The Rake and The Rose (A Rake's Mistake) Page 3

  He swung the horse’s head around and saw what was in the way, again. His heart nearly leapt out his chest in fright. The apparition was on his property. No, not an apparition, a young woman! “What the blazes is going on?” he snarled and saw Francesca, Sophie and James rush outside behind Giselle.

  The women who were on the first floor peeked out from the windows curiously, and the men behind him were murmuring quietly.

  “What is going on, Cromwell?” Kade was uneasy on his borrowed mare and raised an eyebrow before coming to his rescue. “Gentlemen, there are matters for Lord Cromwell to attend to, please. We can go and have a cigar. How about it?”

  The men followed, half unsure. Alexander got off Titan and handed the jerking horse to James.

  Charlotte started to struggle, the pain and panic that had been set in her turning into blind rage and heartache. She had done nothing wrong!

  “Let me go, you pompous oafs! I didn’t do anything!” she finally said. She sank her teeth deeply into one of the magistrate's hands and he howled. Charlotte bolted when let go only to run straight into a large man’s chest and to get caught up in a much stronger grip.

  “Well, you are no fairy.” The man’s voice was deeper than she thought.

  “No, I am not a fairy…or whatever you just called me. I was just leaving!” She looked frantically around and clutched the little sachet with her bread and mint tighter in her hand. The man’s eyes glanced at it and he glared at her. She felt woozy, and her scalp was bleeding again. She could feel the warmth trickle down her head.

  “Dirty beggar was in the kitchen Alexander.” Giselle’s teeth were bared in a sneer.

  Charlotte flinched at the hate in her tone. “I’m not a beggar,” she whispered. She saw the man's gaze scrutinize her slightly, but she also saw pity. What was he thinking? Pitying her did her no good at all! Her temper flared high but she was too weak to show it.

  Alexander looked at the waif before him, her dark eyes wide and frightened…no that was not fear like a rabbit caught in a trap. More like a wary but angry animal of which he had the nerve to pull it’s tail. The vein in her neck pounding with blood that was obviously racing through her veins and heart. Her hair color was indiscernible due to the dirt and grime, and her skin was caked with dust and grit as well. But, it looked smooth where it was clean.

  Her feet had been bandaged with linen. He supposed it was either Francesca or Sophie -who were staring wide-eyed at them- that was responsible for it. This girl barely came to his shoulders and she had to crane her neck to see him. “What is your name, girl?”

  “Charlotte.” The locket on her neck slipped from her chemise and it glinted, she looked down at the long gold-chained cameo in horror, she had tried so hard to keep it hidden. The pearlescent cameo woman stared mockingly up at her from it’s dark blue backdrop. She gulped when his eyes lingered upon the trinket.

  “And where did someone from your…class, acquire that locket?” Alexander was perplexed, it looked to be made of gold and precious materials- how did a beggar get a hold of such an item?

  “It is mine…” she struggled again and his grip tightened on her upper arms. “Please…” Charlotte despised his look of suspicion, and felt tears burn the backs of her eyes.

  Giselle marched over and snatched the locket off her throat. “Give me that, it’s probably one of the girl’s.” The sting of the chain snapping made a stifled whimper reach her lips. She saw the man's reaction, his pupils dilating to where she could see the gaze sharpen with deadly edge.

  “No it’s mine! My name is on it!” She felt the tears nearly find their way forward, but she held them back. The man’s eyes were a deep green and they stared at her as if trying to figure her out.

  “Give it to me Giselle.” When his Aunt paused, his voice dropped another octave that made her entire body tremble. “Give it here.”

  Giselle handed the cameo locket over. It was beautifully carved and he turned it over “To Charlotte, Love Mama” he eyed it and looked at her. “And you I presume are Charlotte?”

  “Please it’s all I have…I have to keep it or I won’t remember…” Her whisper reached his senses not just in tone, but also in a caress. She sounded warm and husky naturally. The sound vibrated in his ears and he clasped his hand around the locket.

  “I will investigate your tale and you will get it back when I am done. Understood?”

  “Get it back?” she gulped and tugged from his grip again, but failed in being released. Charlotte’s nose filled with spices and leather when she was yanked closer.

  “Yes, get it back, I can’t have you run off with it can I?” His voice sounded amused.

  “But, I was just leaving!” her desperation was palpable to Alexander and he felt sorry for it. “I am sorry that I caused trouble…I’ll leave and you’ll never-”

  “Never what?”

  “-have to see me again.” She finished.

  “What is in your sachet?” At first he seemed simply irritated. He wanted to find out if she was indeed a thief.

  “Nothing…” She hid it behind her back and his anger peaked. She had to have taken the coins. He took the sachet away calmly, but with strength from her bird-like hands, which went limp at her sides.

  “Well, then, I guess you won’t mind me seeing!"

