Love's Misadventure (The Mason Siblings Series Book 1) (23 page)

* * *

Anna lay curled on her side, the bedclothes pulled up to her chin. She stared past the reflections in the window to the dark sky beyond.

She had heard Charles shouting below stairs minutes before.
He knows
. Simon must have informed him of her increasing condition. He would have learned of it eventually, she supposed.

She still had difficulty believing it, herself. She was
enceinte
! With
Lane’s
child! The thought nearly made her excited to be a mother. There was one large matter that stood in the way of her happiness, however. Lord Boxton. She must find a way to break the engagement! What if his abuse damaged the baby? What if he found out about the baby? Would he take his anger and disappointment out on her family?

A tremor of fear rippled through her. She
would
find a way out of this.

A tap sounded at her door before it slowly swung open. Anna watched Charles in the window’s reflection as he strode toward her bed.

“You spoke with Dr. Claridge, I presume?” She hardly need ask; his fury was written on his face.

Her question was greeted by silence. With a sigh, she sat up, propping pillows behind her back as she met Charles’ fuming stare.

“Did you tell Mama and Papa?” she asked.

“Who was he?” Charles demanded. His voice was terse and cold.

She could not tell him the truth. Charles had always been overly protective of her. If he knew Lane was the father, he would not force them into a marriage; he would call Lane out. It was irrational, but she knew her brother. Besides, Lane should learn of it before anyone else. And only after she had found a way to break her engagement to Anthony.

“
Who was he
, Annabel? Who was the rogue that got you with child and then left you to face the consequences on your own?”

“I―I would rather not say.”

Charles stepped closer, looming over the side of her bed. “You would rather not say?” She shook her head. “I do not care if you would
rather not say
, Annabel, you will tell me who did this to you, and I will ensure that he never treats another female the way he has treated you!”

“What will you do?”

A vicious glint entered his blue eyes. “I would rather not say,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Now, that is not fair, Charles—”

“Not fair? What is not fair is that my little sister will have to endure ridicule and shame for some villain’s wrongdoing. What isn’t fair is that my niece or nephew will be born a bastard!” Anna flinched. “Now, I will ask you again.
Who was he
?”

Charles was furious, which was a clear validation of her decision to not enlighten him as to the identity of her unborn child’s father. Heaven forbid she let it slip!

“Was it one of your abductors?”

“I will not tell you, Charles.” She could not let him guess the truth.

His jaw clenched, and he ran his fingers agitatedly through his blonde locks. “Then tell me this.” His voice faltered. “Is it the same scoundrel that has been abusing you?”

His question came as such a shock that Anna’s jaw dropped open before she could catch it. How had he known?

“I fell,” she said lamely.

He reached out to touch the marks on her arm, and she reflexively flinched.
Blast
. He paused to watch her with shock and concern, then sat on the edge of her bed.

“Anna,” he said, his voice softened. “Whoever taught you to flinch when a man moves toward you is a bastard, a coward…and should be punished.” He grabbed her hand and held it between his own. “A man who abuses women is someone who is too spineless to take out his anger in constructive ways; he is someone who wishes to wield power over someone for his own nefarious purposes, and he is a putrid piece of a man who is going to end up burning in the pits of despair with Lucifer for all eternity.” He lightly touched the bruises along her arm, then the bruise on her cheek, where a tear had left a hot trail. “The man who did this needs to be taught a lesson for his misdeeds. Please, Anna. Tell me, who did this to you?”

Anna squeezed her eyes tightly shut as more tears fell. If only she could confide in her brother. Confess to him all that had happened since her abduction. But she could not. She feared for his and for Lane’s lives, both from Lord Boxton and from each other. This matter would have to be resolved, her engagement dissolved, and a new life begun, before she could tell him the truth.

Tears dripped to her hands, where they sat clasped on her lap. “I cannot tell you that, either, Charles. I am so very sorry.”

He stood in indignation. “And why the devil not?’

Because I love you and Lane far too much to allow anything bad to happen to you.

A squeak escaped her as she realized she was going to be sick again. She leapt gracelessly from the bed and ran to the chamber pot that her maid had mercifully left by her bedchamber door. She fell to her knees and wrapped her hands around the pot as she cast up her accounts.

