A Viscount to Save Her Reputation

by Helen Dickson

  He had been powerless when his sister had fallen into Barrington’s hands, but not this time. Now he would willingly walk through hell fire before he would allow Lucy to become Barrington’s next victim.

  * * *

  Lucy continued to listen to Mr Barrington’s constant outburst of anger the following day. Unfortunately, the lurid versions of what had happened at the Skeffington ball had spread like wildfire throughout the ton. The story of the episode was circulated along with the added slander that while betrothed to Mr Barrington, she had been carrying on Lord Rockley. Any other man would have called off the wedding on being so humiliated, but Mr Barrington wouldn’t hear of it.

  Lucy was too humiliated to leave the house that day. In the eyes of everyone she was a shameless wanton and unfit company for unsullied young ladies. She had broken all the rules that governed polite society—there were many who said that it was only what could be expected from an American girl.

  Sensitive to Mr Barrington’s mood, Sofia went around as if she were treading on eggshells. She watched Lucy threateningly, as though daring her to make one false move or to protest in any way. Genuinely afraid for her safety, Lucy was all the more determined to visit the bank the following day to extract funds to take her to Paris.

  * * *

  The night following the Skeffington ball, it was gone midnight when the door to Lucy’s room was pushed open. Shoving herself up in the bed and wiping the sleep from her eyes, she peered into the dimly lit room. A tall figure loomed in the doorway, swaying slightly. It was Mr Barrington and he had a robe covering his night attire.

  She stared at him, stunned, feeling the weight of the trap he had sprung on her. When he started to close the door she flung herself out of bed and shot across the room, hoping to push him out before the door closed completely. But he was having none of it. She was horrified when he grasped her arm and pulled her back, yanking her arm in her shoulder. She cried, stumbling to the floor, the pain from her injured shoulder jarring through her. Ignoring it as best she could, she began to crawl towards the door where she would shout for help, but he caught hold or her before she could slip past him and pulled her back, his face harsh and distorted in the shadows of the room.

  ‘Stop it,’ he snarled. ‘You’re going nowhere. I’m sick of you evading me whenever I come to the house. You will be my wife if I have to shame you into it. No more hiding and dodging my attentions. I knew when I set eyes on you that I had to have you—and you so trusting it was easy to persuade you to go along with us. So you see, my dear, I plan to have you—one way or another. I intend to have what is rightfully mine.’

  ‘Never,’ she cried, kicking and fighting. ‘Get out of my room! Let go of me!’

  ‘Be still, you little hell cat,’ he barked, throwing her on to the bed and putting her beneath him, his hands pawing roughly at her body.

  Lucy glared at him, her hatred so virulent he almost recoiled, then he laughed.

  ‘Stop this nonsense. I’m in no mood to play coy games—although I am not averse to some resistance from the women I make love to.’

  Knowing what he would do to her, Lucy began struggling, her anger spurring her on. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away, unable to bear having him touch her. By some miracle she managed to wriggle from beneath him on to the floor. She made a rush for the door, but he was ahead of her, blocking her escape. Backed up to the bed, she could go no further. Seeing that loathsome face coming closer, Lucy was possessed with the sudden courage to go on fighting him no matter what. In one quick movement she dodged to the side of him but he reached out, catching her nightdress in his hand. There was a tearing sound as it ripped.

  He was more agile than she had given him credit for. Again he caught her arm and jerked her back to him with frightening strength. His eyes went to the exposed flesh above the torn nightdress and his tongue passed salaciously over his lips. His desire for her was plainly visible in his eyes as they travelled over her, surveying those soft curves, impatiently anticipating the taste of that sweet young flesh. A sick feeling of nausea rose within her.

  ‘Do you know how you tempt me, Lucy? Day after day I have to watch you I am tormented. Your skin is so soft. We will be married as soon as it can be arranged.’

  ‘Never,’ she hissed. ‘I will never marry you. I would rather marry a snake. Is my stepmother not enough for you that you must have me as well?’

