Hold Your Breath 02 - Unmasking the Marquess

by K. J. Jackson

  “Did you see her outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “She hates me.”

  “Understandable. She has every right to that notion. Really, Killian? Booting orphans? That is the lowest thing I can even imagine. It is a wonder that I do not hate you.”

  The hands rubbing her belly sped up. “You are only lucky that Devin still believes in you, because without him, I would have given you up for a deep hell a long time ago. He has hope for you, and as he is not always the most optimistic type, I am going along with it for now. But you had better damn well start fixing this mess, Killian.”

  “Why do you think I am here?”

  She took a deep breath, nodding. “Excellent. I am not up for one of our ‘discussions.’ You have been aimless for months, now. And I was getting worried. Devin as well. You need to make this right, Killian.”

  “I do not know if I can. I am pretty sure it is too late.”

  “No. You can.” Her voice softened. “It is never too late.”

  “How? I have done the unforgivable. Things you know nothing of. There is no path to recover.”

  “Nonsense.” Aggie waved a hand. “You beg forgiveness, and then you rebuild her. Moment by moment. Word by word. Make this right, Killian. Make this right.”

  { Chapter 12 }

  “Where is Lady Southfork?” Killian peered into the dim light in the entrance at Reanna’s aunt’s townhouse. He had just spent the last four hours talking with Devin, planning how to mitigate the rumors of his lost fortune. It would force sizable, showy investments in areas he would rather not, and the whole of it had only stoked his anger at Reanna for what she had done.

  Gone begging. His wife.

  “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t help you. The household be asleep.” The middle-aged woman stared him in the eye. A good three heads shorter than he was, she stood before him in the doorway, blocking his way with her considerable girth. A battle ram that wasn’t moving.

  “Good lady, I will not repeat myself again. Where is my wife?”

  That got her. As she started sputtering, Killian slid past her and advanced onto the staircase.

  “Your wife?” She reached after him, but Killian easily stepped out of her grasp. “If you mean to say you’re the marquess, well, you’ve got a whole different problem coming your way, young sir.”

  Killian bolted up the stairs and hit the first landing. He stalked down the hall, opening doors and ignoring the maid that was puffing up the steps, spouting threats after him.

  The first door—kids. The second door—kids. What should have been the main chamber—kids. Killian went through five doors on the floor and only found children nestled cozily in beds.

  He took the steps three at a time to the next floor and repeated the process. Only children.

  Patience at an endpoint, he stopped by a wall lantern and turned back toward the graying woman, who had finally caught up to him. “Where the hell is she?”

  Hand on her hip, her finger flew out at him. “She is nowhere you need to know about, sir.” But then the woman couldn’t stop her eyes from flickering upwards.

  Killian didn’t miss the motion.

  “What? She’s hiding in the servants’s quarters from me?” He stormed past the lady and went up another flight of stairs.

  “Sir, please do be quiet.” She rushed up after him, not ceasing her bickering as she heaved herself up the stairs. “There be children sleeping at this time of night.”

  “I am only interested in one child at the moment, Miss…Miss…”

  “Collier.”

  “Miss Collier.” Killian reached the next hallway of doors and began slamming them open. More kids.

  “Sir, please, the children are sleeping!”

  Killian whipped to the lady. “Tell me where the hell she is and I will let the children sleep.”

  Miss Collier shut her mouth. Not giving him anything. Stubborn wench.

  Killian turned to the last two unchecked doors on this floor. The first one—children. The second, he opened, and the blackness caused him to take a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He stepped into the room.

  There, lying on the blankets of a tiny bed under the low-pitched ceiling, was Reanna. On her stomach, she wore only a flimsy white chemise that had fallen up to mid-thigh. A crack of moonlight filtered in through the slit of a window, landing on her hair that spread out in a dark halo above her.

  Killian didn’t think it was possible, but all of his anger dissipated in that one second.

