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Chapter Fourteen
Percy awoke to the decided sound of a pistol cocking in his chamber. Every muscle of his tensed, and he opened his eyes slowly, preparing himself to act while ensuring that he protected the woman snuggled into his side. It was inconceivable a burglar had entered his home, but not impossible.
“I will not grant you a chance to explain why there is a weapon pointed at me. That you dare have it in her presence alone, you will die for it,” he said icily, already easing Freddie’s head from his arm.
The shadows moved, and the pistol came closer, but the person did not reveal themselves. “I broke inside your home because I had nowhere else to go. Then I realized she must be here since you are supposed to be taking care of her. I searched the rooms on this floor, and this is where I found her,” a voice whispered.
“Who the hell are you?” Percy demanded, slightly shifting so that he would be in a position to act once he perceived an advantage. His heart was calm, his thoughts mercilessly concentrated on the threat. He could not allow anything to happen to Freddie.
“That you have debauched my sister and make her your mistress when you should have cared and protected her will ensure that it is I who will put a bullet through your black, lecherous heart,” a gravelly voice hissed with menace.
Shock stole the air from Percy’s lung. “Matthew?”
“Yes,” the voice hissed. “How fucking dare you, Percival? I trusted you with her. I bloody well trusted you.”
Relief slammed into Percy with the force of a fist. “Thank God,” he whispered fervently. “Thank God you are alive.” Then it sank into his bones that his best friend had just found him in bed with his baby sister, who had been entrusted into Percy’s keeping.
Fucking hell. “This is not what it seems. If you allow me to meet you in the drawing room, we shall finish this discussion there.”
Matthew’s chuckle was rough with disbelief and devoid of all humor. In truth, Percy was mildly astonished he was not already bleeding to death on his oriental carpet.
The weapon steadied even more on him. “I do not give a shite what you think this might seem like, and I will not be leaving the room.”
“I am trying to protect Sprite’s modesty and sensibilities. She will be very upset should she awake and see you holding a pistol in this room.”
And he would gut anyone with a dull knife if she was hurt, including Matthew.
Matthew fell silent, and then he said, “You will marry her.”
A surge of elation went through him, and he coolly tamped it down. “I will not.”
“You fucking, miserable misbegotten—”
“She will not have me,” he said flatly. “She is in love with someone else, and I will not steal the joy and happiness I watched her work so hard for. Not even for my damn selfish wants.”
“That makes no bloody sense. She is in bed with you.”
“Your sister is somewhat of an enlightened creature. That she is in love with someone else does not mean she owes him her fidelity until they are married. A concept we ascribe to regarding any lady we pursue.”
“What the hell are you really saying?”
Percy sighed. “Only if you force her to marry me, she will resent you.” He cut his gaze to her, noting that she still slept deeply. Hell, he had woken her once more and loved her just as passionately again. She must be exhausted. “She really has great affection for another. Might even love him.”
The gun lowered. “This is a damn mess.”
There was a pain in Percy’s heart he did not want to closely examine. “We have no romantic love between us,” he said icily. “Only a mere burst of passion that regrettably flared out of control. Now get the hell out of here before I force you out!”
He heard it then, a soft hitch in her breathing and a tiny sob. Ice congealed inside his chest. Freddie was crying.
* * *
There is no love between us…only a mere burst of passion…
Those words caught at the edges of her heart, raking it with pain, for he made as if the wonderful experience they shared was inconsequential and rather insignificant. And perhaps it was to him. He had never expressed words of love and affection, and the wretched man still did not know he owned her heart and fidelity. Another painful ache stabbed at her chest, and her breath hitched. Why did she now feel so unbearably foolish and naive?
Thankfully the torment of knowing the marquess did not love her, not even slightly, was overshadowed by the joy of knowing that her brother lived and was somehow here in London after being missing for over two years. So many questions bubbled inside, and she wanted to launch from the bed and enfolded him in a hug. Tears coursed down her cheeks and dampened her hair. Gripping the sheets tightly to her chin to protect the modesty her brother might think she lacked, Frederica whispered, “Please, both of you, get out.”
They did not protest but thankfully melted from the rooms that were mostly in shadows. She had not even caught a proper glimpse of her brother, but he was alive. Frederica sat up in the middle of the bed and drew up her knees, so the flat of her sole was on the sheets. She clasped her raised knees and laid her chin on them and wept.
