An Accidental Affair
Page 9
A carriage clattered past her on the narrow street, flicking dirty water across her lower skirts. She swiped at it ineffectually and then gave up. She couldn’t keep going like this without a specific destination in mind, so she stopped in the servants’ stairwell of a house she knew to be vacant this season to think for a minute or two.
The park ahead would be dangerous at this time of night for a woman alone. Farnsworth might come upon her there and do even worse.
She looked around her quickly and shivered as rain slicked her skin. She had few friends in London that would accept her arrival and ask no questions about her disheveled, rain-soaked state. Anyone with a sense of honor would demand answers that she didn’t want to give.
Footsteps pounded past where she hid and she huddled against the stair wall, desperately trying to control her fear and not give herself away. When all was silent again, she risked a peek. There was no one in sight or carriages drawing close, but across the street stood Lord Rothwell’s house. The fanlight and lower street-front windows were brightly lit, casting the only welcoming glow to the evening that she could see. Rothwell might shelter her if he were at home, at least for a few hours until she could make up her mind where to go.
He had proved himself a gentleman of sorts. She had never feared him, only found his intense stare strangely unsettling. She didn’t believe he would take advantage of a woman in her position. Tonight, of all nights, he was her best bet for safety.
With a quick check of the street, she bit her lip and stepped toward that light, trusting that her good friend’s best friend would be the right option. At least if he were to ravish her, she might actually enjoy it.
A ripple of fear raced over her skin as she knocked on the blue door and huddled against it, making herself as small as possible. She glanced up and down the street swiftly but detected no movement coming after her. Through the rain, she thought the doorway of her own home was dark, which led her to believe Farnsworth might still be looking for her.
She knocked rapidly again on Rothwell’s door and it opened suddenly. “Help me,” she said to Rothwell’s servant and stumbled over the doorstep, quickly shoving the door closed behind her.
She ran her hands over the comfortingly solid door and turned the locks herself, dragging in several ragged breaths in relief. Farnsworth might never consider she would come here and it would take him a while to get through that door when it possessed so many stout locks. She might even have enough time to escape through the rear exit if no one stood in her path.
After a time, she grew aware of the repeated clearing of a throat behind her. Knowing she couldn’t avoid it, she slowly pivoted to face the room. At first glance, she thought she stood before Rothwell himself, but this man was somewhat older and had none of his intensity.
“May I be of assistance?” The stranger’s eyes widened suddenly. “Lady Farnsworth?”
Arabella smiled awkwardly. She had hoped not to be recognized at all, but anonymity was impossible given the help she needed. “I need a moment.”
“You may have as many as you wish for, of course.” His eyes dipped lower and then narrowed at her sodden gown. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable beside a fire. Given the weather outside, I believe it very likely you may be soaked through to the bone.”
Arabella cautiously glanced down at herself. Her gown was plastered to her breasts and legs as if she were wearing rags. Smears of something dark ruined the hem of the once lovely light blue muslin she’d worn for dinner. There was also a puddle forming at her feet and more droplets of water adding to it from her elbows. She swallowed the tide of nausea that tightened her throat. She wanted to hide, but this man had already seen too much. “I fear I am. A fire would be very much appreciated.”
“Come this way. Please.”
Her elbow was gasped lightly and the man steered her toward a closed door to the right. She appreciated his help. Once she’d begun to move, her legs were not very steady. Inside was a warmly lit chamber, a drawing room perhaps, but one designed for comfort rather than appearances. A pair of booted feet overhung the end of the longest settee.
The feet moved and Rothwell sat up. He shook his head suddenly. “What the devil? Dear God, what the hell has happened? Holland, send for Farnsworth at once.”
“Don’t,” Arabella shouted and then clutched her hands over her mouth in shock at her panicked yell. “Oh, please don’t.”
Arabella shivered at the flare of puzzlement forming in Rothwell’s eyes. She’d been around enough men to understand their moods. He would want to take her back where he thought she belonged as quickly as possible. She couldn’t allow that.
The man holding her arm, Holland, she recalled, eased her back a little, glancing distrustfully at Rothwell. “This wasn’t your doing, was it, Merrick?”
Rothwell scrambled to his feet. “Of course not.”
Surprised by Rothwell’s hasty move, Arabella shifted closer to the older man.
“Just as well.” Holland patted her hand, brought her to the fire, and released her near a well-padded chair. “I’ll fetch a blanket to wrap her in before she takes a chill.”
When he was gone, Rothwell moved to stand before her. His hand rose and she flinched away unconsciously.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, taking rapid breaths as panic seized her. After the events of tonight, she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to touch any part of her ever again.
His brow furrowed but he did not withdraw. Instead, he moved his hand toward her again, much slower this time. Arabella was better prepared for the second attempt and did not flinch as his fingers slid over her jaw gently. He tilted her face toward the light so he could view her neck. His touch was light and impersonal. Very soon his eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, and then his gaze sharpened on hers. “Who did this to you?”
