The Scarlet Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  As he pulled out each food item, he eagerly anticipated the next. Slices of fresh bread filled with ham and slices of cheese, the strawberry tarts, and some sort of crusty meat pie that he suspected by the aroma was pigeon, rounded out the fare. “Your cook expected you to feed an army. There is enough food here for a half dozen hearty appetites.”

  A smile tugged one corner of her mouth. “Miss Eva makes sure her courtesans eat well. She is very considerate of her young ladies.” She reached out for the cheese and popped a wedge into her mouth. Simon watched, fascinated, as she delicately chewed before reaching for a sandwich.

  Watching her eat was a dangerous thing to do. She had a mouth meant for kisses. It took a huge measure of discipline to turn his eyes from her full lips to the treats spread out near his knees. The food was certainly less fascinating than his lovely companion.

  Simon took a fork to the meat pie and put a large bite into his mouth. The taste was delicious. After he swallowed it down, he grinned. “Do you think Eva would be piqued if I stole away her cook?”

  Laura looked at him sidelong. “I think you have pushed her patience too far already. If you abscond with Cook, I think she will set the hounds on you.”

  “She has hounds?” Simon asked, frowning.

  “If she doesn’t, I’m sure she can find some.”

  Simon realized Laura was teasing him, and he chuckled. It showed him, in spite of her sober demeanor, that she didn’t despise him. Not completely anyway. If she could banter with him, surely smiles and laughter would follow. Someday.

  “Then I shall leave the cook to the school.” He made a face. “I do not relish the thought of being torn to bits.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched. He froze, watching and waiting for the smile. It didn’t come.

  They ate in companionable silence until a good half of the food had disappeared. Once satisfied, Laura leaned back on her hands and lifted her eyes to the blue sky, mottled through the expanse of leaves overhead. For an unguarded moment, she seemed relaxed and carefree.

  The wary strain around her eyes and mouth vanished, and Simon wondered what it would be like to hear her laugh—a full, open, belly laugh. He considered recent events and suspected she hadn’t had much cause for laughter.

  He’d treaded into a perilous tide and knew spending the day with her was a terrible idea. He had Brenna’s future to consider. He should be in London courting Lady Jeanette. But for a few hours he wanted to forget the weight of his responsibilities and simply enjoy Laura’s company.

  They sat quietly for several minutes. She watched the birds and he watched her. Her every innocent movement drew his attention, from the way she tipped her head, to the motion of her hand as she twirled a length of grass between her fingers.

  Eventually he forgot himself when her seductive draw proved too much for his male urges to resist. Her perfect mouth was a beacon for his attention. He leaned forward and stepped over an invisible boundary.

  “Now that our appetites have been sated, what shall we do next?” Without thinking, he reached out and drew a pair of fluttering hairs away from her lips. His fingertips brushed her silky skin and his mouth parted. The overwhelming ache to kiss her overcame his good sense.

  He lifted his eyes to her face for some sign that she wanted to kiss him, too. What he saw was not sensual hunger. She was stock-still, her eyes wide.

  Panic flashed across her features. She blinked, scrambled backward off his coat, stood, and jumped away from him like a startled deer. “Don’t touch me,” she cried and lifted her hands to hold him off.

  Simon was stunned by her reaction to a simple touch. Did she think his plan was to violate her here in the grassy meadow? Did he look to her like the sort of man who’d force himself on a woman?

  He felt a rush of annoyance and stood.

  “Keep back,” she ordered. Her eyes darted to the horses as she appeared to assess her chances of escape.

  “Laura.” He lifted his hands, too. The encounter was teetering on odd and he was darn certain he had no idea why she’d reacted to him so vehemently.

  Laura shook as though she’d fallen into an icy pond. “Don’t you come near me or I’ll scream.”

  “Laura.” He turned his hands palms up and open in a gesture he hoped would appease her. “I didn’t mean anything untoward by touching your face.”

