Pursued By The Viscount (2 page)

Looking at him, it was not difficult to imagine the superior and disdainful Lord Lucien Brooke, Viscount Brooketon, known simply as Brooke to his close friends, as never having made a single mistake in his perfectly ordered life.

“Perhaps I should tell you, before you have opportunity to embarrass yourself,” Brooketon spoke briskly at her continued silence, “that I do not retrieve
items of embarrassment for impetuous ladies. All of whom should have known better than to have written anything of a personal nature down on paper to their lover in the first place.”

Rachel felt the color drain from her cheeks. He knew. This arrogantly superior gentleman knew exactly what she had done. Not the details, perhaps—how could anyone, least of all her, have guessed the true purpose of having been deliberately engaged in that indiscreet correspondence? But Brooketon had guessed enough to know she had written letters she should not have, and in doing so compromised not only her own reputation but William’s future.
 

“I have a young son.” Rachel cursed herself for the emotional tremble she could hear in her voice, knowing she was on the verge of tears. “His life will also be affected if these letters are made public.”

“As this man is threatening to do?”

“Yes.”

“That is regrettable,” Brooketon acknowledged. “But perhaps you should have thought of that before rather than after the fact?”

Rachel knew this man believed her to have been involved in a physical affair. Which she had not. Indeed, she believed James had cured her of ever harboring those sorts of feelings toward any gentleman. Since her wedding night, she had never
had
any of those feelings toward a man. Any man.

Which was why writing those letters had seemed so safe. An affair and yet not an affair. The excitement without risk.

Hah. So much for safe and without risk, when her reputation was now in the hands of a man who hated her for having married the man he loved.

Oh, she could defend herself by making that information publicly available, but it would only cause even more of a scandal, and not change the fact she was ruined. It would also put her son’s future in further jeopardy if his father’s affair with another man became public knowledge. Rachel needed those letters back so that she could destroy them before any personal attack became possible.

Which she would not be able to do if she did not confide in Brooketon at least some of her sorry tale. “How well did you know my husband?”

Dark brows rose. “I do not see the purpose of the question when I have told you I cannot help you.”

“Nevertheless, I politely ask that you answer me.”

Lucien’s mouth thinned at her determination to continue this conversation. “I did not know Shaw at all personally, only by reputation.”

“As?”

He scowled his irritation. Really, he had wasted enough time on this woman today already. Especially when his sympathies lay completely with this woman’s young son.

His own parents’ marriage was as mismatched in age as Rachel Shaw’s, and he knew firsthand the chaos that could ensue for the child of such a relationship. Of the humiliation his father still suffered during his wife’s frequent affairs. Lucien no longer allowed his mother’s behavior to touch or concern him, but he had suffered his own embarrassment during his school years, when he realized his friends’ parents were well aware of, and discussed, his mother’s scandalous behavior.

Lucien’s irritation toward this situation deepened as he was beset by those memories. “I knew your husband to be a well-respected and valued member of the government.”

A frown creased her creamy brow. “You heard no other…rumors about him. Of his private life?”
 

“No, of course not.” Lucien stepped restlessly away from the fireplace, only for his eyes to narrow as he saw the way Rachel Shaw flinched back at the unexpected movement.

She quickly tried to hide that reaction by making a show of straightening the reticule on her wrist. But Lucien had seen it, and he questioned the reason for it.

He continued to watch her closely. “Perhaps if you were to appeal to the gentleman to whom you sent the letters…?”

“The
gentleman
is no gentleman at all, but the young man who was my husband’s lover, both before we were married and after.”

Not much succeeded in surprising Lucien, but Lady Rachel’s outburst certainly did. Shaw a sodomite? Surely not? Not that a man’s sexual inclinations were of the least interest to him, whatever they might be, but Lucien found it beyond belief that Lord James Shaw was guilty of his widow’s accusations. There had never been the least hint or the slightest rumor of such a thing. Either before or after Shaw’s death.

Which implied Lady Rachel might possibly be making this up in order to excuse her own scandalous behavior.

Lucien eyed her coldly. “I would prefer you not cast aspersions upon the reputation of such a highly regarded gentleman in order to cover up your own inadequacies.”

“I would never do that.”

“I believe you just did.”

Dark eyes looked up at him in appeal. “I assure you, I am telling the truth.”

“Your accusations against Lord Shaw are incredible enough, but you cannot seriously expect me to believe the man you claim was his lover also recently became your own?” His lips curled back in disgust. “It is almost incestuous!”

“I had no idea of James’s sexual inclinations. I only learned myself of his relationship with this other gentleman a week ago,” she defended. “It was as much of a shock to me as it is obviously a surprise to you.”

“The only thing that surprises me is your friendship with Felicity Montgomery. I had thought her to be a lady of more discerning tastes.” Lucien knew her claim of friendship to the countess to be true, at least. He clearly recalled Lady Rachel as being in close attendance to the bride the previous week, along with two of Lady Felicity’s other close lady friends.

“I am obviously wasting your time as well as my own.” Rachel Shaw stood in preparation for leaving, her expression one of quiet dignity.

Leading Lucien to speculate as to whether or not there was more to Lady Rachel than had previously met the eye.

That perhaps she was telling him the truth…?

“Thank you for listening to me, at least, Lord Brooketon.” She curtseyed. “I trust I may rely upon your discretion in regard to the things I have told you today?”

