Seared With Scars

by C. J. Archer

  Forget that I'm afraid of him? Of charming men? Forget that I've become a coward again? I wanted very much to ease his conscience and tell him that I knew he would never hurt me, but something deep inside stopped me from saying it.

  Samuel didn't seem to know where to look and, after a moment of strained silence, he gave a hasty bow. "Goodbye, Charity. I'll see you in a few days. Be careful and…and, well, just be careful."

  "I will be. Don't worry about us while you're gone."

  "I can't not worry," he said simply.

  I watched him walk away from me along the corridor. His broad shoulders and back strained his shirt seams, but it was lower down that caught my attention. No other man had quite such an enticing rear.

  I blushed fiercely and hurriedly closed my door. Good lord! What was I doing staring at Samuel? What sort of woman did that?

  My sort. The base sort.

  I tried to settle into a book, but found myself constantly staring out the window, looking for the demon. There was no sign of it, thank goodness, but that didn't settle my jangling nerves. They jangled more when someone knocked on my door.

  "Bert!" I said, upon seeing him standing there, just as his brother had done a few minutes earlier. He too had shed his jacket and waistcoat, however he still wore his tie. I wondered if he were trying to imitate Samuel. If so, he'd failed. He was limper, his presence somehow less. Despite having a similar appearance, Bert's face didn't make me want to gaze upon it for hours and study every contour. His eyes didn't draw me in like Samuel's, or tempt me with suppressed desire.

  "I just came to say goodbye," he said, echoing his brother's words. Everything about Bert was an echo of Samuel, from his appearance to his manner. I wondered if he realized it.

  "Goodbye," I said. "Safe journey." The sooner I could get him out of my doorway, the better. I didn't want to be alone with this man. I went to shut the door, but he blocked it.

  "I'm going to miss seeing your beautiful face," he said, his voice breathy.

  "Thank you. It's been a pleasure to meet you." What else could I say?

  "I hope this isn't the last time we meet."

  "Our paths are unlikely to cross again."

  "Does that mean you haven't changed your mind?"

  "I haven't," I said stiffly.

  His lips pinched together. "My offer remains. I'll install you as my mistress—"

  "Don't. Speak of it no more, please."

  He arched a brow, an imperial gesture that I couldn't imagine Samuel using. "I don't think you're in a position to be so selective, Charity."

  "There is nothing selective about my decision. I do not wish to be your mistress, or anyone's. I believe I've made my position clear enough. Kindly remove yourself from my doorway."

  "You're quite the shrewd businesswoman, I see." He chuckled. It made my insides clench and my muscles tighten, ready to spring out of his way. "Very well. Tell me what you want in return and I'll match it."

  There would be no reasoning with him. He simply didn't hear me no matter how loudly I spoke or how many times I reiterated my position. "Goodbye, Bert."

  I tried to push on the door, but he pushed back. "Let's not play games," he said darkly.

  Don't back away, Charity. Don't back down. I gritted my teeth and forced my rising fear aside. I could put a man like Bert back in his place. I had done it before. Admittedly that had been years ago, when men like him didn't frighten me and I'd been bolder, yet still innocent in the ways of men.

  I thrust my hands on my hips. "How dare you insult our hosts by approaching their guest with such a vulgar proposal."

  He snorted. "I don't particularly care what the people in this backwater think." A smile touched his lips. I didn't trust it. He was going to make his move. "You'll never see my brother again. You know that, don't you? Mother will keep him tied to the estate now that she's getting him home."

  "That's the way it should be. I've told you before, there's nothing between Samuel and me, nor do I want there to be."

  He grunted. The smile turned into a cruel twist. "You're a terrible liar."

  "Move, sir. I want to close my door."

  He didn't move. Indeed, he took a step inside. His eyes turned flinty, flat. Cold. I'd seen Samuel's eyes change like that too, when he was suffering from his maddening thoughts.

