The Madcap Marriage (22 page)

Rafe’s mouth hung open. Closing it, he swallowed. “That is the most idiotic suggestion I’ve ever heard. You can’t possibly believe it.”

“Why?  It’s an obvious conclusion based on the evidence we have.”

“You are twisting facts for your own ends.”

Appalled, she stared. “Will you stop treating me like you do Hillcrest?  Arguing for the sake of arguing is childish. I swear, you’d declare grass was blue if he proclaimed it green.”

“Nev—”  He snapped his mouth shut.

“Take a deep breath and think, Rafe. If you can find a flaw in my logic, I will listen. Otherwise, we must avoid town.”

His fists whitened, then gradually relaxed. “Very well.”

She nodded. “We haven’t had much time to discuss our marriage, Rafe, but this demonstrates that we should. I know you don’t want to turn into your father, and I certainly don’t want to tu—  mimic him.” She nearly compared herself to his mother, but snatched the words back in time. “To avoid that, we need to work out the details of our partnership.”

“Partners?”  He dropped his foot to the floor, leaning forward to glare. “How can a man be partners with a woman?  I never heard of such a thing. You’re my
wife
, for God’s sake.”

“Hillcrest would never discuss things like a rational man,” she agreed. “Especially with his wife. But many couples work together – the Alquists, for example. And my own parents.”

He paused. “Alquist told his wife things,” he admitted at last. “But she knew her place.”

Helen fought back a sharp retort, reminding herself that Rafe’s childhood had been one long battle. He might hate Hillcrest, but he had absorbed many of the man’s beliefs. “They discussed all important problems before making a decision.”

“How would you know?  You swear you rarely met them.”

“Because my parents were the same – Alquist and Papa were as close as twins. Didn’t you discuss problems with your mother?”

“Of course not!  She had enough trouble of her own.”

Helen’s heart quailed. This would be more difficult than she’d expected. Sharing was hard enough to learn when young. “Everyone needs a confidante, Rafe. In a marriage, each partner has his own duties. But carrying out those duties is easier if they solve problems together. For example, when I first took charge of Audley, I discovered that the steward was hidebound and lazy. It hadn’t mattered before, because Papa made all the decisions and saw that they were carried out. But I needed a man who understood agriculture. I discussed the situation with Papa and Mama. Together we decided that I should replace him with Ridley.”

Rafe stared, a red haze forming before his eyes. It had been bad enough when she’d announced that she would go to Audley whether he accompanied her or not. Now she expected to have a voice in everything he did. She was trying to take over. “Do you actually believe I should consult you before making decisions?”

“For important ones. That doesn’t mean you have to listen to my advice, of course, though I might see details you miss. Just as you have perspective I lack. Papa always said…”

He let the words slide past. She was just like Hillcrest – finding fault, expecting him to obey, demanding control of his life. He wouldn’t do it. He hadn’t escaped Hillcrest’s thumb just to crawl under hers. Even a fortune didn’t give her that much power.

“Must you argue everything?” he snapped at last.

She glared. “I am not your mother, Rafe. I never argue just to be perverse. But this is a serious matter. We must find a compromise we can both live with.”

Compromise?
  Did she really think he was stupid enough to believe she would settle for anything less than total surrender?  A small concession here, a tiny indulgence there, and before he knew it, she would be firmly in charge.

He opened his mouth to explain the facts of life, but shouts cut him off. Glancing out the window, he yelled, “Stay here!” then flung open the door and leaped down.

“Wha—”  Helen leaned out as the carriage jerked to a halt.

Two men were systematically beating a third. Rafe’s flying tackle knocked the larger one aside. But before he could land more than a single punch, the smaller man abandoned the victim and attacked. He was wiry and quick. Rafe might be powerful, but he didn’t stand a chance against two opponents.

The coachman had his hands full with the team, and Rafe’s valet and groom were far ahead with the baggage coach. Cursing, Helen grabbed the carriage pistol and jumped down. If Rafe had any sense, he would have taken it himself.

Rafe was on his feet and giving a good account of himself, but he could not hold off two bruising fighters for long. Leaning into the wind, she raced closer, seeking a clear shot.

