Barbara Pierce (26 page)

She was pleased at his thoughtfulness. “So we are returning to Priddy’s, after all?”

“No,” he said, hating to disappoint her. The viscountess’s residence would be the first place Fayne expected the marquess to appear. “In case your brother is already searching for you, we need a place no one will expect to find either one of us.”

Her nose wrinkled in puzzlement. “Where?”

“At my brother-in-law’s house.”

Fayne was taking her to his sister’s house. Kilby had been tempted to leap out of the carriage the instant he made the casual announcement. Good heavens, of all the residences he could take her, he chose his
sister’
s! She could not believe the man’s insensitivity.

“Why do I not just wait for you here?” she said mutinously.

He plucked her out of the carriage and placed her feet on the ground. Hooking her arm through his, he marched her toward the front door. “Don’t be a goose. You will like my sister.”

Kilby locked her knees together, refusing to move. “Stop acting so
thickheaded
! Do you honestly think your sister wants to entertain in her house the last person who saw her father alive?”

He tried to soothe her by sliding his hands up and down her arms. “You are working yourself into a fine case of nerves over nothing.”

Kilby held her ground. “What did you think, the first time we met?”

Fayne tucked several strands of hair behind her ear. “I was enchanted,” he answered sincerely. “I knew a rake such as I was not worthy of you.”

His confession was so sweet and unexpected, Kilby faltered, briefly forgetting the point of her argument. She mentally shook herself. The man had a charming way about him that was dangerous to a lady’s heart. “Thank you,” she said politely. “I meant, what was your opinion of me before that unfortunate encounter on the sofa.”

He looked perplexed for a few seconds. Kilby saw his reply in his green eyes before his lips twitched. Fayne winced, knowing this was still a sore point of contention with her. “Christ, Kilby, will you be holding my erroneous judgment about your delicate state of innocence for eternity?”

“Probably,” she said offhandedly. “You held this same erroneous opinion of me even after meeting me on several occasions.”

“Kilby!”

She crossed her arms defiantly. “If that was your fine opinion, Your Grace, what do you think your sister’s opinion will be? Especially when she deduces that you have been cavorting with your father’s former mistress?”

Fayne’s gaze heated at the accusation. “For God’s sake, will you stop? It was a stupid assumption on my part. I get it. I was a horse’s arse. I—”

“You will get no argument from me,” Lady Fayre said from the doorway. A wiry gray-haired servant was standing beside her. “Why do you not come in and introduce me to the lady who coerces such a fascinating confession out of you?”

“Too late for escape,” he murmured, reading Kilby’s exact thoughts. “Come on, little wolf, you can brazen this out. I promise no one will hurt you.”

Kilby did not believe him. However, Gypsy’s welfare was at stake, and Fayne was willing to help. Tucking her arm into his, she entered the Brawley house.

His sister surprised Fayne by not escorting them to the drawing room as he had anticipated. Instead, she brought them to the study. The reason was not obviously clear until Fayne noticed Brawley was at his desk. He sighed. Fayne had hoped her husband was attending to a business meeting or visiting the Exchange.

“Good afternoon, Brawley,” he said with false cheeriness, causing both his sister and Kilby to give him an odd glance.

His brother-in-law stiffened as they entered his private sanctuary. Three years older than Fayne, Maccus Brawley had straight black hair that he tied into a queue. He was handsomely formed with keen gray eyes and a chiseled jaw, which hinted at his inner fortitude. He was a fitting example of a lowborn man who had transformed himself into a wealthy gentleman. Not many people outside the family were aware that one of London’s most influential participants at the Exchange had once made his living as a smuggler.

Fayne’s relationship with his brother-in-law was based on sufferance. Mainly, he suffered whenever Brawley was around. For that reason, they usually avoided each other. It was for Fayre’s sake that they occasionally tolerated each other’s company. He did not know exactly what it was about Brawley that set his teeth on edge whenever the man walked into a room. It might have been due to the fact that both of them were dominating and opinionated. Fayne also privately worried that Brawley had taken advantage of his sister during a time when she had been vulnerable from another man’s betrayal. Regardless of his personal feelings, his sister loved him. His mother adored her new son-in-law,
and his father—well, the duke was unwilling to break his daughter’s heart by not accepting the marriage.

