Regency 02 - Betrayal (18 page)

Bri bit her lip to keep from crying out that
she needed and wanted his help desperately, that she was likely to
die without it.

But she said none of this and shrugged
carelessly instead. “Any troubles I have are of my own making and
trifling, I do assure you.”

Well, she lied just as he had assumed she
would. He watched her rise from the bench, retrieve her bonnet, and
walk away with her jailer of a maid walking closely behind.

He had dropped Raven’s name because he knew
that Bri was more likely to seek out that woman’s help before she
would ever seek out Adam.

Which reminded him, Adam was due to arrive at
his London residence later this day at the earliest. And if Connor
knew Adam, he was probably already there.

He was. And pacing furiously in Connor’s
study. Verena was actually there with him, despite the queasiness
of her stomach. She watched Adam pause, mutter something under his
breath, rake a hand through his hair, and continue pacing. Her
stomach protested and her head began to ache.

“Sit down, Adam, do,” she commanded
irritably.

He stopped and cocked an imperious brow at
her. She pursed her lips. “Don’t try to use your haughty look on
me, Mr. Adam Prestwich, because I’ll not have it. I know you’re
worried. I know you’re restless. You are also making me ill. Please
sit.”

Adam grinned suddenly. Verena marveled at how
very good-looking he was when he smiled. He didn’t hold a candle to
Connor, of course, but he was still very attractive.

He sat in the chair opposite, his grin never
faltering. “You’re increasing again, aren’t you?”

Verena frowned in disgust. “Is it written on
my forehead? I swear everyone knows and I’ve told no one.”

An imp prompted Adam to inform her, “You are
so moody when you are
enceinte
.”

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “I am
not,” she denied fiercely. Then she smiled. “Perhaps I am, a
little,” she conceded. “Okay, a lot,” she responded to the look of
patent disbelief on Adam’s face.

“I wondered if you were already here,” Connor
remarked to Prestwich as he entered the room. He bent to kiss his
wife on the cheek. “And irritating my wife, I’ve no doubt. Did she
tell you our news?”

“No, I guessed,” Adam replied with a grin.
Connor laughed.

Verena glowered at both of them. “Enjoy your
jest, you great oafs. I am going to retire for a few more hours. I
was only here to ensure Mr. Prestwich didn’t break anything with
his incessant pacing and grumbling. Excuse me.”

“Was she this ill and crotchety last time? I
was only present for the last few months, you know, and she didn’t
seem quite so tetchy although she was far more irritable than
normal.” Connor looked at the door and waited for his friend to
answer.

A shadow crossed Adam’s face. It had been an
unusual situation. Adam had been present in Verena’s life for the
first five months of her first pregnancy instead of her husband.
Con and Verena had actually lived apart just after the identity of
her rapist had been discovered. So Adam had spent those five months
traveling back and forth from London to the Dover coast in Kent
where Verena had been residing with Con’s Aunt Amelia. He was also
using that time to search for Bri.

“Of course she was,” he said now. “She may
have actually been worse,” he added thoughtfully.

Adam suddenly changed the subject. “Tell me
what has happened to Bri.”

Connor sighed, sat down in the seat just
vacated by his wife, and shoved a hand through his golden curls.
Adam raised his brows at this gesture. The situation was serious,
then. Connor did not have the habit of shoving his hand through his
hair unless he was very agitated indeed.

“I’m glad Verena chose to leave and I didn’t
have to force her to go,” his friend commented much to Adam’s
surprise. The marchioness was usually completely in her husband’s
confidence. “The situation is far more serious than I revealed in
that letter, Adam. Far more than any of us think, I’d wager. The
trouble is, Bri won’t talk to anyone about it. Not even Doll.”

“She won’t talk to Verena?” Adam echoed
numbly. He felt suddenly very cold and a tingle of unease crept up
his spine and into his brain to take up permanent residence there.
“If she won’t talk to your wife, her only friend, than who will she
talk to?”

“Your mistress, I hope,” Con replied. He
looked at Adam and smiled faintly. “Sorry, she’s not yours anymore,
is she? Greville’s mistress, now, from what I hear.”

