Rescue Me Please

by Nichole Matthews

  “What is that look, Rock?” Parker’s brows drew together.

  The corner of Rockwell’s mouth turned up. He held up his hand and barked an order for them to quiet down from his indelicate sprawl on the floor in front of the fire. “I wager one pound to the first person to quote a nursery rhyme.”

  “A fitting wager for the nursery,” Parker drawled just as a footman arrived with two glasses and a decanter of brandy.

  Rockwell jumped up and retrieved the delivery, pouring them both a tumbler before plopping back down in front of the fire.

  Persephone eyes swung back and forth between the two men, nibbling at her biscuit. Parker could see the wheels working in her head.

  Piper rolled her eyes. “A whole pound?”

  Persephone leaned back and sighed. Her anxiety fled with each of their well-meaning jabs. It felt good to be a part of their friendship.

  Rockwell laughed. “A whole pound.”

  “Your generosity astounds, my lord.” Parker snorted a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Piper laughed. “Incorrigible!”

  “Minx,” Parker spat back good-naturedly.

  Persephone’s brow creased in concentration for a moment as the whole room erupted in a chorus of quotes and laughter, of exclamations and more laughter until Parker held up his hand.

  “I believe Persephone might take you up on that wager, Rock.” His eyes narrowed. “The look upon her face is far too deep for such an occasion.”

  Rockwell sat up. “Is that so?” He grinned at her. “Don’t hold back, Miss Smith. I can take it.” He popped a biscuit in his mouth and chewed as he waited.

  “Take his money, Persephone,” Piper encouraged, stroking Tillie’s hair, twining red curls around her finger.

  “Bear in mind, Ash,” Rockwell added. “She has a decided advantage. She is after all a mother. I believe she is overqualified to participate.”

  “Are you fearful she may take your pound?” Parker scoffed.

  Piper cut in, “You cannot add qualifiers to your wager after it has already been accepted, darling.” Piper looked in Persephone’s direction. “I would take great pleasure in your lightening his pocket. He is too arrogant, by half.”

  Rockwell sent Piper a withering stare. “You are supposed to be my champion, my dear.”

  Piper choked back a laugh at his serious expression.

  Rockwell held up his hands in surrender. “Proceed, Miss Smith.”

  Persephone tapped her chin twice before starting. “There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile, he found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile. He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse. And they all lived together in a little crooked house.” Her smile smug as she held out her hand palm flat, facing up.

  Rockwell wore a mock disgruntled look as he handed over her winnings.

  “There, there, darling.” Piper leaned forward and patted his shoulder.

  Parker jumped to his feet. “I believe we should celebrate.” He headed towards the bell pull. “One of Mrs. Harris’ specialties. Hot Cross buns! Hot Cross buns! One a penny two a penny-Hot Cross buns. If you have no daughters, give them to your sons. One a penny two a penny-Hot Cross buns.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

  “Parker,” Piper groaned.

  Rockwell groaned and threw a cushion in his direction.

  Persephone swiped at the tears falling from her eyes clutching her sides as she genuinely laughed for the third time in such a short span.

  And Tillie cried.

  “Parker,” Piper cried, lifting the baby to her shoulder. “Look what you have done.” Then she grimaced when she pulled away a wet hand.

  Persephone’s eyes widened, she raised her fingers to her mouth, horrified. “Oh, Piper.” Her gaze flew to Parker’s, humor lighting up her eyes.

  Parker chuckled; he liked seeing that hopeful look in her eyes. “Excellent. Someone else has been christened.”

  “I have a better idea, Parker,” Rockwell called. “Ring for the nurse!”

  Piper kissed Tillie’s forehead. “No, darling.” She squeezed the baby tightly. “I cannot bear to part with her.”

  Rockwell stood and lifted Tillie from her arms. “Release the babe, Piper.” He chuckled. “You can always visit again.”

