“You have more than paid for every garment and jewel. You would be a fool to leave them behind.”
Her exquisite face remained calm and perfect, but the glint in her eyes dared him to make a horrible night worse.
“As you wish.” He shrugged off his frock coat and placed it around her shoulders. He beckoned her to follow him.
“I am not going with you.”
“Trust me, you are. Now, before Norbury thinks twice about allowing it.”
She kept her gaze skewed to the side of his head. She might have been looking past an obstructing piece of furniture.
He admired her pride. Right now, however, it was ill timed and a nuisance. He wondered if she realized how perilous her position had been back there— and still was.
“I am sure you know that I did not agree to that spectacle, Mr. Bradwell.”
“You didn't? Well, damnation. How disappointing.”
“You sound amused. You have a peculiar sense of humor.”
“And you have chosen a bad time and place for this conversation.”
She refused to budge. “If I go with you, where will you be taking me?”
“Perhaps to a brothel, so you can earn back what I will be paying Lord Norbury. To be deprived of both the price and the prize doesn't seem fair, does it?”
Her attention abruptly shifted to his face. She tried to make her gaze disdainful, but fear showed enough to make him regret his cruel response.
“Miss Longworth, we must leave now. You will be safe, I promise.” He forced the matter by placing his arm behind her shoulders and physically moving her out of the reception hall.
He got her as far as the carriage door before she resisted. She stopped cold and stared into the dark, enclosed space. He forced himself to be patient.
Suddenly his frock coat hit him in the face. He pulled it away and saw her striding down the lane, into the night. Her pale hair and dress made her appear like a fading dream.
He should probably let her go. Except there was no place for her to go, especially in those flimsy slippers women wore to fancy dinners. The closest town or manor was miles away. If something happened to her—
He threw the coat into the carriage, called for the coachman to follow, and headed after her.
“Miss Longworth, I cannot allow you to go off on your own. It is dark, the way is dangerous, and it is cold.” He barely raised his voice but she heard him well enough. Her head turned for a quick assessment of how close he was, then snapped left and right as she sought an escape.
“You are safe with me, I promise.” He walked more quickly, but she did too. She angled toward the woods flanking the lane. “Forgive me my crude joke. Come back and get into the carriage.”
She bolted, running for the woods. If she reached them he'd be searching for her for hours. The dense trees allowed little moonlight to penetrate their canopy.
He ran after her, closing fast. She ran harder when she heard his boots nearing. The scent of her fear came to him on the cold breeze.
She cried out when he caught her. She turned wild, fighting and scratching. Her fingers clawed his face.
He caught her hands, forced them behind her back, and held them there with his left hand. He imprisoned her body with his right arm and braced her against him.
She screamed in fury and indignation. The night swallowed the sounds. She squirmed and twisted like a mad-woman. He held firmer.
“Stop it,” he commanded. “I am not going to hurt you. I said that you are safe with me.”
“You are lying! You are a rogue just like them!”
All the same she suddenly stilled. She gazed up at him. The moonlight showed her anger and anguish, but determination entered her eyes.
She pressed her body closer to his. He felt her breasts against his chest. The willing contact startled him. He reacted like any man would, instantly. His erection prodded her stomach.
Jesus.
“See. Just like them,” she said. “I would be a fool to trust you.”
He barely heard her. Her face was beautiful in the moonlight. Mesmerizing. A moment stretched while he forgot what had led to this crude embrace. He only noticed every place where they touched and the softness of the body he held. Thunder rolled in his head.
Her expression softened. A lovely astonishment widened her eyes. Her lips parted slightly. The fight completely left her and she became all pliant womanhood in his arms.
She stretched toward the kiss he wanted to give her, and the moonlight enhanced her perfection even more.
Suddenly it also revealed her bared teeth aiming up at his face.
He moved his head back just in time. She used the opportunity to try to break free again.
Cursing himself for being an idiot again, he bent down and rose with her slung over his shoulder. Her fists beat his back. She damned him to hell all the way to the carriage.
He dumped her into the carriage and settled across from her.
“Attack me again and I will turn you over my knee. I am no danger to you and I'll be damned if I will let you claw and bite me after I paid a fortune to save you from men who are.”
Whether his threat subdued her or she just gave up, he could not tell. The carriage moved. She was no more than a dark form now, but he knew she watched him. He found the frock coat buried amidst his rolls of drawings and handed it to her. “Put this on so you are not cold.”
She obeyed. Her fear and wariness filled the air for several silent miles.
“Nine hundred and fifty was a high amount to pay for nothing,” she finally said.
“The alternative was to let a man pay a lot less for something, wasn't it?”
She seemed to shrink inside the frock coat. “Thank you.” Her gratitude came on a small, trembling voice.
She was not weeping, although she had good cause to. Her pride, so admirable thirty minutes ago, now irritated him. The burning scratches on his face probably had something to do with that.
He wondered if she understood the consequences of this night. She had dodged a man's misuse, but she would not escape the ruin coming when the world learned of that party and that auction. And the world would learn about it, he had no doubt.
