Rescue Me Please

by Nichole Matthews

  Persephone couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his warm palm, nearly groaning when his index finger stroked slowly over her skin. She did her best not to flinch, but to savor his touch. She took a deep breath, then another. It had been so long since she had felt any human contact, let alone a gentle touch. A pariah, ruined, a whore. No one looked at her. No one spoke to her. And certainly no one touched her—willingly, at least not since Tillie’s birth. She had forgotten how a touch could comfort, not just produce fear. She sighed and sobbed out a cry at the same time. Now that she was free, an uncontrollable shaking started deep within. She rested her forehead against his chest, willing her panic to abate.

  “We have no nefarious intentions towards you here at Rosebriar.”

  His voice was deep and compelling, and it helped ease her anxiety. She pulled back, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and looked up into his face.

  Parker set his head to one side and looked at her assessing for a moment before he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, leading her to the cot. His fingers brushed gently over the back of her hand as he escorted her across the room, as if he were trying to calm a frightened animal. Her pale skin flushed a light shade of pink adding healthy color to her otherwise pallid complexion and altering her appearance dramatically. He watched as she reached down and touched her baby almost reverently. Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer to her as she laid her palm flat on Tillie’s chest making certain she was breathing.

  “Rosebriar?” Persephone glanced up at him, then wished she had not. He was so close, so warm, full of strength and kindness. She felt as if she were looking into his soul as she gazed into his penetrating blue eyes, which frightened her. Their depth made her feel naked and bruised. That she could feel anything at all confused her. She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin.

  “My home.” His smile lit up the room and her thoughts scattered at the love that reflected in his eyes for this place of brick and stone. Did his eyes brighten the same for people? Her hand felt engulfed in his large one and suddenly she felt safe. For the first time she felt that she might be able to let down her guard, however briefly and truly rest. She swallowed with difficulty. He turned her until she faced him. “Tell me what happened to you, Miss Smith.” When she refused to look him in the eye, he used his finger to raise her chin. “Tell me.” His eyes pinned her gaze to his.

  Parker could tell that she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. He also knew that being alone in the room with her was making her nervous and making his mind dwell on things that had no place in his thoughts at this moment. He could understand, after all he was a stranger to her. And she was a wounded soul. Damn it. He didn’t want to rescue anyone. He didn’t want to be her savior. He wanted…he tore his gaze away. “I will leave you.” He gave a small, yet elegant bow, then pivoted and walked to the door, pausing with his fingers on the door latch. He forced himself to look back with a small smile.

  She smiled gratefully at him before turning back to the cot and her daughter.

  “I’ll have a tray sent up,” he said to her back before slipping quietly from the room.

  Once Mr. Peregrine closed the door, Persephone let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. “I should be ashamed of myself.” She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks again. Tillie slept, her short red curls cushioned on the soft mattress, one hand tucked sweetly beneath her rosy cheek. Persephone stared down at her for several minutes. What would happen to Tillie if she had to move on once again? Perhaps Mr. Peregrine would show mercy and allow her to stay long enough to gain strength. She smoothed her fingers over a lock of her daughter’s soft red hair that lay across her forehead. “He has been nothing but kindness to us, Tillie, and how do I repay him? By being cold and distant.” She turned from her sleeping daughter and made her way to one of the chairs placed comfortably on each side of the fireplace. She paused when she caught a glimpse of herself in the gilt mirror over the vanity. She walked towards the French parcel-gilt painted mirror with acanthus leaves and floral sprays and didn’t recognize her own face. She stared at herself and lifted her hands. Her gaunt appearance horrified her. It had been quite some time since she had had an opportunity to truly look at herself, but hadn’t realized how much weight she had lost. She still looked tired even though she had slept for hours. Her eyes were puffy and red and even after sleeping the day away, there were obvious dark slashes under her eyes. She ran a hand across her face. She must have been crying even as she slept. Would she ever stop crying? She lowered her eyes, ashamed to be looking at her disheveled appearance in such a beautiful mirror.

  What a fright. A troll to his knightly masculine beauty.

  Her eyes skimmed over the assortment of stoppered crystal bottles of perfume and lotions until they landed on the silver-backed brush and mirror. She picked up the brush and ran it through the tangled strands of her rich red hair, counting each stroke just as her mother had until her hair fell in soft waves to her waist. She then laid the brush back neatly on the polished oak top and pinched color into her pale cheeks before turning from the mirror to sink down in one of the large, overstuffed chairs. Drawing up her legs and wrapping her arms around her knees, she rested her chin on top to stare into the leaping and dancing fire that sent a much needed blanket of warmth across the room. Her body felt heavy, every muscle tired. Numb.

  Too much had happened, much more than she wanted to comprehend in her short life. She could trust no one. She was so exceedingly tired. She was tired of clinging to a past that would never be hers again. She was tired of clinging to memories that only led to more anguish and pain. She was tired.

  Although Mr. Peregrine appeared to be a nice enough gentleman, she knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving. She tried to shake off the feel of his hand on her face, the tender look that flickered in his eyes. He made her heart beat faster. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a handsome face, his tall powerfully built body, his strength.