  “Oh, you’re a curmudgeon, Graydon Morgan!” Piper’s lips fell in a pout as she held out her hand to her husband accepting his assistance to rise from her seat.

  Piper turned to Persephone and grasped her hands between her own. “I’ve had a delightful time with you this afternoon, Persephone.”

  Persephone squeezed back. “I as well.” She was surprised by how much she truly meant those words.

  ***

  Granville stood staring at the portrait of the fourth earl. He remembered the look in his brother’s eye when he slid the ring on his finger after their father’s death. Pride.

  He moved from portrait to portrait, the ring painted larger than life for anyone who admired the artist’s work to see. He moved to stand in front of his brother’s portrait. The eighth Earl of Granville.

  His brother hadn’t appreciated his role as earl. He hadn’t understood the freedom such a title could give a man. He choked back his cold fury. Instead his brother had placed more significance on his wife and child. He hadn’t needed the title to feel powerful. He had gained that from those he loved. A love match from the very beginning. It sickened him.

  How she had survived it was beyond him, but he had taken care of his brother and his wife. He had thought to only have a little fun with the chit, then be done with her.

  But she had it.

  He could feel it in his bones.

  He stared at the family portrait that he had slashed in anger. He stared at her angelic face. A frightening smile curling up the corner of his mouth as he remembered some of the things he had done to her, a dark spot of indignation colored his cheeks. His cock tightened as he thought of her cries for mercy. Her screams.

  He ran his finger over her face on the destroyed canvas.

  “I will find you.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Perhaps I will brand you as St. Claire has done.” He said aloud on a groan. “You will never forget me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hush-a-bye don’t you cry,

  Go to sleep-y, little baby.

  When you wake you shall have

  All the pretty little horses.

  Blacks and bays, dapple grays,

  Coach and six white horses.

  Hush-a-bye don’t you cry,

  Go to sleep-y, little baby.

  Closing in. Smothering. She tried to fill her compressed lungs with slow, deep breaths, but she couldn’t. She was suffocating. The hands around her neck cutting off her breath once again. She was going to pass out again, perhaps this time she wouldn’t wake. She wouldn’t have to face what would come next. But then what would become of Tillie? Would he harm her daughter too?

  “God, no.” The pain was too much. Had she done something wrong? Why did he punish her so?

  “Uncle! Make them stop!” Even in sleep her breathing increased and fear trickled into her belly. Sweat bathed her body, and she shook uncontrollably.

  “No more, please!” she begged hysterically. The sound of paddles cracking on bare flesh, the high pitched crying of caged women and men, and the moaning all seemed real in her dream. The scent of sex and sweat and fear made her gag.

  “Leave me be. Away…” She sobbed, the pain scuttled over flesh, leaving a fiery path over her body. Nausea welled in her stomach, twisting it around in knots.

  Parker passed by her door and heard her crying out and his heart raced from fear. He had been down in his study unable to sleep when he finally decided to return to his bed.

  He knocked on the door. No reply.

  He knocked again.

  “Persephone,” he called through the door. Trying the doorknob, it wasn’t locked, so he opened the door to her loud cries echoing in the room. Her thrashing body m
ade visible by the sliver of moonlight filtering through the drapes.

  He rushed to the side of her bed to see her fighting off an unseen offender, sweat beaded on her forehead even in the cooled room. The covers flung aside, her body tensing. Her night rail had ridden up to reveal thighs covered in long, thin white scars in various stages of healing. The sight nearly stole his breath. The wounds healed over time, but still visible to his eyes. He let out a hiss of anger. He stifled the urge to ram his fist through a wall. Any wall.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he swore, his jaw tightened in fury. What had happened to her? He’d heard of such things, of course. Perversions were everywhere, but he had never witnessed it firsthand. He didn’t have the stomach for it. She whimpered deep in her throat, her arms wrapped protectively around herself, every muscle in her body tense.

  He would kill the bastard if he knew who he was. At that moment he swore to God that if he ever found the perverted son of a bitch that had done this to her he would kill him. He would relish the feel of his life leaving his body and he would harbor no guilt.

