Kathryn Smith (24 page)

Rachel searched the upper floors first, pistol clutched at her side. Nothing.

The downstairs rooms were next. Her frustration mounted as she went through them one by one. Her stepfather was nowhere to be found.

She paused outside the library. If Sir Henry was anywhere in the house, this was going to be it. It was his favorite room, even though he had the literary appreciation of a goat.

The door swung open silently, hitting the wall with a gentle thud.

She peered inside to find Sir Henry staring at her.

“Damn.” She was disappointed, even if a part of her was
secretly glad that it was only a portrait watching her and not the man himself.

Where was he? She couldn’t kill him if he wasn’t there.

Who was she trying to fool? She couldn’t kill him anyway. She’d known when she left Wyck’s End that she wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger, just as she’d known that her stepfather was unlikely to be at home. He was no doubt out hunting with Charlton or one of his other cronies.

In fact, she would have been more alarmed to find him at home. What would she have done then? She very well could have ended up with blood on her hands if they’d argued, or if he’d attacked her like he had her mother. Or worse yet, Sir Henry could have turned her own weapon against her and killed her. No one at Wyck’s End knew where she was. Only Potts had seen her—one or two of the other servants might have, but she doubted any of them would turn against their master.

She’d just wanted to feel in control of the situation. And maybe a small part of her had hoped to frighten Sir Henry into staying away from her mother. She hadn’t thought of how easily the tables could turn against her. And she certainly hadn’t thought of what the consequences might be if she actually killed him.

Aghast at her own foolishness, Rachel shoved the pistol into her cloak and left the house. She rode fast back to Wyck’s End, a mixture of fear and relief making her reckless. She had scared herself by acting as she had. She’d let her anger get the better of her, and by doing so she could have made herself a murderer. Not that anyone in a twenty-mile radius would miss Sir Henry if she had killed him, but she would have lowered herself to a level beneath even Sir Henry himself, and she could have done it easily. That’s what was so frightening.

Thank God she hadn’t been at Tullywood when Sir Henry had hurt her mother. No doubt one of them—either she or her stepfather—would be dead.

“Idiot!” she cried, unable to keep it inside.

Stone-faced and stiff with anger, Rachel left her horse with a bewildered groom and stomped to the house, cursing herself every step of the way.

She was contemplating her stupidity for what felt like the thirteenth time when she entered the library to replace the pistol. What she saw as she opened the door, pistol in hand, made her halt in mid-stride and begin on contemplation number fourteen.

Brave stood at the desk, the pistol box in his hands and a thunderous expression on his face. Rachel had never seen a more intimidating sight. His gaze went to the gun in her hand. Rachel watched in frozen awe as his face darkened even more.

“Just where the hell have you been?”

B
rave had known who had stolen the pistol the minute he discovered it missing. His heart still froze when he saw the weapon in Rachel’s hand. He prayed she hadn’t done anything stupid.

“Well?” He sounded so calm, not like he felt at all. “Where have you been?”

Closing the door behind her, Rachel came into the room and toward him. She laid the pistol on the gleaming surface of his desk and stared at it a moment before raising her gaze to his. “I went to Tullywood to kill Sir Henry, but he wasn’t there.”

Thank God.
What the hell had she been thinking? “So the pistol is still loaded then?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Whether she was disappointed or disgusted, Brave couldn’t tell. He wasn’t certain of his own feelings either. He’d been so scared and angry when he found the pistol missing and realized who had taken it. Scared that she might
actually use it, and mad as hell that she hadn’t trusted him enough to come to him.

And furious that she’d put herself in that kind of danger—angry that she would have tossed their marriage aside so easily for the sake of putting a lead ball through her stepfather’s skull.

“Just what had you planned to do if he had been home, Rachel?” He couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. “Did you plan to frighten him a bit? Intimidate him? Or could you have actually pulled the trigger? Could you have killed him in cold blood?”

She shook her head as though she didn’t understand his questions or his rage. “I don’t know. I had to do something—”

“Had to? Or wanted to?”

Scowling, she stared at him. She obviously hadn’t expected him to question her motives. “
Had
to.”

“What do you suppose will happen when Sir Henry learns you were there?”

Rachel’s delicate features hardened. “If he comes near me or my mother again, I’ll kill him.”

He didn’t know whether to strangle her for being so foolish or kiss her for being so brave. “And then what will happen to your mother?”

Her scowl deepened. “She’ll be free of that bastard.”

“Yes, she will. And she’ll watch you hang for it. Is that what you want?”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t need to.

“Didn’t think that far ahead, did you?” Folding his arms across his chest, he moved toward her. “I’m starting to realize, Rachel, that you tend to act before you think.” He kept his tone light to soften his words. “Someday you’re going to do something rash that you won’t be able to walk away from.”

Like their marriage perhaps? If either of them managed to survive it unscathed, Brave would be amazed. He knew himself well enough to realize half his anger was because he cared what happened to her. He cared about her.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Leaning his hip against the edge of the desk, Brave regarded the top of her bowed head with a slight smile. “You don’t have anything to apologize to me for.”

