The Scarlet Bride (4 page)

A
pair of hands caught Laura’s arms before she crumpled. Fury instantly replaced terror.

“No!” She struggled violently against the hard chest, only to be quickly subdued by a familiar voice forcing its way into her consciousness.

“Easy, Laura,” he urged. “I’ll not hurt you.”

She stilled, tipped up her chin, and stared at the face above her. It wasn’t the earl! He’d not found her whereabouts after all! The man was her rescuer from last evening.

She slumped with relief.

Blurry memories of him flashed in disjointed pieces—starting from the moment he appeared out of the dark atop a large gray horse, to when his gloved hand had reached down to her as the footmen roused from somewhere behind her. And she’d taken his hand, putting her faith in a stranger.

She remembered his kindness as he carried her into the town house, her body limp, her strength drained from her desperate flight from the earl. What she didn’t remember was that his eyes were a striking icy blue.

She trembled. His hands tightened on her arms as he eased her toward a settee. “Let me help you,” he said softly.

Laura curled up on the padded surface, tucking her slippered feet under her. She refused to meet his eyes. The shame of weakness filtered through her. She’d always been so strong, so unafraid. Not anymore. She didn’t have any strength left in her achy and abused body.

“My name is Simon. Simon Harrington.” His voice was deep and soothing. “Do you remember me?”

She nodded, her eyes downcast. “I remember.”

He took a seat across from her on the empty settee and leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs. “I didn’t mean to cause you any alarm,” he said gently. “I just wanted to see you settled.”

Laura lifted her gaze. Suspicion welled. There was no hint of salacious intentions in his face, so why then did he come back? His moment as her rescuer was over.

Did he expect something in return for his help? She’d told him that she was a courtesan. Might he ask for services as payment for his efforts?

She blanched at the thought and hiked up her chin. Never again would a man use her in such a way. Never. He needed to know that her gratitude was the only payment he’d receive. “Miss Eva has provided me clothes, food, and shelter. I need nothing else.”

The abrupt and dismissive comment didn’t change his expression. He continued to look at her as though she were a curiosity. His size didn’t help her unease. Still, he remained unthreatening. Were his motives truly pure?

“What about your family?” He locked and unlocked his fingers and continued, “Can I send for someone for you?”

“I have no one.” The last word lodged bitterly in her throat. She should be married and planning for children. Her dying father had been pleased to find her a suitable match, a husband of wealth and position who could provide her with everything she desired. How could he have known how his best-laid plans would end so horribly for his only child?

“Isn’t there anyone who can take you in?” he pressed, frowning. Clearly he wouldn’t be satisfied until he explored all avenues for her.

“Anywhere I go would jeopardize the safety of those who give me shelter.” She expelled a deep breath. “I cannot ask anyone to take that risk.”

His face tightened. Perhaps he was feeling some regret for involving himself in her troubles. It was no longer a matter of dropping her off on a relative’s stoop and riding away.

Laura had to relieve this stranger of his misguided desire to protect her. She would dig free of the darkness on her own.

With the security of the school to shelter her while she healed both her mind and her body, she knew that one day soon she would no longer flinch at every noise, no longer need to accept the kindness of strangers, and no longer fear the twisted desire of the Earl of Westwick.

Her eyes burned, and she looked away. With Miss Eva’s, Miss Noelle’s, and Sophie’s assistance, she’d learn to walk again on sturdy feet.

Quickly composing herself, she faced him. “I will always be grateful for your assistance. You saved my life. But you may go now. There is no need to worry yourself any further on my behalf.”

Mister Harrington sat silently for a moment, several emotions warring on his face. Finally he nodded and stood. “If you ever need anything, Miss Eva knows where to reach me.” With a brief nod, he left the room.

Laura listened to his footfalls all the way down the stairs before succumbing to the grief she’d held back for such a long time. Curling into a ball on the settee, she cried for her father and her mother. She cried for the innocent squire’s daughter who’d been sold into a false marriage that left her ruined and abused.

But mostly she cried for the girl who’d become an unrecognizable hollow shell, without light and life, and wondered if she could ever truly free herself of Sabine.

S
imon was certain he heard muted sobs when he reached the landing but knew his interference in her grief wouldn’t be welcome. He was a stranger. He had no right to comfort her or to inject himself into her life. Whatever ills she’d suffered were not his to correct. She was safe. He’d offered help and been rebuffed. He could do nothing more for her.

Eva and Noelle were absent when he passed the parlor and decided not to seek them out. His meeting with the courtesan hadn’t gone at all how he’d expected. His visceral reaction to her beauty had taken him aback.

She was a seductive package as a whole, though not intentionally so. There was simplicity to her loveliness, as it came without artifice. She was in possession of a raw sensuality that defied explanation.

Perhaps it was the curve of her blush pink lips, or the smoky gray of her eyes—eyes a color the like of which he’d never seen before. Perhaps it was her vulnerability mixed with the hint of strength he’d seen as she fought off the footmen. Whatever it was, he knew he should keep his distance. She could easily become an unwelcome distraction.

Simon took his hat and coat from the peg by the door and left the town house.

The ride back to his family’s Berkeley Square address wasn’t long. His family and the social whirl of London should push Laura from his mind. The brief spate of chivalry was now over. He needed to find a wife.

As a boy he’d wanted to be an adventurer. Unfortunately fate had intervened and left him closely aligned to inherit a title. So instead, his younger brother Gabriel had taken up the reins of family adventurer and left home some time ago to see the world.

Uncle Arthur was the earl of record, though he’d fled his responsibilities when Simon was still a child. The man had been so long buried in the wilds of India, studying plants and insects, that Simon’s memories of him were faded.
Approaching sixty, Arthur had no intention of ever returning to England and begetting an heir. He was quite content to leave his holdings in the care of family and a vast selection of employees.

