by Jaimey Grant
He found a glass thrust into his hand and looked up into Connor’s troubled face. The marquess sipped thoughtfully at his brandy and stared straight ahead. Then he set his glass aside and sat again.
“The thing is, Raven thinks Bri’s been raped and fairly recently, too. Oh, I say—”
He leapt to his feet and pounded Adam helpfully on the back who had begun choking on his drink. Adam jumped to his feet, shook off his friend, and roared, “What?”
“Nothing will be solved if we get irate,” Connor replied in a tone at odds with his recent agitation. “Raven said a week ago that she has been watching the countess and there were certain things she noticed. She said one or more of Bri’s family members is keeping her in line with regular beatings. She also said it was very likely that she has been raped at least once by Steyne.”
“I’ll kill him,” Adam said very calmly. His eyes held a look of steady concentration and deadly intent. Connor could see the man was serious. And that if he truly planned to kill the viscount, not a force on earth would stop him.
“We can’t go into this half-cocked, Adam. We need a plan, a solution.” He paused and regarded Adam with an expression that he couldn’t like. He knew what was coming before the words were even spoken. “The easiest thing would be for you to marry her. Then you are in control and her family can do nothing.”
“It’s not as easy as that and well you know it, Con. Her family owns her until she’s twenty-five. Over four more years. She must have their permission to marry and her betrothed must have their approval. If I took her to Gretna, it would not be difficult to prove the marriage groundless in the English courts especially with two dukes, an earl, and a viscount backing the decision. Besides,” he continued, looking away, “I can’t legally marry anyone.”
“Whyever not?”
“I am already married.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Connor stared at him for a full minute in stunned silence. His reaction was not what Adam had expected. Actually, Adam wasn’t sure what he had expected. He had never planned to tell his friend of his monumental foolishness.
So after staring for a full minute with a very blank expression, Adam was totally taken aback by his friend’s explosive reply.
“The devil you are, you miserable bastard!”
Adam’s eyes widened, his dark brows flew up into his hairline, and he unconsciously leaned back in his chair to put more space between their bodies. Connor’s face was twisted with rage. He was at a loss to understand the marquess’s reaction.
“Who the hell is she? Anyone I know? Is she a splendid baronet’s wife, Adam? How many more secrets have you kept from me? Do I know you at all?” The marquess paused, seemed to shake himself, and then he quaffed his drink and poured another.
Then he understood. He almost sighed in relief. Connor was just hurt. He thought Adam didn’t trust him enough to confide in him despite their years of friendship. He felt slighted, betrayed.
Betrayal. Oh, dear God, Adam thought numbly, all the color draining from his face. He remembered that look of betrayal in Bri’s eyes that day in her drawing room. And he remembered the look in Verena’s eyes when she came face to face with the man that had raped her only to learn exactly who he was.
I almost feel sorry for Steyne.
You will not blame me for your own stupidity.
Oh, what had he done? Had he really said those things to a girl who had just been raped by the very man sworn to protect her? Had he actually sided with the bastard? And then told her it was her fault and her problem to solve?
Connor was still glaring at him as he rose to his feet and left the room. He encountered Samson in the hall. The butler bowed and waited for Adam to speak. It was as if the man knew he would ask something.
“I need to see Lady Connor, if she is willing to speak to me,” he finally stated in an emotionless voice. He was looking at the old man but he didn’t appear to see him.
“What do you want with my wife?” Connor demanded in annoyance. He stood in the doorway behind his friend.
“I have to talk to her. Alone. It’s important. Please.”
“Alone? Whatever could you have to say to my wife alone?”
Adam sighed hugely. “If she chooses to tell you afterwards, so be it. It is up to her.”
Connor stared for a long moment before nodding silently.
The marchioness presently appeared above them on the landing. “You wanted to see me, Adam?” she asked sleepily.
Prestwich bowed. “If you would be so good, my lady.”
Her dark brows rose at his formality. She tossed a look of inquiry at her husband who shrugged. “Very well, sir. The library?”
Adam nodded and mounted the stairs.
“Bri—”
“No, Levi.” The countess held up a staying hand. She removed her bonnet and handed it along with her pelisse to the footman. Then she walked by her cousin, intent on escaping to her room. Her morning with Lord Connor in the park was all the pressure she could handle just now.
Greville caught her arm and forced her to follow him into a little used morning room. It was the same room where Bri had entertained Verena and normally she would have found it a very pleasant place to be with the sun streaming through the windows and the general cheeriness of the décor. But the reminder of her rudeness to her only friend was depressing.
The countess winced when her cousin released her. He had taken her by the upper arm when he had grabbed her and she had actually forgotten the bruise there until he let go. It amazed her that she could forget. Perhaps she was becoming used to the beatings, she thought in a detached sort of way.
“How are you?” Greville asked solicitously.
“Annoyed,” she replied tartly. “What do you want?”
The earl smiled. He leaned back against the mantle with one ankle crossed over the other and his arms crossed over his chest. “Prickly, are we?”
“I don’t know, are we?” she threw back sarcastically.