“Don’t ask me that.” Arabella wrenched her face from his grip and hugged her arms around her body. She struggled to keep calm. She had come to Rothwell for shelter, not questioning. She didn’t blame him for wanting answers, but she had none to give. She didn’t understand Farnsworth’s behavior at all. She knew he had a temper, but this was far beyond her experience.
She peeked at Rothwell and saw he’d not moved away. She shouldn’t have jumped from him like that and she wanted to apologize, but the words were stuck in her throat. She raised her hand to caress her cheek, feeling tenderness and discomfort there. Slowly, Arabella lifted her chin, but Rothwell wasn’t watching her. His eyes were fixed on the distant windows where the rain still drummed, deep frown lines etched on his brow.
“Best keep your questions for later,” Holland said to Rothwell as he rushed back into the room. When the man held out an opened blanket, Arabella allowed him to wrap her up in it and gently press her into a chair.
When Holland was done wrapping her snugly in the blanket, he moved to Rothwell’s side. “She’s had a terrible fright and will need time to calm her mind.”
“Of course.” Rothwell caught her watching them and his lips lifted in a smile Arabella found infinitely reassuring. “You’re safe here, Lady Farnsworth. I promise you that.”
“There’s tea coming,” Holland added helpfully.
Arabella nodded, sinking farther into the soft wool blanket and hoping the night was all a very bad dream. “Tea. Yes, tea will fix everything, I expect.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Merrick wasn’t a violent man, but given the last startling hour, he could be persuaded to kill easily enough. He’d stood aside when Holland had fussed over Arabella, keeping her close to the fire and forcing hot tea down her bruised throat. Holland was a natural at mothering. He’d continued to reassure Arabella that Farnsworth would never learn her location whenever a door closed with too loud a bang. Given her extreme anxiety about Farnsworth being summoned, Merrick could only assume that Farnsworth was somehow involved. The bruises forming across Lady Farnsworth’s skin enraged him still, but he’d held back his questions as Holland had advised.
He approached the huddled woman and perched on the footstool placed close to her knees. “Do you feel calm enough now to tell me what happened?”
Her head lifted a touch but she did not meet his eyes directly. “I shouldn’t imagine I will ever be, but you’ve been so considerate. You deserve to know what brought me here.”
He held out one hand, palm facing upward, hoping to reassure both her and himself that she had suffered no lasting harm. Seeing her flinch every time aid was offered was tearing his heart in two. “I don’t need to know the particulars if you do not feel strong enough to speak of it. I merely wish to assist you in whatever way I can.”
Her hand slipped from the blanket and she laid it over his. Her flesh was still chilled and she trembled. He closed his hands about hers and chafed her skin, hoping to warm her. Her face fell so low he could not see her expression.
“Farnsworth insisted I marry again.”
“What?” Merrick drew back in shock. “The devil he did.”
Arabella disappeared into the blanket as she hugged herself. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you,” he whispered urgently. “But the mind does not want to imagine you placed in such a situation. You have a choice about who you marry. He should not force you.”
Her hand rose to her neck and she hunched a little more into herself. “That is what I said. He was determined to give me little choice in the matter. He’s far stronger than I am and insisted that I accept Lord Parker’s proposal when he calls tomorrow.”
“Parker?”
“So he claimed.”
The last was said barely at a whisper. Merrick dropped to his knees, yet hesitated to come any closer. No man should have the right to abuse a woman just because she disagreed with him. It went against everything he believed in.
Her breath grew rushed. “He hit me when I refused to do as he demanded, then wrapped his hand about my throat and would have killed me for going against his wishes. I’ve never seen someone so enraged. He was deep in his cups, but I didn’t see the danger until too late. I either had to accept or he threatened to throw me out. When I gained enough freedom to escape, I left the house. I don’t want to marry anyone. I couldn’t think where to go and I was alone on the street with only the dark and the rain to hide me and the park ahead. I am so sorry to involve you in my problems. I’ll rest here a bit longer and then be on my way.”
Dear God. What might have happened if he’d not changed his plans and remained at home tonight? “There’s no need to rush back out. There is no need to go anywhere just yet. I would never turn you out into the night to fend for yourself. I would not do that to anyone.”
Against his better judgment, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She started instantly but soon stopped trembling when he merely held her shoulder through the blanket. As he continued to hold her thus, Arabella slowly toppled toward him until her damp head rested against his chest, a broken sob tearing from her throat.
Gingerly, Rothwell embraced her. He stroked her back, noting that while she shook in the grips of her misery, she did not resist or pull away from the scant comfort he could offer. At least he was able to do some good. When her sobbing began in earnest, he didn’t think she noticed much of anything he did at all, and he simply held her tightly against his chest until she stiffened and moved away again.
Merrick sat back on his heels and gave her space enough to pull herself together without feeling rushed to do so. She glanced at him timidly, fingers clenching and unclenching on the edge of the wool blanket wrapped around her. Merrick moved farther away, regaining a place on the footstool and simply watched her.
“I don’t know what to do,” she told him softly, wiping at tears that continued to slip down her cheeks. “I wish I had never come to London.”
