The Westerfield Affair (7 page)

As they rounded the corner, they caught site of a skirmish. “Maury!” she cried, catching sight of her brother in the middle of the melee.

“Pull up here,” Westerfield ordered his driver, yanking off his coat and loosening his cravat. “And then I’ll require your assistance!”

Maury was pinned with his elbows drawn back by one man as another punched him in the ribs. A third man stood nearby, counting money. Lord Westerfield leaped out as soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, his driver right behind him, taking the time to make a quick knot on the lead rope so the horses didn’t bolt.

Lord Westerfield caught the attacker in a choke hold, but the advantage only lasted a moment, before the idle man was upon him.

“Harry!” she cried in warning.

He landed two solid punches on him before he took one to the gut from the first man. His driver distracted one and they were matched, three against three, though Maury wasn’t moving very quickly. One of the men yelled toward the gambling hall for help.

Kitty, stood in the open door, wondering whether there was anything she could do to sway the odds. Lord Westerfield saw her and threw a forbidding look, pointing at the carriage. Her stomach fluttered at his stern look, bottom throbbing anew in memory of his consequences. She hastily retreated into the carriage, but remained watching from her window.

Throwing his opponent, Lord Westerfield landed another blow to Maury’s foe, felling him. Maury turned to Lord Westerfield. “Thank you,” he said. “But I owe you this for my sister,” and his fist flew at her fiancé. Incredibly, Lord Westerfield started to dodge it, but then returned to his position, accepting the blow. He shook it off like a dog shakes off water. The back door of the establishment flew open. “We’ll discuss it later!” Lord Westerfield shouted, and all three men ran toward the carriage. The driver unhitched the loose knot and had it moving, just as two more men burst from the back of the building. One of them ran and caught onto the carriage, stepping onto the landing.

“Off!” Lord Westerfield hissed, delivering a kick to the man’s knee that would be sure to cause permanent damage. The man tumbled off, howling in pain.

The two men sat, catching their breath, as she and her companion stared, wide-eyed. Maury reeked of liquor and his fine clothing was so disheveled he might be mistaken for riff-raff. Lord Westerfield offered him his handkerchief for his bleeding nose. “What was that about?”

“They cheated! They cheated and I refused pay. Then they claimed I already owed a debt there,” Stanley said, his voice muffled from his swollen nose.

She gave a disbelieving sniff. Maury’s gaze swiveled to her. “I do not believe any of us are beyond reproach today, are we?”

Even Miss Anderson shrank in her seat. Kitty contemplated the mangled face of her brother, who slumped against the back of the carriage.

“I hate you, Maury,” she muttered at last. “I really do.”

Maury leaned his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. “I know,” he said tiredly. “So do I.”

Shocked silence followed that admission. Maury opened the eye that wasn’t swelling shut. “I’m sorry, Kitty,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your life along with mine.”

Kitty burst into tears.

“I hope someday you will forgive me.”

“Oh, Maury, you stupid, infuriating man!” Kitty cried and stood up from her seat in the carriage, causing Harry to reach for her waist and stabilize her as she flung her arms around her brother’s neck. Maury pulled her down next to him, forcing Miss Anderson to vacate her seat and move next to Harry. She leaned against her brother, her head resting on his chest, his arm protectively around her.

“What is it I heard about you two last night?”

She felt her face flush with shame. The talk of her had spread to the gambling hall that quickly. “I’m sorry, Maury. I misbehaved. Horribly. I had too much to drink and I—” she trailed off, looking at Lord Westerfield. She swallowed. “I misbehaved,” she repeated, dropping her eyes.

“Westerfield?” Maury demanded.

“I release you from the marriage contract,” Lord Westerfield said dully.

Her blood turned to ice.

“I will pay the full amount discussed, but I release Kitty from her obligation to marry me.”

Feeling lightheaded, she tugged on her corset to allow her ribs to expand. Shock brought her breath in little pants.

“That is unacceptable, Westerfield. You sullied her reputation by dragging her out of the ball without her escort; you cannot abandon her now.”