  I backed away and swallowed the ball of fear in my throat. Bert was a weak man, in mind and body. I needed to remember that. I could conquer my fear, and I could conquer him, if necessary. Nobody need know about this meeting or his offer. Samuel need never find out.

  "Do you know what my brother did to land himself in prison?" he asked.

  My step faltered, earning me a sneering grin. It was not a question I had expected.

  "Ah. So you do want to know. Hmmm, should I tell you or not?"

  "Leave," I croaked.

  "I don't think so. Indeed, I think I will tell you. It might serve to open your eyes to his true nature."

  I should have blocked my ears. I should have pushed past him and run away. But heaven help me, I wanted to know what Samuel had done. My curiosity conquered my fears in the end. I let him tell me.

  "He hurt a woman." The triumph in his voice sickened me. His words sickened me. Surely it must be a lie. "Indeed, it's worse than that."

  A shiver wracked me and I folded my arms around myself to suppress it. There would be no shutting out Bert's sneering tone, however, and his sanctimonious grin. "How could it be worse?" I asked.

  "He raped her."

  CHAPTER 6

  No. No, no, no. The words pounded a rhythm against my skull, drowning out all else.

  Not Samuel. Please God, not him.

  "I don't believe you." The words were out before I could decipher the tangled emotions and thoughts tying themselves into knots inside me.

  "You should," Bert said. "You know that he can make people do whatever he wants, even when they don't want to do it. He has a power, my brother. He hasn't always used it wisely."

  "I don't believe it because I see the way women look at him without being hypnotized. He doesn't need to hypnotize them."

  The muscles in his jaw trembled, as if he were working hard to control his emotions. His fists closed at his sides. I eyed them warily. "Why would I make this up?" he snarled.

  "Because you're jealous of him." The words were out before I could stop them. If I'd had more control, I wouldn't have dared utter such a cutting remark.

  His trembling grew worse. His nose twitched and he blinked rapidly back at me. I recognized the signs of madness and anger, so I was prepared. He swung his fist, but I dodged out of the way. The momentum sent him reeling forward, allowing me to slip past him.

  "You whore. You filthy, disgusting creature. You're not worth my time."

  "Go home before you do something you'll regret."

  I didn't wait for his response. I ran along the corridor and down the stairs to the main part of the house where he wouldn't dare pursue me. Since I didn't want to see either Samuel or Mrs. Gladstone, I made my way to the service area and found a quiet corner in the servants' dining room to sit and wait for my limbs to stop shaking.

  It was some time before I ceased eyeing the door and could set aside my fear. The servants left me alone. They were too busy preparing for the Gladstones’ departure to worry about the strange guest who preferred hiding to being with her hosts. Tommy was nowhere to be seen, probably helping the Gladstone's driver prepare the horses and coach, or looking out for the demon.

  My body may have stopped trembling, but my thoughts were still in turmoil. I'd been wrong about Bert. I had been sure he wouldn't be a physical threat. I expected him to be more chivalrous, like his brother, but he and Samuel were not cut from the same cloth. Samuel was strong where his brother was weak, both physically and morally. They were, however, both troubled men, in different ways.

  He raped her.

  Bert's insidious words burrowed into my mind again, and I couldn't dislodge them. Surely he'd said i
t out of frustration, built up over years of feeling inferior. Samuel wouldn't do something so despicable. He didn't need to.

  And yet he was hiding something. He had gone to prison and he wouldn't tell me why.

  Tommy entered, disrupting my thoughts. "The Gladstones are gone," he announced. "You can come out of hiding now."

  I almost retorted that I wasn't hiding, but of course he was right. I blew out a measured breath. "Any sign of the demon?"

  "None. All's quiet." He flopped onto a chair opposite me and rubbed his hand over his face.

  "You're exhausted," I said. "Watching for the demon has done you in. Go and rest for an hour or so. The Langleys will understand."

  "I can't. With Gladstone gone, there's just me to look out for everyone."

  "Nonsense. We're not invalids. There's Bollard, Sylvia and me, plus the servants. We can all take turns watching. It doesn't have to be only you."