A knife flashed.

She fired.

The blond fell, clutching his leg.

“Idiot!”  Rafe grunted as he punched his smaller opponent’s shoulder. “Get back in the carriage.”

“Your gratitude needs work,” she snapped as Rafe knocked the highwayman off balance. Leaving him to finish the job, Helen turned to the victim.

He was an unconscious mass of torn clothing and bloody bruises, curled into the tiniest ball he could manage. His breath whistled out in a long groan. Gently prying his arms from around his head, she rolled him onto his back.

“Oh, my God. Alex!”

His arm flopped to the ground, revealing a swollen face covered with blood from a gash across his forehead. Disreputable clothes made him look scruffier than the highwaymen. But he was undeniably Alex Portland.

Tears slid down her face as she catalogued his injuries. This wasn’t his first fight. He’d acquired a ragged scar across his left cheek that made him look grimmer than before. Other scars showed through rents in his clothing.

So much pain.

How much different he’d looked in Sir Montrose’s ballroom – an elegant stranger bowing before her, his smile sending excitement tingling down her back. His touch when he’d lifted her hand to his lips had melted her knees. Within moments, she’d fallen under his spell, for he’d been the first blazingly masculine gentleman she’d met.

Another whistling groan returned her attention to his battered face. This was no time for memories, good or bad. He needed help. What quarrel could trigger such a vicious attack?

Ripping the lowest flounce from her petticoat, she pressed it to his forehead.

Chapter Eleven

Rafe hammered another punch against the highwayman’s jaw, but the man had the constitution of an ox. Nothing seemed to faze him.

It didn’t help that milling tactics were useless against this pair. He was considered a bruising fighter at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, but the rules of gentlemanly battle meant nothing to rough-and-tumble street brawlers. By the time he’d realized his error, they were moving in for the kill. If not for Helen—

Something shifted to his right. Whirling away from his opponent’s fist, he sidestepped the hand trying to trip him, then slammed the toe of his boot into the blond’s wound. The fellow screamed, clutching his thigh as he rolled away.

With that threat removed, Rafe concentrated on the remaining bandit. The man’s quickness balanced his own longer reach, but reach should prove superior in the end – as long as he kept his wits and did nothing stupid. He couldn’t leave Helen at the man’s mercy. Blocking an uppercut, he aimed a kick at the fellow’s groin.

* * * *

Helen shifted to shield Alex’s face from windblown grit, heaving a sigh of relief when his eyes flickered open.

“My Helen of Troy,” he murmured hoarsely. “I must be dead.”

“No, but you might have been.”

“My dearest love,” he murmured.

“Be quiet so I can stop this bleeding.”
His love?
  That gilded tongue hadn’t changed a bit. “Can you move your arms?”

He flexed fingers, wrists, and elbows.

“Good. How about your legs?”

“Hurt.”

“Broken?”

“Uh-uh.”

“How bad are your ribs?”

“Fine.”

She doubted it. He winced with every breath. But at least the bleeding was stopped.

“Oomph!” grunted Rafe behind her. The fight still raged. Two blows landed in quick succession.

Alex struggled to push himself up.

“Don’t sit yet,” she ordered, holding him down. “You’ll swoon if you rise too quickly.”

A horse screamed. The coachman was fighting to keep the team from bolting. So far, he was winning, but the approaching storm and smell of blood were turning restlessness into panic. She could see the offside leader trembling from fifty feet away.

A body hit the ground. Not Rafe. One fear gone.

“Don’t move,” she told Alex. “I have some ointment that will help that cut.” Rafe had been applying it to her head.

He gripped her hand. “Stay!”

“I’ll be back in a moment, Alex.” Her assurance relaxed him into semi-consciousness.

Rafe had the highwayman pinned to the ground, but the man was still squirming. “Bring me the rope from the boot,” he grunted as she passed.

She nodded, a barrage of questions hammering her head. Who had Alex betrayed this time?  Or had he turned to theft or piracy?  His crimes must be bad to attract such vicious retribution. His clothes hinted that he’d fallen far down the social scale.