Simon’s father, Walter, was in robust health and had no desire to leave Simon’s beautiful mother, Kathleen, widowed. The idea that several men of the Ton would gladly take his place at Kathleen’s side, and in her bed, was enough motivation for Father to keep hale and hearty.

Thankfully, this left Simon time to woo and win Lady Jeanette, if he could get past her ridiculous concerns. He’d not be inheriting the title for, hopefully, many more years.

However, it wasn’t his future title or Lady Jeanette on his mind as he left Horse with a stable boy and walked into the house. It was a certain courtesan with wounded eyes and incredible sensuality that left him entirely too engaged in woolgathering.

It took several sharp headshakes to clear her from his mind and firmly return his thoughts to the lovely, if slightly dull, Lady Jeanette. It took a brandy and conversation with his father some minutes later to regain his focus.

“I understand Lady Jeanette refused you again?” His father lifted a brow and looked at him askance. Just north of fifty, Walter Harrington was what one would call distinguished, with a bit of gray at his temples and a face that women still found handsome.

Simon grumbled under his breath, then, “The chit thinks I intend to take her to the wilds of Ireland and have her bearing my children in some dirt hovel. No amount of explanation will convince her I am not some wild animal whelped in a field of rye grass.”

Walter cocked a half smile and shrugged. “How could the chit possibly know you were conceived in a meadow?” he teased, and Simon scowled in response. “I thought that was a carefully guarded secret.”

“Father, please,” Simon begged. It was difficult enough to live under the same roof as his openly affectionate parents without having his father talk frankly of his supposed
conception. “There are some things a son does not need to know about his parents. What debauchery you practice with Mother is one of them.”

He was rewarded with a bark of laughter from the other side of the room. He glared.

There was a time when Simon longed for a love match like his parents shared. Unfortunately, his current situation left that fanciful notion dying on the vine. His sister, Brenna, was growing long of tooth while waiting for true love to find her. If he didn’t intervene, she’d grow old and stooped while waiting for a prince to wed her.

Simon had vowed to himself, and promised his father, he’d be the one to make his own acceptable match and lead the Harrington family back into the good graces of society. And he had the perfect husband picked out for Brenna, too.

This was a vow easier to undertake in his head than to apply it to his pursuit of the proper Lady Jeanette.

“Her interest appears to lie with men who spout poetry and follow her about like lapdogs.” He peered at his father’s amused expression. “I tried to woo her with a sonnet, but the words clogged bitterly in my throat.”

Father chuckled. “The inability of Harrington men to spout poetry is long-standing,” he jested. “We would much rather hunt for game or rob a coach. And there is not one Harrington who ever played the lute for a woman.”

Simon nodded. “If not for her family’s close connection to the king and Lord Chester, who is a rattling cough away from inheriting a dukedom from his sick father, I’d leave the Lady Jeanette alone and spend several more years enjoying my bachelorhood.”

“Perhaps you should give up Lady Jeanette and move on to another lovely,” Father suggested. “Or will you continue to chase her all around London until she is eventually too exhausted to flee your pursuit?” Walter rose from his place behind the desk and joined Simon in an open chair by the fireplace.

Simon locked his jaw in a stubborn set and ground his teeth. He knew it was only a matter of time before his
apparently fruitless endeavor to win the hand of the chit left him the laughingstock of all London. But he had to press on. It was high time he became a dutiful son.

“If I wed Lady Jeanette, Lord Chester will be family and Brenna will be a step closer to becoming his wife. Then we shall gain the favor of the king and all that entails.” He paused and scratched his jaw. “I’m weary of listening to unflattering whispers about my scandalous family.”

Father leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair and seemed to escape in thought. Simon sipped his brandy and waited for his father to impart some parental wisdom. It took several sips before Walter spoke.

“You can have tea with the king once a week for the rest of your life and it won’t stop the whispers. We Harringtons have been the source of gossip for generations. I’ve not let it undermine me and neither should you. Enjoy your life and find your happiness. And be damned what anyone else thinks.”

“It’s not so easy to do when I have a sister who is tumbling pell-mell toward spinsterhood,” Simon remarked.

Father frowned. “Your sister is my responsibility.”

Simon countered, “And someday she will be mine. I will not have her unhappily dried up and hidden away in Kent when I can help her by making this match.”

“And you think porridge-faced Chester Abbot is the man for her?” Father tapped a fingertip on his chin. “You know your sister. Do you truly think she would be happy with the marquess?”

The marquess
was
sadly lacking in bold masculinity. Hell, he was one step away from wearing corsets. “Spending his days breeding roses isn’t doing anything to ruddy out his extremely pale skin or to build up his muscles. However, he is male, and that is enough to get Brenna with child and secure her future.”

“Dear lord.” A sharp feminine voice interrupted from the doorway. Simon looked around the chair back to see Brenna standing just inside the library, her face aghast. “You plan to wed me off to that toad, Chester Abbot?” She
walked, or rather stalked, into the room in a flurry of russet skirts. She stared down at him in the chair. “Could you find anyone less fitting to be my husband than Chester Abbot?” She darted a glance at their father, her green eyes accusing. “How long did you plan to wait before you dropped this anvil upon my head?”

Father shrugged and looked back at Simon. “It is your brother’s idea.” He leveled a mischievous smile at the elder of his two sons. “Keep me out of this argument.”

Simon rewarded him with a scathing glare. He’d get no help from that quarter. “Chester may not be a man who will hunt a stag for your dinner table, but he is pleasant enough and you will never need to worry that he’ll gamble away your future.”