  ‘Not when you are younger and prettier,’ he hissed, reaching for her once more.

  She pushed hard, turning her head away in disgust. Why didn’t Sofia or the servants come to her aid? she thought frantically. They must know that he was in her room and what he was doing. The struggle between them went on. Lucy was exhausted and knew she couldn’t fight him for much longer. At one point she fell down on to the bed and rolled away to the other side. Reaching out to the table beside the bed, her fingers closed round a heavy candlestick, the candle still in the holder unlit. Still looking down at her, he must have thought she couldn’t take any more. She anticipated his move when he dropped down on to the bed and reached for her. To protect herself, in desperation she raised her arm and brought the candlestick down hard on his head. With a grunt his body went limp.

  Quickly Lucy scrambled off the bed and stared at his limp form sprawled across the covers, a red stain on the sheet where his head had come to rest, the stain increasing the longer she looked. Horrified at the thought that she might have killed him, panic set in. Confusion shook her every fibre and fear raged within her body. Closing her eyes, she tried to still her fast-beating heart. Quivering, she sank to her knees. From some inner source, strength surfaced. She forced herself to look at him again before going to the washstand. Taking a towel, she lifted his head and placed it beneath. Gingerly she laid a hand against his chest, but she could detect no movement. Holding her breath, she stepped away, hearing the beat of her own heart pounding in her ears. She could not believe this was happening to her and was too shocked, too bewildered, to think clearly.

  She had to get away. No one here would help her—no one here would believe she hadn’t killed him on purpose. Sofia and the servants had probably been told not to interfere. There was nothing for it. She would have to help herself. Pulling herself together, with calm deliberation she dragged on some clothes and crept from the room, aching and bruised and feeling as though she were sinking into a black hole, but she had to keep going. She tried not to look at Mr Barrington sprawled across her bed, his life blood flowing out of him.

  The house was quiet as she slipped as silent and swift as a shadow down the stairs and out of the house. With her heart in her mouth she was thankful that the streets were quiet, any sounds muffled by the fog that rolled over her, thick and clammy. She began to run as fast as her legs would carry her, without looking back. She would go to Lord Rockley—there was nowhere else she could go, no one she knew who would shelter her.

  It was a long way from Belgravia to Hanover Square on foot. Exhausted and terrified that she had committed murder, she leaned on the door of the house where Lord Rockley lived, her legs ready to give way. Following a few sharp raps, eventually it was opened by a servant who had obviously been roused from his bed.

  * * *

  Archie, the Duke of Rockwood’s butler, fell back when the young lady tumbled into the hall. Rendered immobile, he looked towards the study as the door opened and His Lordship came out, having just returned from his club in St James’s and having a late brandy before retiring to bed.

  ‘What is happening, Archie...?’ His eyes took in the young woman lying crumpled on the floor, recognising her at once. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, alarmed, wondering what could have happened to bring Lucy to such wretchedness. Hurrying towards her, he dropped to his knees. His face lost all colour and he was heard to moan softly in his throat. Sweeping the hair back from her face, he stared down at her.

  ‘The young lady, sir. She seems to ha
ve had some kind of accident.’

  Christopher’s eyes took in the crumpled form. ‘This was no accident, Archie. Lucy!’ Suddenly her eyes snapped open and became fixed on his face. Fear was in their depths. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe now. Lucy, what has happened? Who has done this to you?’

  ‘He did.’

  The words were barely discernible, but Christopher didn’t have to ask again. ‘I’ll take her upstairs, Archie. Wake Mrs Ward and send her to my room.’ Sweeping Lucy up into his arms, he carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed in his own room. ‘Lucy, are you hurt? Can you answer me?’