Bracing himself, Brawley rose from his chair. “Carlisle, what brings you here? I thought the duchess’s bullying was the only thing capable of making you pay a social call.”

“Maccus,” his sister firmly interjected, her green eyes flashing an unspoken warning to behave. “Tem has brought us a guest.”

Fayne was often struck by his sister’s beauty, which was a harmonious blend of both their parents. Her hair was curlier than his, but they shared the same unusual cinnamon hue and the Carlisle green eyes. She was elegantly attired in a depressing black crepe dress, a stark reminder of the family’s loss.

Brawley came around his desk to formally greet Kilby. His genial expression hardened into suppressed anger as he noticed the faint bruising on her cheek and the ruined state of her dress. “Carlisle, tell me you are not responsible for this young lady’s condition?”

Embarrassed by Brawley’s intense scrutiny, Kilby brushed the strands of hair tickling her cheek and clutched the edges of the blanket tightly to her chest.

Fayne glared at his brother-in-law. “Of course not. Her lunatic brother is responsible.” Kilby was already skittish about being in his sister’s house. He did not need Brawley to send her out the door with a careless comment. “Stop fussing,” he ordered her gruffly. “You are still beautiful.”

“Ha,” was her soft retort.

His compliment prompted his sister and Brawley to privately exchange knowing looks. It was totally out of the ordinary for Fayne to introduce his family to the ladies in his life. Equally odd, he supposed, was the noticeable protectiveness he felt for Kilby.

“Tem, perhaps you should introduce us to your friend,”
Fayre said, her delicate brow lifting as she reminded him of his lapse.

Fayne caught Kilby’s arm and held her at his side before she could take a panicky step away from their hosts. “May I present Lady Kilby Fitchwolf,” he said, his narrowing green eyes daring either one of them to say anything untoward.

Brawley threaded his hand through his scalp. Shaking his head, he wandered away from them laughing. No doubt the man thought he was playing some kind of twisted prank on the family.

His sister stared at Kilby in astonishment. Fayne was certain his sister could not reconcile the vulnerable woman who stood in front of her with the image of a mysterious temptress who had seduced their father in his final hours.

Finding her tongue, his sister pinned him with an incisive glance. “I need a moment of your time, Fayne,” she crisply said, using his given name. It was a definite sign of her annoyance at him. “Now.”

“Here,” Mr. Brawley said, dangling a glass of brandy in front of Kilby’s face. It was the first time the man had spoken directly to her since Fayne had pushed her into a chair, imperiously commanded her to stay, and followed his sister out of the study.

Kilby slouched even lower, wishing she could disappear, too, preferably right out the front door.

“I do not drink brandy,” she said softly, feeling thoroughly intimidated. She and Fayne were also going to have private words after she survived this awkward incident.

“Neither do I,” Mr. Brawley confessed. “Still, you look like you need it. Think of it as medicinal fortification.”

Kilby accepted the glass and took a tentative sip. As with most panaceas, the brandy tasted foul and burned her
throat. Taking another sip, she grimaced and shuddered. “Thank you.”

Mr. Brawley grabbed the edge of one of the chairs and dragged it until it was positioned beside hers. He sat down, his gray eyes contemplative. “Was Carlisle telling us the truth about your brother? Is he responsible for your—injuries?”

The man was being kind and Kilby appreciated that he had bothered. “I am afraid so . . .” She trailed off, fighting back the tears. “My apologies, it has been a horrible day. I do not want to contemplate my fate if Fayne had not shown up when he did.”

Mr. Brawley raised his brows at her mentioning Fayne by his given name, but he did not comment on her familiarity with the duke. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” he generously invited.

Kilby cast a wary glance at the door. She imagined that brother and sister were just beyond the door. Lady Fayre was probably flaying her brother alive for bringing their dead father’s mistress into her house. “I should not be here. I told him it was not proper, but he refused to see reason on the matter.”

Mr. Brawley snorted. “That is a common flaw in the entire Carlisle clan, I fear.”

Kilby started at the sound of a muffled thump. She gave her host an apologetic smile. Ever since Archer’s arrival in town, she had become so jumpy. Through the door, she heard Fayne’s voice and his sister’s sharp reply. Their words were indistinct; however, their angry tones were not.

