Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Priscilla woke to the spring sun shining in through her windows. After she’d returned home, she had, in fact, gone to bed, exhausted from the emotional day.
With the sun, and sleep, she rose from bed feeling more…hopeful.
Wyatt had not stolen anything. And he’d had good reasons for keeping his activities secret. Intellectually, all his choices made sense. And marriage with him was far superior to staying here. Still.
There was some part of her that still ached. Their bargain was a temporary match that suited their individual needs. Nothing more.
She didn’t want to consider her feelings too deeply, they were emotions she’d been attempting to deny she even had.
She knew she shouldn’t allow them. The promises she’d made to herself at her father’s death were where she needed to focus her attention.
Still, there was some part of her that wished to lose herself in Wyatt’s embrace.
Let his strong arms cradle her through the pain of the last year. Was that wrong?
She began to ready herself for the day, not bothering with a maid as she dressed in a simple gown, pulling her hair back in an uncomplicated coif with the tresses gathered at her nape and then twisted around in a neat bun.
By the time she’d made her way to breakfast, she’d convinced herself that her feelings hardly mattered. Whatever reservations she had about Wyatt and her own response to him, he was the far superior choice to Eugene and she’d just have to do her best to keep her feelings from clouding her judgment.
She made her way into the breakfast room, smiling at her mother as she moved to the buffet, mostly ignoring Eugene at the other end of the table, eating his breakfast.
She frowned as she placed toast and a scone on her own plate. She only needed to be in a room with him a few more times before Wyatt took her away forever.
“I’ve exciting news,” Eugene announced, finally setting down his utensils with a loud clatter.
Exciting? She turned toward the table, eager to pour tea. She needed some sort of fortification for whatever Eugene about to say.
When neither she nor her mother responded, Eugene’s features turned black. “Isn’t anyone going to ask?”
Priscilla carefully took her seat, reaching for the steaming pot of tea. While her cheek bore no mark, the skin was still tender and she had little tolerance for Eugene’s games.
“What news?” her mother asked, gently setting her own fork aside.
He huffed. “Why is it so difficult for either of you to support me?”
Priscilla blinked twice. “Tell us your news, Eugene.”
He frowned, looking between them before he sat back in his chair with a scowl. “We’re leaving London. Tomorrow.”
She nearly dropped the teacup she’d been about to bring to her lips. Slowly, despite her hammering heart, she set the delicate china back on its saucer. “Leaving?”
“London hasn’t been good for us,” he grunted. “We need fresh air and a chance to start anew.”
Start anew? Most certainly.
Together? Definitely not.
Two footmen she’d never seen before stepped into the room, their hands clasped in front of them as they stood like sentinels on either side of the door.
Were these men here to make certain she didn’t leave? Her heart began to pound in her chest. How would they manage to extricate themselves from under Eugene’s watchful eye?
There was absolutely no chance she’d leave London with this man.
“You can’t possibly expect us to pack for travel tomorrow,” her mother started, giving her a meaningful glance.
“I can and I do,” he said sitting straighter. “I’ve had enough of the games you two play and I’ll not give you the opportunity to play them again. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“Games?” Her mother fired back. “Convincing you to allow us to leave our house on simple outings is what you consider to be a game?”
Eugene pushed partially up from his chair. “Encouraging Priscilla to see another man when she is promised to me—”
“There is no promise.” Her mother stood, her voice rising. “You have demanded. That is not the same.”
Eugene stood too and, automatically, Priscilla rose as well, sick dread pooling in her stomach.
Eugene’s face was rigid with anger and she took a step closer to her mother, worry making her throat tight.
“We don’t need to fight. Eugene, my mother simply asks for a few more days to prepare for the journey. ”
In a way, he was correct. She had every intention of making plans to leave his care before he could sweep them away from London.
He might only care about himself, but he was intelligent enough to know how to subvert their attempts.
Once in the country, there’d be no escaping a marriage with him. With few places to go besides their country estate, she’d have little options other than a match with him. He’d see to that.
“I’m not talking to you,” Eugene snarled, coming around the table and stalking toward her mother.
His finger came out pointing at the countess.
“I am your benefactor and the man of this house. You’ll do your duty and bend to my will.
” His voice rose with every word. “You’ll pack what you can today and we’ll leave in the morning, and I won’t listen to another word of dissent from either of you.
Whatever is left behind my servants will pack up and send along later. ”
“We’re not cattle.” Her mother crossed her arms as she stepped toward Eugene, her chin tilted up into the air. “We’re people. Intelligent ones and we know when a man is not worth following.”
Priscilla knew her mother had said too much even before Eugene responded. But in sickening slow motion she watched his hand jab out, landing directly in the middle of her mother’s chest, his palm thumping into her ribs, the sound wrenching a scream from her mouth.
The countess flew backwards, the force of the blow sending her stumbling back as she first fell on her behind and then her head hitting the floor.
“Eugene!” she cried, racing to her mother’s side. “What have you done?”
