by Allison Lane
His hand shook as he refilled his glass.
Helen. Concentrate on tomorrow.
Her determination was bound to cause trouble. In retrospect, he should have found another way to protect her. Marriage left him in an untenable position. His mother’s need for his support had kept her firmly on his side. But Helen needed only temporary assistance. What would happen when Steven was vanquished – assuming they survived Hillcrest.
He sobered. He had vowed to protect her – a vow he took seriously. Despite her verve, Hillcrest would hurt her. His tongue was adept at probing sore spots, exploiting weakness, and slicing confidence.
Yet she was right. Honor demanded that he do what he could to help Alice. Hillcrest certainly wouldn’t, and Pauling would soon be gone. Only fortune hunters would court a girl with a tarnished reputation. She deserved better.
Hillcrest’s scheming had ruined an innocent. Rafe would recover, thanks to Helen. His marriage would be a nine-day wonder, but the scandal would soon blow over. By the time they returned to London, society would welcome them.
But Alice would face censure. The apology he’d wrested from the newspapers wasn’t enough. He had to protect her.
Chapter Nine
May 24
Helen clung to Rafe’s arm with both hands as the carriage approached Hillcrest Manor. It didn’t help her nerves that he was more tense than she. He’d been silent for the last hour, shrinking deeper into himself with every passing mile. His confidence had collapsed, turning his face white and hunching his shoulders until he resembled a frightened child.
Fury stiffened her spine. No father should mistreat his son so badly. She must help him break free. But helping him would be impossible until she cracked the wall he’d built between himself and others, which he was defending with all his might.
She still wasn’t sure what had happened last evening. He’d been well on his way to bedding her when he’d suddenly pulled back, announced that she was too pale, and packed her off to bed alone. He’d been furious, though not at her. When she’d tried to ask what she’d done wrong, he’d refused to discuss it. Shades of Alex, who had left without telling her why.
If Rafe was one of those men who avoided anyone who seemed ill, he would have to adjust. She was naturally pale. And the sooner he accepted that, the better.
Her plan was simple. Remain by his side to keep Hillcrest civil, then join him in bed, consummating their marriage to forge the next link in their partnership. It was time he accepted that she was not a fragile flower.
She’d learned enough from Alex and from her encounters with Rafe that seducing him should be easy. He was as susceptible to stroking as she was, and a rake of his reputation must be frustrated enough by now to respond to any overture.
Anticipation heated her cheeks, but she forced her mind back to business. Before they could go to bed, they must face Hillcrest.
The Manor’s grounds looked stark despite the warmth imparted by the setting sun. The house seemed equally gloomy, rising from an unadorned hilltop like a wart. Cold gray stone. Flat façade lacking either gothic arches or Palladian pediments. It fairly shouted repulsion and would better fit barren Dartmoor than the prosperous countryside near London. Hillcrest’s housekeeper would never face curious travelers seeking a tour. Growing up in such uncompromising surroundings could explain Hillcrest’s rigidity. But what had it done to Rafe? His insouciant-gentleman act covered deep sensitivity.
“I thought you said your mother loved flowers,” she said, forcing Rafe from his long abstraction. “This is the most barren estate I’ve ever seen.”
“Hillcrest’s revenge.” His voice cracked. “The house was always plain, but when I was a boy, the grounds were lush with greenery. The rose garden was more than a century old and renowned for its variety, and Grandfather’s Italian garden was the envy of the neighborhood.” He pointed to a second hill. “The folly sat on that rise, with a commanding view of the park. There was a lake, fallow deer, a small maze…”
“What did he do?” She stroked his arm, but he had retreated to the past and didn’t notice.
“Mother spent hours with the head gardener planning improvements that turned the park into a showplace. The moment she died, Hillcrest destroyed everything she’d touched. And not just outside. The house is more austere than a monk’s cell these days, and just as gray.”
Helen shivered. Despite Lady Alquist’s warning, she hadn’t realized how deep Hillcrest’s antagonism ran. Was it hatred or wounded pride? Had he spent thirty years lashing out because poverty had forced him to beg?
