“Word has spread like wildfire throughout the neighborhood, my lord,” Mr. Treadwell said, face pinched with worry. “How do you feel?”
“Not good, but better than I want anyone to know, including the rest of the staff. I don’t want the tea. Would you care for it, Lady Bethany?” When Lady Bethany nodded, Mr. Treadwell set the service before her.
“Cold compresses for me, Treadwell,” he added. “For both my ankle and my head. And one of Cook’s amazing tisanes? My brain feels like it’s going to explode from my skull.”
“Immediately, my lord.” Mr. Treadwell hurried off and returned quickly with the tisane and the compresses set in a bowl of iced water. He helped Locke remove his boot and apply the first compress to his ankle, and after Locke touched the other to his head, he excused his valet and insisted he lock the door on his way out.
Lady Bethany poured his tisane and added sugar to both their cups.
“I was so worried about you,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t go off the way you did without good reason.”
Locke weighed carefully what to tell her. He now worried less about his secrecy than about saying or doing something that might place Lady Bethany in greater jeopardy.
“Public gatherings draw the unsavory sort and I stood off a distance to keep a lookout. I’d hoped to allow you and Lady Camille to appraise the boots and shoes and enjoy your shopping.
“A few minutes later, someone bumped into me hard, and when I stumbled away from him, he grabbed me, apologized profusely, and then hurried on. That’s when I realized he’d stolen my watch and fob and it infuriated me. Scarbreigh had drifted east, engrossed in watching a puppeteer entertaining a crowd of children. It would have taken too long to get his attention, but I was certain he wouldn’t fail to watch over all of you. Probably my stupidest decision in a great while, I chased the pickpocket alone.”
* * *
Bethany frowned in confusion. Hadn’t Scarbreigh told her that he’d been drawn off by a falconer? Was Locke confused? He’d just been hit on the head, after all.
“The scoundrel saw me and stepped up his pace,” Locke continued. “Had I hollered ‘thief,’ he’d have taken off running, so I hoped to follow him until I ran across a nearby watchman or policeman. Chap led me a merry chase, barely far enough ahead I couldn’t catch him, yet not so far off I lost sight of him.”
Despite her tea, Bethany’s mouth went dry. This was too similar to her own experience. What a strange coincidence.
“When I least expected it, he dodged between two tents in a long row of them near the Serpentine River, and playing the fool even better, I followed him. I’d no sooner rounded the corner when I sensed someone behind me. The crack on my skull happened before I could turn around, and that’s all I remember until I came to, at the water’s edge, under some bushes and being shaken awake by the police.”
“That’s horrible. But you told the police you don’t remember anything?”
“Because this particular thief was odd. He was too neat, too clean. Dressed in beggar’s clothes too decent for a beggar’s life. I wanted to think about it first.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It wasn’t the clothes that impressed me. It was their fit, not exactly new but in decent enough condition they seemed, well, tailored for him.”
* * *
The more Locke reflected on it, the more it bothered him. It was almost as if the man had been issued some sort of uniform, perhaps designed to both hide and mark him simultaneously. The average person might not pay the slightest attention to him, but one who knew what to look for could spot him easily.
“That is odd.” Lady Bethany said with anxiety. “He had no insignia or trappings that stood out?”
Locke shrugged. “Just a tan tunic and trousers and a rather tawdry forest green waistcoat.”
Lady Bethany gasped and her cup dropped to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces. Locke dropped his cold compress in surprise.
“Lady Bethany! Good Heavens. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” she cried, seeing the mess she’d made. Her hands were trembling when she added, “But I’m ... I’m shocked.”
“By what?”
“Describe the man to me, will you? His height? His hair?”
“Tall, thin, shoulder-length red hair.”
Lady Bethany shot to her feet, her face wan enough Locke feared she’d faint. His head and leg protested when he rose with her, but he ignored them. He reached for her shaking hands and held them tight, pulling her away from the broken glass and urging her to look at him.
“What does he mean to you?”
