Bride Who Fell in Love with Her Husband Page 8

  “I love you, Thomas Stanhope,” she said, gasping as the spinning and laughter began anew.

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  THE SCARLET BRIDE

  Available June 2012 from Berkley Sensation

  Chapter One

  Simon Harrington, an ill-tempered brute if Lady Jeanette Abbot was to be believed, rode down the deserted streets of London with no particular destination in mind. Lamplight flickered in fresh puddles gathered from the same light rain that splattered his coat, dripped off the brim of his hat, and trickled in cold rivulets down the back of his neck. The discomfort fit his mood, as his sober expression was on the edge of turning grim.

  The blasted wench had refused his suit again, calling him untamed and beneath her consideration as a husband, in spite of his family’s wealth. She’d flashed an abundance of tiny, albeit slightly crooked teeth, stepped away from his bent knee as if he had some horrid disease, and politely asked him to leave lest she have him tossed out into the street by her footmen.

  Now as the horse beneath him ambled freely down the street, he considered letting the beast carry him all the way to Scotland, where no one knew his history, and the women had much less starch in their drawers. His father had married Irish, so taking a Scotswoman as his wife wouldn’t shock the Ton. The path to scandal had already been paved with the bodies of all the disreputable Harringtons before him.

  Unfortunately, as the elder son of his branch of the family oak tree, he had to make a wise marriage. If his uncle and father decided to drop over dead, he’d be the earl and head of the notorious clan of bounders and rakes. Without Lady Jeanette, his chances of dragging the family firmly into societal favor were slim. Tonight’s rejection was certainly a blow to his carefully laid plans. Though a few Harringtons had risen to prominence in society, Simon’s Irish blood and lack of a title made the path nearly impossible for him. He’d not care what anyone thought of his family if not for his sister, Brenna.

  “Onward to Scotland then, er, Horse,” Simon commanded, his voice a touch slurred from several pints of ale downed at a bawdy pub somewhere near Whitechapel.

  He really should name the beast, he decided, as he peered down at the pair of furry ears that had turned backward to listen for his commands. After all, he’d owned the large gray for over a week now. The finely bred animal needed something majestic to make him stand out among less well-bred and costly beasts.

  But the search for a name was to be delayed as a piteous sound, carried on the wind, immediately brought him upright, sober, and nearly off his horse. Horse himself nearly leapt out of his hide and braced to bolt. Only sawing at the reins kept the gelding in check.

  It was the cry of a child in distress. Wait, no. Not of an infant but of a woman in trouble. Serious trouble, if the second louder cry was to be believed.

  Simon jerked up the reins, startled the horse a second time, and kneed the beast in the direction of the sound. As soon as he rounded a corner, he spotted two large men in footmen livery, struggling with a woman in rumpled clothing. She appeared to be fighting for her life, or perhaps only her virtue. Truthfully, it didn’t matter which. Trouble was trouble and she was outnumbered.

  At least that was how Simon saw it. He wasted no time on further speculation. The damsel was in danger, and by the looks of the empty street, he would be pressed into service as her knight in damp armor.

  She struggled mightily against two brawny pairs of hands as the men did their best to unwrap her arms from a streetlamp. She wasn’t weeping and her cries were more of the desperate sort. Simon was impressed by her determination to succeed against greater forces than she.

  “No! You will not take me back!” she cried as one arm was finally dislodged. It would be but a matter of seconds before she was carried away in the waiting coach.

  Simon wasted no time. He kicked Horse to a run and barreled down on the trio in a clatter of racing hooves. The two men had just a moment to register their surprise when one of them took Simon’s knee to the chest. The man flew up with a pained grunt, landing awkwardly backward on cobblestones. The other jumped back to avoid the horse. Simon shot out a foot and kicked him in the face. His nose shattered.

  The woman swayed but reclaimed the pole. Simon spun Horse around as the first man shook his head and began to rise. The other cupped his broken nose and groaned.

