Page 75 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

Chapter 2

“Wherein an unhappy life and a perilous future are revealed.”

Grace fumbled with the fastenings of the dress. Without the petticoats, the damp silk clung to her legs and made her shiver, despite the blaze of the fire at her back. Her feet had at least regained some feeling, though how that had been achieved was so shocking she couldn’t think on it.

When she’d woken from her swoon to see the towering figure looming over her, she’d almost screamed. For a moment he’d looked like the devil himself, with that thick black hair and the heavy dark eyebrows winging over his eyes. His eyes were dark too, brown or black she wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t afraid of him now, though he was the biggest man she’d ever seen. There was kindness in his manner, in the way he treated her, and she felt instinctively that he was no wicked seducer of innocents. Far from it.

She knew what the devil looked like—how he sounded, too—and it wasn’t Edward Hardy.

The dress slithered to the floor, and she fought the urge to consign it to the flames. Harold had chosen it, decking her out in finery to go to her new owner, for that was what Mr Carrington would be, for all that he would pay her brother to marry her.

Harold would have his debts paid off and a nice lump sum to fritter away, like everything else that passed through his hands. He didn’t care that Mr Carrington would beat his wife, just as he beat his dogs and his horses; neither did he care that Carrington was cruel and perverse, and had already tried to take what he felt to be his right. She stifled a sob as she remembered his wet mouth pressing down upon hers, and forced the memory away.

No. She’d fought him that day, and she’d bought herself time. She’d done so again today… but for how long?

Grace shivered in her chemise and started at the sound of a knock at the door. She snatched up the quilt and wrapped herself in it.

“Yes,” she said.

Mr Hardy came back in, dressed this time, and so Grace felt more able to look at him. It had been indecent before, with him in just his nightshirt. She’d been far too aware of the heat of his hands, the strength in his powerful body. When he’d stood up before the fire and turned his back to give her privacy, his body had been a silhouette within the nightshirt. She’d never seen such a man before, such a masculine physique. The thought of what he could do if he chose had made her tremble. She’d come to know of late what the blow of a cruel hand felt like, and this man’s hands were far larger, his body far more powerful than her brother’s. She’d not been able to stop staring at him, torn between fascination and terror, but when he’d spoken, reassuring her of her safety, his voice had been gentle. Grace had never experienced gentleness from a man before. She knew it was possible, had clung to the belief that one day she’d find such a man and escape. In her mind she’d held tight to a different future. In that world, Christmas was a joyful time filled with love and the noisy chaos of a family, of children, of a man who loved her as she loved him, but Harold had taken that last hope from her.

The men she knew best were cruel; the ones that ought to have protected her were to be feared and obeyed. Her father had been a man to fear, not because he beat her, but for the way he mocked and controlled and kept her isolated from the world. Her brother was not so inventive, and since her father died and she’d become his property, his cruelty arrived on the end of a fist. Yet this man who was twice their size, with his rough hands and uncultured voice—a man strong enough to crush her brother with ease—he’d promised her safety.

I won’t let no one hurt ye, and you’ve nowt to fear from me.

He’d said that, and she’d believed him. Perhaps she was a gullible fool, but her instincts told her otherwise. Even the dog who obeyed his master without hesitation looked at him with adoration, not with fear.

I’ve never laid a hand on a woman what didn’t want me to, and I don’t mean to start now.

She blushed as she remembered those words, wondering who the woman had been who’d wanted him to touch her. His wife, she supposed.

“Are ye warmer?” he asked, and Grace smiled at the depth of his voice, the gruff quality that was somehow soothing. Her brother would consider his accent rough and ugly, but it seemed soft-edged to her, the country burr reassuring.

“I am, thank you.”

He looked down at the pile of clothes on the floor and frowned. “I came down too soon,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

He gave a little huff of laughter and looked up at her. “Truth be told, I… I thought perhaps I’d dreamed ye. I expected to come down and find the place empty.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said, frowning as guilt sat heavy in her chest for the trouble she was putting him to.

He smiled at that, and Grace stared at the way it transformed his face from something harsh and a little forbidding into an almost boyish expression.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “It’s the most excitement me and Rufus have had in… well, ever,” he said, tugging at the dog’s ears. The hound closed his eyes with an expression of bliss. “We thought you was a Christmas angel.” He looked awkward at the admission and rubbed the back of his neck again. “I’ll… er… go to the pantry and find something for ye to eat and give ye time to….”

He made a gesture towards the pile of clothes and took himself off again.

Grace watched him go and then reached for the clothes he’d brought her. Nothing fit. Whoever his wife had been, she’d been a deal taller and built with more generous proportions. Still, she dressed as best she could, and stared down at herself in chagrin.

“Are ye decent?” he called from the pantry.

Grace sighed. Well, at least everything was covered. “Yes.”

He came back in, holding a heavy tray, and stopped in his tracks when he saw her. She could only imagine what she looked like, dressed in clothes that were far too big for her, like a child trying to act like an adult. It was an apt enough description. Her father and brother had always treated her like a child, and she’d had no choice but to allow it, no matter how it rankled. It was better than being locked in her room, or slapped, or worse.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and his harsh features softened. “Sarah was a deal bigger than ye, eh, and not half so elegant?”