The Stranger She Married (4 page)

On his arm again, and trying to smother the unreasonable joy that honor elicited, Alicia followed Elizabeth and Mr. Wallace to a group forming at the edge of the ballroom. She caught sight of Colonel Westin, but fortunately, he did not appear to notice her. She maneuvered herself so that Lord Amesbury shielded her from the Colonel's view.

Her uncle hoped she would choose either Colonel Westin or Mr. Braxton for a husband. In return for marriage to Alicia, both had agreed to pay off Willard's debts and provide a fresh start for the Palmers. Of the two, the whining retired Colonel Westin seemed a better choice than Mr. Braxton, a man who simply terrified her. She looked up at Lord Amesbury. If only...

She sighed. Such wishing would lead nowhere but disappointment.

"I believe everyone who is interested in seeing the gallery is present,” Lord Sinclair announced. “If you will all follow me."

Their host led the group into the gallery. A marble floor mirrored expansive ceilings. The walls were painted a deep red to showcase the art. Gilded, carved molding lined the soaring ceilings. Gas lamplight revealed the most breathtaking works of art Alicia had ever seen.

"Oh, Ali, look, isn't this exquisite?” Elizabeth pointed out the nearest statue and pulled on Alicia's hand until she was obliged to release her hold on her escort.

As Lord Sinclair informed the crowd about some of the more impressive pieces, Alicia spotted Mr. Braxton near the front of the group. Her heart sank. Would she spend the entire evening evading undesirable men?

Catherine Sinclair appeared next to them and smiled up at the viscount. “Lord Amesbury. How delightful that you've joined us. I understand your brother is something of an artist, so you must have a great eye for art as well. I'd appreciate your opinion on our latest acquisition.” With a seductive smile, she urged him forward. “It's this one, my lord."

Out of the corner of her eye, Alicia saw Lord Amesbury glance back at her, but she pretended to be engrossed in a nearby painting.

It was inevitable. No man would ever look at her for long with Elizabeth and Catherine nearby. She linked her arm through Elizabeth's and hoped her disappointment did not reveal itself.

"I'll return shortly, Miss Palmer,” he whispered.

Nodding dismissively without looking at him, she hushed the cry in her heart as Lord Amesbury left with the radiant Catherine.

She could not see Mr. Braxton at the moment, but did not dare remain and risk an encounter. She needed to escape. Alicia remained standing in place while the crowd trickled past her toward the next display. Perhaps she could go back out the door they came in. No, it was too far. She could be spotted. Another door just on the other side of the nearest marble column might be a better choice. She glanced back to the art enthusiasts, but only saw Catherine with her arm through Lord Amesbury's. Curse the man, he appeared to be enjoying her company.

As Lord Sinclair continued his steady stream of history and explanation, Alicia looked back at the door. Each time the crowd moved forward to admire another piece of art, Alicia held back a bit more until she stood at the far edge of the group.

When she was certain no one would notice her missing, she stepped toward the column. The door to freedom lay just beyond.

"Miss Palmer, how considerate of you to leave the others.” Mr. Braxton stepped out from behind the column, leering at her.

Alarm rose within her. How had he left the main body and made his way to her without her seeing him?

She spoke curtly. “I find that art no longer holds any appeal. I am returning to my chaperone. Good evening."

He stepped into her path. “How interesting. Art holds little appeal for me at the moment, as well."

With a pounding heart, Alicia backed away. Over Mr. Braxton's shoulder she saw the group leaving the room through a far door.

"Excuse me, Mr. Braxton."

Abandoning thoughts of fleeing through the nearest exit, she stepped around him to catch up to the others. He caught her arm and pulled her behind the column out of view.

Her heart leaped into her throat. “Let go of me. How dare you!"

He clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her through the door she had hoped to use as an escape. Inside she found a small sitting room, poorly lit, and empty. Terror nearly choking her, she struggled against him and bit his hand.

Instead of becoming angry, he grinned wickedly, his eyes glittering underneath his bushy eyebrows. “How un-ladylike of you, Miss Palmer."

