Page 30 of A Raven Reborn

“Oh, Rosie, don’t look so worried.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I just want to talk, and I fear if we stay in bed, I may get distracted.” He winked and she smiled nervously.

“Come,” he said, holding out his hand to her. She took it and followed him to the large armchair where he seated himself. He patted his lap, and after a brief hesitation, she climbed on, tucking her toes between his leg and the arm of the chair.

He looked at the scar just below her lower lip. He’d never really thought anything of it before, but it was reddened now, from her biting down on it. He touched it lightly with his fingertip.

“Will you tell me how you got this?” he asked, looking into her eyes. They widened and her breathing hitched. She swallowed and shifted nervously on his lap. It was confirmation that this was a story he needed to hear.

“I would never hurt you, Rosie. I hope you know that.” She nodded but said nothing. Perhaps it would be easier for her if she wasn’t looking him in the eye. Patrick wrapped his arms around her and gently encouraged her to lean against him. Slowly, she did, tucking her head into his neck.

“Please will you tell me the story?” He held his breath, waiting for a response. Finally, she nodded. She didn’t speak right away, but Patrick waited patiently. Clearly this was something very difficult for her to share.

She was quiet for a moment, but eventually she began her story. “After my father died, my mother married another man. It was a scandalously short grieving period, but if she hadn’t, we would have ended up living on the streets. My father had left nothing behind for us.” She inhaled a shaky breath. Patrick said nothing, but rubbed slow, gentle circles on her back, trying his best to encourage her to continue.

“Her new husband was strict. Every morning we would wake before the sun rose. Breakfast needed to be ready for him whenever he decided to get up, and if there was ever a speck of dust or something out of place, there’d be consequences. When we first moved into his home, it was only the three of us, but it wasn’t long before his son returned home from traveling the continent. His name was Percival.” His name came out as barely a whisper. Patrick closed his eyes, dreading the words he knew were coming.

“One night while I slept, Percival stumbled into my room, drunk and reeking of booze.” Rosie shifted in his lap and swallowed. “He…” she paused again before taking a deep breath and plunging ahead. “He threw back the blanket and climbed on my bed. I scurried to the top of the bed to get away from him, but,”—her body began to tremble against him—“he grabbed my ankle and hauled me back down. Before I realized what was happening, he was inside my body.”

“Oh God, Rosie.” Patrick wrapped his arms tightly around her. “You’re safe now. I promise. He will never hurt you again.” She nodded against his neck, but she didn’t cry.

She sat up then and looked into his eyes. “I must have bitten down on my lip to keep from crying out.” She rubbed her fingertip over the spot. “I had a wound there the next morning.”

Guilt flooded his whole being. She had done the same with him. Surely that made him no better than the piece of garbage who had raped her. “Was that when your stepfather found the two of you together?”

Rosie burst out laughing, not the type filled with amusement or joy, it was high-pitched and riddled with panic, teetering on the edge of hysteria. Ice dropped into Patrick’s stomach. The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun and she shook her head. And suddenly, the dam broke. Tears flooded down her cheeks and a heart wrenching sob tore from somewhere deep inside her, filling the room. Her entire body shook, and all Patrick could do was hold her. He wanted desperately to be able to take away her pain, but instead, he had only added to it. How many times had she had to endure being abused?

Patrick rocked her and held her tightly. One thing was certain, he would do whatever he had to to make sure no one ever hurt her again, including him. Slowly, her crying began to subside, and she sat up again. She closed her eyes when she spoke next, as if she couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.

“Percival had been coming to my room once or twice a week for nearly a year when my stepfather discovered us.”

“Dear God.” Patrick closed his eyes. Anger pumped through his veins and an intractable, violent need to kill the son of a bitch who did that to her erupted within him. It took every ounce of his self control not to howl and rage and throw things, but that would not help Rosie. He needed to be better. He needed to protect her. And suddenly, Patrick knew what he had to do to keep her safe.

“Rosie,” he said, wiping her tears away. “I’m going to make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t speak.

“Marry me.”

ChapterEleven

“What?” Rosie choked on the word. Surely, she had misheard. Why in heaven’s name would he want to marry her? Perhaps he was joking, but it wasn’t funny. She leaned back from him and pushed herself off of his lap.

“Wait.” Patrick leaned forward and grasped her hands.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Patrick.” She tried to pull away, but he held firm.

“Please, just hear me out.” There was desperation in his eyes as he stood before her. She stopped tugging.

“Please,” he said softly, and eventually she nodded.

“You can live on one of my country estates. There you will never have to endure unwanted advances from anyone again. Including me.”

“One of your country estates?” she said stupidly, once again sure she’d misheard.

“You will have servants to see to your every whim. You can decorate however you choose. You can have horses, dogs, whatever your heart desires. But most importantly, you’ll be safe.”

“Patrick, you’re talking nonsense.”

There was heavy pounding on the door. The distraction allowed her to pull her hands free and take a few steps back.

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