By the time she returned with rope, water, and Rafe’s remedy box, Alex had pulled himself up to sit, white-faced, against a tree. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he murmured as she washed blood from his face. “I was on my way to fetch you.”

“Why?”  She shook her head. “Forget it. You’d just lie again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?  Disappearing without a word?  Ruining my reputation?”

“I never meant—”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

“I planned to come back that night,” he swore.

“Good intentions don’t count, Alex. It’s too late.” She slathered salve on his cut, then ignored his flinch as she ripped another flounce from her petticoat to wind around his head.

“Helen.”

“Be quiet. Talking will restart the bleeding.”

The villain landed a kick as Rafe bound his arms, drawing a curse.

Alex jerked his head around. “My God,” he choked. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken up with Thomas!  When you said ruined, I didn’t—  You were supposed to wait for me. You can’t have turned mistress to that rakehell!”

“How can you believe I’d be any man’s mistress!”  Her fingers dug into his arm.

“Then why are you with him?  Don’t you dare claim you just happened to be passing by.”

“Of course not. He’s my husband.”

Alex blanched. “He can’t be. There’s been no announcement.”

“Certainly there was. Four days ago.”

“How—  Why—  But you love me!”

Helen shook her head. “You walked out four years ago without a word, Alex. Why would I pine for a scoundrel?”

“You knew I’d be back. We couldn’t wed until it was safe.”

“Safe?”

“Don’t pretend ignorance, Helen. You knew my position came first.”

“What position?  You said you were a London gentleman. That’s hardly dangerous.”

“I—”  He shook his head. “I can’t believe you jilted me.”

“Are you mad? 
You
jilted
me
. You didn’t even say good-bye.
I’ll be back in a moment, Helen
. Then you slipped out the window and disappeared. What was I to think when you failed to return?”

“You knew I loved you. We’d talked about marriage often enough.”

“Really?”  She brushed his hands away. “Oh, you were free with hints and half-promises, but you never offered and you never wrote. That is not the mark of a serious suitor.”

Alex gaped. “Your father accepted my suit that afternoon. I would have proposed that evening if duty hadn’t interfered. But I knew he would keep you safe until I could return.”

“Duty?”

“I work for the Home Office and was in Somerset investigating a suspected traitor.”

“Who?”

“Sir Montrose.”

Helen laughed. “That is the most idiotic suggestion I’ve ever heard. He is—”

“You needn’t defend him. We proved him innocent. But at the time, things looked black. He had a brother in the Foreign Office and a cousin at Horse Guards, and wrote regularly to both. Information from both offices turned up in France after passing through Sir Montrose’s hands.”

Helen shook her head, but it explained the games he’d played that year, like his favorite, hide-and-seek, which had always ended in torrid kisses that made her forget how long she’d been alone. She’d been his excuse to slip away. All those times he’d hurried off to collect a gift from his room, he’d really been searching private papers. And his lengthy delays before discovering her hiding places had covered spying. He’d used her.

“We learned the truth that last night,” he continued. “When my assistant signaled me, I meant only to take his report and return to you, but he’d found our traitor – Sir Montrose’s secretary, working with secretaries to the other men. A courier had already collected the latest information, so the only chance to recover it was to leave immediately.”

“You could have let me know.”

“There wasn’t time.”

She opened her mouth to protest – poking his head through the window would have taken no more than a moment. But his face spoke volumes. He had expected her to throw a tantrum.

The insult hurt. Even at her worst, she’d been understanding – as he should have known. Not once had she protested his actions, not even the day he’d left her in the maze for three hours.

Yet beneath the pain was relief, and a growing joy as the weight slipped from her heart. She hadn’t driven him off. He’d used her, callously and deliberately, then left when he no longer needed the cover she offered. But it wasn’t her fault. Never again would she wrack her brains trying to figure out why – or fret that Rafe might detect the same flaw and abandon her, too.

“We barely reached the coast before the tide turned, Helen,” he swore now. “Five extra minutes would have ruined our chances. We didn’t even have time to collect local officials to help, which proved unfortunate. There were more of them than we’d expected. Though we won the skirmish, it took me three months to recover from my injuries.”