  She glanced around the room. He obviously came from a wealthy family. Her eyes traveled over the massive oak armoire and matching dressing table to the costly high oak bed with post the size of tree trunks draped in light airy material shot through with gold threads that glinted like stars in the heavens with the help of the flames from the fire. It was a room fit for a princess, not a grubby stranger with a screaming baby and yet—but she had been fooled before and she could not afford to have it happen again.

  She despised her weakness.

  A small shiver ran down her spine. There was much more at stake this time around.

  A soft knock pulled her from her melancholies. She looked up as a small figure of a girl, not much bigger than herself, encumbered by a great tray entered the room and bobbed a curtsy.

  “His lordship asked me to carry up a tray, miss.” She curtsied perfectly even with the large tray perched in her arms.

  Persephone looked up with wide eyes, lowering her feet to the floor. “His lordship?”

  “Yes, miss,” she replied. “Lord Ashford.”

  “Lord Ashford?”

  “Yes, miss.” She nodded. “My lord thought you might be hungry?”

  “Yes, I believe I am.” Persephone glanced at the heavy tray draped in the fine linen cloth that was placed on the table in front of her. The maid lifted the cloth to reveal a tray filled with triangles of toast topped with melting butter, a pot of orange marmalade, buttered eggs, ham, and a gold-rimmed porcelain tea cup hand painted with red roses on a pink background next to a steaming pot of decadent chocolate. Persephone’s eyes closed as the delicious aromas drifted to her nose. Her eyes flew open and a flush rose hotly to her cheeks when her stomach took that opportunity to growl quite loudly announcing her obvious hunger. Her eyes flew to the young woman—embarrassed.

  “’Tis to be expected, miss.” A small smile appeared. “Especially when you’ve not eaten in some time.” She curtsied again, gazing expectantly at Persephone. “My name is Lucy,
miss, if you have need of anything else.”

  “Thank you, Lucy.” Persephone smiled. “This is perfectly lovely. Please let Lord Ashford know that I appreciate his kindness.”

  “Oh, his lordship is always kind, miss.” Lucy gave her a little curtsy once more before exiting the room.

  Persephone sat and gazed at the tray for a moment longer until she was no longer able to ignore the hunger that gnawed at her stomach. She picked up the toast and with the silver knife spread marmalade atop the melted butter and bit into it. Her eyes closed as the sweet buttery flavor burst on her tongue.

  She took another bite, licking her fingers greedily.

  ***

  Meanwhile, Parker sat behind his burled walnut desk barely able to control his rage as he penned letters seeking assistance from anyone and everyone that was available. He couldn’t very well send Miss Smith on her way if she had nowhere else to go and more importantly if she was in danger.

  Such big green eyes.

  To see them filled with terror and tears had seared his heart. A ball of anger still burned deep inside him, one with no place to go. He thought of his sisters. He thought of witnessing the same fear in their eyes and he slammed his fists on his desk knocking over his ink well. He remembered the look in Piper’s eyes when they had rescued her from her kidnappers last year and shuddered at the memory.

  He watched the ink spread in a large dark pool on the deep brown leather blotter Piper had given him as a gift two years before, damn. He stood, pulled out a fine linen handkerchief monogrammed with his initials from his pocket, still stained with Miss Smith’s tears and mopped up the spill before it left an irreparable stain. He discarded the destroyed piece of cloth in the small waste bin near his desk and sat back down with a frown. His forefinger tapped the desk in agitation.

  He suppressed a frustrated growl, picked up his quill and penned a note sending for his secretary who was currently tidying up some loose ends in London. He would have to set those aside. This was more important. He didn’t know how long he sat with his head in his hands taking deep cleansing breaths, but he finally heard his name being spoken from the doorway and looked up.

  “How is our guest?” Adele asked from the doorway of the study where her nephew sat with his head in his hands. A mountain of missives stacked haphazardly beside his elbow. She studied him thoroughly with her critical yet love filled eyes. The room dark except for the glow of the fire and one candle set atop his desk.

  At the sound of his aunt’s voice, Parker raised his head from his hands and forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “I would say she is doing much better.” He rubbed his upper left arm where she had hit him. “She attacked me when she first awoke thinking that I had stolen her baby away.”

  “Oh my.” Adele chuckled. “I’m sure in her weakened state she wasn’t able to harm you over much.”

  “No.” He echoed her chuckle. “Thankfully.” He leaned back in his chair at his aunt’s approach, lacing his fingers together and rested them on the hard, flat surface of his stomach. He had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves earlier, when he had realized that the task of sending off urgent requests was going to take longer than he had hoped. “Although, she does possess a powerful right hook.” He fingered the darkening skin around his eye. “I fear I might show a bruise in the morning.”

  Adele sat in one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk. “How I would have enjoyed witnessing that,” she said brightly, a little too brightly for Parker’s taste. One of his brows lifted in a sardonic arch. She was pleased that her nephew was such a handsome man. It would make the task of finding him a wife that much easier.

  A corner of Parker’s mouth turned up. “You are wicked, Aunt.”

  “No,” she replied. “It is good for a man to be taken down a notch every once in a while.”

  Parker barked a laugh.