  Whether it was because of his tone or the words or his calm voice, something changed in her. She blinked and her shoulders drooped as she openly struggled to regain her composure. Her nose notched up. “Just keep your hands to yourself.”

  Simon nodded. “I shall try and remember.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. She seemed satisfied with his compliance.

  As he looked into her eyes, he suspected that his lusty thoughts and his clear desire to kiss her had panicked her. But why? Maybe she had thought he planned to make use of the privacy to press her down in the grass.

  Slowly, she crossed her arms protectively over her bosom. The movement shifted the neckline of the day dress and it gaped slightly away from her body.

  There, on the lovely pale skin of her collarbone, skimmed by sunlight, was a puckered scar. The shock of the dreadful mark took him aback. He suspected that if he pulled back her gown, he’d find further injuries.

  It explained clearer than words her panicked reaction to his touch.

  And the urge to murder welled hot in his chest.

  Chapter Five

  Laura saw his face tighten with rage. She followed his gaze to the exposed scar. No longer red, it was letter-opener shaped—the kind of burn one gets when that metal object is held over a candle and pressed against the skin.

  The kind of punishment that came with disobedience.

  She quickly jerked the gown over the place and lifted her nose. “This is none of your concern.” She turned away and took a few deep breaths.

  Her mind whirled. It wasn’t his reaction to the scar that occupied her rioting emotions but her visceral reaction to his touch. Her body had shockingly responded to the simple brush of his fingertips on her face in a way that had both enticed and terrified her.

  The shiver that he’d sent across her skin had been followed quickly by alarm. Until that moment, she’d been indifferent to his attention. Clearly her body had other ideas. And finding herself drawn to his touch was worrisome. Very, very worrisome.

  A stick crunched and she felt him move up behind her. Her wary body tightened. Of course she’d known he was attractive. She wasn’t blind to it. And he’d touched her before.

  Somehow the intimacy of his fingertips on her face had snapped her out of the cold reserve she’d developed with Westwick, as if Mister Harrington had reached through the outer shell of Sabine and touched a small piece of Laura.

  She pinched her arm to collect herself and forced herself not to flinch at his nearness.

  “I cannot forget what I saw,” he responded softly. He stepped around her and bent to look into her eyes. “Tell me who did this to you.”

  “And you will do what? Call him out with pistols? Beat him senseless?” She placed her hand over where the dress covered the mark. “There has already been enough violence. Leave it be, Mister Harrington.”

  With that, she turned and stalked off toward the gig. Behind her she heard him quickly collect the remains of their picnic and hurry after her. By the time he got back to the road, she was perched on her seat with the reins in her hands and her bonnet firmly in place. He had just enough time to drop the basket onto the cart when Muffin lurched into motion, turned around in the road, and headed back toward London.

  He’d been soundly dismissed. Laura could only hope it would keep him from pursuing further contact.

  Thankfully, she didn’t hear the horse following. Perhaps he was a gentleman after all. Yet somehow, she knew she hadn’t seen the last of him.

  She touched the scar.

  Why couldn’t the past stay buried? It was as if everything that was her life was reduced to her time in ca
ptivity, those months of hell at the hands of a devil.

  Laura glanced at the basket and the pistol within. And for a moment, and only for a moment, she considered turning the gig toward the earl’s town house and exacting her own revenge.

  The idea vanished as quickly as it had come. Killing him would not erase what he’d done or satisfy her desire to see him punished. With luck, he’d get his comeuppance someday. However, it wouldn’t be at her hand.

  She forced herself not to look back to see if Mister Harrington was following. She suspected he was. The man had a strong, if misguided, sense of chivalry.

  Simon untied Horse and swung up into the saddle. Anger festered in his blood, and all he saw on the return to London was the shadowy face of a man he wanted to hang from a high branch by his feet and take a whip to. Had Laura shared the name, he’d have the deed done by nightfall.

  He kept close enough distance behind the gig to keep Laura in sight but far enough not to invade her privacy. There had been plenty of that today.