  Her sobs ripped his heart out.

  Her eyes were squeezed closed, her forehead furrowed in pain and a shudder wracked her body.

  He moved cautiously to the side of the bed, extending his hand, he pushed her tangled hair from her damp forehead and gently touched her shoulder. “Persephone?” he breathed out softly.

  Panicked, she kicked and flailed. “Get off,” she screamed; trying to push at him, but his chest was as hard as granite. He tightened his fingers on her shoulder. “Please, no more,” she sobbed. “No more!”

  “Persephone, wake up, darling,” he croaked, his throat hoarse. He gathered her in his arms. “It’s only a dream,” he whispered against her hair. “They can’t hurt you anymore.” She shuddered against him and he tightened his hold until she was pressed so tightly against him you couldn’t see where one ended and the other began.

  Persephone felt a strong hand stroking her hair. Comforting, but firm. And his voice. Not her uncle’s. His.

  She stilled.

  “You’re safe, my darling,” he whispered, his voice nearly silent, but the words soothed the part of her that was fighting. “Just breathe.” He wiped the tears running down her cheeks.

  She sucked in a deep breath and with great effort she managed to return her labored breathing to normal, as he ordered her to do.

  “Just breathe,” he repeated in a gentle voice, massaging her shoulders. Gradually her heartbeat slowed and he could no longer feel the erratic thump of her pulse. He brushed his lips across her hair in an unconscious gesture of comfort.

  “Parker.” She blinked at him, breathing his name, as she softened into his chest. She took a deep breath and exhaled again. “You’re here. You saved me.” She snuggled against his chest, listening to his low, soothing murmur as it rumbled against her ear. “You saved me,” she repeated.

  He climbed up on her bed and propped his back against the headboard dragging her between his thighs. He wrapped his arms tightly around her body and just held her. He nuzzled her temple and inhaled her fragrance. Just whispering against the soft silk of her hair, anything. Nothing. Everything.

  As his arms tightened around her, she sighed and rubbed her cheek against his chest. His heart squeezed and he didn’t think he would be able to breathe. He ran his fingertips down her arm. She jerked.

  “Easy, love,” he murmured, his warm hand stroking her eyebrows, her cheek, and then her hair as he gathered her in his arms and rocked back and forth, murmuring soothing sounds in her ear.

  She sighed as his breath brushed her ear, then his arms tightened around her and warmth spread throughout her body. He kissed the top of her head, her hair soft against his lips.

  “Persephone.” His rough voice was so insistent. “Persephone.” The demanding, deep voice pulled at something inside her, tugging at her heart, her soul.

  “Parker.” Her tongue didn’t feel like it was working right, she was so relaxed in his arms. She felt so safe.

  “Tell me what you were dreaming of,” he said in a thick voice. The horrors inflicted upon her body nearly broke him. He felt utterly helpless.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she stared into his penetrating blue gaze. She leaned back against him feeling enclosed in safety wrapped in Parker’s strong arms as he ran his fingers lightly down her arm in long comforting strokes. “Parker,” she whispered.

  “What were you dreaming about, Persephone.” The knot in his throat threatened to choke him as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What must I do to prove that I am worthy of your trust?” The words whispered over her hair.

  Her brow knitted together, her entire body stiffened. She wanted to tell him everything. Nothing. Both. She took her time considering her words, hesitating. “He hurt me. They all hurt me.” Her delicate features creased with disquiet.

  “Who?” Parker frowned at Persephone. Her breathing slow, he could tell she would sleep at any moment.

  “The men. They all hurt me. They all laughed.”

  “Who, Persephone? Who hurt you?”

  Her brows drew together, and she blinked. “He did, my uncle. The others. The Devils.”

  The words hit him like a bullet in the chest and he grunted at the impact.