If she had any sense, she would just get up and leave. Fayne was not resolving anything by bullying his grieving sister into helping a lady she was already prepared to hate. She could return to Priddy’s house. From there she would travel to Ealkin. Fayne was welcome to join her if he caught up to her in time. She could leave him a note.

“The Carlisles are also prone to violent outbursts,” the
man added sympathetically, observing that she had shifted to the edge of her seat and was poised to flee. “Give them a minute or two and they will settle down.”

“Mr. Brawley, there is no point in my remaining here.”

“Of course there is,” he said reasonably. He took the glass of brandy out of her hands and placed it on the nearby table. “Carlisle brought you here because he thought we could help. And we will, because we’re family. Do not let flaring tempers or harsh words convince you otherwise. You have too much pluck to skulk away without discussing your decision with him.”

Chagrined by his calm reasoning and subtle charm, she said, “I was never his mistress, you know.”

“Who? Fayre’s father?” He studied her face as if the truth were glimmering just beneath the surface. Mr. Brawley nodded. “Of course you weren’t. Carlisle is many things, but he would never intentionally hurt his sister.”

She had never expected anyone connected to the Carlisles to blindly accept her word. Her nose began burning with suppressed tears. “Mr. Brawley?”

“Call me Mac,” he entreated, clasping her free hand within his. “While we are waiting for my wife and Carlisle to join us, why don’t you catch me up on what has been happening?”

“How could you be so inconsiderate, Tem?” Fayre railed against her brother. “To bring
her
above all ladies into my house. What if Mama had been visiting?”

They had adjourned to a small reading room that had connecting doors to Brawley’s study. Fayne picked up a book on one of the chairs. Casually glancing at the spine, he discarded it on the floor and sat down.

“You underestimate the duchess’s tolerance regarding these matters. How many former mistresses of our father’s do you think she encounters in a single evening? If she
were as sensitive as you claim, she would have to retire to the country.” Fayne crossed his arms over his chest and stretched out his legs. He was willing to allow his sister to throw her fit. Nevertheless, he was very aware of the ticking clock and Kilby’s impatience. “Besides, I know once Mother has met Lady Kilby Fitchwolf, she will adore her.”

Fayre stared at him as if a pair of horns had sprouted on his forehead. “You expect too much from our mother, and you demand too much from me. If you love me, you will remove this woman from my house.”

“I have not demanded anything from you, sister mine,” he said, disappointed that his sister had condemned Kilby out of hand.
“Yet
.” Fayne grimaced, realizing he had done exactly the same thing. “Kilby was never our father’s mistress.”

“Is that what she told you?” She sneered, throwing her hands up in disgust at what she perceived as her brother’s gullibility. “Have you considered that since our father escaped her clutches, she is striving to get her hooks in you?”

Fayre had gone too far.

“Enough!” Fayne bellowed, slamming his palm on the arm of the chair. “There was nothing between Kilby and our father. I
know
!”

Stunned, Fayre sank into the nearest chair. “What have you done?” she demanded, her voice rich with accusation.

Fayne looked away. He was uncomfortable with his confession, but he needed his sister’s backing. “Kilby was as innocent as you were when Lord Thatcher Standish seduced you. I should know since I was her first lover.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose as if it pained her. “My word, Tem, you are not saying that you bedded this woman out of revenge?” Fayre paled at the thought.

“Christ, do you think me so despicable?” he fired back, jumping up when she did, stepping into her path so she had to deal with him.

Discussing Lord Thatcher Standish was difficult for his sister. Fayne had only mentioned the bastard because he knew she alone understood intimately how gossip cruelly distorted the truth, how easily a young innocent’s reputation could be ruined. He had not counted on her believing that he and Standish had been cut from the same cloth.

His green gaze locked onto hers. “I seduced Kilby because I desired her. I did not care if she had been with the duke or a thousand men. I wanted her in my bed.” Using both hands, he smoothed the hair back from his face and sighed. “From the very beginning, she denied being the duke’s mistress. I didn’t believe her, until . . .” He let the word hang in the ensuing silence.