  Their meeting had been entirely accidental. He was considering purchasing a ramshackle property that had been repossessed for unpaid taxes. The owner had died without heirs. The stable and grounds were in need of attention, but the house was solid and the land was excellent for planting. And the tenants were desperate for a new master. It was an ideal country home. He planned to make an offer on the place when he returned to town.

  Spotting Laura on the road had been a pleasing bonus to his productive day. And now he’d ruined hers.

  He followed until a servant joined her just outside the city, then Simon pointed Horse toward White’s. If ever he needed a brandy, it was now.

  The club was quiet when he arrived, and soon he was slumped in a chair before a fire, a glass of fine port in his hand. Within a quarter of an hour, the spirit softened the edges of his frustration.

  He felt pulled in two directions—not only toward Lady Jeanette, his intended bride, but also toward Laura, the damaged courtesan.

  There was no easy remedy to the situation.

  “There is Harrington.” A slurred voice snapped him from his musing and he looked around to see the Goodrich twins, Sherman and Shaw, weaving their way across the room. “And he looks like he requires company.”

  Clearly the Goodrich duo were fully into their cups as they wobbled over in a drunken dance to claim a pair of open overstuffed leather chairs nearby. His scowl didn’t deter them from joining him.

  He squelched a groan as the affable pair settled, stretched out their skinny legs, and released a pair of silly grins. Orange freckles dotted their matching faces beneath thick mops of matching hair on each head.

  Only casually acquainted, Simon didn’t know who’d spoken. The Goodrich brothers were the sons of a viscount, known for heavy drinking and heavier losses at cards. In social settings, they were a generally amusing pair. Well, to all except their exasperated father.

  “We haven’t seen you around in days, old boy,” one brother said jovially. “You missed the Hurst musicale.”

  The second brother nodded. “It was quite a row. Lady Tew caught Lord Tew nuzzling the neck of Miss Lacey out on the veranda. The harridan dragged her wayward husband out of the house by his thinning hair.”

  Simon snorted. Both Lord and Lady Tew were as round as they were tall, and Lady Tew was known for her temper. “It is nigh on impossible to understand why the lovely Miss Lacey would nuzzle in the dark with Tew. More than likely he’d snuck up behind her and taken advantage of the absence of her chaperone.”

  The lecher.

  “Too true,” said one twin. “No one believes the lady asked for his attention. She is highly marriageable and has offers. Still, you missed the fun.”

  “I’ve been busy with business matters,” Simon replied, his mood lightening considerably. “But I will be at the Stanwood rout this evening. I certainly hope Lord Tew will behave. He has little hair left for Lady Tew to pull.”

  The two brothers laughed wholeheartedly, much more so than his small jest required. It attested to the depth of their drunken state. Well, that and the heavy scent of brandy and wine clinging to them.

  “The party should be entertaining.” The first brother leaned forward in his chair. “It is rumored Lady Stanwood has hired the services of a woman who can tell fortunes.”

  Simon wanted to openly scoff, but the pair seemed genuinely excited at the prospect. “The woman is likely a charlatan who will spend the evening separating the nobility from their money.”

  “She is rumored to be Romany,” twin two protested. “They are known for having the sight.”

  “Save your coin, lads. I can tell you your future.” He lifted his glass and gulped down the last swallow. “I see wine, debutantes, and dancing, followed by drunken snores. Then tomorrow morning will follow with cold compresses for your heads and your mother lecturing you on imbibing too much.”

  The two men looked at each other, nodded, and laughed again. “Bravo,” they said in unison. Then the first brother added, “That is exactly the evening we have planned.”

  The second brother begged, “Tell us more!”

  Simon smiled indulgently. “Alas, I must beg off. If I don’t leave now, I will not get to the bank before it closes.”

  He settled his glass on the table and moved to push up from the chair. However, the pair wasn’t finished with him.

  “I understand Lady Jeanette Abbot will be there,” one brother said. The Goodrich pair shared an exaggerated wink. “We understand the delightful miss has led you on quite a chase, Harrington. You must run faster if you plan to catch the chit.”