Their gazes locked. “Yes I do. I should have come to you, but I didn’t. I let my emotions rule me, and I could have made an awful, awful mistake.” She looked away. “It’s hard for me to depend on someone else.”

How much had it cost her to make such a confession? She was a very proud woman, and he didn’t doubt that pride was pretty bruised at that moment.

“I understand.”

“He did it because I’d invited her for tea. He didn’t want her to come.”

A sharp pain pierced Brave’s chest at the tortured expression on her face. He knew what it was like to blame oneself for another’s actions.

“It’s not your fault.”

She glanced at the floor. “If Sir Henry brings the law after me—”

“For going to his house? I doubt he will. He’d risk exposing what he did to your mother. Unless he’s feeling fairly cocky, he’s more likely to retaliate on his own—if anyone even tells him you were there.”

Rachel lifted her chin. It quivered. “I’ll deal with him.”

Brave didn’t know whether to yell at her or laugh, so he did both. “Oh no you won’t!
I’ll
deal with your stepfather if he comes to call. That way he might actually survive the visit. Meanwhile, I’ll send a letter off to my solicitor. Your mother’s unfortunate condition has given us the evidence we need against Sir Henry.”

She stared at him. Something in her eyes stirred his blood and other body parts.

Rising to her feet, she stepped toward him. Brave’s heart accelerated.

“You’ve done so much for us. Why?”

“Because I couldn’t live with myself knowing I could have helped you and didn’t,” he replied honestly.

“Most people wouldn’t have cared.”

Held by the darkness of her gaze, Brave was powerless to resist. “I care.”

“Yes,” she replied, searching his face for God only knew what. “I believe that you do.”

“What are you doing?” he asked when her close scrutiny continued.

She smiled. “I’m looking for a clue as to why you, of all people, should care what happens to me or my mother. Why should you care about two people you hardly know?”

He should tell her about Miranda. He should confess to wanting to allay his guilty conscience, but those weren’t the words that leapt to his lips.

“I care,” he told her, his voice hoarse, “because one of them is you.”

Her eyes widened. He watched as surprise blossomed in the lavender-blue depths. Before she could speak, he reached out and seized her by the hips, hauling her against him. She stumbled, knocking him back so that he was pinned between her and the desk.

He kissed her, pouring all of his fear and leftover anger into his desire for her. The kiss was hard, his lips and tongue insistent as they forced her mouth open under his. Her fingers clutched the lapels of his coat as she yielded to his embrace. A burst of longing exploded low in Brave’s stomach as she pressed herself against him, her sweet, moist tongue tentatively stroking his.

It was terrifying, this excitement he felt when they touched. His need for her was almost unbearable, yet he cherished the ache. There was something precious that he couldn’t identify in the way he wanted her, as though it wasn’t just the union of their bodies he longed for, but their
souls as well. He wanted to be a part of her as she was becoming a part of him.

He slid one hand up the generous curve of her hip, to the gentle indent of her waist, spreading his fingers wide as they met the swell of her ribs. He could feel her heart pounding beneath her ribs, its rhythm increasing as his palm came up to cup her breast. Warm and heavy in his hand, he thrilled at the feel of it, his erection throbbing in response as her nipple hardened with his touch.

Rachel made a low, moaning sound deep in her throat as he traced the outline of her nipple with the tip of his thumb. Her hips shifted against his with an uncertainty that was more arousing than anything Brave had ever experienced before that moment. His other hand flattened against the small of her back, pressing her deep into the V of his legs.

He couldn’t take away what Sir Henry had done to her mother. He couldn’t snap his fingers and make everything better, no matter how badly he might wish it. And he certainly wasn’t about to take advantage of her emotional state by seducing her when she was in such turmoil, no matter how much his throbbing flesh insisted he do so. He wanted her to give herself to him because she wanted and needed
him
, not because she needed something—anything—to quell the storm brewing within her.

But he could help alleviate the tempest.

Still holding her, he pushed away from the desk and walked them both to one of the chairs. Without breaking their kiss, Brave lifted her in his arms as he sat, settling her in his lap so that their torsos were touching and her legs dangled over one armrest.

His hand went back to her breast. Tugging on the neck of her gown, he pulled until one pale globe was free. Then, tearing his mouth free of hers, he lowered his lips to the hard, pink bud that tightened even further with just the touch of his breath. Drawing it into his mouth, he laved it with his tongue,
and then with deliberate pressure, he closed his lips around it and sucked. Rachel gasped above him, her hands coming up to press his head against her chest.

Body humming with the force of his lust, Brave shoved his hand under her skirts as he tongued her nipple. Shoving the layers of fabric aside, he slid his fingers up the silky stocking covering her calf, past a garter, along the drawers that covered her thighs, to the slit between. The thin lawn was warm and damp with her juices. His body tightened with the evidence of her desire, and he groaned as she lifted her hips to his touch.