  "It's not just that. I have to go into the village."

  "Why?"

  "Gladstone asked me to fetch the letter his father sent to Butterworth. I'm to send it on to him. He wants to see its contents for himself."

  "Go tomorrow."

  "Why put it off?"

  "Because that way you can drive me to the station. I'm catching the London train."

  "Bloody hell," he muttered. "You kept that quiet. Didn't want Gladstone to know, eh?"

  "I thought he might try to stop me."

  "And you don't think I will?" He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest, daring me to test him.

  "I expect you to try. I also expect Sylvia will protest. But I have an answer for both of you."

  He waited, his brows raised.

  "My answer is…" I leaned forward. "I can do what I want. Either you drive me to the station or I'll walk. It's not too far."

  He looked like he'd argue with me, but in the end he gave a frustrated grunt. "Very well. I'll drive you. But I'm not informing Sylvia. She'll somehow think it's my fault. She thinks everything is my fault lately," he muttered.

  I didn't have the strength to ask him what he meant by that. My thoughts were too occupied with my own problems. "I'll resume demon watch from the tower room," I said. "You go and rest. I'll fetch you if I spot it."

  I made my way up to the top of the house and stretched out on the chaise by the tower room's window. Time passed slowly. Demon watching was terribly boring yet oddly exhausting. It was difficult to keep my eyes open, and even more difficult not to let my mind wander back to the events of the morning.

  I wondered if I could have behaved differently when faced with Bert's attentions. Perhaps I should have told Samuel. No, that would have been beyond awkward. They were brothers. I didn't want to come between them. That led me to wonder if Bert had indeed lied about the reason for Samuel's stint in prison. He must have. It had been so cruelly said. Yet the idea ate at me and ate at me.

  Thankfully distraction arrived in the form of Sylvia. "There you are!" she cried. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

  "I'm on demon watch," I said, nodding at the window. "No sign of it so far."

  "Where's Tommy?"

  "Resting. He's been working very hard lately and it's likely he'll need to stay alert tonight."

  "Yes, of course." She bit her lip and eyed the door as if contemplating going to check on him. I had to think fast to keep her with me. Those two could not be allowed to spend time alone together.

  "Sylvia, do you think Samuel is capable of hurting anyone?"

  She looked startled by my question. "Of course not. He's a gentleman." Her face darkened and her brow furrowed. "Although now that I think of it, he proved to be quite capable of harm during our Christmas troubles. He claims he used to box at university. What an odd question though. Why do you ask?"

  "No reason," I said lightly.

  "Tell me, Charity. You've piqued my curiosity."

  "It was just something Bert alluded to. He mentioned that Samuel once hurt someone, but he gave me no details. Do you think he spoke the truth or was he trying to disparage his brother's good reputation?"

  "Good lord, you want me to answer that? I don't usually get asked such serious questions."

  I smiled. "Then perhaps it's time you were."

  "I suppose so. Although it hurts my head a little to think about it. I much prefer questions about clothes and hats."

  "Sylvia," I prompted.

  "Oh yes, Samuel. Let me see." She chewed on her lip and I was worried I'd never get an answer out of her at all. Not a sensible one, anyway. Then finally she spoke. "Is he supposed to have hurt anyone recently or some time ago? Only, a change seems to have come over him of late. He's certainly angry enough to want to hurt someone who has wronged him or the people he cares about."

  "A year or two ago."

  "Then I think Bert is lying. Samuel was ever the gentleman before…well, before…"

  "Before I came here."

  She flounced onto the chaise beside me and fussed with her skirts, settling them around her. "Besides, I've seen the way everyone treated him at the Beauforts’ ball. He was immensely popular. Everyone spoke to him as if he were a long lost friend. They wouldn't be like that if he'd done something terrible. Believe me, that set knows every little sin everyone has committed. The gossip mill is constantly in operation." She sighed. "I do wish I could be part of it."

  "You want them to gossip about you?"