“There’s something…you don’t understand,” Harry said, swallowing.

Kitty’s heart beat harder.

“What is it?” Maury snapped.

“I—I forced myself on her.”

A flush of heat washed over her, replacing the cold so quickly she thought she might swoon. Miss Anderson looked positively scandalized. Maury lunged forward, his hand at Lord Westerfield’s throat. He banged his head against the back of the carriage.

“You bastard!”

“I know,” Lord Westerfield choked.

“Stop it, Maury!” she shrieked, tugging at her brother’s arm. “Stop!”

Lord Westerfield’s gaze locked on hers, revealing a depth of emotion she did not understand. Perhaps Maury saw it too, because he relaxed his hold, allowing Harry to take several deep breaths.

“You will marry her, Westerfield, or I will challenge you to a duel.”

His gaze was still fastened on her, hungry, desperate. “Only if she’ll have me,” he said in a low voice.

She took a breath, trying not to show how relieved she felt. “I have little choice, do I? If I am to be seen in society again?”

Maury released Lord Westerfield’s throat and sat back. “Then it’s settled. You’ll take her to Gretna Green at once,” he said, referring to the first changing post across the border in Scotland. It was where a couple could be married without the delay of posting of bans, or without parental consent if they were underage.

She was dismayed to see that Lord Westerfield looked positively miserable as he nodded his assent.

* * *

Harry drove to his home to pack a travel case, then returned to fetch his bride-to-be. He felt as though a stone sat in the pit of his stomach. While he’d been happy to secure Kitty’s hand through a business contract, knowing he’d forced her to marry him with such an ungentlemanly deed made him miserable. The shame that permeated his entire being was sickly familiar to him—it was one he’d felt often as a boy.

His father had been impossible to please, his endless criticisms were directed at everyone—the household staff, his mother, and particularly his only child. When the tirades came, Harry had kept silent, retreating to order—counting things, devising and solving math problems, organizing his world through the comforting solidity of numbers. Now he found himself calculating the number of miles they had to travel, translating it into hours and minutes and trying on varying options for stops or rests.

When he collected Kitty, she seemed quite composed, and he marveled anew at her poise. He helped her into the carriage and observing her wince when she sat, offered the cushion from his seat. She flushed, but accepted it. “Thank you, my lord,” she said.

After a half hour her eyes began to slowly blink, then she fell asleep. She looked so fragile, her head lolling precariously against the back of the carriage, her lashes fanned out over darkened circles under her eyes. He moved quietly to sit beside her, drawing her head to rest on his shoulder. She opened her eyes and blinked at him in surprise, and he braced himself for her rejection, but instead she slowly replaced her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes again.

It was not such an important gesture, but he reveled in it, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to provide a stable cushion, satisfied to offer her anything to ease her distress.

They traveled straight through—stopping only for meals and to change horses, driving through the night and the entire next day before stopping at an inn to sleep.

“Do you wish a separate room?” he asked Kitty, helping her out of the carriage. Though they were both weary of riding in silence in the cramped carriage, he was sorry not to spend another night with her sleeping against his shoulder.

Kitty looked at the inn and then gave a small shake of her head. “No, thank you. Sharing a room with you for the night can’t be any worse than sharing a carriage.”

He held out his arm for her. “Are you sure?” he asked sardonically.

She made a show of looking for his traveling bag. “It depends on whether you packed that wretched strap!”

He smiled, feeling a rush of affection for her and her ability to so gracefully ease the most tense of situations. She grasped his arm and sighed, looking more weary than she had the day before. He secured a room and they ate a cold meal.

“My lord, my head is aching and I think a bit of fresh air might help,” she said uncertainly.

“Of course, I shall escort you on a walk.”

“Thank you.”

He offered his arm and they walked slowly, down the small road of the village, taking in the smell of freshly cut hay, the sound of sheep bleating in the distance. When they turned a corner they came upon a large gathering of people—mostly men and boys, but some village women, too, all standing in a tight circle, calling and jeering.