Charles moved behind her.

“Here you are, Anna.” He held a damp handkerchief out to her, and she accepted it gratefully.

She dabbed at her face, wiping away sweat and tears, then rubbed the back of her neck. “My thanks, Charles.” Her hands shook as she picked up the pot and quietly placed it outside the door.

As she stood, she squared her shoulders, then turned to meet Charles’ gaze. “I am sorry to have disappointed you, brother. I have my own reasons for keeping this information secret, and I would appreciate it if you did not pry.”

Anger once more flashed in his eyes, but he said nothing as he kissed her forehead and left the room.

Anna blew out the candles placed around her bedchamber. The firelight flickered from the hearth, lending a warm, golden glow to the walls of the room.

She was far beyond exhausted, but as she lay in bed, tears streaming unbidden from her eyes, Anna placed her hands upon her womb and prayed that all would turn out well.

Chapter 27

Lane Mason, Earl of Devon, sat at his morning room table, sipping his steaming cup of coffee. But his mind was not on his coffee, nor the partially consumed plate of eggs and ham. It was on Anna. Why had she departed so hastily last evening? And what of their impending stroll? What should he say to her? Should he blurt his feelings out or prepare an eloquent speech?

“Why are you frowning, Lane?” His youngest sister, Katherine, furrowed her brow from her seat beside him. “Is there a hair in your cup?”

He smiled reassuringly. “Thank you for your concern, sweet one, but I am fine. Merely tired. I am rather surprised at how early everyone has risen after the Merringtons’ ball last evening.”

The other women at the table watched him searchingly. Bridget, unlike Kat, Emaline, and Mama, gazed knowingly at him. She was far too intuitive for her own good.

Lane made eye contact with each of them, then returned to breaking his fast. They will think what they will.

“I, for one, feel rather refreshed.” Kat quietly stirred her tea. “We
did
leave the ball earlier than many of the other guests. I slept for a full seven hours, I am absolutely certain. Of course,” she sent a pointed glance at Emaline, “if it weren’t for the dogs, we would all have slept much later. But,” she brightened, “if we look at the positive in this, we will realize that we all have many more hours with which to enjoy the day.” She smiled at everyone.

“Quite right, Kat.” Emaline nodded, then turned to address the table at large. “I have put Tweeters in a larger cage, as Whiskers and Willie have become obsessed with the poor fellow.” She took a bite of her eggs.

Bridget and Katherine smiled fondly at Emaline.

“That is lovely, dear.” Mama dabbed daintily at her lips with a napkin before placing it on the table beside her empty plate. “How fares the new—”

A loud, booming knock sounded at the front door, sending the morning room into mayhem. Emaline’s prized Great Dane, Artemis, leapt to his feet and let out a string of frenzied barks, which frightened the new kitten, Whiskers, into bounding off its perch on the sideboard and scampering across the table. Its little paws clumsily knocked over several cups of tea and plates of eggs, and sent the ladies into shrieks. Footmen rushed about, searching for rags and napkins to soak up the mess.

Lane stood, knocking his chair to the floor behind him as his hot coffee spilled, narrowly missing the very sensitive area of his lap.

“
Hell and blazes!
” He turned his furious gaze on Emaline, who appeared contrite, holding a napkin and attempting to clean up the table. “I would speak with you later, Emaline, about your habit of inviting pets into our eating rooms.”

Her gaze lowered. “Yes, Lane. I am truly sorry, everyone.”

The morning room door opened and Geoffrey entered. “My lord, a Major Bradley is here and requests an urgent audience with you.”

Bridget straightened and gaped at the opened doorway, as though waiting to get a glimpse.

Lane’s stomach dropped. Had something happened to Annabel? Did it have something to do with her hasty departure last evening? Or could he have learned something about their kidnappers? “Yes, I will see him.”

“I have put him in the drawing room, my lord.”

“Thank you, Geoffrey.” He sketched a short bow to his mother and sisters. “Please excuse me.”