“Nothing she didn’t deserve,” he countered, but as she cradled her mother in her arms, her accusatory gaze landing on him, she noted that he’d turned pale rather than his usual hues of angry red.
“Call the doctor. At once,” she said as her mother gasped for breath in her arms.
The two footmen stood immobile and she knew they were there to exclusively do Eugene’s bidding. “Eugene,” she bit out, attempting to take advantage of his moment of guilt she could see in his eyes.
He hesitated, full well knowing he’d have to explain how he was responsible.
“Now, Eugene,” she cried, hot tears strangling her own throat and making her voice rasp with emotions. “Please.”
Finally, he turned, barking at one of the new men. “Go.”
“I’ll be all right,” her mother croaked, still attempting to breath normally. Her breath came in shallow hitches as she sank into Priscilla’s arms. “And think of it this way, he can’t possibly make us leave tomorrow if I’m injured. You’ll have a chance to marry Lord Ware yet.”
That broke the dam in her throat and hot tears spilled over her lids and onto her cheeks. “You can’t mean to sacrifice your own health, Mother. It’s not worth it.”
“Priscilla,” her mother reached up then, swiping a tear from her cheek and wincing in pain from the movement. “Don’t you know the lengths your father and I would go to protect you, darling?”
She knew.
Just as she knew what she had to do now. “It’s time I protected you.” Then she kissed the top of her mother’s head. Priscilla and her mother were leaving today.
* * *
Wyatt dressed for boxing, glad that he had a training session with Ralph today. Not that he wished to talk again.
He just wanted to hit things.
Anger, hot and volcanic, bubbled inside him. At Eugene. The man didn’t deserve the title of lord, earl, or even man. A real man protected women and children. He didn’t hurt them.
He stopped midway through shrugging on his shirt. What did that say about his father? He pulled the shirt over his head, brushing back his hair.
Hadn’t he always known that his father was everything Ralph had said. A selfish cad. Not fit to be father or viscount.
And Wyatt had spent his entire life attempting to be the opposite. He’d eschewed all violence and then, when that had failed him…
That wasn’t exactly true. His position against physical violence had hurt someone else far more than himself. He didn’t care about his own injuries. His face had recovered but his stance against violence had failed Angela.
She might have been hurt. Or worse.
He ached to think that he hadn’t protected the one person who’d been under his care.
And he’d hated himself after for what might have happened to her. He closed his eyes.
He knew he’d become the Bushy Hero—damn but he hated that nickname—to prove to himself that he could keep a family safe and that—he scrubbed his face—that he deserved their love.
A hard knock sounded at the door and then it swung open. It could only be Ralph. No one else would knock on his door like that.
“What do you—”
But he stopped as he caught sight of Ralph’s tight expression, a piece of parchment crumpled in his hands.
“Ralph?”
“It’s Priscilla. Come. Quick.”
His heart hammered in his chest as he tugged on his boots and then grabbed his cravat, attempting to tie it.
But his hands trembled. Had Eugene hurt her. He was afraid to even ask.
A wave of self-loathing rose up in his chest. Had he failed her too? He should have insisted they leave with him yesterday. He’d been attempting to get all the legal pieces in place, but had he made the wrong choice?
Ralph pushed his hands out of the way. “Let me.”
Wyatt didn’t bother to point out it was the first time Ralph had actually tied Wyatt’s cravat. “What’s happened?”
“She doesn’t say. Just that she needs you now. Without delay.”
He gave a tentative nod. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? She’d been able to write…“She wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”
“I agree.”
“I haven’t failed her, Ralph, have I? I should have taken her yesterday. I should have protected her.”
“You’re not omniscient. You were trying to stay within the law, at least on this, and make sure you could marry her the moment you took her into your custody.”
He gave a tentative nod. Knot tied, he grabbed his vest, shoving his hands through the arm holes and then reached for his coat without bothering to button the vest. He’d finish dressing in the carriage.
Starting for the door, he grabbed both his short sword and a pair of pistols, Ralph doing the same.
They dashed down the steps and out to the carriage house.
As he settled into his seat, he looked at his brother. “If anything happened to Priscilla…”
Ralph gave his head a quick shake. “It’s all going to be fine.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “I’ll deal with the earl. You get the women out of the house.”
“Where are we taking them?”
“Back here for the moment, but we should contact the Duke of Durham posthaste. We might need his weight, socially speaking. I haven’t got the license yet and I’ll need help since I’m taking a charge away from her guardian.”
Ralph gave a tentative nod. “How long until you can get the license?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I’ve the appointment with the archbishop’s office tomorrow.”
“And if your request is denied?”
“Gretna Green.”
Ralph gave him a dark smile of approval. “Tell me that I get to hit Fitzsimmons at least once. Men who hurt women are scum.”
“Please do.” He said, returning the cold smile. “After I’m done with him.”
Today was his day of reckoning.
And beating the tar out of the Earl of Purlington was going to feel a lot like enacting retribution on his own father.
He’d enjoy every moment of it.
And when he swept Priscilla into his arms…
He’d have the satisfaction of knowing that he’d kept her safe.