Page 98 of Wicked Rivals
The hour was late. The clock in the entryway chimed eerily in the silence. Rosalind replayed the hurtful words she’d heard Ashton and Charles say, her mind still reeling with the revelation of Ashton’s betrayal. It was time to leave and return to London. She’d find a way to get her life back from Ashton’s ironclad control some other way. There was no chance she would marry him now, the damned awful man.
Rosalind came down the main stairs, intending to fetch a glass of water from the kitchens without disturbing Claire, and suddenly froze when she heard cloth rustle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Someone was watching her. Doing her best to act unaware of the hidden eyes of servants, she started walking toward the servants’ quarters to find Claire. The rustling of clothes was her only warning she wasn’t alone.
Someone grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth tightly and lifting her by the waist off the ground. She struggled, trying to kick out, but when the man started to run, her body bounced hard against him and she couldn’t get her limbs to cooperate in the right way to make the man drop her. She caught glimpses of the corridors, and then they burst out onto the back terrace. Warm night air kissed her skin as the man sprinted through the garden paths.
“Got her!” the man hissed. Rosalind wanted to believe she recognized the voice, but it was impossible.
Before she could get her bearings, she was being handed up into the empty saddle of a horse. Rosalind was about to scream for help, but a man’s voice stopped her short.
“It’s good to see you, little sister.”
“Brodie?” she gasped. What was he doing here? She glanced down to see a second man, Aiden. How he’d grown up in the years she’d been away.
“Where’s Brock?” she whispered. “And what are you doing here?”
“Brock should be here soon.” Aiden nodded to the dark shape of the house behind them.
A figure leapt over the terrace railing, raced toward them and mounted his horse.
“Hurry! They’ll soon discover we’ve been here.”
“What? How? Neither Aiden nor I were seen,” Brodie said.
“I stumbled upon a woman in the library,” Brock admitted. “I had to restrain her so she couldn’t cry out, but who knows how long before she frees herself and raises the alarm/” He kicked the flanks of his beast, and the horse bolted forward.
The brothers followed him as they rode fast, leaving Lennox House far behind them and Rosalind in a state of confusion as she fought to keep up with them.
She didn’t let herself stop to think about how her brothers had found her or why they were leading her away. Her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces, and she’d take any excuse to be as far away from that man as possible. He had betrayed her, was using her, just as she’d feared. The man she’d fallen in love with had let her down. His promises had turned to ash.
That damned bloody baron can rot for all I care!Even as the dark thought crossed her mind, it didn’t ease the ache or guilt that she felt at abandoning him while he was ill. But his friends were coming, people he cared about more than her. He didn’t need her—he never had. And more importantly, he didn’t want her.
They rode for two hours before the horses showed signs of fatigue.
“We’ll stop for an hour, let the horses rest,” Brock announced. Rosalind followed her brothers as they urged their mounts to take cover behind a grove of trees. She delicately worked her hands, flexing stiff fingers, wishing she’d had her riding gloves. The leather straps had cut into her fingers and rubbed raw spots along her palms.
Aiden came over and took her hands, gently massaging them until the pain lessened. “Better?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” She felt strangely shy around her brothers. It had been years since she’d seen them, and they’d gone from young men who jumped at their father’s shadow to tall, striking figures racing through the darkness.
Have I changed too?She knew she must have. The young woman in a brown woolen gown with loose hair and a nearly broken spirit was long gone. After she’d married Henry, she’d transformed into a lady she believed would make her mother proud. A woman in fine gowns, with dressed hair and manners to please all around her, as well as a woman who was intelligent and self-sufficient.
“Brock, what are you doing here?” Rosalind asked. At her question, all three brothers came to stand in ring around her, studying her grimly.
“She looks…fine,” Aiden whispered.
“Aye, but he could have left bruises in places we cannae see.” Brock’s eyes raked over her body, scowling. His brogue had thickened in his concern.
“Bruises?” Rosalind snapped. “What are you on about?”
“The brute, Lennox,” Brock explained. “We came so you dinnae have to marry him.”
“It’s a rescue,” Aiden explained with pride, his chest puffing out a little.
“Rescue?” She bit back a laugh. But how had her brothers known she was marrying Lennox?
Brock was still scowling. “We had a visit from a friend of yours,” Brock said. “Sir Hugo Waverly. He got your letter about Lennox ruining you financially, and he knew it would only get worse. He heard about the wedding and came to us for aid.”
“Don’t worry,” said Brodie. “That man will never lay a hand on you again.”