He kicked the door closed and pushed her against the wall, pinning her with his body and seizing her wrists. Though more than twice her age, he proved to be anything but weak and feeble.

"Release me at once or I shall scream.” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch.

"That would be a poor choice. What would people think of you if they caught you in such a compromising position?” He pushed her hands up over her head and held them both in one hand with surprising strength.

Alicia struggled against him, her terror growing. Mrs. Hancock thought she was with Elizabeth and Lord Amesbury. Elizabeth only had eyes for the art and Mr. Wallace. Viscount Amesbury had fallen for Catherine's charm and beauty.

She had no hope for rescue.

Mr. Braxton was right; if anyone saw her now, she'd be regarded as compromised. She would be forced to marry him or face complete ruin.

"I am considering paying a great deal of money for you. I merely wish to sample the goods first. Your uncle wouldn't blame me, I am sure."

"No—!"

His mouth came down hard upon hers, roughly silencing her scream. He tasted of stale cigars and wine. He tried to force her mouth open with his tongue while a free hand groped her body. Horrified and humiliated, she bucked and kicked him in the shin.

His mouth came away. “I expect a meek and submissive wife. But I don't mind taming you first."

"I'll never marry you. Let go of me.” She tried to wrench her hands free but his hand shackling her wrists tightened until she cried out.

His free hand fisted in her skirts, and then he began to draw up her hem, exposing her legs.

No!

Desperate, she thrashed. In a moment of clear thought, she remembered something her twin brother Armand told her years ago about male anatomy when she had accidentally hurt him during play. Hoping the same were true for all males, she brought her knee upward in a sharp, hard motion. Mr. Braxton's hold on her broke. He collapsed, coughing, onto the floor. Alicia wrenched open the door and flew out of the room into the gallery, right into another man.

She let out a cry and staggered back.

A pair of arms came around her. “Miss Palmer?"

She looked up and sobbed in relief. “Lord Amesbury."

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Cole Amesbury put a comforting arm around the distraught girl as she collapsed against him. Her hair smelled faintly of lavender, and her slender body felt warm and soft. He looked back into the open door from whence she had fled. An older man lay curled up and groaning on the floor. Alicia Palmer trembled in his arms wearing a look of wild terror, her lips swollen and showing signs of bruising. Her crushed gown and disheveled hair completed the picture.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.

White-hot fury shot through Cole. He had been justly accused of many scandalous things, but assaulting a woman had never been one of them. Though tempted to beat the old man senseless, clear reason broke through the rage; he could not leave Miss Palmer alone. At the moment, she required care. From the looks of him, her attacker would be going nowhere soon. There would be time to confront the man later. And confront him, he would. Tonight.

Struggling against the violent urges that raced through his veins, he asked, “Who is that?” His voice sounded harsh and angry even to his own ears.

"Mr. Braxton,” she choked.

Of course. The man she had been avoiding when she fled to the garden. Still shaking, she visibly tried to control her tears. An uncharacteristic surge of tenderness crept over Cole, nudging aside his anger. Most women used tears as a form of manipulation. Few wept out of true emotion. He doubted Miss Palmer was even capable of deception. All evening, she'd proved herself genuine, without guile. He wanted to protect her from all the ugliness of the world that would shatter her innocence and teach her to be cynical.

Cole cursed himself. He had known a man she feared pursued her that night. If he had not released Miss Palmer's arm when her friend pulled on her, Catherine Sinclair would not have been so bold as to take him away from Miss Palmer. He had meant only to be polite to the host's daughter, not to abandon the girl he escorted, thus leaving her open to danger.

He pulled her closer against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, whispering words of consolation. She tensed and pushed him away. Reluctantly, he released her. He should have known that the touch of another man would not be welcome at the moment.

She appeared to search for something. “I don't have a handkerchief. I must have dropped my reticule.” She accepted the handkerchief Cole offered. “Thank you.” She heaved a tremulous breath as she dried her tears. “Forgive me for falling apart."

He clenched his fist to avoid touching her cheek. “Think nothing of it."

"You must think badly of me.” She gasped and worry leapt into her face. “You won't tell anyone, will you? My reputation will be sullied and then I will never be able—Oh! Uncle Willard will be angry when he hears I rejected Mr. Braxton in such a manner."