But it was too late to turn back. A footman opened the door as the carriage rocked to a halt. “You made it, Master Rafe,” he said, smiling. “I knew you would. His Nibs couldn’t hold back the announcement this time.”
Rafe’s head snapped up as he stepped onto the drive. “What announcement, Ned?”
Ned looked shocked. “You didn’t know? Lord Pauling is dead. The interment is tomorrow morning. But why are you here, then?”
“To introduce my wife.”
Ned gaped as Helen alighted from the carriage.
“Helen, this is Ned,” said Rafe, sliding a possessive arm around her shoulders. “Ned is the only servant you can trust. His warnings saved me from grief too many times to count.”
“I’m glad someone kept an eye on him,” said Helen lightly as Ned’s wrinkled face turned red. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for helping to raise a fine gentleman.”
“I didn’t—” Ned’s face grew redder.
“You did,” said Rafe firmly.
Ned pulled himself together. “Welcome to Hillcrest, Mrs. Thomas.” He bowed deep enough for royalty, then lowered his voice. “Beware, sir. His Nibs is in rare form today. If he’s not expecting you, I doubt you’ll find welcome.”
“He’ll be in rarer form by the time we finish,” vowed Rafe. “Perhaps you should busy yourself in a cellar or attic. He’ll not welcome your letting us in.”
“He would take out his anger on a servant?” whispered Helen as Ned slipped away.
“It’s been known, though to give him his due, he is generally fair to servants – when not in a temper. New employees quickly learn to gauge his moods. We can still leave,” he added hopefully. “I don’t like exposing you to his spite.”
“Enough, Rafe. Duty demands that you introduce me. And now there is a burial to attend. Miss Pauling will be doubly hurt.” Losing her father and her betrothed in the same week might have driven her to despair.
Gripping Rafe’s arm, Helen urged him up the steps.
A man’s voice boomed from inside. “Why is that door open, Mason? No more callers! The ghouls have no proper feeling. They come only to gloat at my misfortune.”
“B-but, my lord…” sputtered the butler, gesturing as Rafe and Helen crossed the threshold into an entrance hall that differed from a working class boarding house only in size – plain wood floor, painted walls, and a flat plaster ceiling. Two chairs and a pier table were the only furnishing. A candle sat unlit on the table next to a small mound of calling cards and a cane.
The setting sun streamed through the open door, illuminating a gray-haired man standing three steps up a broad staircase. His face turned purple, bulging the veins in his neck. “I knew your word was worthless,” he said coldly. “But returning was a waste of time. Be gone with you. I don’t allow criminals under my roof.”
“Marriage is hardly a crime,” said Rafe lightly, though his voice trembled. “People commit it every day.”
Helen swallowed hard. Rafe was falling apart before her eyes. His arm shook beneath her hand as his shoulders slumped. Was it Hillcrest he feared, or something else?
Hillcrest gripped the banister. “You murdered Pauling!”
Rafe said nothing.
Helen dug her fingers into his arm, trying to break the spell. His reaction was appalling.
Her efforts seemed to help, for he straightened. “Only four days ago, you swore he was at d
eath’s door, sir. It is no surprise to find him gone.”
Hillcrest glared. “You fool! They gave him three months, but you stole that. One glance at your cursed lies killed him.” His voice broke.
“I never lie!” Rafe choked, blanching.
Hillcrest gripped the banister. “How dare you contradict me? You’ve lied every day of your life, just like your bedamned mother – refusing to admit your transgressions, spouting false charges against me, ignoring every duty expected of you. Why was I cursed with such a…”
Helen quit listening, too concerned about Rafe to attend to Hillcrest’s dramatics. She could feel Rafe retreating mentally. Why didn’t he stand up to Hillcrest? He was an intelligent, agile debater with charm enough to convince the devil to repent, according to society.
Hillcrest was clearly insane. Far worse than Lady Alquist had intimated. His treatment of Rafe was inexcusable. Common felons received more respect than he accorded his son. Her anger built until her fingers again bit into Rafe’s arm.