Lane ignored the servants rushing to clean up the mess and instead focused on the thunderous beating of his heart and the rapid
clip
of his boot heels on the wooden floors. He breathed steadily through the riot of anxiety creeping its way into his chest in an attempt to calm himself.

He entered the drawing room and closed the door behind him. Charles was pacing in front of the settee but halted when Lane entered.

Lane strode purposefully forward. “What can I do for you, Charles?” He couldn’t help but ask, “Does it concern Anna?”

Charles was harried, his eyes sagged with lack of sleep, and his hair was mussed, as though he had run his hands through it too many times. But what frightened Lane most was Charles’ lack of control over the emotions on his face. He was worried…and he was furious.

“Yes,” Charles ground out. “This happens to be a very sensitive topic and requires the utmost discretion.” With a groan, he rubbed his hands over his face and dropped into a nearby mauve, floral upholstered chair. “Bloody hell. This is a seriously horrendous issue, and I have no one with which to discuss it. I do not know what to do, or how to solve it.” He looked Lane in the eye. “I need your help, Lane.”

Lane sat upon the edge of the settee beside him, fear winding its gnarled claws into his chest. “I will be happy to help in any way that I can, Charles. What has happened to Annabel?”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

“Damnation, man! Tell me what has happened to Anna!”

“Two things.” Charles held up his fingers. “I just do not know which to discuss with you first.” He paused. “Before I impart the recent issues, I would like to pose a question to you.” Lane waited for him to speak. “I know that you have already given me your account of what occurred during your abduction, but I wanted to be certain… Are you aware of any amount of time in which Anna may have spent alone with one—or, God forbid, all—of your kidnappers during your journey?”

“Yes,” Lane answered without hesitation. “There was an unknown span of time in which we were both unconscious, and we were separated into different rooms in the majority of inns that we stayed at, guarded by our kidnappers.” Lane’s jaw ticked, and his heart flipped over. “What has changed?”

Charles slammed his fist on the side table at his elbow, which crashed to the floor with a vase.

Lane watched it dispassionately. “Not to worry, that was not of value.” He leaned forward in his seat. “What, Charles, does this have to do with Annabel now?”

“Everything,” he growled. “I scarcely know where to begin.” He clenched his fists and trained his tortured gaze on Lane’s. “Anna has bruises on her body.”

Lane shook his head in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

Charles nodded. “Someone has been abusing Anna. She has bruises up and down her arms, her thigh, hip, and one on her cheek. She claims that she had fallen, but we know that is untrue.”

Lane’s chest felt tight, his breathing constricted. He did not want to believe that Anna had been the recipient of any form of violence. “How can you be certain?” he asked hopefully. “Perhaps she did fall.”

Charles shook his head regretfully. “The bruises are in the shape of a man’s hands.” He rubbed his eyes with the insides of his wrists before he dragged his fingers through his dishevelled hair. “From what the doctor and I can deduce, those on her hip and thigh were caused by a fall, most likely due to the slap to her face.”

Rage exploded in Lane. “Who the bloody blazes would
dare
to hit Annabel?”

“My sentiments, exactly,” Charles growled. “I need to know who it was that did this to her.”

Lane’s mind raced through the possibilities. “Lord Boxton. It could be Lord Boxton. He has the opportunity due to their engagement, and they have enough privacy for others not to notice when it occurs.”

“It is possible, but why would he wish to abuse his future wife? And why the devil would Anna accept a proposal of marriage from an abusive man?” Charles shook his head. “If she did not know he was abusive before she accepted his proposal, but learned of it afterward, why would she not then inform me or break off the engagement? It does not make sense.”

Lane surged to his feet and ran a hand through his own hair, his mind whirling. “What if Lord Boxton has threatened her?”

“You think he is forcing her to marry him?”

“Blackmail? Perhaps he learned about our being kidnapped and is threatening ruination if she does not marry him?” He began to pace.

Charles brusquely shook his head. “That does not sound like something Anna would submit to. If that were the case, she would accept ruination and move to the country with our grandmamma.”

“At the cost of ruining your chances to find a wife?” Lane pointed out. “You know that Anna would put your priorities ahead of her own.”