When she sobbed again, Merrick moved toward her. He had never been particularly comfortable around crying women, but he could not watch her suffer like this at a distance. Arabella came to his arms easily, clinging to him in a way he had once dreamed of but discarded as merely an impossible fantasy.
She turned her face into his cravat, her breath warming him through the thin material. “I cannot think of what to do. Where should I go tonight?”
Merrick glanced out the window at the rain that continued to fall. There were few choices at this time of night. Taking her to his aunt might be a possibility. He wasn’t certain whose side she would take, Arabella’s or Farnsworth’s, but he didn’t want to risk a scene that might upset Arabella even more. If he delivered her to Aunt Pen and convinced her to hold her tongue, he would owe her, of course. The Fords would expect something from him in return for their aid.
Other acquaintances of good standing would be even more problematic to beg help from. Yet there was another possibility that required no effort at all. Arabella could stay here with him. Farnsworth would never look for her here, and she could make her decisions in the morning when she was calmer. Blundering about in the night in her distressed state would only upset her more. She would sleep far more peacefully under Merrick’s roof. There would also be no awkward questions to answer about the bruise forming on her cheek or neck in the morning. There would be no discussion either of why her personal belongings were not with her.
But if she were found out, her reputation would be in tatters.
If he opened his mouth and made the suggestion, would she be shocked even more? Was he asking too much of her to let him watch over her for one night? He was getting used to being viewed as a friend rather than a seducer. Asking her to stay risked her reputation and was likely to destroy the small tendrils of friendship that had led her to seek safety with him.
Yet in the end, Holland returned and saved him from any decision. “I took the liberty of preparing a bedchamber for Lady Farnsworth,” Holland said softly. “If you’ll but come with me, madam, I am sure you may rest your head in more comfortable surroundings.”
Arabella jumped, her head snapping upward, her eyes widening in fright as she stared across the room. The blemish to her pale cheek would be unmistakable by morning. Anyone who saw her would question her appearance. Her face turned a fiery pink. She bit her lip but eventually faced Merrick, her eyes full of hope and misery. “I should not like to impose.”
She wanted to stay. Though his heart leapt at keeping her here, he patted her hand again in what he hoped was a brotherly way. “It is no imposition at all. Holland has already made arrangements for you it seems, and I would certainly feel easier knowing you were beyond Farnsworth’s reach. Go with him, and tomorrow we can discuss how to go on.”
Her relieved smile was fleeting, turning into a grimace of pain. She lifted her hand to her tender face and held it there, letting the blanket fall at long last. The state of her gown, ruined by the elements outside, reminded Merrick of what had brought her here.
Any thoughts he’d entertained about pursuing her for himself crumbled to ashes. Arabella had fled from one arranged marriage. She might not be at all interested in becoming a wife even to save her reputation. All he could be to her was a friend, and she needed him to be only that tonight. He would be the best friend he could be and never let her know he’d considered more than that.
She glanced at him, a shy, hesitant smile lingering on her lips. “You, sir, are not at all as your reputation marks you.”
His pulse pounded at her compliment, but he merely stood by and gave her room to stand unaided, anxious that too much proximity might make her fearful again. “Goodnight, Lady Farnsworth.”
She reclaimed the wool blanket and clutched it around her and her sodden dress. Her hesitant shuffle across the room broke his heart. There was little left of the confident woman he had admired two nights ago.
At the doorway, she turned
back. “Goodnight, Rothwell, and thank you.”
~ * ~
After about an hour, Holland joined Merrick in the study, where he sat staring into an empty brandy glass. Holland closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “She is resting now, I believe. Everything has grown quiet.”
Merrick rolled the glass between his hands. “Where did you put her?”
Holland crossed the room, took the open decanter of brandy, and replaced the stopper. “Your mother’s old room has recently been cleaned in preparation for your marriage, so I took the liberty of putting her there. It is the most comfortable bedchamber in the town house save yours.”
“Did she say anything else?”
Holland took the empty glass from his hands and set it aside. “Not a word beyond thank you. I left her with a nightshirt of yours and a glass of port to sip. I thought she might sleep better for having it.”
“I own a nightshirt?” Merrick bowed his head, marveling at how calm and practical Holland could be at a time like this. “Holland, I need your advice.”
“Of course.”
Anger flared to life again. “Lady Cecily eloped. Farnsworth compromised on the price for Winslette and then insisted Arabella marry someone she didn’t want. Am I to blame for her injuries? Is this my fault?”
Holland came closer and perched on the edge of the desk. His hand settled on Merrick’s shoulder a moment before he drew back. “Farnsworth’s temper has always been quick, or so the servants I’ve come across have remarked in the past.”
“A refused match has often resulted in quarrels, but this is beyond anything I could have anticipated. She’s his sister-in-law for Gods sake.” Merrick rubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t rest until he was sure he hadn’t caused this. “Just yesterday he sold her home to me for what I believed was a fair price. Though the bargaining was brisk, I detected no desperation in the negotiations.”