Greville pushed away from the mantle and approached her. He studied her very closely. “Raven says you’re being beaten. Are you?”
“Raven says?” she asked incredulously. “Raven says?” Her voice rose in pitch. “Who the bloody hell cares what Raven says!” She spun away from him and stalked to the other side of the room. “Is Raven now the expert on my life? Does she know my every thought, my every action? Does she know?” She spun back to face him.
Lord Greville saw the emotions flit across her face. He saw the anger, the fear, and the panic just below the surface. He saw the way she darted fearful little glances at the closed door. He saw the fearful little glances she darted at him. And he noticed the way she favored her right leg and her arm where he had so recently touched her.
He swore, fluently. Bri’s eyes widened at his inventiveness. Then a tiny giggle escaped her that quickly turned into a sob. Greville was across the room in two quick strides and gathering her into his arms.
“Shh, love,” he murmured, rubbing a comforting hand down her back. “Everything is fine. I’m here now, love.”
The countess jerked violently from his arms and punched him in the chest. “Everything is not fine!” she screamed. “Everything is not fine!” She pummeled him with her fists, she even kicked out at him.
“Stop it, Bri!”
She ignored him and he tucked her securely under one arm, went to the door, threw it open, and looked into the face of Mathers, the butler.
That worthy was startled enough to exclaim, “Oh, good Lord!” before his professional blank mask slipped into place.
Greville ignored the man’s astonishment. “Send for Lord Connor immediately. Tell him to bring his wife and Prestwich if he has arrived. And send the countess’s maid here. Now!”
The butler bowed and strode away as Greville closed the door, locking it behind him. Bri was still screeching like a banshee and trying to do damage to his person. He greatly feared for her sanity.
He took her by t
he arms and watched in stunned silence as her scream of anger turned to cries of pain. Great fat tears rolled down her wan cheeks. He released her, sliding his hands up to her face. “What have they done to you, Bri?” he whispered sadly.
There was a knock on the door. Greville pushed Bri gently into a chair and moved towards the door. He unlocked it and pulled it open, expecting the maid to be standing on the other side. He cursed when he saw who it was.
It was Steyne.
“You are alone with my fiancée, I think.”
Greville just barely controlled his burning desire to beat the man to a pulp. “You’d best leave, Steyne, before I forget I’m a gentleman and I beat you right here in front of my cousin,” he growled.
The viscount took a startled step back. Brewster appeared then and moved swiftly around the two men. Greville slammed the door in Lord Steyne’s face, locked it again, and turned to the countess.
“What happened?” Brewster asked as she gently rocked her mistress in her arms.
“You tell me,” Greville said. “Who’s been beating her?”
“Who hasn’t, my lord,” the maid retorted softly. She brushed the damp hair from Bri’s face and murmured something to her. The countess nodded, sniffled, and buried her face in Brewster’s shoulder.
The Earl of Greville stood staring at them helplessly, battling his rage and wondering what he could do to help his poor mistreated cousin. He wanted more than anything to kill every bastard who had dared to lay his hands on her in any way. A sudden thought occurred to him that made him pale considerably, swallow against a fury that threatened to consume him, and pray for some semblance of control.
There was another knock.
Greville went to the door and threw it open again. Mathers bowed and announced in a wooden voice belied by the concern in his eyes, “Lord and Lady Connor Northwicke, Mr. Adam Prestwich.”
“NO!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lord Connor pushed his wife and friend into the room, shut the door, and locked it. The fury that was the Countess of Rothsmere launched herself at Adam and gave him the same treatment she had given the earl only moments before. Adam crushed her against his chest, pinning her arms harmlessly at her sides. When that didn’t stop her banshee-like wailing, he did the only other thing he could think of.
He kissed her.
Bri stopped screeching so Adam let go of her arms, which she instantly wound around his neck. Then she kissed him back with all her heart.
The rest of the room’s occupants just stared at them in surprise. Everyone appeared unsure what to do. Greville was clearly too shocked to leap to his cousin’s rescue, as he should have done when a strange man took such liberties with her person. Connor was thinking that Adam really shouldn’t be getting the girl’s hopes up when he was married since it was painfully clear that she returned his feelings at least in part. Verena’s thoughts were much along the same lines. Except, knowing more details about the marriage than her husband did, after her private chat with the man, she found herself wondering if Adam would kill his wife so that he could marry Bri.
Adam finally drew his head away from the countess, saw the drowned look in her eyes, and whispered for her ears alone, “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
And, to everyone’s considerable shock, Bri smiled. It was a smile of pure happiness. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” she replied equably. “But you did.”
Adam was very nearly lost in a world that contained only the two of them. She was playing with the little hairs at the back of his neck and smiling up at him with such trust and…love…that he could barely think straight. He brushed away her tears with one long finger, then drew it down along her jaw and kissed her again. Very lightly, like the touching of butterfly wings.
Connor cleared his throat and the two broke apart suddenly. Adam saw Bri blush and very nearly did the same himself.
Damn.