  She nodded, opening her eyes once more, looking at him for a long moment, every nerve vibrating. His voice slowly penetrated the inner sanctum of her mind. ‘Christopher. Oh, Christopher.’ Quite suddenly her features crumpled. She closed her eyes and shuddered violently, clasping her arms tight around her chest. ‘He—he came to my room,’ she whispered, clearly traumatised by everything that Mark Barrington had done to her. ‘I—I think I killed him.’ A sob caught in her throat and tears formed in her eyes and began to run unheeded down her face.

  ‘Lucy—don’t. Hush. It’s all right now. I’ve got you. I won’t let any more harm come to you, I swear it.’

  The painful, unfamiliar constriction in Christopher’s chest made his hand tremble slightly as he reached out for the distressed young woman and gathered her to him and held her while she wept. As he held her to him, old pain rose fast and bitter. He wondered briefly if Barrington was taunting him, but dismissed it. It was agony for him to watch and listen to her anguish, raised from the vast reservoir of despair threatening to drown her. With her face pressed into the curve of his shoulder she seemed so small, so utterly female, warm, fragile and vulnerable. His heart ached with the fear of what had been done to her.

  Murmuring soothing words of comfort, he held her tightly, tenderly, as she wept, soaking his shirt front with her warm tears. They remained like that until her sobbing turned to quiet whimpering and finally she grew silent and still. As if she felt the strength of his arms and the warmth of his body, she sighed but made no effort to free herself from that tight circle of arms—and as he sensed the change in her, Christopher had no intention of letting her go while she was content to remain there.

  It seemed a lifetime had passed when at last she whispered, ‘I didn’t mean to do it—but he—he...’

  Holding her away from him, he wiped away her tears with the sheet, not wanting to ask the question, but knowing he must. ‘Look at me, Lucy. I have to ask. Did he...?’

  Lucy knew what he was trying to ask her and she shook her head. ‘No, but he tried to. That’s why I had to hit him.’

  ‘Thank God! That was brave of you.’

  ‘I managed to get away. I didn’t know where to go—Aunt Caroline’s house is all shut up. I know no one else in London—only you.’

  ‘Thank God you came.’ Christopher reached out and pulled her to him once more. There was a note of bitterness in his voice before it softened somewhat. ‘Tell me what happened. I’ll try not to interrupt and I’ll try to restrain my temper. What did you do? Tell me.’

  In between sobs she told him how he had tried to rape her, how hard she had fought him and to save herself how she had hit him over the head with a candlestick. There was a changing play of expressions on Christopher’s face. They ranged from apprehension to grim-lipped rage to concern back to rage again. Several times he wanted to interrupt her, but, true to his word, he merely tightened his lips and desisted.

  ‘There was blood everywhere. He was unconscious—I thought he was, but I couldn’t rouse him. I—I’m sure I killed him. I...’

  Christopher’s arms tightened around her. ‘Don’t think of that now. We’ll get you cleaned up and into bed.’ He didn’t release his hold on her when Mrs Ward entered. Having had no time to dress, she was wrapped in a warm dressing gown, grey hair showing beneath the white cotton of her cap. Her eyes went immediately to the young woman he was holding in his arms, clearly having no idea what to make of it. ‘Ah, Mrs Ward. This is Miss Walsh—a friend of mine. I’m afraid she’s had a traumatic experience and is upset. She’ll be staying the night.’

  Mrs Ward tutted as she inspected Miss Walsh closely. The small, thin woman had a loving heart that seemed to shine out from her pale blue eyes. She was now in her mid-fifties and had been with the Rockwood family as housekeeper for thirty years. Unlike the other servants, whose moods would fluctuate according to the duties required of them, Mrs Ward was one of those rare women blessed with a temperament that was constant and reliable.

  ‘Poor dear looks as if she’s been in the wars all right. Dear me, such goings on. I’ll go and get some warm water and we’ll get her cleaned up.’

  Christopher made a move to get off the bed, but Lucy clung on to him. ‘Don’t leave me. Stay with me.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, Lucy.’

