Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) (25 page)

“You do not need to accompany me to
my house,” Gillian insisted for the fifth time. “I have ridden from Auntie’s
home to mine all by myself for years.”

“Indulge me.” Alex swung up into his
saddle as Gillian mounted her horse. “It’s not as if I can leave your aunt’s
until Sutherland returns. So since you insist on going home, I might as well
escort you.”

“I don’t need an escort.” It was the
truth, but the bigger truth was that she was afraid to be alone with Alex. She
was attracted to him, despite all the reasons she should not be. The last thing
she wanted to do was give that attraction any more room to grow.

“I know you don’t need me, Gillian,
but I need you. You must save me from complete and utter boredom. I don’t abide
sitting idly. Never have.”

“Fine.” She laughed. “I hate to sit
with nothing to do as well. You can accompany me, but only as far as the path
by the river. I don’t want Father to see you. After all, the whole reason I’m
leaving now without seeing Drake is to avoid that very possibility.”

“Yes, yes, I know. You’ve already
explained.”

Taking up her reins, Gillian blew out
a frustrated breath. “I can’t understand why Auntie won’t stop meddling. What
was she thinking, taking Whitney and Drake on a tour of her estates again?”

“That we’d fall into each other’s
arms,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But we won’t,” she murmured, wishing
her pulse had not leaped at his words.

“No, peach. We won’t.”

“Actually, I’m glad I got you alone,”
she said, just realizing she might be able to help him with their time
together.

“Are you?” A devilish smile tugged at
his lips.

“Yes,” she said tartly. “I want to
talk to you about your older brother.”

His smile was instantly gone,
replaced by a foreboding frown. “I don’t talk to anyone about Robert.”

“You talked to me about him
yesterday,” she reminded him gently.

Alex’s eyes bore into hers. “That was
a mistake,” he said as he clicked his heels against his horse and raced ahead
of her in a swirl of dust.

She watched him ride ahead, shoulders
bent like demons were chasing him. Her heart ached for him. He was wounded, and
she had a soft spot in her heart for wounded people. He was not going to talk
to her or tell her any more about his older brother. That much was obvious. But
she would say her piece. She tapped her heels against Lightning and raced to
catch up with Alex. In seconds, she pulled up on Lightning’s reins and slowed
to the pace Alex’s horse had fallen into.

“No matter what you think, you
deserve happiness. You’re warm and have a good heart. You’re helping me, and
you are trying to right a wrong done to your sister. Whatever you did in your
past that haunts you, you should let it go. Let it die. And let yourself be
happy.”

He pulled his horse to a stop and
turned to look at her. “Is that what you’re doing? Letting your past die?”

“My past won’t die,” she said,
dismounting and walking toward the river where her mother had drowned.

Alex’s boots hit the ground and he fell
into step beside her. The moving water called to her as it did so many days. At
the edge, she stared down into the murky depths. Rocks jutted above the surface,
and long, tangling weeds floated like green fingers, swaying with the river’s
movement. Those weeds had wrapped around her mother’s kicking feet and dragged
her to her death.

As Gillian leaned forward, Alex
grabbed her arm and pulled her backward, pressing her against his chest. His
arms encircled her body in a tight embrace. She welcomed his presence and his
strength.

“Are you running to get away from
your past?” he whispered in her ear.

She was running from the past, but
not just hers. She couldn’t share her secrets with anyone because they were not
only hers to share. But she wouldn’t lie. Not to Alex, not now. When she had asked
him to tell her the truth about his past.

A connection ran between them, for
better or worse. Instead, she quoted his own words back to him. “I would tell
you if I could, but some secrets must be kept to protect those we love. I know
you understand.”

He turned her around and tipped her
chin until she was looking at him. She may not know much, but she knew she
wanted this man with every heartbeat, every breath and every bone in her body. Her
desire curled in her belly.

“I understand,” he said and traced a
finger over her lips. Her pulse skittered in response.

She stepped away while staring at his
lips. God, how she wanted him to kiss her. She craved it so much she ached. Forbidden
fruit. That’s what he was. And she was weak. “You better go.”

His own face was
flushed as he nodded. Did he feel it too? The uncontrollable desire. The pull
like metal to a magnet. “Don’t forget to let Sally know what
ton
events you’ll be attending. Where
you are, we will be also.”

“You mean
Drake
will be,” she corrected.

“Yes. I’ll be in the background like
a worried chaperone. Except I’ll be worrying about how to get the two of you
alone. You just use your charms, and let me do the rest.” Alex mounted his
horse and looked down at her. “You can count on me.”

She watched the road until Alex
disappeared back the way they had come. She needed to get home, but she didn’t
want to go yet. Instead, she sat at the edge of the riverbank and studied her
surroundings. This spot had not changed much in eleven years. More brush,
fuller trees, but nothing pretty ever grew here. It was as if the earth
remembered her mother’s death and refused to make the place beautiful because
of it. Gillian kicked off her slippers and drew her knees to her chest. The
water hissed below as it moved downstream, and she found herself once again
staring into the murkiness.

You can count on me
, he had said. Yes. She
drew her toe back and forth in the dirt. She thought she could. Though she had
never counted on anyone in her life but herself. Putting her faith in Alex had
become too easy this week. It was time she got herself back on course.