  Annoyance replaced amusement and tightened Simon’s chest. He hated to be the brunt of gossip.

  The second brother piped in, “It is said that she is encouraging Lord Vincent, though he has neither your fortune nor handsome visage to recommend him.”

  “You might want to nudge her along if you plan to wed and bed the girl,” the first brother added with flourish. “There are several scoundrels sniffing after her.”

  The pair sniggered. Simon wanted to clack their orange heads together. If the Goodrich brothers were privy to his pursuit of the girl, then his interest in Lady Jeanette was causing a stir. A humiliating fact, surely.

  A Harrington who couldn’t land the bride of his choice? The entire family tree would shake and shudder. Not even the blackest blackguard in Harrington history ever failed to snag a wife once he set his cap for her. In fact, most Harrington males had their pick from many beauties.

  That was the problem. The questionable reputations of an entire clan of Harrington men had tarnished him in the eyes of suspicious mothers.

  “I wouldn’t bet against me yet, gentlemen.” Simon gave them a slight bow. “Until the lady has said vows before a parson, she is still open for the taking.”

  The two brothers chuckled and called out encouragement as he left them to finish their journey to complete intoxication. While he gathered up his coat, hat, and cane, a low-voiced conversation filtered over to him. He froze.

  “His lordship is quite upset over losing his courtesan,” a tall man in a blue coat said, his face grim. “In fact, he is livid. His footmen are searching all of London for her.”

  “She has disappeared?” the shorter, stouter man asked, his florid face awash with curiosity.

  The taller man leaned to take his companion into his confidence. Thankfully, Simon was close enough to hear. His stomach rolled and his fist balled. Were they discussing Laura? If he could get the name of her abuser, then he could hunt him down and change the position of his nose.

  “She up and vanished, ran off, same as Lord Marsden’s mistress did last year.” The tall man scowled. “I never thought the day would come when a man couldn’t control his courtesan.”

  The shorter man matched his scowl. “Clayworth is obscenely wealthy. He can clap his hands and the courtesans will line up to bed him. What has piqued his ire about losing this one?”

  Simon’s should
ers slumped. He left the club.

  Lord Clayworth was seventy if he was a day. The man couldn’t be Laura’s patron. He could hardly stand, much less beat a woman, even with his cane. Simon speculated that the loss of Clayworth’s courtesan had less to do with losing her than with his pride. He wouldn’t want his companions to think him too old to keep a young lovely satisfied.

  It was possible Eva was sheltering the young woman the two men spoke of. Either that or the missing courtesan had simply tired of icy hands and had gone off to seek a younger buck for her bed.

  Laura’s abuser would keep his face for another day.

  He said a muffled curse as he collected Horse and left White’s behind.

  As Simon expected, the Stanwood rout was a lively party. Lady Stanwood liked to invite too many guests, and the house was packed with bodies and too little air. Still, there were very few invitees who ever declined her invitations. The festivities always brewed up some sort of scandal, and no one wanted to miss a moment of fun.

  “There you are, Harrington.” Jace Jones slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve been searching all over for you.”

  Simon smiled at his friend. Jace was an American and wealthy. They’d met two years previously in a scuffle over the same pretty tavern wench and often found trouble when they came together. However, tonight Simon was focused on courtship.

  “I see your future fiancée has arrived.” Jace pointed across the room. “And she isn’t alone.”

  Simon spotted Lady Jeanette almost immediately, surrounded by a clutch of admirers. She looked lovely in pink, with her pale hair swept up and her eyes dancing with good humor.

  “Since the day she rolled out of the schoolroom to start her season, she’s been the center of attention,” Simon remarked as he watched Lord David take her hand. “As the belle of society this year, the chit certainly doesn’t lack for confidence.”

  “Then you should dash over and claim her before some other buck takes your place in her affections,” Jace said, smirking. “She is ripe to be plucked.”