Rachel Brimble Read online

  “There is nothing for it, Annie. I must take whatever Nicholas throws at me. All that concerns me is easing my father’s worries of how Nicholas will treat me when we are married and he is no longer here to look after me. I know he wants us married but I also see the concern eating him up quicker than the shadows on his lungs.” Emily shook her head. “Papa is convinced Nicholas will treat me no better than a dog once I am legally his. How Papa can even think I would tolerate such treatment is beyond me.”

  “I’ll always protect you to the best of my ability, Miss. I just worry even I won’t be able to stand up to someone of Mr. Milne’s size.”

  Emily stood and took Annie’s hand in hers. “Nicholas will hurt neither you nor I. Not ever. That’s a promise.”

  A devilish light burned once more in Annie’s eyes. “I bet a bruised cheek wouldn’t lessen Mr. Samson’s feelings for you. In fact, I bet fifty pounds your entire body could be black and blue and he would still take the most glorious pleasure in it.”

  Emily laughed as goose bumps erupted on her arms. “Will you stop? If Papa or Nicholas were to catch wind of your fantasies there would be hell to pay.” She dropped Annie’s hands and walked to the window and snapped back the drapes. Yanking up the sash window, Emily leaned out and inhaled great breaths of fresh air to cool her face and still her hammering heart.

  For all her bravado to Annie, she was afraid what Nicholas’s reaction would be when he saw her. Even though he’d never been violent toward her, a suspicion he would want to blacken the other eye felt warranted. The man wouldn’t think of going after the boy as Mr. Samson had, he would only think of how her looks affected him. The park in front of her blurred.

  She turned back into the room and helped Annie get her armor . . . clothes . . . ready for the day ahead.

  Dressed in a pale lilac dress, a particular favorite of Nicholas’s, Emily walked into the drawing room to await his arrival. The room was alight with the early afternoon sun, the pale yellow walls adding a bright and happy ambience.

  She touched her bruised cheek. It undoubtedly symbolized the beginning of an afternoon and evening marred with shades of black and blue. She sat on one of the winged armchairs and then stood. Sat again and stood. She couldn’t stop the tension running through her veins.

  If Nicholas caused a fuss about her face when she could have been killed, then he was even less of a man than she cared to give him credit for. Her hands shook. She would tell him exactly that and face his ensuing wrath regardless. He should be relieved by Mr. Samson’s presence, not angered.

  Wheels crunched outside the window and Emily hurried to it. The carriage door opened. Nicholas paused on its threshold and glanced left and right along the Crescent. A king of all he surveyed.

  She swallowed the bitter taste that rose in her throat when he nodded to his groom and descended onto the cobblestones. His dark blond hair was just visible beneath his black top hat, his pallor was clear and bright. She took a step from the window and the drawing room door opened.

  Her father ambled in and Emily smiled as she took his elbow and steered him toward his favorite chair. “Come and sit down, Papa. Nicholas has just arrived.”

  “Ah, the man at last graces us with his presence.”

  Emily smiled and any further words dissolved on her tongue as the drawing room door opened for a second time. Annie stepped into the room and executed a curtsey. “Sir, Miss, Mr. Milne.”

  Nicholas swept past Annie as though she wasn’t there, marching straight to the center of the room and grasping Emily’s father’s hand. “Good afternoon, sir. I hope I find you in fine spirits on this beautifully sunny day.”

  Emily’s stomach tightened. His happy demeanor was wildly disconcerting. If she knew Nicholas at all, that was exactly the feeling he wished to provoke. His green eyes glistened and his smile widened. Foreboding tip-tapped its warning up the length of Emily’s spine when he gave an abrupt turn and focused his attention on her.

  She pulled back her shoulders. He came directly toward her, leaving her father in his wake with a theatrical sweep of his jacket.

  “Emily.” He opened his arms wide before bending at the waist and grasping her hand in his. He pressed a firm kiss to her knuckles and looked up. His smile dissolved instantly.

  “My God, what happened to your face?”