  There was no time to spare. He edged the horse close to the woman and reached out a gloved hand.

  “If you don’t intend to embrace the pole all evening, then perhaps you should allow me to rescue you.”

  Wide eyes peered from beneath tangled and soaked sable hair. Her confusion over the sudden turn of events showed in her face. She hesitated for a heartbeat, and then shoved her slender hand into his. She lifted her foot and placed it on his in the stirrup. He pulled her up behind him.

  “Hold tight,” he commanded and she grabbed for his coat. Then, with a sharp tap of his heels, they were off.

  A bellow of outrage followed, with a trail of curses to show deep displeasure from the two ruffians. Simon grinned. After the evening he’d had, it was pure enjoyment knowing there were two men in London who were unhappier and more put out than he.

  Two hands clung to him as the horse sped through the streets, the cool breeze forcing out the lingering effects of imbibing too much cheap ale. The excitement of the rescue sent his blood racing and cleared the fog of whiskey from his brain. It wasn’t until he was certain they weren’t followed that he stopped the horse.

  The gelding bobbed his head and snorted.

  Simon glanced over his shoulder to see the woman twisted around to peer behind them. She’d clearly lost some of her starch. Her body trembled as she clung to his sodden coat. He thought of offering her the item; however, she wasn’t nearly as wet as he. Better just to leave her as she was for the moment.

  “We must go,” she urged and turned back to dig her fingers tighter into his coat. “They will come.”

  There was such terror in her voice that Simon was taken aback. No simple runaway was she.

  “You must tell me your story,” he said, resisting the urge to kick the horse back into motion. He needed to know if she was not a victim but a criminal before he became further mired in the situation.

  “There is no time,” she pleaded and clawed at his arm. “If his lordship finds me, it will mean my death.”

  His lordship? Death? The words ripped through his brain. “Who are you? Who is this man who would kill you?”

  “He was my patron, I was his courtesan.” She shook uncontrollably until her teeth chattered. “I ran away.”

  Simon reconsidered offering his coat but had no time to shrug out of the wet wool. Her eyes pleaded with him. “Please, you m-must t-take me to safety. I have money to pay y-you for y-your help.”

  Simon swept his gaze down her face. There was nothing untoward in her pale features to give him pause. No deception, no untruths. She was truly in fear for her life.

  “I know a place where you’ll be protected.” He nudged his horse into motion. The animal easily complied. Horse was probably eager to get out of the misty cold.

  Simon quickly navigated the rain-slick streets. Though the brim of his hat kept the rain from his eyes, the grim weather made keeping on course difficult.

  Thankfully the destination wasn’t far. He knew Eva and Noelle would be displeased with this unexpected arrival. However, his mysterious passenger would be safe there. There was no other option. Bringing her to his family home was out of the question. To show up with a courtesan in tow would certainly press the boundaries of what his mother would consider proper.

  It took several wrong turns to finally find the correct street, as the increasing rain made navigation challenging. Tha
nkfully, within minutes, he came upon the address he sought.

  The town house was as he remembered—dull, nondescript, and dark. The household was asleep. By now the woman was dazed and half-frozen. He dislodged her fingers from his coat and swung down from the horse. She was thistledown light as Simon removed her from behind the saddle and she slid limply down his body. Her toes had barely brushed solid earth when her knees buckled.

  Alarmed, Simon caught her about the waist and noticed her unfocused eyes. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the darkened town house.

  The door was locked. He kicked the panel several times with his boot, rattling the door on its hinges. After a brief delay, candlelight flickered through a narrow window.

  A man of middle years cautiously opened the door and peered through the crack, a nightcap covering his hair. He stared first at Simon and then at the woman, clearly confused by their appearance at the late hour.

  “I need to see Miss Eva,” Simon demanded.

  The man shook his head, his face stern and his eyes puffy from sleep. “Miss Eva is not here and Miss Sophie is sleeping. Go away.”