  His eyes searched down the lines of her body, until he reached the top of her calves. She was wearing boots. In bed. What was going on here? She was in the smallest room in the house, sleeping near naked, save for her thin chemise and boots.

  “Sir, I must demand of you, please don’t go any further.”

  Killian looked back at Miss Collier, who was now not barking orders, but pleading in a whisper.

  “Is she all right?”

  “Please, your lordship, come back in the morning. She will see you then, I’m sure of it.” She had grasped Killian’s arm, and was tugging him back out of the room. “Just please, don’t go any farther. Don’t wake her up.”

  The sudden change in the woman’s attitude made Killian take the few steps toward the exit. Once in the hallway, the woman reached past him to quickly close the door.

  “I repeat my question.” Killian looked down at her. “Is she all right?”

  Miss Collier motioned for him to follow her to the stairs. Killian followed.

  “She is fine. As fine as a woman who’s working herself to death can be, I suppose. She don’t sleep none.”

  “Working herself to death?”

  “Ever since she set this place up and hired me. That’s all I seen.” She began down the stairs. “Lady Ana has been trying to place children, and more keep showing up. On top of her running all the house, and the money, she spends every other moment taking care of the poor souls. ‘Specially at night. One or two or more are usually crying. I don’t think she eats. When we finally force her to bed, she makes herself get up a few hours later. I’ve not seen her sleep for more than three hours in a spell.”

  Killian followed her down the stairs. “How long has this been going on?”

  “It’s been more than a fortnight since she came here with the lot of the children, I understand. She hired me a couple days after setting up. The little thing’s been exhausted for too long now, but she don’t stop. None of us can get her to stop.”

  They reached the second story landing just as a wail came from one of the rooms. “Excuse me, your lordship, but I’m needed. I’m sure you can show yourself out?” The hopeful look on her face was almost laughable.

  “Yes, I will.”

  She nodded and turned away from Killian, scurrying to a door down the hall, the origin of the young cry.

  “Oh, one more thing Miss Collier.”

  “Yes?”

  “The boots. Why was she wearing the boots?”

  Miss Collier shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not rightly sure, sir. It be the oddest thing. She hasn’t taken them off once, near as I can tell, since I been here. When I ask, she just mumbles some nonsense.” The cry cut through the air again, and Miss Collier disappeared through the door.

  Killian stared back up the stairs for several long minutes. Then he turned and went down the steps to the entryway.

  “It’s you, ya bloody sod.”

  “What?” Killian spun around, and out of the shadows in the hallway above, a little boy with fists clenched, about six, looked down at him through the dark wood balusters. It was a look of hatred.

  “You’re the damn bloody reason. I heard Miss Collier call you ‘your lordship.’”

  Killian walked across the landing to see the boy closer. “And just what, am I the ‘damn bloody reason’ for, young man?”

  “She don’t take her boots off ‘cause of you.”

  “What?” Killian’s hand ran throu
gh his hair. Had he walked into a mad house?

  “They’re too bloody. I saw them halfway back.”

  “What? Hold on.” Killian came up the stairs to the boy. “Now what? The boots are bloody?”

  The hatred in the boy’s eyes didn’t lessen, and Killian wondered if he was going to get hit. Instead, the boy answered him. “Yep. Bloody. Her feet. On our way here. She shoved ‘em back on—those boots—when she thought we were asleep. But I saw by the fire. She cried. It made me cry.”

  Killian knelt down so he was eye level with the boy.

  “Why was she crying?”

  “I guess ‘cause they hurt so bad. She made me ride on the horse sometimes, even though I should have walked too. Thomas walked, so I should have too, ‘cause I’m the next oldest boy. So my feet are fine. But she walked and never rode. Kept saying she had to be down to lead the horse or take care of us. Just them two took care of us. Thomas ‘cause he’s oldest and her because she’s the grown up.”

  His little fists were still balled at his sides. “She told me not to blame you, but I do. I know you’re the bloody sod who made us leave—and made her walk the whole way.”