This meeting was not going the way he had imagined or hoped or even feared. He had been a trifle surprised to be accosted by one of the countess’s footmen when he had left Connor’s. Well, dumbfounded with shock would be more accurate, actually. The man had been clearly agitated and barely intelligible.
Adam had surprised himself by his patience. Instead of curtly ordering the man to spit it out and let him get on his way, Adam had instead encouraged the young man to breath deeply and concentrate on what he was saying.
The message had been a shock. After telling the man to return to his mistress, Adam climbed the front steps of Vale Place for the second time that day. Samson informed him that the marquess was in his wife’s sitting room and offered to let his lordship know of Mr. Prestwich’s arrival.
Adam had ignored him and took the steps up to the third floor two at a time. He knocked at the door of the room that he himself had just recently occupied with the marchioness and waited impatiently for an answer.
Connor had appeared in the doorway with a look of annoyance that had turned quickly to surprise and then to alarm when Adam informed him of the footman’s message.
It had taken only moments for Verena to get ready and they were soon mounting the steps of Bri’s home.
Adam stood back as the countess lowered herself back down on the sofa next to a tall, homely woman he assumed was her maid. Bri avoided looking at him and allowed the maid to hold her hand and listened attentively while the woman whispered something in her ear.
Lord Connor watched the scene for a moment with a grim expression before turning his gaze on the earl. “Care to explain?” he asked with raised brows.
Adam noticed the very large young man for the first time. He looked at him curiously and a trifle suspiciously. This must be the cousin, although Connor had not mentioned that Greville was such a giant.
Verena seated herself on Bri’s other side and placed a comforting arm about her shoulders. She murmured things to her that were too low for anyone to hear and the countess was soon nodding and shaking her head at intervals.
Adam sat down heavily on a chair when his friend pushed him into it. He sent him a bewildered look but stayed put.
Connor indicated that Greville should be seated as well. The gentlemen’s chairs were far enough away not to disturb the women and close enough to still know what was happening.
“I’m just so tired,” Bri whispered to her two listeners. “I fight, but I know not what I am fighting against. Control, slavery, pressure, hatred, I don’t know what is happening to me.” She dropped her face into her hands and wept silently while Lady Connor and Brewster patted her back and murmured reassurances to her.
“What the devil is going on?” Adam finally bit out in frustration. “A footman nearly runs me down in the street and proceeds to tell me in garbled English that his mistress is in sore distress and needs Con and Verena and I to attend her immediately. The order was given by his lordship, the Earl of Greville. I assume that’s you,” he said as he looked at the giant, “and then we arrive to find the countess in a state of near insanity.”
“You are Prestwich,” Greville replied unnecessarily and with a definite edge to his voice. “Interesting. You’re the reason she’s in the state of mind she’s in. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
Adam edged forward in his seat. He ignored Connor who was trying to catch his eye. His anger with himself was taking control and at this point, he didn’t bother trying to stop it. He didn’t want to, in fact.
He smiled unpleasantly at the earl, his eyes as icy as his voice. “Call me out, Greville. I’m itching for a fight, you know.”
“No one is going to challenge anyone,” the marquess inserted firmly before Greville could take Adam up on the offer. The earl had a gleam of interest in his eyes at the prospect that Connor couldn’t like. “We are going to try to determine what is best to be done since we are all on the same side here.”
“Are we?” the earl asked belligerently. His angry glare was still directed at Adam.
“Yes,” Lord Connor re
plied sternly. “More than you know,” he added under his breath.
Adam sent him an odd look and Connor knew his friend had heard the comment. He chose not to enlighten him. “Do you stay here, Greville?”
“Yes, for now,” the younger man replied, eyes still hard with anger. “Someone has to protect her now that she has been returned.”
“Protect her?” Adam bit out contemptuously. “Is that what you call allowing her to be beaten and raped? Protection? You have a very odd idea of protection, puppy. Had you the sense God gave a flea, you would have killed Steyne by now. In his sleep if you had to.”
He hadn’t realized he was standing until Connor shoved him back down into the chair none too gently. He hadn’t realized his voice had risen until he turned his head at the collective gasp that issued from the three women on the sofa. Then he cursed, fluently.
With another color epithet, Adam stood up and left the room. Steyne had the misfortune to be crossing the hall at that moment with a rigidly angry Duke of Corning and a slightly disdainful and annoyed Viscount Breckon.
Without conscious thought in regard to his actions and possible consequences, Adam closed the distance between him and Steyne in a few quick strides. Before the man could utter a word or so much as a blink, Adam leveled him—and then shouted at him to get up when the viscount remained seated on the floor with a hand to his broken nose.
Two large footmen rushed forward at the duke’s command and took Adam by the arms. He shook them off easily since they actually didn’t think he would try and punched Steyne again as that man had risen to his feet and was standing precariously with the assistance of Lord Breckon. Breckon caught him as he fell and held him up. The footmen meanwhile had managed to grab the baronet again and actually hold him this time.
At the duke’s gesture, the men hauled Adam into an antechamber and stood in the middle of the room, still holding him tightly until the duke gave them the order to release him. This, he did not do.