Although her story came out in disarray, like a handful of jackstraws, it filled him with anxiety. The man who’d lured Locke off sounded too similar to the four who’d followed Bethany—in fact was probably one of them.
Locke still didn’t understand the way they’d treated him. If they’d wanted him dead, they’d have slit his throat. They could have stolen his clothes and left him to bear the shame of it in public. Instead, they’d carried him to the bushes, arranged him—so the police said—so as not to do him any further harm, and disappeared.
These ruminations took but a moment, but he was convinced it was connected to everything that had been happening to his wife. And as for Lady Bethany, if Scarbreigh hadn’t wandered off, she wouldn’t have gone looking for refreshments and made herself so easy a target.
Of course, he had to gently admonish Lady Bethany for going anywhere alone. Today proved she wasn’t safe, not even in London.
“I was foolish,” she admitted. “I convinced myself having so many people around protected me.”
“I’m glad you found help, but it could have turned out differently. I’m furious with Scarbreigh for abandoning you as he did, not just once but twice, and I’ll have a word with him about it today. His friend was already late. He should have escorted you straight to Lady Camille and Melissa. Nevertheless, we’re both home safe. I ask your patience in allowing me to investigate all of this. In the meantime, please trust me and do not to discuss this with anyone, not even Lady Camille or your mother.”
“Alright,” Lady Bethany said, the faith—and remorse—in her eyes touching his heart.
“I’ll ring for Mr. Treadwell to clean up the broken glass, but I insist you take some time for yourself, my dear. You're as distressed from the day as I am.”
He guided her toward their adjoining door, his eyes pinned to hers. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she looked so terribly small and fragile, nothing like the headstrong, willful girl that he knew had once climbed trees and thrown rocks like her brothers. What had happened to her that robbed her of that part of her self-assuredness? Certainly today’s events didn’t just frighten her. They’d conjured up loathsome memories and left her trembling.
He’d done everything he could to distance himself from her, believing it was what was best for both of them. She’d resisted his marriage proposal at first, but after these months of acquaintance, she’d been frantic for him at the park. And now? She believed in him! He feared she shouldn’t and he knew she deserved better, but heaven help him, she believed.
That moment of compassion got the better of him. He slipped his arms around her, amazed when she nestled against him, clenched hands tucked beneath her chin. So soft, sweet-scented, seemingly defenseless. Her tears had him pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“It’s alright, Lady Bethany. We’ll sort this out soon enough.”
“I was so frightened, more for you than for myself. I pictured you kidnapped and mortally wounded and couldn’t stand not being able to find you. I’m so very grateful you weren’t seriously wounded.”
Her words plunged deep into his soul. This was no artifice. Her concern was real.
“I’m honored, my dear. But I’m most relieved that nothing happened to you.” He said it as softly and tenderly as he felt it, his heart tripping when she raised her red-rimmed eyes to his. He saw the
confusion there, the same confusion that he supposed marred his own face. Gently he wiped her tears, his pulse racing at the flutter of her eyelashes against his thumb tips. He couldn’t resist the beckoning call of her barely parted lips.
He pressed his mouth to the soft pillow of hers, her sigh of pleasure shattering what was left of his resistance. Her fingers spread across his chest, warm and gentle. He caressed her back, her shoulders, struggled not to crush her against him. Her arms encircled his neck, deepening their kiss, and he reveled in the taste of her, the sweet lemony scent.
Desire had him smoothing the creases from her brow with his kisses, then her upturned nose and flushed cheeks. When he bent to taste the whiteness of her throat, she tipped her head back and gasped with pleasure, and welcomed him when he claimed her mouth again. Breathless, he clutched her to him, afraid to let go even if he was terrified by the ramifications of this moment.
“What spell have you cast over me, my lady?”
Those stunning emerald green eyes, again sparkling with unshed tears, rose to meet his. “It’s you that’s worked your magic on me,” she murmured.
“I never dreamed I could feel this way about anyone.”