Perhaps now, in the calm after the storm, she was assessing the costs, just as he was assessing his own. Norbury had been angered by his interference. He had not liked his fun spoiled and his revenge made less complete. The Earl of Cottingford might be the benefactor, but his heir now held the purse strings and influence.
“I apologize for losing my head.”
“It is understandable after your ordeal.” It still impressed him, how well he had learned the lessons and syntax of polite discourse. They had become second nature, but sometimes the first nature still spoke in his head. Damn right you should apologize.
“I am so fortunate that you arrived. I am so glad there was one sober man there, who would be appalled at what Norbury was doing, and immune to his evil lures.”
Oh, he had been appalled, but not nearly immune. He had paid a fortune, after all.
A few speculative images entered his head regarding what he would have been buying if he were not so damned decent. That embrace on the lane made the fleeting fantasy quite vivid.
He was glad for the dark so she could not see his thoughts. He could not see her face, either, which was for the best. She possessed the kind of beauty that left half a man's soul in perpetual astonishment. He did not like that kind of disadvantage.
“May I ask you some questions?” She sounded very composed again. Damnably so. The lady had been rescued, as was only her due. She would sleep contentedly tonight.
He would not. The costs of this chivalry, in money and other things, would be calculated over and over for days. Already the sum was growing in his head.
“You may ask anything you like.”
“The amount of your bid was an odd one. A hundred would have been enough, I think.”
“If I had bid a hundred, Sir Maurice would have bid t
wo hundred, and by the time we were done the amount might have been much higher than I paid. Thousands, perhaps. I bid very high to shock the others into silence.”
“If he would have bid thousands, why would he not bid one thousand?”
“It is one thing to jump from one hundred to two, then to four, and then on up. It is another to jump from seventy-five to a thousand. It would have had to be a thousand, of course. Nine hundred seventy-five would sound small and mean.”
“Yes, I see what you mean. Bidding a thousand so soon or right away would give anyone pause. It is such an undeniably foolish amount.”
So was nine hundred and fifty, especially if you barely had it. A year ago he could have covered it easily enough, although few men would not notice the depletion of their purses. A year hence he probably could too. Right now, however, paying Norbury would make somewhat shaky finances wobble all the more.
He hated that feeling of insecurity. He hated the caution and worry it bred. Miss Longworth had chosen a bad time to need rescuing. It had been the only thing to do, however. He wanted to believe he would have done the same for any woman.
Of course, she was not just any woman. She was Roselyn Longworth. She had been vulnerable to Norbury's seduction because she had been impoverished by her brother's criminal acts. He did not miss the irony that Timothy Longworth had, in a manner of speaking, just managed to take yet more money from Kyle Bradwell's pocket.
“You are aware, I think, that I will never be able to pay you back nine hundred and fifty pounds. Do you hope that I will agree to do so in other ways? Perhaps you expect me to feel an obligation and thus remove the question of importuning.”
Is that what she thought had just happened out on the lane? He had not been thinking about repayment, or anything, much. Nor did he believe she had felt any obligation to respond as she had. And she had responded. Before she tried to bite him, of course.
“I have neither expectations nor delusions of enjoying your favors in that way or for those reasons, Miss Longworth.” My, how noble you are, Kyle lad. Such an elegant idiot, too.
Those speculations kept having their way, however. The memory of that embrace remained fresh. He would probably indulge in a few dreams. Since he would pay dearly for them, he would not feel guilty.
“Perhaps instead you spoke of the brothel to make certain that I understood that tonight makes me fit for little else. I am all too aware of that. I know the high costs of what has occurred.”
Yes, she probably did. Her poise had made him wonder, though. And the boy from the pits of Durham had resented her reclaimed composure even as he admired it. A woman ruined irredeemably should not be so cool. She should weep the way the women of his mining village wept over loss.
“Miss Longworth, your accounting will have nothing to do with me. Forgive me for teasing you so unkindly. My annoyance at my own costs got the better of me.”
She angled forward, as if peering to see if he was sincere. The vague moonlight leaking into the middle of the carriage gave form to her features—her large eyes and full mouth and perfect face. Even this dim view of her beauty made his breath catch.
“You have been kind and gallant, Mr. Bradwell. If you want to scold and remind me of my compliance in my final fall, I suppose that I should show the grace to listen.”
He did not scold. He did not speak much at all. She wished he would. Their brief conversation left her feeling less awkward. During the silences she could only sit there with her worry while his presence crowded her.
She could not really move farther away, either. A collection of large rolls of paper filled almost half the carriage. She wondered what they were.
An inner instinct remained alert for any movement from him. She knew she was at the mercy of this man's honor. He knew it, too, and that moment out on the lane had confused matters. There had been a second or two— no more, she was sure—when that embrace had been less than adversarial.
She put the memory of it out of her mind. She did not want to dwell on how quickly her stupidity lured her to misunderstand a man again. She did not want to remember how she had stirred more easily than a decent woman ought.
