The Viscount's Bride

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  Afterwards, Will pressed back against Brandt’s arm, tart on his face while Caroline sat on his other side. Brandt was smiling at something Will said. Then he looked up and caught her gaze and the smile suddenly shuttered.

  Anger shot through her. Did he dislike her so much that every time he saw her he would close up? She hadn’t asked him to kiss her in that way! She rose. “I believe I will walk along the shore.”

  “Do you want me to come?” Caroline asked.

  “Oh, no. I can take Lion for company.”

  But even Lion refused to leave Brandt’s side. She walked away, the sand cool between her toes, before anything else could be said. She fought back the tears of anger that threatened to squeeze from her eyelids. Despite Belle’s words, she could see no evidence he needed her or even liked her, much less loved her. No more than she loved him. In fact, she was quite certain she disliked him. The romantic picture she had built in her mind of somehow rescuing him from his unhappy life had fled. Not when he made it clear he did not wish to be rescued.

  He did not need her. She had always been a failure at that anyway. Her mother had never listened to her advice even when Chloe knew what she was about to do would be a disaster. She had thought that last year she might save Belle from Justin, but instead it had turned out Belle did not need to be rescued, that Justin was her destiny.

  Sir Preston hadn’t needed her, or wanted her. Her attempts to make that right had failed, too. Emily did not want Sir Preston after all.

  Even Caroline and Will did not really need her. They had their parents, and Brandt, whose company they probably preferred anyway.

  Feeling sorry for herself, Chloe had hardly noticed she had walked around the small promontory until she felt the water swirling at her ankles. She looked down, vaguely surprised and then realised the tide was coming in. She looked back but could not see the others. The water was starting to lap up over the smaller rocks.

  She should undoubtedly return. Not that anyone would miss her.

  Which was completely idiotic. Of course they would. At least Belle. And Julian. And Justin. And Marguerite, Giles, her mother, and Will and Caroline, although perhaps not as much as they would Brandt if he was the one walking away to nowhere.

  She started back and then halted. Her path was blocked by the incoming tide. She had quite forgotten that the water first surrounded this particular point, turning it into a tiny peninsula before creeping up to cover all but the tallest rocks. She would have to climb over the rocks and make her way to the daunting cliff behind them. She would need to hurry before the water covered the remaining smaller rocks.

  Gaining a foothold on the first rock, which came only up to her knee, was not too difficult, but the next circle of rock was much more tricky. She slipped once, scraping her elbow. Her feet were beginning to feel raw and she had to fight the absurd desire to sit down and cry. She reached the end of the rocks and saw the ledge above. She could not imagine how she could climb it.

  A shout startled her. She looked up and saw Brandt climbing towards her. She cringed. It was bad enough she was in this predicament—worse that he must come to her rescue again. She made her way over another pile of rocks before he reached the rock ledge directly above her and knelt down.

  “Give me your hand.”

  She looked up at him, half-expecting to see disdain or impatience, but there was nothing of that in his face, only calm reassurance.

  “Chloe, you need to give me your hand so I can help you up. Do you see the rocks to your right? There is a small indent like a foothold.” His voice was firm as it would be if he were encouraging a child.

  She found it and placed her foot in the recess. She was able to stand up enough so that he could reach her hand. He pulled her up and she collapsed on the ledge next to him.

  He helped her to her feet and then released her hand. For a moment she could not think and then realised he was speaking. “The water has come in so that we cannot go back to the beach now. We can either wait for the water to fall or climb through the passage in the cave.”

  “The cave?” She looked up and saw the dark opening a few feet from them. “It is Will’s cave.”

  His mouth curved faintly. “Actually, it is my cave.”

  “I cannot go in there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I do not like dark places.”

  “We have no choice unless we wish to stay here on the rocks until the tide goes out again.”

  “I…I would rather do that. You can go without me. Will and Caroline need you.”

  “They have gone to Waverly with my groom. Chloe, I will be with you. The cave leads to the grotto in my garden. I’ve done this trek a number of times, the most recent a few weeks ago with Will. Come with me.” He held out his hand.

  The dark opening loomed over her like some sort of cavernous mouth. She shook her head. When she did not take his hand, he took hers. Her gloves were gone so his warm, firm flesh was against hers. She realised it was the first time she had ever held his hand without a glove between them. “Come, Chloe.” He started to climb and, in a sort of daze, she followed him.

  She stepped on a loose rock and flinched. He glanced down. “Your feet.” He grimaced. “I would offer you my shoes, but I am not wearing them.” His gaze went back to her face. “It’s not very far. Can you make it?”

  “Oh, yes. My feet are perfectly fine.” She would die before admitting they felt as if they’d been cut in a million places.

  “I suppose you plan to tell me that you do this all the time?”

  “Not exactly this part.”

  “I didn’t think so.” His hand closed more tightly around hers. “We can go slowly.”

  The cave was dark and damp and smelled of salt water and seaweed. She could barely stand and Brandt was forced to stoop. “This way.”

  She felt the first twinge of panic as they headed into a dark narrow passage. She took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves, but as they advanced further into the tunnel, now completely dark, it was all she could do not to flee. Or scream. She made a little sound.