“Who the devil is Greville?” Adam asked.

“Bri’s cousin and the only member of her
family that seems to give a damn,” the marquess replied shortly. He
rose to his feet and retrieved the brandy decanter and two
glasses.

Adam’s brow furrowed. Her cousin? He couldn’t
remember meeting any cousin with any sort of filial affection for
the girl. He met Viscount Breckon, nobody by the name of
Greville.

He found a glass thrust into his hand and
looked up into Connor’s troubled face. The marquess sipped
thoughtfully at his brandy and stared straight ahead. Then he set
his glass aside and sat again.

“The thing is, Raven thinks Bri’s been raped
and fairly recently, too. Oh, I say—”

He leapt to his feet and pounded Adam
helpfully on the back who had begun choking on his drink. Adam
jumped to his feet, shook off his friend, and roared,
“
What
?”

“Nothing will be solved if we get irate,”
Connor replied in a tone at odds with his recent agitation. “Raven
said a week ago that she has been watching the countess and there
were certain things she noticed. She said one or more of Bri’s
family members is keeping her in line with regular beatings. She
also said it was very likely that she has been raped at least once
by Steyne.”

“I’ll kill him,” Adam said very calmly. His
eyes held a look of steady concentration and deadly intent. Connor
could see the man was serious. And that if he truly planned to kill
the viscount, not a force on earth would stop him.

“We can’t go into this half-cocked, Adam. We
need a plan, a solution.” He paused and regarded Adam with an
expression that he couldn’t like. He knew what was coming before
the words were even spoken. “The easiest thing would be for you to
marry her. Then you are in control and her family can do
nothing.”

“It’s not as easy as that and well you know
it, Con. Her family owns her until she’s twenty-five. Over four
more years. She must have their permission to marry and her
betrothed must have their approval. If I took her to Gretna, it
would not be difficult to prove the marriage groundless in the
English courts especially with two dukes, an earl, and a viscount
backing the decision. Besides,” he continued, looking away, “I
can’t legally marry anyone.”

“Whyever not?”

“I am already married.”

Connor stared at him for a full minute in
stunned silence. His reaction was not what Adam had expected.
Actually, Adam wasn’t sure what he had expected. He had never
planned to tell his friend of his monumental foolishness.

So after staring for a full minute with a
very blank expression, Adam was totally taken aback by his friend’s
explosive reply.

“The devil you are, you miserable
bastard!”

Adam’s eyes widened, his dark brows flew up
into his hairline, and he unconsciously leaned back in his chair to
put more space between their bodies. Connor’s face was twisted with
rage. He was at a loss to understand the marquess’s reaction.

“Who the hell is she? Anyone I know? Is she a
splendid baronet’s wife, Adam? How many more secrets have you kept
from me? Do I know you at all?” The marquess paused, seemed to
shake himself, and then he quaffed his drink and poured
another.

Then he understood. He almost sighed in
relief. Connor was just hurt. He thought Adam didn’t trust him
enough to confide in him despite their years of friendship. He felt
slighted, betrayed.

Betrayal. Oh, dear God, Adam thought numbly,
all the color draining from his face. He remembered that look of
betrayal in Bri’s eyes that day in her drawing room. And he
remembered the look in Verena’s eyes when she came face to face
with the man that had raped her only to learn exactly who he
was.

I almost feel sorry for Steyne.

You will not blame me for your own
stupidity.

Oh, what had he done? Had he really said
those things to a girl who had just been raped by the very man
sworn to protect her? Had he actually sided with the bastard? And
then told her it was her fault and her problem to solve?

Connor was still glaring at him as he rose to
his feet and left the room. He encountered Samson in the hall. The
butler bowed and waited for Adam to speak. It was as if the man
knew he would ask something.

“I need to see Lady Connor, if she is willing
to speak to me,” he finally stated in an emotionless voice. He was
looking at the old man but he didn’t appear to see him.

“What do you want with my wife?” Connor
demanded in annoyance. He stood in the doorway behind his
friend.

“I have to talk to her. Alone. It’s
important. Please.”