"I should think he'd be angry that the man tried to force himself on his niece,” he replied grimly.

She shook her head and looked as if she would say more, but closed her mouth instead. A moment later, she looked up at him. “Thank you for your assistance, my lord."

"I will escort you to the withdrawing room where you may splash your face and straighten your hair. Then we'll find ... ah, Mrs. Hancock, was it? Your chaperone for the evening?"

She nodded. “That's very kind, my lord."

Again the girl's large eyes drew him. They were the color of coffee and cream, flecked with gold. Unusually long, dark lashes clung together with the dampness of her tears. They were the loveliest eyes he had ever seen, and they had captured his all evening.
She
had captured him all evening. What it was about her that had so completely entranced him, he could not say. But he wanted to find out what it was about this girl that was so, well, different.

He glanced back into the smaller room, but the groaning body on the floor had disappeared. Mr. Braxton must have gone out through another door while Cole's focus lay upon Miss Palmer.

"I shall deal with Mr. Braxton later."

"Please, I know you must think ill of me now, but I beg you to say nothing of my shame."

"Your shame?” Incredulous, he stared. “He should be ashamed. And punished. What he did—what he tried to do—is reprehensible."

"Please. I will be ruined."

Her frightened, desperate plea tugged at his heart as much as her terror a moment ago. He stilled. His heart? He wasn't aware that he still possessed one.

"Very well, Miss Palmer, I will say nothing. But I assure you, you are clearly blameless. I'd like nothing better than to shoot that man.” After he'd beaten him with his bare hands.

She gasped as if he'd just said something dreadful. “No dueling, I beg you."

Cole dredged up a lazy grin despite the righteous anger still coiled in his stomach. “Duel? What makes you think I want to hand him a gun and let him shoot back at me?"

She shuddered. “I don't wish that either. But please, don't challenge him to a duel. I couldn't bear it."

"Even a man such as he?"

She shook her head. “I do not wish anyone to suffer from a gunshot wound. Even him."

Her reaction puzzled Cole. A year ago, another woman in a similar situation had been adamant that her honor be satisfied. She had later proven not worth the effort, more's the pity.

He froze. Alicia Palmer? As in...?

No, surely not. Palmer was too common a name to suggest any relationship.

"I beg you, Lord Amesbury, do nothing."

All night, expressions passed over her face, easily readable, even if he did not fully understand her reasons. He found her refreshing. “You are remarkably forgiving."

"Please, my lord. The scandal would ruin me.” She fixed those beautiful, heavily-lashed eyes upon him. Only a heartless cad could refuse those eyes. And Cole knew that the social back-lash, if others ever suspected she had been deflowered or even caught engaging in any unseemly behavior, would destroy any hope of a good match.

"Very well, Miss Palmer. You may trust me to keep your secret."

As he looked down into Alicia Palmer's face, he had no doubt she would be worth any risk. Her sweet, unspoiled temperament touched him in a place he thought long dead.

He held out his hand. “Shall we?"

After she retrieved her reticule, he escorted her through the crowd to the retiring room. Cole waited outside the door, his tension building. He kept a tight rein on his anger, but it mounted like a raging river trapped behind a dam; rising, building, threatening to shatter the barrier. It took all his self control to remain there instead of seeking out Mr. Braxton and thrashing him. He would place Miss Palmer in the care of others and then go have a nice little
tête à tête
with Mr. Braxton.

When Miss Palmer emerged, she had perfectly composed herself. Her hair was smoothed back into place and her freshly washed face showed no trace of tears. Careful scrutiny revealed that her gown still showed signs of being crushed, but a casual glance might not discover it. However, a tiny bruise formed around her full, rosebud lips. Worse, her expressive eyes still revealed her terror.

The volcano of rage threatened to erupt, demanding action. Cole offered her his arm and patted her hand, hoping to give her some measure of comfort. He struggled to keep his touch gentle when a lust for enforcing his own code of justice left him shaking.

They found Mrs. Hancock gossiping in a circle of older ladies. “Back already, dear?"