  His voice was a well-hidden tone of no nonsense, and she gave up as he handed her over to the magistrates. The men took hold of her again and he opened it to find a piece of fresh bread and some mint with it. His eyebrows shot up, and he looked up at a young woman all but hanging from the first floor drawing room window, with her mother trying to drag her back in.

  “Madame! Madame Cromwell! I found my coins! Mama had them!”

  He inhaled sharply and looked back at the fairy girl in front of him, and this time he actually took in her condition. The bandages on her feet were not just tinted, they were soaked in blood. She had cuts under the grime, and he noticed a trickle of blood on her cheek, the origin disappearing into the gritted hair and scalp. Her pale face was thin and she looked exhausted, the deep circles under her eyes dark and ominous. His heart pounded.

  He tilted his head and his expression took on a softened look. “Where did you come from?” He prodded making his grip a bit more gentle after taking her again from the magistrates- who for all intensive purposes were attempting to stay out of the ordeal.

  “I don’t know…”

  His expression must have been bemused, because she looked upset. “How old are you?” Alexander assumed she wasn’t more than eighteen.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered softly looking as if to cry.

  “If you say ‘I don’t know’ one more time…” the growl was back in his tone.

  “But I don’t! I do not remember!” She sighed exasperated and swayed a bit more. Charlotte tried to fight the urge to faint; and stayed up right because he had taken her from the magistrates and held on too tight.

  He peered at her “Are you hurt badly? Your forehead…”

  She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “I am fine, please let me pass.” She moved his arms and started walking with her head held high.

  He was stunned, “I did not say you could leave.”

  Alexander could not have hidden the barely contained rage if he had even wanted to try, for some reason his need to possess this now tangible creature flared. He stepped in front of her again and swore her black eyes turned into fire. He also realized they were not just black; they had warm caramel tones in them when the light struck them just right.

  “You do not tell me to do anything. I’m leaving!" How dare this man try and keep me here! With that said she bolted, and with speed he did not think she could have possessed. She ran straight into the woods with the grace of a doe.

  Alexander cursed, "Don't frighten her, and make sure she is returned to me!"

  He looked at Francesca who waved at him to come over. "Alexander, please be gentle with her, she's only a frightened girl."

&
nbsp; "Francesca I realize that now. We're going to help her." Before he knew what was going to happen, he had Titan saddled again and was trotting down the path where she had gone. She can’t go too far, she’s too wounded…Wounded, hungry and alone. Alexander thought guiltily about how he had treated her like a common thief.

  Charlotte thought she was fast. Thought was the key word, as it was more like a rushed limp. She scrambled when she tripped in a gopher hole and fell flat forward on her chest, hacking up dust while trying to get purchase on a tree trunk. She finally reached the deep river that cut through the countryside.

  The water had risen to a considerable height and it thrashed around. She hated water, ever since she had nearly drowned in a river on her journey. She despised it. But, as she heard Alexander's horse thundering through the trees, she turned and grabbed a branch that was slipping off a tree and wrenched with all the strength she had. Her shoulder hurt badly, but ignoring it she held the branch aloft and swung with all her might.

  Alexander felt Titan skid to a halt and was confused until he saw the frail girl swinging a branch at the horse's head. "Cut that out! I won't hurt you." But even with her feverish flailing, she was getting weaker. He had to get to her and quickly. Leaping off Titan, he strode over in three strides, and caught the branch as she down swung easily.

  It would probably bruise his palm, but no matter. "Easy." he murmured to her. She looked frantic, delusional from pain and the blank look in her eyes made his heart wrench, "Easy now, I won't harm you. Come here." Charlotte glared at him, but he caught her up and carried her back to the horse.

  She had no more strength to fight; she was going to be caught again. She couldn't let it happen. "Please, don't make me leave with those people..." she whispered against his neck when he cradled her closer to keep her warm.

  “I told you, that you were not going anywhere until we figure out who you are. Why did you run, you stupid girl!" he hissed.

  She felt quiet tears fall down her cheeks. "I was afraid."

  Alexander felt like the world's most deplorable man. She felt like a small sack of feathers in his arms as he set her on Titan and got on himself behind her.

  "I'm sorry, I did not mean to frighten you." He held her closer with one arm as his other led the horse. Alexander felt her face nuzzle into his throat, the wetness from her cheeks humbling him, beyond what any words she could have said as her frail arms wound around his waist.

  "Thank you…" she whispered softly against his flesh and he could not help but feel every fiber in his body tighten with the soft brush of breath.

  "No need…you're safe now." his voice rasped.

  "Charlotte, my name is Charlotte,” she whispered.

  "…Charlotte. You are safe now." On an insane impulse he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and felt her body go slack in surrender. Giselle was shrieking and flailing at the magistrates that they had nothing to do with her condition upon seeing them come through the tree line.

  When he reached the estate front, Charlotte heard the thundering voice again before darkness swallowed her, and felt as he somehow got off the horse with her still in his arms. “Will you be quiet, Aunt?” He held her up in a warm embrace, feeling the smooth skin of her shoulder pressing against his fingertips.