“Alone? Whatever could you have to say to my
wife alone?”

Adam sighed hugely. “If she chooses to tell
you afterwards, so be it. It is up to her.”

Connor stared for a long moment before
nodding silently.

The marchioness presently appeared above them
on the landing. “You wanted to see me, Adam?” she asked
sleepily.

Prestwich bowed. “If you would be so good, my
lady.”

Her dark brows rose at his formality. She
tossed a look of inquiry at her husband who shrugged. “Very well,
sir. The library?”

Adam nodded and mounted the stairs.

“Bri—”

“No, Levi.” The countess held up a staying
hand. She removed her bonnet and handed it along with her pelisse
to the footman. Then she walked by her cousin, intent on escaping
to her room. Her morning with Lord Connor in the park was all the
pressure she could handle just now.

Greville caught her arm and forced her to
follow him into a little used morning room. It was the same room
where Bri had entertained Verena and normally she would have found
it a very pleasant place to be with the sun streaming through the
windows and the general cheeriness of the décor. But the reminder
of her rudeness to her only friend was depressing.

The countess winced when her cousin released
her. He had taken her by the upper arm when he had grabbed her and
she had actually forgotten the bruise there until he let go. It
amazed her that she could forget. Perhaps she was becoming used to
the beatings, she thought in a detached sort of way.

“How are you?” Greville asked
solicitously.

“Annoyed,” she replied tartly. “What do you
want?”

The earl smiled. He leaned back against the
mantle with one ankle crossed over the other and his arms crossed
over his chest. “Prickly, are we?”

“I don’t know, are we?” she threw back
sarcastically.

Greville pushed away from the mantle and
approached her. He studied her very closely. “Raven says you’re
being beaten. Are you?”

“Raven says?” she asked incredulously. “Raven
says?” Her voice rose in pitch. “Who the bloody hell cares what
Raven says!” She spun away from him and stalked to the other side
of the room. “Is Raven now the expert on my life? Does she know my
every thought, my every action? Does she know?” She spun back to
face him.

Lord Greville saw the emotions flit across
her face. He saw the anger, the fear, and the panic just below the
surface. He saw the way she darted fearful little glances at the
closed door. He saw the fearful little glances she darted at him.
And he noticed the way she favored her right leg and her arm where
he had so recently touched her.

He swore, fluently. Bri’s eyes widened at his
inventiveness. Then a tiny giggle escaped her that quickly turned
into a sob. Greville was across the room in two quick strides and
gathering her into his arms.

“Shh, love,” he murmured, rubbing a
comforting hand down her back. “Everything is fine. I’m here now,
love.”

The countess jerked violently from his arms
and punched him in the chest. “Everything is not fine!” she
screamed. “Everything is not fine!” She pummeled him with her
fists, she even kicked out at him.

“Stop it, Bri!”

She ignored him and he tucked her securely
under one arm, went to the door, threw it open, and looked into the
face of Mathers, the butler.

That worthy was startled enough to exclaim,
“Oh, good Lord!” before his professional blank mask slipped into
place.

Greville ignored the man’s astonishment.
“Send for Lord Connor immediately. Tell him to bring his wife and
Prestwich if he has arrived. And send the countess’s maid here.
Now!”

The butler bowed and strode away as Greville
closed the door, locking it behind him. Bri was still screeching
like a banshee and trying to do damage to his person. He greatly
feared for her sanity.

He took her by the arms and watched in
stunned silence as her scream of anger turned to cries of pain.
Great fat tears rolled down her wan cheeks. He released her,
sliding his hands up to her face. “What have they done to you,
Bri?” he whispered sadly.

There was a knock on the door. Greville
pushed Bri gently into a chair and moved towards the door. He
unlocked it and pulled it open, expecting the maid to be standing
on the other side. He cursed when he saw who it was.

It was Steyne.

“You are alone with my fiancée, I think.”

Greville just barely controlled his burning
desire to beat the man to a pulp. “You’d best leave, Steyne, before
I forget I’m a gentleman and I beat you right here in front of my
cousin,” he growled.