  “It builds character,” she continued and he groaned.

  “What have I done to make you so adamant that I build more character?” His brow furrowed. “Mucking stables, now being beat, in my own home no less, by a wee girl.” He shook his head, his lips quirked.

  Adele pursed her lips. “A man must learn his own limitations.”

  “Dear Lord,” his head fell into his hands once again and he groaned. “Master of my own domain? I’m beginning to think not.”

  ***

  Granville’s peccadillos ran to women and men. He wasn’t particular. He took pleasure from whoever was at the ready when he was.

  Which was rather often.

  He took out his irrational frustrations on them.

  Then he took their souls and paid them for their time.

  It was a good life.

  And more important, he was above the law. He was an earl after all. It wasn’t arrogance, it was fact.

  After she had disappeared he had hidden his indulgences away for a couple of weeks, but found he needed this feeling of power to feel truly alive.

  He returned his attention to the unclothed man whose arms were stretched high above his head in thick leather restraints.

  A flicker of a smile touched his lips as he moved closer eyeing the huge erection jutting out from the man’s body and slowly stroked his finger down his cheek, his gaze intent upon his handsome face. With a thumb under the man’s chin, Granville tilted his prisoner’s head up, and the smile faded from his face. “I said scream.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?

  Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full!

  One for the master, one for the dame,

  And one for the little boy who lives down the lane

  Declan Trenowyth, the Duke of Hawksley, the brother-in-law to Parker Peregrine, looked up from the letter he was just delivered from his butler, Archibald, with the rest of the morning post. He turned to his wife, Poppy, with a raised brow, amusement glinting in his eyes.

  “He sent no regards for my person or that of his unborn nephew?” She gave a little huff of irritation which seemed to be commonplace the closer she came to the birth of their first child. “The unmitigated nerve of him. I cannot believe Parker sent you a note and not me. Have I nothing in the morning post?” She caught the amusement in his eyes and glared at him.

  “You are sure our child is going to be a boy?”

  Poppy let out an exaggerated sigh. “Absolutely.”

  “Of course, my darling.” His emerald green eyes twinkled with mischief. “He asks specifically of your health.”

  Poppy tossed her head, laying her hands over her rotund belly, she knew she was acting spoiled, but she was so uncomfortable, she did not care. She winced, squirming unpleasantly in her chair, her blonde curls bouncing as she moved into a more comfortable position.

  “He’s asking for my assistance in an urgent matter.”

  “Why?” She groaned.

  His eyes narrowed for a moment. “Do you remember the rumors you asked about last year?”

  She nodded, worry furrowed her brow. “Of course, I’ve been so worried about Parker.”

  “A girl with a babe was found practically starved to death in the field behind the garden and he needs help finding out more about her.” He stared down at a drawing that accompanied the message. “This looks familiar,” he murmured, rubbing his chin.

  Poppy leaned forward as far as her belly would allow in an attempt to see what he was studying. “What is it a sketch of?” Her waning energy improved by the mention of the girl and her baby.

  He held it up for her to view. “A signet he found in the girls belongings. He sent me a drawing of it to see if I can uncover to what family it belongs.”

  “Does he mention the girls’ name?”

  “Persephone Smith and the baby’s name is…” He glanced back down at the letter. “Matillda.”

  Hawksley didn’t like the look that appeared in wife’s eyes. “Poppy,” he drawled, his attention narrowing on her.

  “What?” She attempted to tame th
e conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.

  “I can see the cogwheels working in your brain,” he said, firming his jaw.

  “It’s not as if I can do a thing, darling.” Her shoulders slumped. “You’ve made me a prisoner in my own house.” She crossed her arms in defiance over her burgeoning belly.

  “It is for your own good.” His tone held a note of exasperation. “Just last week you were caught in a thunderstorm for nearly an hour before I found you.” He would be damned before he would allow that to occur again.

  “It was just a little rain, darling.” She reached over to pat his hand. “The babe and I were perfectly fine.”

  Declan’s eyes held a glazed look for a moment before he responded with a husky voice, “I would not be able to make it if I lost you or our babe, Poppy.”

  “You have nothing to worry about.” Her eyes held an inordinate amount of sympathy. She knew he thought of his brother’s death of a fever after being out in a similar storm.

  “I swear, Poppy,” he growled. “I will tie you to the bed if you do not obey me.”

  She slanted a heavy-lidded look his way. “We’ve not done that before, Your Grace.”

  “Minx.” He shook his head, casting a roguish glance her way before standing. He reached for her hand and tugged her from her chair where he proceeded to drag her towards the stairs and lifted her in his arms.

  “You’ll hurt your back, Declan.” Poppy giggled. “I’m the size of a hog about to be sent to slaughter.”

  “Perfect.” He licked his lips. “Because I’m going to eat you up.” He began nibbling on her neck as he trudged up the stairs with her snuggled against his chest.

  ***

  Granville’s smile was tight, hard, as he looked from Cooper to Johnson. His jaw flexed as he thought of all of his hard work gone with one girl. An exclusive club for he and a few other gentlemen who needed a place to relieve their aggressions. No rules. No prying eyes. No judgment. Private.