  Simon didn’t have the patience for further conversation. He tucked his damsel higher on his chest and forcefully brushed past the servant.

  The man sputtered. “Sir, you cannot come inside.” He slammed the door closed and scurried after them. His bare feet slapped on the parquet floor. “This is unseemly.”

  Unfamiliar with the floor plan of the house, Simon strode down the hallway with only the muted candlelight to keep him from stumbling about. He quickly found a dark room with a settee near a cold fireplace.

  “Get Sophie,” Simon ground out.

  “What is happening here?”

  Simon spun to see a shadowed blond woman hurrying down the stairs, clutching a robe protectively around her body. A trio of women gathered at the upper landing behind her.

  “How dare you force your way into this house.” She shot the servant a glance and demanded, “Primm, get Thomas.”

  The man took a step. Simon’s voice brought him upright. “Miss Noelle is my cousin. I need your help.”

  Sophie started, then paused, uncertain. Finally she turned to the women on the landing above and snapped, “Return to bed. I will take care of this.”

  Simon wasted no more time. He entered the room and eased the courtesan down on the settee. Sophie took the candle and lit a pair of wall sconces. She spoke to Primm in low tones and the servant left the room.

  When they were alone, Sophie scowled at him and walked over to check on the woman. She took a blanket from a nearby chair and tucked the edges around his charge. The courtesan’s eyes fluttered when Sophie’s warm hand pressed against her cheek.

  “You are safe now,” Sophie said softly and brushed damp hair from the courtesan’s pale face. “Rest.”

  The woman settled back as Sophie stepped away. She indicated for Simon to join her, and they moved to a corner of the small room. She crossed her arms.

  “Tell me who you are and what happened to her.” Her whispered tone was sharp and her glare sharper.

  “I am Simon Harrington.” He looked toward the settee and lowered his voice. “I apologize for the intrusion but I had nowhere else to go.”

  “Who is she?” Sophie asked.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “She was in danger and I rescued her. She claims to be a courtesan who fears for her life. Otherwise, I have no other information.”

  Sophie scanned his face. After a long moment, she sighed. “You’ve done the right thing by bringing her here. You can explain yourself to Miss Eva later.”

  Simon grimaced as she returned to the courtesan and sat beside her on the settee. Forgiveness was the least of his concerns. Eva owned the school and fiercely protected her privacy. She would be livid to find out he’d been spying on her. Worse, he hated to think how his cousin Noelle would take the news. She volunteered at the school and was just as protective of the young women. Coming here had breached their sanctuary and both women would have his hide.

  Laura peered into the stranger’s face and saw compassion in the woman’s wary eyes. She hadn’t any idea where she was, but suspected her rescuer had delivered her to a safe place.

  “Where am I?” she asked weakly. Her body shivered beneath her wet clothes and she struggled to keep her teeth from clacking together. She was so cold that she couldn’t move, and her limbs felt frozen in place.

  The woman smiled and her face softened slightly beneath a fringe of blond hair. “My name is Sophie. We run a school that rescues courtesans.”

  Laura glanced around the small and tidy blue parlor. She wanted to laugh at the irony of the information, but didn’t have the strength. She shifted her attention to the tall man near the fireplace. His face was shadowed by his hat, but she knew by his sodden appearance that he was the man who had swooped in and rescued her.

  “Thank you,” she said and managed a weak, but very grateful smile. If not for him, she’d be dead. He could have ridden off, minding his business. Instead he’d provided her assistance, protection, and a haven from her demons. “You truly did save my life.”

  He tipped his black hat and bowed slightly. “I shall leave you now in capable hands.” Without another word, he crossed the room and vanished out the door.

  Laura felt slightly bereft with the absence of her savior. Still, she couldn’t ask for more than he’d already given.

  “I’m sorry to cause such trouble,” she said softly.

  Sophie patted her hand and stood. “Not to worry. We are used to dealing with the misfortunes of women here.” She tightened the tie at her waist and darted a quick glance over Laura. “When is the last time you’ve eaten?”