  Brandt turned. “What is wrong?”

  “N…nothing.”

  He moved closer to her. “Are you afraid? Don’t be. It’s not very far and I am here with you.”

  “I…I know,” she whispered.

  “I will take your hand again and you can close your eyes and pretend I am leading you through a garden.” His voice was matter of fact and calm, as if he frequently led half-hysterical females through dark, narrow passages.

  Somehow that steadied her. “Yes.” She closed her eyes and gave him her hand.

  He started to walk. “Now we are near a rose bed. There is a particularly red rose just to your right. Further on is a clump of, er…gillyflowers.”

  She almost smiled. He kept up a stream of nonsense as they slowly climbed through the narrow tunnel. Time seemed to stand still until a branch brushed against her cheek. Her eyes jerked open. Dazed, she saw they were completely surrounded by shrubbery and tangled overgrown vines, and a tumbling stone wall directly in front of them.

  He dropped her hand. “You are safe.”

  She nodded. His clothing was damp and streaked with dirt; a lock of hair had fallen over his forehead giving him a rakish air and his feet were bare and dirty.

  She undoubtedly looked worse. From the expression on his face, she guessed she looked like the survivor of a shipwreck. “I need to get you back to the house.”

  “I should return to Haversham Hall.” She should apologise to him as well for all of his trouble, but she felt too miserable to say anything.

  “Not like this.” Before she knew what he was about he had stepped forward and swept her up in his arms.

  She gasped. “I…I can walk.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Please put me down. I weigh too much.”

  “Not at all.”

  “But…”

  “Be quiet.”

  The deadly calm in his
voice quelled her more effectively than if he had shouted at her. She knew then that he was very angry.

  Which he had every right to be.

  They were met in the hall by Mrs Cromby. “Oh, my! Whatever has happened? I could not make heads or tails of what the children were saying except you were rescuing Lady Chloe and taking her through the grotto. We have already sent word to Haversham Hall. The children are in the kitchen having gingerbread and milk. You must bring her into the drawing room. I will have a fire set straight away!”

  She kept up a stream of chatter as she proceeded Brandt into the drawing room. He set Chloe down on the sofa and Mrs Cromby caught sight of her feet. Her eyes widened in shock and sympathy. “My poor love!” She turned to the footman standing near the drawing room doors. “We need a basin of water, rags and bandages. And a blanket. I will get that myself!” She bustled out.

  Brandt sat down on the sofa next to her. “I am going to see to your feet.”

  “No!”

  He looked up, that same impersonal expression on his face. “I need to see how badly you are hurt.”

  He would not allow her to refuse so she nodded. His touch was gentle as he turned her foot although she could not help flinching when his fingers brushed a particularly sore place. She whimpered a little when he touched her ankle. His hand stilled. He looked up. “Did you twist your foot?”

  “Perhaps a little. I cannot remember.”

  “It is bruised and a little swollen, but I do not think it is sprained. You are fortunate that your cuts are small, but you have bruised your feet. Walking will not be particularly comfortable for a few days.”

  He sounded exactly like Dr Abbott, the physician who had seen her in London. Brandt stood when Mrs Cromby and the footman returned. The loss of the warmth of his hand made her feel suddenly cold.

  He spoke to Mrs Cromby and then turned to Chloe. “I am going up to change. I’ll be back down shortly.”

  “Yes.” She should thank him, but the words seemed to stick to her tongue. He had already left the room.

  Mrs Cromby set to work washing her tender feet and then bandaging them. After that, she helped Chloe wipe her face and comb her hair and then wrapped her in a quilt. She stood. “Are you ready for visitors? The young lord and lady are impatient to see you.”

  “Of course.”

  Will flew into the room with Caroline following close behind. “Will! Please do not jump on Chloe! You might hurt her,” she called.

  Will stopped by the sofa. “Are you very badly hurt?” he asked.

  “No, not much.”

  “Oh.” He stared at her. “Why did you keeping walking? We shouted and shouted at you and you did not stop. Were you running away from us?”

  “Oh, no, Will, that was not it at all. I was lost in thought and I did not hear you. Of course, I would never run away from you.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “So am I,” Caroline said. “We were so worried when we saw how the water had risen, but Uncle Brandt said he would see no harm came to you.”

  “Did you like the cave? Did Uncle Brandt show you where the passage begins that leads to the house?” Will asked.

  “No, I fear I had my eyes shut most of the way.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I am afraid of dark, tight places.”

  “How did you see to get out?”

  “Br…Lord Salcombe helped me. He knew the way.”

  “So you did not see any of the slimy creatures that live in the cave?” He glanced at his sister, his eyes dancing.

  Caroline shuddered. “Will!”

  “None at all,” Brandt said as he came into the room. He was in an immaculate shirt and pantaloons and coat and no one would ever guess that a mere hour earlier he had waded through sea water, crawled over rocks and then crept through a cave.

  Although Mrs Cromby had helped wash most of the grime from her face and limbs, Chloe still felt horrid. She pulled the quilt more tightly about her.