“What is it?” Kitty asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“Let’s go and see, shall we?”

He would have obliged her any request, despite his misgivings, so he led her toward the gathering. When they drew closer, he realized it was a cock fight. Stopping short, he wrapped an arm around Kitty’s waist and pulled her back in the direction they’d come.

“What? What was it?” she asked.

“A cock fight.”

“No!” she breathed. “Is it barbaric?”

“Yes. It should be outlawed, though it probably never will be.”

“Well, why not?”

He shrugged. “There’s not enough support in Parliament to get it passed. Thomas St. John, an old friend of mine from school, heads the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and he’s tried to have it outlawed, along with bear-baiting, but it’s never gone anywhere.”

Kitty was leaning on his arm more heavily now.

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you? Come, let’s get you back to the inn.” In the room, Kitty looked at her traveling case uncertainly.

“Shall I inquire whether there’s a maid to help you undress?”

She hesitated, then swallowed. “No, you can unlace me,” she said, turning around to provide access to the laces on the back of her dress. She held her back stiffly and flinched when he touched her shoulder.

“Kitty,” he said in a low voice in her ear. “I’m not going to force myself on you again. You have my word.”

She darted a look over her shoulder. “Thank you,” was her nervous reply. Somehow, the more he tried to make it seem as though unlacing a lady’s dress was the most ordinary activity for him, the more he could not ignore the feel of his fingers brushing her bare flesh, nor the perfect shape of her narrow waist and flared hips. The sound of their breathing seemed overly loud in the quiet room. He opened the dress, breathing in the now-familiar smell of her as he loosened the laces of her corset. She clutched them both to her breast to keep them from falling. Then, to his amusement, she carried her nightdress behind the privacy screen for the chamber pot and completed her changing there. He removed his own clothing and put on a nightshirt.

She emerged in a conservative white nightdress, with a lace collar and loose drape, but he could make out the shape of her wide hips and the way her bare breasts shifted and moved beneath it as she walked, their erect nipples tenting the thin fabric. Was she aroused by the thought of sharing a bed with him? The thought made him dizzy. But the fearful look she shot him as she approached immediately dampened his arousal.

Of course she was afraid of him. He’d hurt her without giving even the smallest amount of pleasure. She probably dreaded the thought of having sex with him again. His stomach drew in with shame and he extinguished the lamp as soon as she reached the bed, lying perfectly still, listening to her breathe. The irony that she could be so close and yet so entirely unreachable was a cruel bone in his throat.

* * *

They set off again in the morning and Kitty studied him, trying once more to understand the taciturn man. Now that it was behind her, she found it quite thrilling that she had incited him to such passion—his jealousy and quickness to take her in hand making him even more attractive to her. He sat back now, looking weary, his eye swollen from the fight in the alley.

He looked at her for a long moment, then he said, “Did you tell me that you were purposely trying to make me jealous at the ball?”

She nibbled on her lower lip. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because you’d been ignoring me—ever since the night you—” She stopped, the words
spanked me
caught in her throat. “—kissed me,” she finished lamely.

She saw a flicker of amusement, but then his face grew serious again.

“You did not ask me to dance, you didn’t come to call…” She shrank when he frowned.

He rubbed the growing stubble on his face. “I kept a distance because I had difficulty controlling my desire for you. I feared I would go too far before we married. And I did,” he added, self-condemnation evident in his tone.

A flush of warmth flooded her entire being at that admission and she smoothed her skirt over her knees to hide her pleasure.

“Do I need to warn you not to play such games with me again?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in stern admonishment. Her stomach fluttered at the memory of his punishment.

“No, my lord.”

A very faint smile appeared on his lips at the haste in which she answered.

“You do believe me that there’s nothing between Teddy and me, save a familiarity from being childhood friends?”

He nodded and rubbed his face again, exhaling slowly. “Lady Dunning hinted at an attachment.”

She gasped, “That little cow! She couldn’t stand that Teddy wouldn’t have her again so she’s jealous of every lady with whom he dances!”