into the waiting cab.

  Chapter Seven

  It was an ungodly hour to be knocking anyone up, Matthew knew, but Althea had to come first. He felt sure his worldly Rakehell friend Philip Marshall would understand once he explained. Though he hardly understood himself how this had all come about....

  Once the butler had opened the door, and fetched Philip and his wife, things moved at a whirlwind pace which was both astonishing and gratifying. The taxi was paid, Althea brought inside, and then food and rooms, fresh linens and changes of clothes, a hot bath for Matthew were all produced with lightning efficiency.

  Matthew looked around the charming gold and cream room with relief a short time later.

  "I'm going into the bath, pet. I'll be right on the other side of the bathroom door. Jasmine is going to help you get ready for bed."

  Althea opened her eyes to look at him sadly for a moment, but nodded.

  He didn't waste any time, but got into the steaming water and scrubbed himself until he was raw. Yet still he felt sullied by what had happened that night. At least the remaining evidence of his depravity, and the trace of her sweet feminine fragrance was gone. His desire coiled and clenched within him, but it was the last thing he wanted to think about.

  He donned the nightshirt and shrugged into the dressing gown his kind hostess had provided, and came out to see Althea in bed lying propped against the pillows. Jasmine was brushing her hair and plaiting it, so he went out to seek his friend and give him a few more details other than that Althea had had a dreadful experience.

  He found him in a small study a couple of doors down, and quickly told his tale of woe.

  "It's a most bizarre story, but not unheard of, alas," Philip said with a sigh at the end of the narrative, watching his friend drink some brandy he had pressed into his hands to calm him. "I recall running into Lettie Monroe in Covent Garden once, just after I got back from Australia. Her sister was engaged to Lawrence Howard, ended up marrying his brother, you might recall."

  "Aye, good man, Lawrence. Scholarship boy. Went off to be a tea planter. Used to be great friends once, until-"

  "She was seized by a man shortly after he left England. Was rife and riddled with disease. I got her into a sanitorium. Ended up meeting with a bad end, though. Drowned in the bathtub when they weren't watching her."

  "How dreadful."

  "It was very sad. She was a damned fine girl."

  "You were a damned fine man until everything-"

  Philip shook his head. "Please, let's not dredge up the past. I merely mentioned it to tell you that it does happen. Except that you were fortunate enough to have come along in time to save her."

  "Fortunate for myself above all, now that I've enjoyed her," Matthew growled. "Damn, how could I have been so stupid and blind!"

  Philip shrugged. "We see what we expect or want to see. If it's any consolation, I made a similar mistake with Jasmine. Thought I was bedding her sister. Turned out she had a twin. Best damned mistake of my life, as it turned out. Though it could have been a disaster if Jasmine had been any less of a woman. And if I had persisted in my folly."

  "Folly?" Matthew echoed witha frown, before draining his glass.

  "I had only wanted to roger her sister for revenge."

  "Oh dear."

  Philip nodded grimly. "Quite. But Jasmine's kisses, her eyes, were enough to tell me she and I could have so much more than mere intercourse if only I put the past behind me and trusted to love. To tell you the plain truth, old chap, I rather wondered if you weren't half in love with Althea all these years."

  Matthew began to defend himself more as a reflex than anything else. "I never laid a finger on her before-"

  "No, that's not what I meant. She is good, decent, a truly fine woman. No, I just meant how you light up whenever she comes into a room. She's a lovely girl, and you could do a whole lot worse. In point of fact, you have done a lot worse with your last two mistresses."

  Matthew fumed. "I say! Steady on."

  But Philip continued, "What a pair of dragons. You're lucky you kept the family jewels. Strange how both of them looked a bit like Althea."

  Matthew could feel himself reddening with shame and ire. "Are you saying-"

  Philip clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. "All I'm saying is you've been searching for love for a long time. I doubt you expected to find it in these circumstances. But she's with you now, and judging from the look of her, she needs you."

  "Needs me? She's been sodomised half to bloody death and drugged, beaten and practically raped by me. She must loathe me."

  "Were you violent with her?" Philip asked with a frown.

  "No, b
ut still. It was hardly the lovely romantic wedding night that most women have the right to expect."