Nipping her lightly with his teeth, he slipped his hand inside the delicate underclothing, brushing his fingers along the springy curls beneath. Rachel gasped, her pelvis jerking against the contact. So hot, so sensitive, the barest touch made her body flush with heat and increased the moisture that greeted his questing fingers.

God, but he wanted to be inside her! Wanted to drive himself into her until the world became nothing but a maelstrom of color and sensation. No woman had ever driven him so close to losing control. No woman had ever made him want to lose it.

He slid his fingers along those curls, easing them into the warm, wet cleft. A more patient man would have slipped a finger inside her and stoked the fire within her. A more patient man would cherish taking his time, but Brave was far from patient, and he wanted to make Rachel scream. Now.

He found the source of her torment with the pad of his thumb. Stroking the hooded nub, his cock pulsated his response when Rachel cried out, shoving herself against his hand. Relentlessly, he worked her sensitive flesh with a rhythm that was neither fast nor slow, hard nor soft, but demanding and insistent. Feeling her thighs tremble as they clamped around his wrist, he pulled his mouth free of her
breast and leaned back against the chair so he could watch her face.

She gripped the top of the chair with one hand, the other arm was bent behind her, her palm braced against his knee, lifting her weight as she rode his hand. Her head was tossed back, her face contorting in mounting pleasure. Her chest was thrust forward, her bare breast just inches from his face. Increasing the movement of his hand, he flicked her nipple with his tongue just so he could watch the sensation furrow her brow.

“That’s it,” he urged as the jerking of her hips became more frantic. “Let it go.”

Sweat beaded on Brave’s upper lip. The need for her release was almost as sharp as the need for his own. He matched the tempo of her hips with his thumb, and when her cries became more and more urgent, he increased the pressure.

Her body went as taut as a bow as the first spasms hit. A high, keening cry broke forth from her parted lips as her hips gave one final thrust against his hand. And Brave pressed his face against her breast and concentrated on not humiliating himself by coming with her.

She collapsed on his lap in a limp heap. The swell of one buttock pressed hard against his groin. Gritting his teeth, he shifted in the chair to ease the pressure. She was his for the asking. He could take her right there and she wouldn’t offer any discouragement, but that wasn’t the way he wanted it. If anything, this experience had taught him just how much he wanted her to come to him. He wanted her desire to match his, wanted her to give herself to him because she couldn’t stand to be without him another minute.

He didn’t care what it meant, didn’t want to consider a deeper meaning. It was just the way it had to be. And if he had to put her pleasure before his, had to make her explode with his fingers and tongue every day for the next six months before her surrender was complete, then so be it.

Although he prayed to God it wouldn’t take six months to seduce her. He didn’t know how many more episodes like this he could endure.

He straightened her skirts and her bodice. “Are you all right?” he asked, rolling her body toward his so he could see her face. She was quiet. Too quiet.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she nodded. “I…it…” She pressed a hand to her mouth as the tears increased. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”

Brave was. The physical release of her climax had brought forth a need for emotional release as well. One of her worst nightmares had come true that day, and it was too much for her to bear. It would be too much for anyone to bear alone.

“It’s going to be all right,” he whispered, guiding her head to his shoulder. He pressed his lips against her forehead as she began to sob. “I promise he’ll never touch you or your mother again.”

He held her like that until the sobs stopped and the tears had soaked through to his skin. He held her until her sniffles disappeared and her breathing fell into the shallow rhythm of the exhausted.

And then he carried her up to her room and put her to bed, sitting with her until he was certain she wasn’t going to wake anytime soon.

Planting a brief, firm kiss on her brow, Brave rose from his seat on the mattress and crept to the door. There was a strange lightness inside him even though he felt the weight of responsibility lying heavily upon his shoulders. Suddenly, Rachel’s problems were much more important than his own. Her fight was now his fight. He’d do anything to make her feel safe and happy again.

And God help anyone who got in his way.

Rachel didn’t wake until early the next morning, feeling more rested and relaxed than she had in a long time. She
didn’t have to wonder why. The answer was there in the stretched neck of her gown and the slight tenderness around the nipple on her left breast. Brave had done this. He had taken the weight of the world off her shoulders and replaced it with a sensual awareness she’d never known existed. He’d taken her fear and anxiety and replaced it with strength and a burgeoning sense of trust.

As she stared out the window at the rising sun, things seemed much clearer to her. She’d been an idiot to go off after Sir Henry as she had. She knew that. She also knew that despite her stupidity, Brave still wanted to help her. He cared about her, and that was more than she ever dared to expect.

It was probably too much to ask then, that none of the servants would mention her visit to her stepfather. No doubt there were some who would be all too happy to tell him she’d searched the house for him like a madwoman, either in hopes of intimidating him or earning his gratitude. She could only hope that Brave was right when he said he didn’t think Sir Henry would risk exposing himself by bringing the law after her, but if he did, then Rachel would face it just like she faced everything else. She’d do whatever she could to get out of it, but if she had to pay for her actions, then she’d make certain Sir Henry paid for his as well.