* * * * *

Frowning, Harrison paused outside the
modest yellow house with the neat lawn and black iron gate. This could not be
the right place. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the crumpled
piece of paper upon which Madame Lovelace had scrawled Caprice’s new street
number. This was indeed 3225 Magnolia Street. He couldn’t imagine Madame
Lovelace daring to lie to him after he had shown her what would happen if she
did.

Harrison had tried to be nice, but no
one would ever let him. The old woman wanted more coin than he could give her
for the information he needed. He didn’t have a lot of bloody coin. Not right
now, anyway. Damn Lionhurst’s lying hide to hell. The man was going to pay with
his life for everything. The question was when and how.

As Harrison climbed the stairs to the
home where Caprice was supposed to reside his desire mounted. He was angry, and
his anger always fueled his desire. Anger had driven him to find Caprice. He
needed to plant himself inside her and use her. She was not Allysia, but
Caprice looked so much like her, he could imagine that she was. She would
scream his name as Allysia had done and beg him for more. He wished Lionhurst
knew how his little sister had pleaded to be plundered again and again.

Harrison fingered the heavy gold lion
hooked to the door. What the hell was this? This bloody knocker had to be worth
a fortune. So his little Caprice had found herself a rich benefactor and hightailed
it out of Madame Lovelace’s with no intentions of saying goodbye to him or ever
seeing him again.

He ran a finger down the intricate
mane of the lion, his anger throbbing within him. That little bit o’ muslin
lived in a house with a nicer door than he had. Of course, he now owned no door,
so that was not hard to accomplish. But that wasn’t the damned point. He raised
the knocker and banged, beating iron against wood with the force of all his
pent-up rage. He banged until a deep, satisfying dent appeared in the slick black
wood, leaving an imperfection that a mere coat of paint would never fix. Whoever
owned this house would have to buy a new door if they wanted it to appear
perfect once more.

He felt good. So good that he
imagined doing the same sort of damage to Caprice’s face for wanting to leave
him for another man, a richer man. It didn’t matter that he intended to give
her up once he married Lady Gillian. Caprice did not know that.

He reached to touch the mark in the
wood, and as his finger caressed the jagged indentation, the door flew open to
reveal a skinny, gaping man. One who peered at him with that same bloody look
of disdain Kingsley’s butler had used.

Shoving past the man, Harrison swept into
the main entrance. The house may not be as big as the home he had lost, but
inside, the white marble floor gleamed, silk chairs lined the walls and an
enormous table filled with all manner of colored flowers stood in the middle of
the room under a blazing chandelier. “Get your mistress, and get her now,” he
snarled.

“She’s not in, sir.”

He eyed the older man. This butler
may be haughty like the Kingsley’s butler, but he didn’t possess the same
bothersome mettle that characterized that other old codger. He reached out,
grabbed the front of the man’s black livery and jerked the bag of bones toward
him until the servant’s face rested only inches from his own. “If you don’t get
your mistress now, I’m apt to lose my temper. I cannot say for sure what may
happen then, but I lost my temper last night and a man lost the use of two of
his fingers.” Harrison held up the butler’s right hand and grabbed two long,
bony fingers. “Fingers, especially ones as frail as yours, are quite easy to
break. You simply apply enough pressure right to the bend.” The butler gasped.

The man’s fear was a balm after this
long week. “Let me demonstrate,” he offered, feeling a genuine smile pull at
his lips. He added a bit of pressure to the man’s knuckle. Just enough to make
him squirm, but not enough to break the bones. Not yet, anyway. “I can stop if
you get your mistress, or I can continue if you persist on denying my request. Hurts,
does it not? Where’s your mistress?”

“Mistress Vicery is not in at the
moment.”

He shoved the man away, watching as
the butler stumbled and flailed his arms out in an effort to right himself. The
man had no chance. He reached for the table but grasped a handful of white
cloth, which did nothing to stop his fall. The arrangement of flowers atop the
table whipped through the air in a satisfying blur and landed on the servant’s
head before crashing to the floor. Glass shattered and splintered, reminding
Harrison of the sound of the man’s fingers breaking last night. The butler
groaned and raised a shaking hand to his head, where a cut trickled a bit of
blood.

The scene pleased Harrison but not
enough to wipe away the irritation of his confusion. He knew Bess Vicery was
Lionhurst’s mistress, but what did she have to do with Caprice? Why was Caprice
living here? Why would Lionhurst care to bring Caprice under his protection? There
was no bloody reason. He stared at the shards of glass surrounding the dazed
butler. The broken pieces reminded him of the punch glass Allysia had thrown at
him the night of the Primwitty ball when he told her he would not risk his
future with Lady Gillian for anything.

Harrison curled his hands into fists.
Lionhurst must know about him and Allysia. What was the marquess up to? Revenge?
That was what Harrison would do if the situation had been reversed. His fury at
being such a fool exploded inside him. He kicked out at the glass, wanting to
break it more and break the man hovering on the floor. He had to hurt someone
because he was hurting.

Bending down, he grasped the butler
by the arms, intent on pummeling the man’s face to a bloody pulp.

“Lord Westonburt!” A strangled cry
came from behind him.

He dropped the butler and swung
around. Caprice, dressed in the layers of a fine lady, flew down the stairs
toward him. Her rounded eyes and her trembling mouth pleased him. She still
feared him. He would get the answers he needed.