She gave a faint sob. “Nor I, but I’ve lived in fear for so long, I no longer know how to dream.”
“In fear of what, my sweet wife? I’ve seen it in your eyes and it tears me apart. I’d never hurt you. You believe that, don’t you?”
He ached inside when she took far too long to answer. At least her arms tightened around him as she buried her brow into his chest. “I trust you implicitly, but.” Her ragged sobs dampened his shirt. “I cannot change the truth nor rid myself of the horrors.”
“What horrors, Lady Bethany? Please tell me.” He needed her to let him help, needed to comfort her, needed to do what he could to make her whole again.
“I’ve never made sense of most of it. Why would anyone do what they did to me? I don’t remember my father giving me anything for which someone would want to kidnap me or shoot me. I can’t tell people things I don’t know.”
Locke stiffened at her comments. From where had she gotten these ideas? Unless?
“I-I don’t understand, Lady Bethany. Take your time. Who hurt you? When?” When she froze against him he worried that she would withdraw. “Please, my dear, let me help.”
“I can’t,” she hissed, her voice filled with both terror and shame. “Some parts I don’t remember. Others—” Her breath caught and he could feel the anguish radiating from her. “Heaven help me, sometimes I simply become unhinged, and I want to hit and bite—”
Locke shushed her and guided her to the settee near the fireplace. He sat down and pulled her into his lap and cradled her like a child. Her bones felt as delicate as a bird’s, and he held her gingerly, as if squeezing her too tight would break them. As if pressing her too hard would shatter her soul.
Her cries softened and gradually faded away. Locke handed her his kerchief and she scrubbed her face dry the way no ordinary lady would. He smiled wryly, reminding himself that Lady Bethany Locke was, of course, no ordinary lady.
And, he realized, he loved her, not just the way she was, but because of who she was.
“Are you comfortable with staying in London? Or do you want to return to Moorewood?”
Guilt colored her face. “Have I embarrassed you too much, my lord? Please forgive me—”
“You haven’t embarrassed me at all. You’re a strong woman, and beautiful, and you have a mind of your own. I admire you for it.”
Lady Bethany barked cynical laughter. “A description that could ruin a woman with the beau monde. Lady Camille would faint at such a characterization.”
“And I wouldn’t want Lady Camille for my wife. Now that I know the stuff of which you’re made, I also comprehend why I haven’t cared the slightest for courting my countrymen’s daughters. I despise the simpering and giggling types, the pretense of empty heads solely for the purpose of landing a moneyed gentleman. I’ve no patience with vanity or greed, or infidelity, no matter the reason. I’m not sure you have any idea how you entice men, and I’m quite certain you haven’t an arrogant bone in your body. Speaking your peace has no doubt ruffled some feathers, and I suppose that’s part of why you prefer the quiet of the country, where you’re allowed to think and behave as you wish with less fear of reprisal, but I appreciate that you’re a sensible woman.”
Lady Bethany’s cheeks darkened in embarrassment with each of his comments. “Then I would shame you in town. Perhaps I should go back to Moorewood and never leave.”
Locke lifted her chin to look deep into her eyes. “Do you remember what I told you this morning when you boarded Raven, and again later when I placed the crimson rose behind your ear? I meant every word I spoke. That you are a vision of loveliness that fair takes the breath away, and I truly fear I’ll gain the envy of every man who sees you. I care most about you’re happiness, my lady. I know you’re not fond of London, but I’ll have dealings here all the days of my life and would always welcome your company. I’d never be ashamed of you.”
A small pendulum clock on the mantel chimed once, drawing their gazes. Locke sighed and pressed his lips to Lady Bethany’s brow.
“Scarbreigh will arrive at any moment. Mr. Treadwell needs to clean up the broken teacup and ready me for my meeting, and I’m certain you could use some rest. Can we discuss this again tonight? Please?”
Lady Bethany seemed hesitant but nodded. She must dread facing the unpleasant things, but hopefully she trusted him enough to do so. She slid from his lap to her feet and let him gain his own footing. Then he bent and kissed her once again, rejoicing when she reciprocated that kiss.