  Laura scrunched up her face. The veil of exhaustion kept her from an immediate answer. “Two days. I think.”

  It was clear that Sophie wanted to ask questions about her history, but wisely held her tongue. Laura was relieved. She was too tired to think, much less speak, of her horrible ordeal. She needed rest, food, and dry clothes. Tomorrow she would explain everything with a clear and rested mind.

  Now that she was free, she would die before she’d ever return to the clutches of the Earl of Westwick again, the vile bastard. She’d kill him first.

  “Let me help you up.” Sophie assisted her to sit then stand. The woman wasn’t large, but was surprisingly strong. She bore much of Laura’s weight as the two women gingerly crossed into the hallway and up the stairs, to a room halfway down the narrow corridor. Sophie had no difficulty managing the distance without a candle or while supporting the wobbly Laura.

  Sophie walked her inside a tiny room, lit with a single candle. The man at the front door had clearly prepared the space for her. There was a nightdress on the bed and a tray of hot, fragrant broth and biscuits on a bedside table. A shudder racked Laura’s body, her wet gown clinging to her every curve.

  “Let me help you undress.” Sophie quickly stripped her to the skin with quiet efficiency. Once her chemise and drawers were removed, Laura heard Sophie’s breath catch. She knew exactly when the woman saw them—black and purple bruises, some old, some still fresh upon her skin. She’d felt every blow.

  “Whoever did this to you needs to be horsewhipped.”

  Laura smiled wryly. “Or worse.”

  Their eyes connected and held. Sophie pulled the nightdress down over Laura’s head and helped her into the bed. Laura felt understanding and sympathy in this stranger. She wondered if their stories were not so different.

  “I do not know your name.” Sophie collected the tray and settled it over Laura’s lap. The aroma of the broth caused her stomach to grumble with anticipation of the simple meal. At this moment, even biscuits would be a delicious feast.

  There were many things his lordship had taken from her—her inn
ocence, her dignity, and nearly her life. But he could not take the one thing from her she’d held on to during all these months of torment and torture at his hands. Her name.

  “I was called Sabine,” Laura said softly and felt a thin thread of hope and strength rise beneath her battered ribs. She smiled into Sophie’s eyes. “But you may call me Laura.”

  Chapter Two

  “Simon. What have you done?”

  His cousin Noelle’s sharp voice caused Simon to stiffen. He turned away from the window to see her angry amber eyes pin him against the windowpane with a hard stare.

  Expecting the wrath of Eva when he arrived the next morning, he wasn’t sure if Noelle’s surprising presence at the courtesan school was better or worse than facing Eva.

  When they were children, Noelle used to take a nip of flesh out of his hide if he crossed her or teased her too much. He had several scars to prove it. Hopefully, she’d outgrown biting.

  “I didn’t expect to see you today,” he said, sighing. “I thought you were in Kent.”

  “My husband is in Kent on business. I stayed home,” she said through gritted teeth. “Do not change the subject. Answer the question.”

  What could he say? When he’d heard family gossip about a new cousin that Noelle had uncovered, he had to find out more. Unfortunately, all leads led nowhere. Cousin Eva was a mystery. Adding this information to the fact that Noelle was keeping Eva largely a secret further notched up his curiosity. The only way to gain information was to spy on Noelle and discover what she was hiding.

  Through his investigation, he’d discovered that not only was Eva a duchess, but she disguised herself as a spinster and ran a courtesan rescue school. The bigger surprise was finding out that Noelle was secretly helping Eva with the courtesans.

  “I suppose you deserve an explanation—” he began, but she cut him off midsentence.

  “How could you? Eva trusted me to keep her secret.” Noelle stalked across the room and looked up. She had one hand on her hip and the other uplifted to his chest, one finger pointing in the direction of his heart. “How did you find out about this place? I’ve told no one about its existence, save Gavin, and I trust my husband completely.”