  Emily stole a glance at her father as he made his way across the room. His progress was slow but she waited for the feel of his hand at the small of her back. She still needed her father, as any daughter would, when faced with danger. His fingers dug into her waist in encouragement.

  She cleared her throat. “I was accidentally pushed to the ground by a young boy in the park yesterday evening.”

  Nicholas’s gaze darted from her face to her father’s, and back again. “By a boy? What are you talking about?”

  “Annie and I went for a walk. It was such a beautiful evening, I wanted—”

  He turned to her father. “Please tell me she did this without your permission?”

  Her father stiffened beside her and Emily’s hackles rose. How dare he speak to him in that way and tone of voice? She opened her mouth to admonish him but her father got there first.

  His voice was colder than Nicholas’s. “She does not need my permission to walk out with her maid.”

  “Why ever not? It is the evening. She is alone—”

  “Have you met Annie? She would lay down her life for Emily.”

  Nicholas huffed out a laugh. “Clearly not. Look at her.”

  Her father’s hand dropped from Emily’s waist and he stepped nearer to Nicholas. “Don’t you ever refer to my daughter as ‘her’ again, do you hear me? Her name is Emily. A beautiful name bestowed on her by her dead mother. Use it.”

  Emily’s breath caught in her throat. Her father trembled with anger and his sunken cheeks were red with fury. Despite the words burning her tongue, she pulled her lips tightly closed knowing this was an argument her father was perfectly capable of ruling. Nicholas pulled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace. His eyes flashed and his hands fisted at his sides. Emily’s heart picked up speed. If he so much as raised a hand to her father . . .

  This was the side of her father she desperately missed. The man he was before the shadows showed up on his lungs and his breathing became difficult and his chest tight. This was the man who raised her to be strong and compassionate, caring yet firm. Tears hitched like barbed wire in her throat.

  Nicholas finally broke the tension. He faced her and Emily held firm beneath the frigid coldness of his gaze. “I apologize. I did not mean to be abrupt nor rude.”

  Emily dipped her head. “Clearly it has shocked you to see me—”

  “I assume your attention was turned elsewhere when this happened. You look . . . deformed by this blemish.”

  Emily stared. “Deformed?”

  “Yes. Deformed.”

  Unable to trust herself, Emily looked to her father to take up the conversation lest she say something she would regret. He shook his head, a smile of disbelief playing at his lips. “Well, if that is the way you feel, Nicholas, it would probably be for the best if you walked away, don’t you think?”

  Nicholas blanched. “What?”

  “Emily is a beautiful young woman. Any man would want her.” Her father turned to face her, his eyes dark. “I am quite sure when society learns of your decision to annul the engagement, another man will eagerly propose.”

  Emily stared, her mouth dry. Where on earth had this come from? Had he lost his mind? Her heart swelled with love. He was provoking Nicholas to walk away, to divorce his inheritance and leave her everything. As proud as she was of her father, she had to stop him. If Nicholas thought for one moment her father was attempting to dupe him, heaven only knew what he would do.

  “Papa, stop this. All is well. Nicholas did not mean what he said. He is just shocked by the bruising. Are you not?”

  The two men locked eyes as they would horns. The room fell into shadow and
even though Emily hazarded a cloud had passed over the sun, she shivered beneath its implication. Nicholas’s cold green eyes bored into her father’s with such animosity, she wanted to lunge forward and slap him.

  At last, he stepped back. “I apologize. To you both.”

  Emily released her held breath. “Apology accepted. Papa?”

  Her father glared at Nicholas a moment longer, before he grunted and turned away. Emily’s heart sank when he drew a cigar from a box on the low table.

  “Father, would you mind taking your cigar into the garden? It is a beautiful day. Nicholas and I will take tea together and I will tell him of our dinner plans tonight to thank Mr. Samson.”

  “What?” Nicholas’s voice was like a whip cracking through the momentary silence. “Mr. Samson is coming here? Tonight?”

  His eyes were narrowed to slits. Heat sprang to Emily’s cheeks and she cursed the fact that the tone of his voice made her skin itch and her heart jump. “I will explain everything in a moment—”

  “You will explain now.”