  “God, you weigh less than a feather…” he whispered in her ear, and she twitched at the feeling of breath against her skin. "James, tell the stable boy to brush down Titan please." Francesca and Sophie were nearby.

  “Sir, we can have a bed made for her in the servants' quarter.” Sophie offered. “No, she stays in my rooms.”

  He was annoyed that this scrap was now under his care, but he had no choice. Alexander knew he wouldn’t be able to look at his servants without remembering her condition and where she was. He couldn't have it.

  “That won’t do, Alexander” Giselle griped near him trying to keep up with the pace.

  “Fine. She stays in Lady Cromwell’s previous rooms.” All three of the women stopped short.

  “T-That, those are your mother’s rooms!” Giselle had turned a shade of purple, possibly because Alexander and thrown a fit when his father tried to place her there.

  “And?” the snarl in his tone was worse. He felt guilt wrack him remembering the small amount of food the girl had with her, and her plea for freedom. She reminded him of a small animal, lost and hungry.

  And you called her a thief for it, you damnable lout.

  But once fixed, she must be on her way. No discussions about it.

  “Call the doctor, and have him see to her. Francesca make sure the guests are taken care of. Sophie, go get Laura and Mary to help you clean her up.”

  All scurried to do what he had commanded. Giselle had stormed off to help Francesca, muttering about scraps and beggars. They would apparently go broke with helping them all, and he felt irony set in, as his own father took her in from the impoverished streets of textile mills and near prostitution.

  The girl had not stirred in his arms even after the first floor staircase when she was jostled. It worried him; blood had gotten on his sleeve and he inwardly cursed at his quick judgment of her.

  When he finally reached the second floor, Mary and Laura had gone down to the ground floor to get clean rags and towels.

  He stopped in front of his mother’s rooms. He had not been in her rooms since she had died; but there was no other choice. As his hand closed over the doorknob the memory of her resurfaced.

  I want you to be happy Alexander…

  His all too proper mother, how he had loved her smile, when it had come like the sun in winter.

  Alexander had worried about putting Charlotte in the servants’ quarters on third floor, although the upper rooms although better than in most homes. It was still no place for a sick woman. Alexander placed his hand on the knob and opened the door. Francesca and the others had kept his mother’s rooms impeccable. The rose patterns on the walls and the cream carpet and lush red curtains of chiffon still were the same. The memory came back, as though she was still there.

  He had come home from hunting with his father. His Aunt Giselle was there, and so was the doctor. It usually meant Mama had one of her spells while they were gone. No one knew why she was dying, but she was. She had been severely confused. Her throat constantly dry and her body would break out in clammy sweat. When she'd get sick it was red. It always frightened him. That was the last time he had seen his mother. The doctors had opened her window thinking it was bad air. They had leeched her. They had done things that had done nothing but make her worse. But she was asking for him, and so, he went. She was pale and cold, her smile barely a whisper along her face.

  “Mama, are you dying?” he had hated to ask.

  His mother smiled “No child, I am just going to sleep. So I can dream. Soon you can join in, but not now. You will have to wait.” Her smile was radiant as she touched his cheek. “You have to wait Alexander,” she whispered again.

  “Mama!” he remembered clinging to her as her final whisper.

  “I’m here darling. I’m here.”

  It had been too much; he mourned for years. When his father betrayed his mother and married Giselle, his mother's adopted sister, no less; scandal wasn't even the word for it. Giselle had never been invited to events, and his father had fought to give Giselle some form of respect in their circles, but it was to no avail.

  His father had died, quite similarly to his mother, and they thought the illness had been transmitted, since they were husband and wife. She had been delicate. He was strong, so the doctors thought it took a longer time for it to affect him. But, they drank the same water, had eaten the same food, slept with each other, so the conclusion was that the illness had passed between them.

  Alexander had been isolated from his mother when she had gotten worse, and he had shown no signs of having the same sickness. He thought his father had gotten what he deserved. He should never have married Giselle. Alexander had hated Giselle. She had always been snide to his mot
her, Evelyn, and his mother had done nothing but be loving and caring.

  Now he had a young woman in his home, her life in his hands who was sick, wounded, and alone. He'd be damned if another innocent died in this house.

  Alexander laid her on the chaise lounge, waiting for the others to get there. He stared at her for a moment, drinking in her features. She grimaced in her sleep and he startled, placing a hand to her forehead.

  “Charlotte? Can you hear me? We’ll take care of you for now, all right? I am Lord Cromwell…” he thought himself daft for speaking to someone probably unable to hear him “You can call me Alexander.” He thought of how Giselle might throttle him, but cared not.

  Charlotte was shivering, though. He needed to get her cleaned up too or risk the cuts festering and swelling up. He looked at the giant tub in the bathroom, porcelain and slippery. He worried the women wouldn’t be able to hold Charlotte up as they washed her. He rang for someone. Laura came rushing into the room like a runaway cart after a spell.