  The little boy had worked himself into such anger, Killian actually did expect that he was about to get punched.

  “Well, I am sorry you had to walk to London.”

  Just like that, his fists un-balled and he shrugged. “It don’t bother me much. Like I said, I got to ride some. It’s Lady Ana the one who’s hurting. We all worried about her.”

  “I am sure you are.” Killian stood up. “Thank you, young man—”

  “Albert. I’m Albert.” He looked upward. “You going back up there?”

  Killian could see the boy didn’t like that prospect very much. “Yes.”

  “Lady Ana not gonna like that.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she is.” Killian pointed down the hall. “Back to your room, young man.”

  To Killian’s surprise, the boy listened and spun to go into the room closest to them.

  Killian leaned on the banister, taking a deep breath, and then exhaled it with the hope that it could take all of his idiocy with it.

  What the hell had he done?

  With another deep breath, he went to the stairs and up two levels.

  Opening the rickety door, Killian stepped quietly into the room, and seeing a lantern on a short dresser, he went over to it, lit it, and turned up the wick for the smallest flame.

  Even in the small bed, Reanna looked tiny. She had shifted in her sleep, and was now on her side, facing the wall, balled tightly, her knees to her chest.

  His head wedged under a rafter, Killian watched her for minutes, watched her bare arm quiver with every uneven breath she took.

  What the hell could he even say to her? What now?

  Nerve finally worked up, he went across the room and put his hand on her bare shoulder. It was a light touch, but she jerked awake, turning toward him, murmuring. “What, is it? The babies?”

  And then her eyes caught his face.

  “Oh, god no.” She shoved at his hand. “God, no. No. Not you. Don’t touch me.”

  He tried to move his hand to her shoulder again. “Reanna, I am not going to hurt you.”

  His touch sent her flailing, screaming as she pushed back into the wall away from him, boots clawing on the bed to hide herself. “No. Stop. Not you. No. Don’t touch me. God no. Not you.”

  Bent over Reanna, trying to calm her, Killian heard the whoosh of air just before a line of wood cracked him across the back.

  Pain lashed his spine, and he spun, hand instantly on the wooden broom handle that had just smashed onto his back.

  He ripped the stick into his hands, shoving, wood across neck, and pinned his attacker to the wall.

  “Stop. Killian. No. It’s Thomas.” Reanna screeched. “Stop. Killian. Stop.”

  She scrambled off the bed.

  “Stop. Killian. He’s just a boy. Stop.”

  In the initial flurry, it took a moment for Killian to realize Reanna had fallen and was dragging herself across the floor.

  She grabbed his ankle, desperately yanking on him.

  “Killian, stop. Please don’t hurt him. He’s just a boy, Killian. Stop.”

  Killian’s eyes flew up from Reanna and focused on his attacker. It was a boy. Probably not even ten years old.

  Killian dropped the handle from his neck. “Get the hell out of here.”

  The boy coughed and grabbed at the stick, trying to wrestle it back. “No. You let Lady Ana go. You don’t touch her.”

  “Thomas, no. Stop.” Still on the floor, Reanna pointed at the door. “Out of the room, Thomas. Out. I am fine. I was asleep and I was just surprised at being woken. I am fine. Please, Thomas. Just step out. Please.”

  The boy stopped, looking back and forth from Reanna to Killian, eyeing Killian like he was the muck of the Thames.

  “Please, Thomas.”

  He tore his eyes back down to Reanna. “Okay, Lady Ana. But I will just be outside. You just yell if you need me.”

  “Good. Thank you, Thomas. I promise I will be sure to yell if I need help.”

  Thomas shuffled to the door, eyes still wary on Killian.

  “Close the door on your way.” Killian’s voice stretched just over his rage.

  Thomas slowly closed the door behind him, but left it cracked.

  “All the way.”

  The door clicked closed.

  At the sound, Reanna collapsed face down on the floor.

  Killian walked across the room to turn up the wick on the lantern. He stepped back to her, his boots near her head.