  Anger exploded like a firecracker behind her ribcage. Her restraint was obliterated and her determination rose like a phoenix from the flames. She took a step closer to him and her father clutched her arm but Emily paid no heed.

  “I’ll explain, Nicholas. Very clearly. It is quite possible Mr. Samson saved my life yesterday evening and in the way of a small thank you, Papa invited him to dine with us.” She stared directly into his blazing eyes. “Surely you would like to thank him for coming to my aid. Would you not?”

  Seconds ticked by as his eyes bulged and his color darkened. He glared. “Absolutely.”

  Her father cleared his throat and released her arm to snip off the end of his cigar. “Good. Now we are agreed. I will leave Emily to explain this evening’s arrangements.”

  He pressed a kiss to Emily’s cheek and silently ambled from the room. Emily squeezed her hands tightly together in front of her as she waited for her father to pull the door closed behind him. The moment it did, she whirled around.

  “Before I explain anything about Mr. Samson, Nicholas, I want to remind you my father is dying. It is a sad state of affairs when a man upsets his future father-in-law, let alone when he is in such a weakened state.”

  He looked to the floor. “I know that, you need not remind me.”

  Emily stared at his bowed head. His voice wavered when he spoke and now his breath shook as he inhaled. When he raised his head and met her eyes, Emily swallowed her gasp. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He looked positively distraught. Emily stepped back, shock cooling her temper. “Nicholas?”

  His gaze shifted to the bruise on her cheekbone. “The state of your face frightens me.”

  “Frightens you?”

  “I love you.”

  Her heart stopped and her tongue felt too big for her mouth. “Nicholas, you do not—”

  He smiled softly. “You’re surprised. Clearly my feelings are far from reciprocated. That is understandable.”

  Panic and guilt, confusion and despair tumbled around inside Emily’s mind as she struggled to find the words to respond. “Nicholas—”

  “Say nothing.” He leaned forward, gently placing his lips against the bruise on her cheek. “No one will ever hurt you again. I will see to that. You are mine, Emily. Forever.”

  She froze despite the warmth of his breath upon her skin. He straightened and took her hands in his. His eyes were now dry of tears, his mouth drawn once more into a wolverine smile.

  “I worry all the time, you know. I worry about you, me, our future together.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “More than anything, I am in a constant state of fretfulness that I am missing something that’s right there in front of me.”

  She trembled. “Missing something?”

  His eyes snapped open and when he lifted his hand to her face, his mouth twitched. He clearly enjoyed her discomfort. He took a fallen curl lying at her cheek between his thumb and finger.

  “Indeed, my love. I think you are up to something. I think you’ve the audacity to take me for a fool.”

  She swallowed and forced a smile. “I would never do any such thing. Our marriage is written in stone. I will not . . .”

  His hand shot out like a viper after its prey. He gripped her hair so tightly, the stretched follicles stung at her scalp. She bit back a whimper as he leaned close.

  “Then tell me why the hell Mr. Samson will be sitting at your father’s dining table tonight? Precious Emily.”

  Chapter Seven

  Will studied Milne over the rim of his wineglass. The Darson dining room hummed with tension. Despite arriving promptly at the designated time, Will walked into the house and Milne’s booted feet were already comfortably established beneath the table. The sight of him there was disappointing. He’d so looked forward to watching the expression on Milne’s face when he entered his fiancée’s home and found Will talking in soft tones to her; his lips barely inches from the smooth skin of Miss Darson’s exquisite neck. . . .

  He stole a glance at her across the table. She looked ravishing in a gown of midnight blue, a pendant of the same color nestled at the cleft of her bosom. The dress molded her figure in the most enticing way, yet was perfectly suitable for dinner at an upper class table. The woman had no idea of her allure. Will took a drink in a bid to cool the fire inside him.

  So far he’d barely said a word to her or Milne, because Oliver Darson seemed intent on monopolizing his attention. Will took appraisal of the not-so-happy couple as the man mumbled away beside him. Something had shifted between Miss Darson and Milne. He had no idea what, but it showed in the stiffness of her shoulders and the way Milne tilted his chin whenever he looked at her.