  Brandt looked down at the children. “Your papa has sent his carriage for you. Your groom will see Lion safely home.”

  “Is Chloe staying here?” Will asked.

  He glanced at Chloe. “Only until I take her home.”

  “Can she not come home with us?” Caroline asked.

  “Your papa has asked that I escort her back to Falcon-cliff.” Again that polite neutral tone as if they were strangers.

  Chloe managed to smile and embrace Caroline and Will before they departed. Brandt escorted them to the waiting carriage and she was left in the silent drawing room. Her chagrin was mixed with anger. She would rather he came out and told her he did not like her than treat her with such icy politeness. It was a wonder he deigned to rescue her. Then why had he been so kind? If he wished to prove they were not suited, he was going about it in the wrong way.

  At any rate, she was not staying here like some sort of helpless invalid. She threw off the quilt and stood. She would rather walk home than impose upon him any longer.

  Or at least ask that Belle or Justin send a carriage for her. She grimaced. Her feet were sore and the bandages would make walking more than a very short distance difficult. And she had no shoes.

  She hobbled to the door only to come face to face with Brandt. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “I am going to ask Mrs Cromby to send a message to Falconcliff. I would like a carriage sent.”

  “I am going to escort you home in my carriage.”

  “I would really prefer that you did not. I have no desire to impose on you any longer.”

  “You are not imposing on me.”

  “If you must know, I did not purposely go around the promontory so that you would have to rescue me.”

  “I never thought you did.”

  “There was no need to put yourself out to rescue me. I was perfectly capable of rescuing myself.”

  “How?”

  “I would have sat on the rock until the tide receded.”

  “You are quite mad if you think I intended to let you do that.”

  “Why not? You have made it quite obvious you wish to rid yourself of me. I have no idea why you did not finish your picnic and leave.”

  “For one thing, Will would have tried to save you himself.”

  “I quite understand. The only reason you did so was so that Will would not come to harm.”

  “That is not what I said.”

  She knew she made no sense, but at least his indifferent politeness had left. “That is what you implied. So now that Will is gone you can allow me to make my own way home!”

  “Did you hit your head?” he demanded.

  “No. Did you?”

  “You need to sit down.”

  “No.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not,” she snapped. To her chagrin, she felt tears prick her lids.

  “Hell.” He took her arm. “Come and sit down.”

  “I do not wish to.”

  “But you will.” He led her to the sofa. “Sit.”

  Chloe sniffed. “I am not Lion.”

  He looked confused. “No.” He pulled her down on the sofa next to him. “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m n…not.” She dashed a tear away. The next thing she knew he was pressing a handkerchief into her hand.

  She swiped at her eyes. “Now…now I have ruined your handkerchief and your clothes. It seems you must go on being kind even though you wish only to…to rid yourself of m…me.”

  “I do not wish to rid myself…” Brandt stopped. “We are not suited. You told me that yourself and I would think that after the other day you would realise I would make a damnable husband.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” He turned and looked at her. “There are things about me you do not know,” he said flatly. “No gentleman would have kissed you the way I did. Nor would have frightened you as I did.”

  “I know about your father. I know you are nothing like him.”

  He stilled. “How do you k
now that?”

  “Belle told me.”

  “Did she? Did she also tell you that I frequented some of the worst hells in London? That I had a string of mistresses? That once I fought a duel over another man’s wife? Do you know why? Because I wished to prove to myself that I was nothing like my father. In the end, it turned out that my stern, moral parent did all of those things, and he had no compunction in forcing himself upon any woman he desired. Just as I forced myself upon you. Twice, in fact.”

  “You merely kissed me. Never once did I think that you intended to hurt me. Or did you?”

  “No. I would never hurt you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But that does not excuse my behaviour or that I frightened you.”

  “It was only that I am not very used to such kisses.” Not his sort of kisses; ones that made her want more, much more.

  “I would hope not. Not until you are married and even then I would hope your future husband would exercise more restraint when with a young, innocent wife.”

  “What if I hope he doesn’t?”

  “You’ve no idea what you are talking about.”

  “So men only lose their restraint when they are with their mistresses, but not with their wives?”

  To her surprise, a dull patch of colour appeared on his cheek. “I am beginning to think we have both gone mad. This conversation is exceedingly improper. Most certainly you should not be talking about mistresses.”

  “I am not so naïve that I do not know what they are. I heard enough whispers about Lucien’s affairs. I am not so stupid or blind that I did not know what Justin intended when Belle left London with him,” she said quietly. “Nor am I as innocent as you think.”

  “Another one of your rhetorical arguments? I suggest we stop this line of conversation before you argue that there is no reason why we would not suit.” His voice was light and mocking. Brandt rose. “I must take you back to Falconcliff, before my cousin accuses me of abducting you. You have been with me far too long as it is.”

  Now he was back to the bored gallant. With sudden insight, Chloe realised that he adopted the role most often when he wanted to hide his true feelings, as he carefully deflected the conversation like a skilled swordsman deflecting an opponent’s thrust when the topics were too close to his hurt.