  “His name?” He sat stunned waiting for her to answer an unyielding fist squeezed his chest. She was tough, and he was involved with her troubles now. He glanced down when she stirred, snuggling closer and smiled at her trust although he ached due to the pain that had been inflicted upon her.

  “His name?” he asked again because he was going to kill the man who had made her feel this way. Kill the Devils.

  But no answer came. At least not tonight. As the minutes ticked by, he watched over her until her breathing slowed. Deepened. And she became a warm, soft weight in his arms. He knew the moment she’d finally fallen into a dreamless sleep. Her body released its tension and she relaxed against him. He pulled her closer.

  He settled more comfortably on the bed with Persephone still tucked against his chest. She felt so fragile in his arms, as if he could break her if he touched her the wrong way. The healed welts on her legs explained now. With a sigh of relief, he brushed a lock of hair from her cheek hauling in a slow breath.

  “Rest, love.” His fingers stroked her arm lightly as she slept. “I have you now.” Her long hair, streaked with shimmering red was tangled and curled falling over his arm. He wanted to run his hands through it, but didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he pressed his face against her hair and breathed in through his nose inhaling her scent. Fresh. Clean. Persephone.

  He had no idea how long he held her, an hour, possibly two. She continued to sleep, not moving a muscle.

  She needed him.

  And he needed her, but he knew he couldn’t spend the entire night in her room.

  He slowly lifted her and settled her on the bed waiting until she settled back into a deep sleep. His breath eased out, and his muscles relaxed. He straightened, stretching to ease the aches from sitting still for such a long while. He stared down at her, brushing her hair back from her face in soothing strokes. The action designed to soothe him more than her. He admired her pride. Her strength. He slowly ran his fingers down her cheek needing to feel her softness. He needed a little more time to gain perspective.

  “I’m going to kill the bastards that did this to you, Persephone,” he said in a rough whisper, a promise.

  He walked out of the room into the hall and ran straight into Piper who was standing outside of Persephone’s door in her wrapper, her arms crossed and a worried look in her eyes.

  “I heard yelling,” she said by way of explanation.

  His face tightened as he noticeably warred with his need to shelter her. “That was hours ago, Piper.”

  “Parker,” she drawled. “I’m not a child.”

  He swallowed, his grim eyes touched hers. “She’s been abused by some sick bas…monster.”

  Piper’s lips q
uirked up in a fleeting grin at his attempt to shield her from his angry curse. “I’ve heard the word bastard before, Parker.”

  “Women,” he muttered, scrubbing his hand over his face feeling the nights’ worth of whiskers rasping against his palm. His face turned to stone, and rage flashed, turning his eyes to ice even in the darkened hall. “She has scars all over her legs.” He inhaled and exhaled in long, measured breaths. “Possibly other places as well.”

  Piper’s brow rose high upon her forehead.

  He snorted a laugh. “It’s not like that.” His eyes shuttered again. “Her night rail was tangled from her nightmare. Aunt had advised me of them when she first arrived, but I had no idea.” His voice thick with emotions. “If something like this had happened to you or Poppy…” He shook his head, unable to finish. He scrubbed his hand roughly over his face again.

  Piper reached out and touched his arm. His eyes rose, and she could see the deep sadness. “Then it is a lucky thing she found her way to Rosebriar.” He looked so unhappy, it nearly broke her heart. “To you,” she added. “For there is no one more suited to caring for a lost soul. You are one of the kindest, gentlest men I know, Parker.”

  He stood silent allowing her words to sink in. Allowing her praise to wash over him and cover the sadness, giving him strength. He blinked, frowned, and then took a deep breath. “I believe I have my work cut out for me.”

  She gave him a small smile. “You’ve always been up to any task.” She glanced over her shoulder when a door down the hall opened and she saw her husband poke his head out.

  Piper returned her stare to him. Her brilliant blue gaze probed too deeply for the question to be frivolous “You like her, don’t you?”

  She regarded him in a speculative way that he did not like. Parker shifted uncomfortably under her piercing blue stare his brow furrowed. “I…”