  Another sigh. "No, but to attend the balls and soirees every night would be so thrilling! And to wear beautiful gowns and jewels. There would never be a dull moment."

  I imagined it would grow dull after a while, but I didn't say so. Hearing her speak of boredom and balls made me even more certain that I'd done the right thing and directed Tommy to stay away from her. He could never give her what she craved and she would quickly grow bored of him.

  "I am right though, don't you think?" she said. At my blank look she added, "About Samuel being popular. Surely London society would shun him if he'd done something awful."

  "You're probably right."

  Unless his father had covered up the crime.

  ***

  I didn't tell Sylvia I was leaving until later in the day for fear that she would be angry with me. Judging by the scowl on her face when I did finally tell her, I'd been right. Although I tried explaining my need to return to the school and my life in London, she refused to agree, claiming I was putting myself in danger. I'd had enough of her lectures by dinnertime, and told her in no uncertain terms that what I did was none of her affair.

  "You're doing this because Samuel's gone, aren't you?" she said the following morning as we watched Tommy carry my valise down the stairs.

  "No. I'm doing this because I want to see the children again."

  "They'll be fine on their own. They've got other adults to care for them."

  "That's not the point."

  She threw her hands in the air. "Then what is?"

  My lip began to wobble against my will. I bit it and stared down at my boots until I could be sure my tears wouldn't spill. "I miss them. And…and I don't want them to forget me." There. I'd said it. Let her call me silly or pathetic and then we'd be done with it and I could go.

  She hugged me instead, unbalancing me. "Oh, Charity. You're such a goose. Of course they won't forget you. How could they! You're quite unforgettable."

  I wasn't sure how to take that, so I simply thanked her. She pulled away, but kept hold of both my hands. Her thumbs rubbed the scarred skin there. She was aware of the scars, of course, and knew how I'd gotten them. She was not aware of the ones on my back. Only Samuel was.

  Thinking about him and what he knew had tears stinging my eyes again. What would he do when he discovered I'd left the relative safety of Frakingham and returned to London?

  "You won't write to him and tell him, will you?" I said to both Sylvia and Tommy. "At least not for a week or more. I don't want him rushing off from his family to lecture me. They need him, now."

/>   "They need to learn to live without him," Tommy said, setting the valise down on the tiles.

  "Why do you say that?" Sylvia asked.

  "Because he's not going to stay there long. He told me so, and I believe him."

  "And when his brother becomes too ill to manage the estate?" I said. "Or dies? What will he do then?"

  "He's not dead yet."

  "Why are you so certain Samuel will return soon anyway? What did he tell you?"

  He didn't get a chance to answer me. Langley and Bollard came down the stairs to see me off. The servant carried his master in his arms, proving just how strong he was; August Langley was not a small man. It was a devoted act if ever I saw one. The couple constantly surprised me, in one way or another. I'd not expected to like them, but I did. Very much. I only wished I could trust them, but the gruesome nature of Langley's scientific experiments set my nerves on edge.

  "You will take care, Charity," Langley said, clasping my hand.

  "Of course."

  "Go to the Beauforts if there is any danger. Immediately."

  "I will. I won't do anything to endanger the children."

  His lips flattened, telling me exactly what he thought of that—I was endangering them simply by returning. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps I should change my mind and find rooms elsewhere in London. I'd think about it on the journey home.

  Tommy removed my coat from the stand by the door and handed it to me, then picked up my valise. "It's time to go."

  "Thank you, Mr. Langley," I said. "You've been most tolerant having me here. I know I'm not the sort of guest you would want in your home."

  "That's not true."

  The mute servant cocked his head to the side and regarded his master sternly.

  Langley blew out a breath. "I admit to not being quite so enthusiastic at first. You're not the sort of girl Sylvia should be associating with."

  "Uncle!" she cried.

  "It's all right," I said. "I understand." Somehow it hurt less when he said it. Perhaps because there was no malice in his tone, just the truth.

  "But then it was explained to me that she needed female companionship after Hannah left. She seemed to like you, so it was an easy decision."