  She really was an innocent, which made Barrington’s assault even worse. She was a well-brought-up young woman who had been taught that any intimacy should be conducted only between a husband and wife, and he knew how shocked and horrified she would be feeling after what had occurred.

  Christopher stood back while Mrs Ward ministered to Lucy, pulling a screen between them to preserve her modesty. Lucy stood up while her cloak was removed and then the gown, which she had thrown on hastily and was carelessly buttoned. When it slipped from her shoulders, Christopher was alerted when Mrs Ward let out a gasp. Immediately he tore the screen away.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘The lady, sir—the bruising—the person who did this...’

  Witnessing what had been done to her, Christopher was horrified on seeing the bruising marring the tender flesh of her shoulder from Barrington’s rough handling.’

  ‘Please, Christopher—don’t look that way,’ Lucy whispered. ‘The bruising is nothing. It will heal.’

  ‘You call this nothing?’ His voice was oddly quiet as his hand reached out to touch her shoulder gently. ‘The man’s a devil,’ he rasped, like the sound a splintered bone might make. ‘He will be sorry for this. It will not be forgotten.’

  ‘Shall I have a bed made up for her?’

  ‘Yes, that would be as well, Mrs Ward. Do you have some laudanum?’

  ‘Yes—I have some left over from when my back was playing up.’

  ‘I don’t think it will go amiss if you were to give Miss Walsh some. She needs to sleep.’

  He did not leave the house until Lucy was ensconced in another room and the laudanum he had asked Mrs Ward to give her had taken effect and Lucy was curled up asleep.

  Chapter Five

  Christopher arrived at the house in Belgravia just as dawn was breaking. Hammering on the door, he waited, sensing that after what had occurred here at just after midnight would have the whole house in turmoil. Years of experience had taught him to keep his most violent emotions in check, but his current emotions were most certainly violent. When the door was finally opened by a bleary-eyed female servant, red faced and her cap askew, he pushed his way inside, demanding to see Mrs Walsh. When asked who she should say was calling, he made use of his title, Viscount Rockley, both to impress and intimidate. Tall and impressive, his appearance immaculate, he did not look like a man who had been up all night.

  When Sofia Walsh finally appeared, her manner was frosty, but she received him with polite hospitality. It was clear to Christopher that she had assessed this new situation and, warned that she was under threat, chosen her strategy on the instant.

  ‘Forgive me if I seem surprised to see you, Viscount Rockley. I don’t usually receive guests at this early hour. What is it all about?’

  ‘You know why I am here, Mrs Walsh, so let’s dispense with the preliminaries.’

  ‘As you wish. What brings you here? My stepdaughter? Have you found her?’

  ‘She
found me—thank God.’

  ‘Then I would be obliged if you would return her to me—although why she would seek you out of all people begs the question as to why.’

  ‘It would appear there is no one else in London she can trust. You may be assured, Mrs Walsh, that she will not be returning to this house.’

  ‘Why—how dare you,’ Sofia hissed, struggling to maintain her composure. ‘How dare you come here and threaten me.’

  ‘You are about to discover that there is precious little I do not dare. What occurred to her in this house in the early hours of this morning beggars belief. I am in full possession of the facts, so don’t try to take me for a fool. Had you any idea she had run off to escape the brutal attack Barrington forced on her?’

  ‘No, not until I was alerted by one of the servants who had seen her leaving the house.’

  ‘And no one thought to go after her—a young woman alone on the streets of London is dangerous at the best of times, but between midnight and dawn it is doubly so?’

  ‘As I said, I did not find out until it was too late and I had no idea where she might have fled to. I believed she would return when she saw sense.’

  ‘So where is Barrington? Miss Walsh believes she killed him.’

  ‘She didn’t. He—he suffered a head wound and was out of it for a while. He left about an hour ago.’

  ‘Does that mean he has decided to bolt like the coward he is, or is he lying low, ready to try again when things have cooled off? Where did he go?’

  ‘You might not believe me when I tell you that I don’t know. Probably back to his hotel.’