  Unease rolled through Will’s gut and he turned his attention to Mr. Darson. He didn’t want either of them to know he’d spotted a change. A change that came from God knew where—but he’d find out one way or another.

  Annie entered the room carrying a tureen and Oliver Darson clapped his hands together. “Ah ha, the soup. Marvelous.”

  Will sensed Emily’s gaze on him and turned. Her cheeks flushed pink but she didn’t look away, only stared. Her gaze unreadable. The heat between them palpable. So extraordinarily strong, he vowed to use the intensity of it rather than fear it. What was she trying to tell him? Her dark brown gaze had lost its luster, her mouth its mischief.

  She was astoundingly beautiful—even with the overly rouged cheeks she’d colored in a clear attempt to tame her injury. Now more than ever, he sensed the change. She was upset, her fire extinguished. Will’s gut tightened as foreboding fueled inside him.

  Was it ever a good thing to feel so drawn to a person? Surely it would end in disaster if something blazed too hot for either person to handle. Certain the attraction on his part was bound to his desire to hurt Milne, Will suspected the same could be said of Miss Darson. She was with him to ensure she received her inheritance. He didn’t blame her but longed for a way to give her liberty without sacrificing what was rightfully hers. It made him sick to his stomach to think of Milne gaining such a woman by legacy rather than love.

  She twisted her gaze away and Will looked at his bowl, his appetite gone. He picked up his spoon nevertheless. After a moment, he stole a quick glance at Milne. Who stared into his bowl, a muscle twitching methodically in his jaw. Satisfaction spread through Will’s veins. The man was far from happy.

  This is just the beginning, my friend. Just the beginning.

  He cleared his throat. “I am glad to see you looking so much better this evening, Miss Darson.”

  She hesitated, her spoon hovering above her bowl for a second before she lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Thank you. I am. Much better. I am grateful you were there.”

  Will smiled, hoping it would encourage a curve of her beautiful lips. “It was nothing. What man would miss the opportunity to sweep a beautiful woman into his arms?”

  Milne flung his spoon into his soup bowl and Miss Darson flinc
hed. “Are you purposefully provoking me, sir? Or just astoundingly rude?”

  Anger lit like a flame in Will’s gut as Milne’s silver clattered sharply against the china and a shower of puree spattered the white tablecloth. Will tightened his grip around his spoon, trying to resist the urge to get up from the table and slam his fist into Milne’s face. “I don’t understand what you are asking. If I have in some way offended—”

  Milne’s face darkened to scarlet. “How dare you insinuate any kind of physical or romantic entanglement with my fiancée. You know Miss Darson and I are to be married, yet you talk to her in a manner that is insulting to me and your hosts.”

  Will glanced at Miss Darson. She sat ramrod straight, her spoon dripping liquid into her bowl unnoticed. He then turned to her father. Oliver Darson’s eyes were alive with interest, his cheeks flushed. Keeping his face impassive, Will turned to Milne.

  “I completely understand your jealousy, sir, and I apologize for provoking your insecurity. It won’t happen again.”

  Milne’s face darkened from scarlet to purple. “How dare you. I have no reason to be jealous. Miss Darson is mine, is she not? You are merely a man who made our acquaintance a few days ago and now finds himself treated to a meal as a sign of goodwill for doing absolutely nothing.”

  Miss Darson gasped. “Nicholas, how can you say such a thing? Of course Will . . . I mean Mr. Samson . . . did something.”

  Milne turned his glare on her and Will closed his fist around his napkin, every nerve in his body hitching to high alert. If he so much as raised his voice to her . . .

  “He did nothing. If he had, we wouldn’t be forced to look at that ugly bruise on your cheek, would we?”

  The sound of the word “ugly” being directed at her fanned the flames of Will’s anger. It burned hot and fast, bubbling his blood to boiling. The man beat Will’s mother. Beat her and left her battered body to languish upon a hardwood floor. Now he tossed an accusation of imperfection at the most perfect woman Will had ever met. His vision turned pink at the edges. He inhaled a long steadying breath in an effort to regain his equilibrium.