He flinched, but pulled himself up to address Hillcrest. “This rant is pointless and only demonstrates how little you know me. I value truth above all else.”
“Hah! What does a hedonistic wastrel know of truth? First you kill my one true friend. Then you come to gloat over my pain.”
“I didn’t know he’d died until just now—”
“Get out! And take your whore with you.”
Helen gasped as Hillcrest leaped from the stairs. She hadn’t expected the confrontation to turn physical. Even Rafe claimed his father wasn’t violent. But murder blazed in the man’s eyes. She stepped forward to provide a buffer.
Hillcrest raised a fist.
Rafe thrust her behind him. “Apologize, Hillcrest,” he snapped, shaking off his lethargy. “I’ll not tolerate insults to my wife.”
“This jest has gone far enough,” snarled Hillcrest, shoving Rafe aside so he could drag Helen toward the door. “The farce is over, bitch. I don’t know how much he paid you to impersonate a bride, but your job is done.”
“You—” began Helen.
“Unhand her!” Rafe twisted Hillcrest’s fingers from Helen’s arm. “You are making a fool of yourself.”
“Don’t touch me.” Hillcrest jerked free. “Throw the doxy out, Mason, then summon the rector. The only way to salvage our reputations is an immediate wedding.”
Helen stepped between them. “Is he always delusional, Rafe?” Effort kept her voice light.
Rafe matched her tone, looking more like himself. “I fear so. He thinks nothing matters but his own selfish whims. Stay out of this, Mason,” he added, glaring until the butler backed into a corner. “Helen, though I’m ashamed to acknowledge this madman, he is my father. My wife, Hillcrest. Live with it.”
Hillcrest sputtered for a long moment. “My God!” he finally managed, backing a pace. “I’d hoped she was an actress, but you actually married the first girl you saw. Of all the idiotic things you have done, this takes the cake. How could I have spawned such a ne’er-do-well?”
Helen froze. Married the first girl you saw. Was that why he’d offered? No wonder Hillcrest was appalled. What hope did a marriage conceived in fury and wine have of success?
Yet she couldn’t believe Rafe was irresponsible. Lady Alquist would have spotted such a flaw. And fretting over the why of their marriage was less important than addressing their future.
“—care for nothing but yourself!” shouted Hillcrest. He was well into a more vehement diatribe than before. “You cost me the best friend a man could have.”
Rafe’s scars slashed white across his red face. Clearly temper had banished his earlier fears. “If anything, it was your own greed for the Grange that killed him, Hillcrest.”
“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth—”
“Don’t quote that drivel to me. You never wanted a son, grateful or otherwise. I was merely a prize for you and Mother to fight over.”
“You are too worthless to be anyone’s prize.” Hillcrest growled, reaching for his walking stick.
Shock flared in Rafe’s eyes.
Helen knocked the stick aside, too aware of the damage it could cause.
“You’ve destroyed Alice,” Hillcrest continued. “She’s been in tears for days.”
Rafe glared. “Of course, she’s in tears. Her father is dead. Did you even tell her he was ailing?”
“She cries for you!” shouted Hillcrest. “You broke her heart with your callous—”
“Balderdash! I’ve repudiated that connection for years – as you well know. If—”
Helen stopped listening, wishing she’d not insisted on coming. Rafe’s childhood had been worse than she’d feared. The confrontation was illuminating, but at what cost?
Rafe made no attempt to be conciliatory. When he listened at all – which wasn’t often – he argued every statement. If that was his usual defense against opposition, it would be impossible to reason with him.
“You have legal and moral obligations to Alice,” insisted Hillcrest, pulling her attention back to the confrontation. “She is the perfect—”
Rafe laughed rudely. “Perfect? Why? Because she doesn’t tell you what a blithering idiot you are? Alice is the most insipid female I know. She hasn’t two thoughts to rub together and can’t make the simplest decision for herself. An infant needs less oversight. There is nothing about her I find attractive. Five minutes in her company is enough to drive me mad.”