He had spoken of his own costs. She wondered what they would be. His name would be attached to the gossip about that dinner party and to her “purchase,” but as a man it would not destroy his reputation. Among some people it might even make him more interesting.
Maybe he referred to the bid itself. It was a huge amount for anyone. Perhaps he did not actually have the money to make good on this odd debt.
If he did not pay up he would be destroyed in the circles that mattered. In most circles, she suspected. Even the ones around the pits of Durham.
That reference had been an interesting comment. She wondered what Norbury had meant by it. Mr. Bradwell's speech and manner did not mark him as that common.
“If you are not taking me to a brothel in London, where are we going?”
“I am taking you to your cousin. The county paper noted that she is in residence at her husband's property here in Kent.”
This man continued to surprise her. Not only with this information, but also with his awareness of her cousin Alexia's movements.
“I had not realized that she had come down from town. I wish I had known. I might have escaped this morning and walked there.”
“It is at least an hour by carriage. You could not have walked. Nor, I suspect, could you have escaped.”
“Is she alone, do you know?”
“The paper mentioned the family coming down.”
That probably meant that Irene was with her. She would at least see her sister before— Her eyes stung and she bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. The thought of seeing Alexia and Irene undid her as nothing else had.
“I assume that Lord Hayden is with her.” She heard her own voice break. Mr. Bradwell's form blurred. “I pray, let us not intrude.”
“I can hardly keep you with me at an inn.”
“I do not see why not. My reputation is already totally ruined.”
“Mine is not.”
“Of course. Yes, I see. I am sorry. I do not want to bring more scandal to you. It is just that Lord Hayden has already been too kind and I have been ungrateful in the past and now to show up at his door with this horrible, hopeless—”
A sob snuck out, strangling her words. Then another. She bit her lip again, hard. It did not help this time.
He took her hand in his and pressed a handkerchief into her palm. His firm, dry hold branded her skin and mind. Not hurtful like Norbury. Not weak or grasping, either. Just careful and strong, and a little rough. Like that embrace on the lane.
It felt like the touch of a friend. Her wariness left her then. She finally knew for certain that she was safe. Her composure left her, too. Her rescuer made no effort to console her. He understood that nothing would change what was going to happen.
Her composure had annoyed him. Now her weeping dismayed him. He resisted the impulse to gather her into her arms and offer comfort. He might frighten her. She still wondered about him. On the lane she had proven that he wanted her, which gave her good cause to suspect his motivations in making that bid.
She continued crying. He could not take it anymore. He shoved aside the plans and moved to the place beside her. He carefully embraced her, ready to move away fast if she wanted to be alone in her misery.
She didn't. She cried into his shoulder while he held her. He tried to ignore how aware he was of the feel of her fragile form in his arms. He bit back the false words of reassurance that wanted to spring from him. She would reject them outright, he guessed. He suspected that she would never again lie to herself about much of anything.
The carriage turned off the road. She realized that the journey was ending. She valiantly tried to swallow her tears.
He called to the coachman to slow down so she would have more time. And so he would, too.
Her composure returned before they reached the house. The embrace
did not become awkward, however, and she made no attempt to break it. He held her until they rolled to a stop.
He climbed from the carriage and offered his hand.
She looked up at the house. The vertical forms of classical columns and long blocks on either side of the central temple facade could be seen.
“It is the middle of the night. The whole household will be abed,” she said.
“There will be a servant by the door. Come now.”
She placed her hand in his. He felt a subtle roughness that surprised him, but the touch was mostly soft and warm. She stepped down. One pause, one deep inhale, and she walked with him to the door. She left her hand in his like a frightened child.
A servant eventually responded to the knock.
“This is Miss Longworth, Lady Alexia's cousin,” Kyle explained. “Please ask Lord Hayden to receive us if he is in residence.”
The servant ushered them to the library. Kyle took in the room's perfect proportions. His practiced eye noted that even the wooden Doric pilasters decorating the mahogany bookcases were true to the ancient system of measurements. Lord Hayden favored a pure classicism based on Greek rather than Roman models.
Miss Longworth refused to sit. She returned his frock coat, then paced the edges of the chamber, twisting his handkerchief in her hands.
“Will you stay while I explain, Mr. Bradwell? Please. Lord Hayden is a good man, but—I do not fear him, but after all the rest—he is not so stern as he appears, I think, but this story would strain the patience of a saint, and his love for my cousin may not spare me his worst reaction.”
He had met Lord Hayden only once, and agreed the man appeared stern. However, he also knew what she meant by “all the rest,” and how it indicated the man was not as hard as he looked. Or, as she suggested, Lord Hayden was so in love that he had put sternness aside in the case of his new wife's relatives.
Presumably “all the rest” would now include support of the relative in question today. Miss Longworth faced utter ruin, but Kyle assumed that Lord Hayden would make sure that she did not starve in her exile from family and decent society.
“I will remain until you have explained, if you wish.”
Lord of a Thousand Nights Page 31