He nodded tersely. “You have my word on it.”

Lucien watched her as she walked toward the door. What exactly
had
she told him? That her husband was a sodomite and had an affair with another man before and after their marriage. She had recently—unknowingly—had an affair with that same gentleman. That this gentleman now had in his possession letters she had written to him, which could ruin her if this man made them public.

And she flinched when I made a sudden move in her direction she had not been expecting.

“Which one of those gentlemen is responsible for beating you, your husband or your lover?”

Rachel froze, spine rigid, shoulders tensed, unable but also too afraid to turn and face Lord Brooketon. Knowing she was too shaken by his question to be able to hide her shame from him if he should see her face.

He had not believed her when she told him James had a male lover before and after their marriage. There was no reason to suppose the viscount would believe her now if she admitted her husband was the one guilty of consistent and regular physical brutality during the early years of their marriage.

She squeezed her eyes shut to stem the tears burning her eyes. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Oh, I believe you do.” The viscount’s voice sounded much closer now.

So close Rachel was sure she could feel the heat of his breath on her nape, and the warmth of his body through her own layers of clothing.

There was no way for her to prevent the trembling that resulted from knowing of that close proximity. Nowhere for her to hide how much it disturbed her.

“I saw your reaction a short time ago,” the viscount said softly. “The way you flinched when you thought I was about to touch you. As if you feared I intended some form of physical chastisement. Even now you are trembling from my standing so close to you.”

“You are imagining things.” Rachel remained turned away from him.

“No,” Lucien stated with certainty, more convinced than ever that either Shaw or her lover had raised his hand or taken his fists to this woman. An act so unforgiveable under any circumstances, in Lucien’s opinion, he believed the only suitable punishment for the man guilty of such a crime was to have hands or fists taken to him. “Which one was it?” he pressed grimly.

“I really have no idea what you are talking— Take your hand off me!” She had turned quickly as he touched her arm, body tense, a snarl twisting her features, eyes glittering darkly, and her hands raised into claws.

A reaction so raw in emotion, Lucien no longer had a single doubt that this woman had been beaten in the past, and not only once, but many times.

Chapter 3

“I am still waiting for an answer, Rachel.”

Rachel felt so tired, so exhausted by the continuous worry of this past week, that having Brooketon address her by her first name, and in a gentle voice she had not heard from him before now, caused the scalding tears to fall unchecked down the coolness of her cheeks.

“Please, no,” she choked as he would have reached out and taken her in his arms. “As you have realized, I do not like to be touched.” Most especially today, after all this talk of James. “I am usually more adept at hiding it,” she admitted ruefully.

Brooketon turned abruptly to stride over to where a full decanter and several glasses sat on the sideboard. He poured the amber liquid into one of them before returning to her side. “Drink this, and then we will talk further.”
 

It was all Rachel could do to lift her head high enough to be able to look at him. To speak again was impossible.

Her reaction just now had been purely instinctive as she rounded on her possible attacker in a way she had never been strong enough to do against James.

The first time he had beaten her, she had been too shocked, and in too much pain, to be able to fight back. The second night, she was still too bruised from the first to put up much resistance, quietly sobbing as he thrust into her dryness again and again until he reached his peak. He withdrew immediately afterward to return to his own bedchamber.

Rachel had gone home to her parents the following day, unable to bear the thought of suffering that pain and humiliation a third time. She had sobbed hysterically as she told her parents what had happened on her wedding night, and the following night too.

They had sent her back to her husband.

Oh, not before they had listened to her, tutted over the bruises she showed them, but afterward they had said James was her husband, and the law said she was now his property. They could not interfere with a husband’s treatment of his wife. Besides, who would ever believe that such a respected man as Lord James Shaw would treat his young wife so cruelly? Rachel could see that her parents had not believed it either, had put her hysterics down to the trauma of a newlywed, her bruises to a too passionate husband.

Her mother had given her laudanum for the pain, a salve for the bruises, lotion she might apply before going to bed to help ease the act of lovemaking. Before putting her back in the carriage and returning her to her husband.

Her relationship with her parents had never been close again.

Rachel had learned a painful truth that day. If her parents could not help her, then no one could, and the only thing left for her to do was to bear her marriage as best she could.

She had never told anyone else of the horror of her marriage, not her two younger sisters or her three closest friends. Had felt too ashamed, too humiliated, ever to want any of them to know of James’s treatment of her.

So she had used the laudanum to dull the pain and the salves to cover her bruises, claiming an illness when those bruises were too visible for her to go out in public. She had diligently applied the lotion too, and bought more when she ran out, so that she only suffered bruises on the outside and not the inside.

On the day, a full two years later, when she knew she had conceived William, she had wept with joy when James assured that if the child were a boy, he would never visit her bedchamber again.

In the years that followed, as far as Society, her family, and friends
was
concerned, Lady Rachel Shaw was a beautiful and vivacious woman, and a credit to her husband. Inwardly, Rachel was no more than a hollow shell, her love for William all that sustained her. Until James’s death a year ago had freed her from her hellish marriage.

She had grown inwardly stronger during that year. So much so that she now realized she had become overconfident in her belief no one would ever be allowed to hurt her again.

Until she found her own and her son’s future threatened by those innocently written letters.

Lucien Brooke, Viscount Brooketon, had further stripped her of her social façade with a single question.

“Which one of those gentlemen is responsible for beating you, your husband or your lover?”