Helen snapped her mouth shut. Rafe might turn stubbornly passive when lectured, but some topics triggered outbursts emotional enough to make most gentlemen cringe. Yesterday it had been her fortune. Today it was Alice. Was he trying to convince Hillcrest or himself? Either would oppose the other just to be contrary – a lesson Rafe had learned from his mother.
“You are cruel, indeed,” said Hillcrest through gritted teeth. “You take pride in hurting her, don’t you? You killed her father, her love, her dreams of family, her—”
Rafe released a weary sigh. “I have repudiated this match a thousand times, yet you refuse to look beyond your own greed. Did your marriage teach you nothing? Mother’s dowry wasn’t worth forcing oil and water to mix.”
“I am sick to death of how you twist Catherine’s memory to justify your perversity.” Hillcrest sprang.
Helen pulled Rafe from his path. “He’s trying to goad you, Rafe. Ignore him.”
Rafe inhaled deeply. “Twisting memory is your habit, Hillcrest,” he finally managed. “I’ve long marveled that Pauling considered you a friend when you’ve fought so long and hard to destroy his daughter?”
“Destroy his daughter? I would have made her a viscountess. What more could she want?”
“A husband who respected her.”
“Pah! All a female needs is a title she can flaunt before the neighbors.”
“If you believe that, then you are more delusional than I thought. Rank will never atone for a husband who despises her. Not that it matters. I am no longer available. Wed her yourself if you think she needs a title – though I doubt she would have you.”
“Arrogant fool! How can you think marriage is more than a breeding contract? Alice has the breeding to be a viscountess. You could get her with child, then never see her again if that’s what you want. Duty demands obedience to your father.”
Helen couldn’t believe her ears.
“You forfeited my allegiance when you rejected me,” snapped Rafe, scowling. “My life is mine, to live as I please.”
“So you wed the first whore who propositioned you,” growled Hillcrest. “Pitiful. I’ll cut you from my will and smear your name from the Channel to the Highlands. You’ll be laughed from your clubs for blackening your blood and barred from your favorite brothels because you can’t pay.”
Helen stiffened.
Rafe pulled her against his side. “Your threats ceased working long ago, Hillcrest. I don’t need your money.”
“Nor do I,” added Helen. It was time to end this confron
tation. Rafe was ready to collapse. He held her more for his own support than to protect her, sagging so heavily she could barely stand. Hillcrest held a huge advantage in this war, for his purpose was to rule. Rafe sought recognition, which left him vulnerable to cruelty.
Hillcrest snorted. “Drop the pretense, girl. My secretary went to London yesterday, so I know all about you. Everyone is laughing because a scheming whore tricked this drunken idiot into wedding her.”
“I can’t imagine why. My breeding is the same as your wife’s.”
“Another liar. But it’s over. I won’t pay a groat to buy you off.”
“You need a new secretary,” said Rafe shortly. “Yours is as delusional as you are. My wife is a lady.”
“Hah! She is still pulling the wool over your eyes. Not that it matters.” His chin rose as he glared at Helen. “Using a false name invalidates any marriage. Forget about a life of ease, girl. I won’t tolerate a harlot in the family. My fortune will go to a benevolent society. He hasn’t a groat of his own, so you’ll find yourself back on the streets before you know it.”
Hillcrest’s determined insults were the last straw for Helen’s temper. Raising her chin, she glared. “I didn’t believe Rafe when he declared you a fool, but he’s right. You haven’t the brains of a flea.” She shook off Rafe’s arm and advanced, shoving Hillcrest in the chest, amazed to find him an inch shorter than she was – his belligerence made him seem larger.
“I told you she was a vulgar baggage,” chortled Hillcrest. “Maybe now you’ll listen to older, wiser heads.” He spat in her face. “Peddle your wares somewhere else, girl.”
She rammed him into the banister, then scraped the spittle onto his coat. “Do you honestly believe I care about your money or this pitiful estate?”
“Pitiful!” he sputtered. “Hillcrest produces two thousand a year.”