* * *
Locke opened the door between their rooms, revealing Melissa perched in a chair under the window, a nook similar to the one in Locke’s room, and busy embroidering. The abigail tossed aside her work and rose quickly when she saw Bethany’s tear-stained face.
“My lady! Are you ill?”
“Just muddling through today’s misadventure, Melissa.” Bethany looked at Locke, amazed at how different he seemed to her right now, more than ever the man who’d proposed to her in Whitton’s garden.
“We’ll sup here tonight?” she asked.
“Please. Between my headache and today’s upset, I’m of the opinion a quiet evening and an early bedtime would serve well.”
Bethany was still stunned at everything that had happened today, from both the delights and the scares at the park, to shattering the tea cup, to the moment Locke had kissed her.
Had he just admitted he truly cared for her? Found her beautiful? Admired her independence? Her lips ached from the force of his kisses, evidence of what had surely taken place.
“Tonight, my dear,” he murmured, his eyes memorizing her face as his mouth brushed her fingertips. “And an additional discussion, to see if we can lay some demons to rest.”
Bethany nodded, missing everything about him when he departed, but realizing that nothing between them would ever be the same. Especially when he knew the whole truth.
“May I comb out your hair before you lie down?” Melissa offered.
“I don’t care to lie down, Melissa, but it would relax me to have my hair combed.”
“Yes, my lady,” Melissa said, following her to her dressing table.
* * *
Lord Scarbreigh accompanied Locke to his solicitor’s office and afterward—so Locke reported later—endured a tongue-lashing about abandoning Bethany and Lady Camille at the park. After a fervent apology to both women and an even more fervent plea for their forgiveness, the marquess joined them for their early supper. He remained quiet during the meal, signifying both his remorse and the shock they all shared regarding the day’s events.
After the meal, the Dowager Lady Katherine volunteered to join her niece and the marquess on a walk in the neighborhood, leaving Bethany and Locke to breathe sighs of relief.
“I’ve never seen Scarbreigh so
humbled,” Bethany remarked.
“Nor I. He needed a good dose of humility. I dare say he won’t ever repeat such a mistake. Will you feel like going to church in the morning, my dear?”
“I’m not the one who took a blow to the head, my lord. Will you?”
He smiled. “An opportunity for earnest prayer sounds comforting.”
“It does,” Bethany agreed.
She needed to collect the jewelry she wanted to wear tomorrow, and with the two lovebirds engaged elsewhere, this was as good a time as any to journey to the strongbox in the earl’s basement. Bethany searched the several velvet-lined drawers for what she wanted.
“I cannot decide between the blue dress and the green one you provided for my trousseau,” she mused. “After today, it seems more frivolous than ever to care about such things, but whichever one I wear, I must choose between my emeralds and my sapphires.” She held an earring from each pair before her ears for his appraisal. “What do you think?”
Locke made a show of looking them over, mirth twinkling in his eyes. Because she often wore green, he said he’d enjoy seeing her wear the blue. Bethany returned the emeralds and sorted through the other jewelry, selecting the lovely string of pearls and sapphires that her grandmother had willed to her, and a silver ring for her right hand, crowned with a sapphire flanked by two pearls. Last of all, she decided upon the silver charm bracelet her father had given her. She secured all of it in her pocket while the earl put the lockbox and its contents back in the safe, and then he escorted Bethany upstairs to rejoin their guests.
“Thank you for the evening,” Scarbreigh said, shaking Locke’s hand in parting. “And my deepest regrets for offending you, Lady Bethany.”
“You’re always welcome, old friend,” Locke reassured him. “Besides, I’d rue denying Lady Camille the happiness I see on her face right now.”
Lady Camille pinked, and Bethany, smiling wryly, put an arm around her cousin’s shoulders. “I fear we are fated to endure the roguishness of men, dear cousin. A thicker skin might serve us women well.”
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