  “Please. Please, Killian, just go. Leave me alone. Please.” Her voice floated up to him, small and cracking.

  “I cannot do that, Reanna. You are in pain. I can see it.”

  She didn’t look up at him, didn’t move. Killian watched her back rise and fall in heavy breaths.

  “I am fine, Killian. I do not need your help. You can leave with a clear conscience.”

  “I will not leave you in a huddled mess on the floor.”

  “Please, just go. I am fine.”

  “Prove it.”

  Finally, she looked up at him. “What?”

  Fresh tears lined the grimace contorting her face. Killian found himself hoping they were just tears of physical pain, and that his very presence wouldn’t produce that look.

  “Prove it. Get up. Walk over to the bed, Reanna, and I will leave. That simple.”

  “Damn you.” Her voice was a whisper. “You cannot just come in here. Come in here and hurt one of my children and order me around. No. Not after…not after…No.”

  Her head fell back to the floor.

  “Just leave.”

  Killian bent down, balancing on his heels. “If you can walk back to the bed on your own, Reanna, I will leave. I promise.”

  Silent minutes passed, and Killian refused to move.

  With a vicious growl, Reanna pushed her upper body up and went to her knees. Heaving, she shifted her right boot under her body, and shot up.

  She made it two steps before falling to her knees.

  So she began to crawl.

  Bile hitting his throat, Killian picked her up, and her arms flew, slamming fists at him.

  “Dammit, Reanna, I am not going to watch you crawl.”

  He set her on the bed, and she scratched away from him, fighting to the furthest corner, and then curled up in a ball facing the wall.

  “Leave. Please. Just leave.”

  Killian watched her shaking back. Trying to not let her shake become his.

  He walked backward to the door, eyes not leaving Reanna, and opened it. Stepping into the hallway, he was greeted by both Thomas and Miss Collier. Both looked like they would be happy to murder him on the spot.

  Killian tried to ignore their glares. “You. Thomas, is it? Would you please go out to my driver and tell him to fetch my doctor.”

  Thomas’s look went from anger, to mo
derate suspicion. “You gonna help Lady Ana?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, then.” He spun and ran down the stairs.

  Killian looked at Miss Collier. He didn’t figure she would be as easy.

  “I am going back in, and I would prefer not to be interrupted.”

  “What you prefer doesn’t sound like it agrees with what Lady Ana wants. Your doc can come and tend to her, but you need to leave her alone, sir.”

  Killian struggled for control. Why did everyone think they could boss him around when it came to his own wife?

  “She cannot walk, Miss Collier. She needs help. Real help, and this is not the place for it.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says her husband. Frankly, Miss Collier, I am removing her from this place one way or another. But I am thinking it would be best if a scene was not made. You said yourself children were sleeping.”

  Miss Collier looked over her shoulder, then down the hall at the other doors. She shook her head, exasperated. “Bollocks. Fine. But the likes of you better be kind to her. Not that you have it in you.”

  She turned and stalked down the hall before he could reply. And better for both of them that he didn’t.

  He opened the door, stepping back into the room and closing the door. Reanna hadn’t moved from her balled position, if anything, she looked smaller than before, shrinking into herself.

  Killian went over to her and stopped at the bed. She knew he was there, he could see through the light chemise her body tense at his approach.

  Killian reached down to the top of her calf, slipping his finger under the leather at the top of the boot.

  She jerked away, knocking her knee into the wall. “God, don’t touch them. Don’t touch me. Go, Killian, just go.”

  Pulling his hand back to his side, Killian sighed and sat down at the foot of the bed. He gave her as much space from his body as possible, but he wanted it evident that he wasn’t about to leave. Not now.

  “Reanna, I have a doctor coming to help you. But your feet. Your boots.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hell, Reanna, you walked all the goddamn way to London in them.”

  A coarse laugh escaped from the curl of her body. “Of course, that is what you would concentrate on. My failures never cease with you.”

  “Reanna—”