Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"W hat?" 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.

"Go away!" Patrick shouted at the door.

But the door swung open, and Ash burst into the room. He looked at Rosalyn then Patrick and back to Rosalyn again, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Rosie."

"What the hell are you doing?" Patrick shouted, stepping towards Ash, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Get out!" He pointed at the door.

Ash didn't move. "It's Finch," he said quietly. "He's been attacked."

"Attacked?" Patrick's brow furrowed. "Where is he? Is he… Is he hurt?"

"He's still alive. He's at my place and a physician is already with him."

"Why is he at your place?" Rosalyn could hear the confusion and fear in Patrick's voice as he spoke.

"He was meeting with a friend nearby, apparently." Ash's eyes flicked briefly to Rosalyn, as if the words were some sort of code. But why? "We'll discuss the details later, Patrick. You need to come."

"But Rosie and I were?—"

But Ash cut him off. "Now. I'll wait in the hall." He turned then, and left, closing the door behind him.

Patrick turned to her. "Rosie, I'm so sorry." He grasped her hands, his eyes pleading for her forgiveness. "Ash wouldn't be here if it weren't extremely serious."

"Of course." Rosalyn nodded. Clearly Finch was in trouble. "Is there anything I can do?"

Patrick shook his head. "I know this is a terrible time for me to leave you."

"Don't be ridiculous. Go." She pulled her hands from his and pointed at the armoire. He looked down and only then seemed to realize he wasn't dressed. He rushed across the room and started throwing clothes on.

When he was dressed he returned to her once more. "Please, just promise me you'll stay here until I return."

Rosalyn nodded.

"Promise me," he repeated, looking deep into her eyes.

"I promise," she said, with another nod. "Now go."

He squeezed her hands and kissed her forehead lightly before turning and rushing from the room. A commotion of rustling, male voices, and heavy footfalls receded as they thundered down the hall away from her. The door closed behind them with a thud, followed by the scraping of locks. Then silence. She stared at the open doorway for a moment before shuffling slowly back to the chair and collapsing into it.

A pounding ache began to swell at her temples.

Massaging them wasn't helping. This was simply too much. She needed something to dull the onslaught. She needed a drink… or two. She made her way down the hall to Patrick's study and went straight to the decanter. Just as it had the last time, the first swallow burned a path all the way to her belly and she choked and sputtered. It didn't deter her from drinking more. If men could drink brandy by the glassful then so could she. She breathed in deeply before pouring the rest of the liquid down her throat. Then she refilled the glass and settled into Patrick's chair. There must be something in the massive desk that would tell her more about who he was and where he came from. Why he lived in this small apartment, but apparently had multiple country estates. She needed answers, and perhaps with him gone, she could finally find some.

* * *

Finch was completely still apart from his chest which still rose and fell slowly. Thank God for that, at least. By the looks of his injuries, he was lucky to be breathing at all. Both eyes were swollen shut and stained a deepening purple. His broken arm had been set and was in a splint, and the gash across his stomach had been stitched shut. The doctor had assured Patrick that if he made it through the night and regained consciousness, he would recover completely, as long as infection didn't set in.

"The bastards marked him!" Patrick growled at Ash, who sat silently in the corner, rhythmically tapping the head of his walking stick against the wall. He met Patrick's eyes and nodded.

"I know," he said quietly.

Patrick looked back down at the P that had been crudely carved into Finch's cheek before slamming his fist into the stone fireplace surround. Finch was a good man and he didn't deserve this. He'd never been anything but loyal, kind, and caring. He was more than a valet to Patrick. He was one of his closest friends. What difference did it make if he was attracted to men? Why did so many people insist that it made him somehow innately evil? Patrick scrubbed his hands through his hair. He had warned Finch to be more careful.

"Damn it!" He paced across the room, shaking his head.

"Sit." The quiet command came from Ash. "Cursing won't actually help him recover."

Patrick narrowed his eyes. "He's my friend, Ash."

Ash nodded. "Do you think I would have interrupted you and Rosie if I didn't know that?"

Rosie… what must she be going through right now?

"I proposed to her." His laugh sounded slightly insane, even to his own ears.

"You what?" Ash barked, his cane slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

Patrick nodded. "Yep."

"Did she… Did you… Is she… happy?"

A raspy chuckle erupted from Patrick's throat. "You saw her. Did she look happy?" Patrick slumped in the chair, dropping his forehead into his palms. It was a mark of just how not happy Rosie must have looked that Ash didn't say another word. He picked up his cane off of the floor and sat back in his chair. Patrick pulled a coin from his pocket. Flipping the metal disc between his fingers helped to calm him. The two of them sat in silence, only broken by the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel and the occasional crack or hiss from the fireplace.

They took it in turns every quarter hour to walk to the bed and check to make sure Finch was still breathing. Shortly after the clock chimed the passing of the third hour, Finch let out a startled gasp. Patrick vaulted out of the chair and placed his hand on Finch's leg, one of the few places that wasn't injured.

"No!" Finch lurched sideways, desperately trying to get away.

Ash hurried to the other side, and they pinned him to the bed by his shoulders. "Finch, calm down!" Patrick was filled with a righteous anger at the sight of Finch's terror.

"P-P-Patrick?" he stuttered.

"Yes, Finch. You're safe." Finch slumped back against the bed.

"Where am I? I can't see." He let out a gasp of pain when he moved his broken arm.

"Just stay still. You have a lot of healing to do, including your eyes, which are currently swollen shut."

Finch nodded. "Where am I?" he asked again.

"You're at Raven House," Ash said, squeezing Finch's shoulder. "You'll be safe and well looked after here.

"Thank you," he said with another nod.

The words came out as a croak and Patrick motioned for Ash to hand him a glass of water. He held the glass to Finch's injured lips.

"Here, drink some water." He did as he was told and Patrick let out a sigh of relief. Finch was a fighter. He would make it through.

"I'm sorry, Patrick. I should have been more careful, like you said."

"When you're healed, I will absolutely lecture you for being so careless, but for now, you just need to rest."

"Yes, my lord," he whispered, one side of his mouth quirking up just a bit.

Ash barked a laugh and Patrick just shook his head. "You are an impertinent jackass, Finch."

He smiled then, fresh blood oozing from his cracked lips, but then he sighed and drifted off to sleep.

Ash nodded toward the door and Patrick followed him out of the room. "It looks like he's going to survive."

"Did anyone see who did this to him?" Patrick asked.

Ash shook his head. "No one who's willing to talk." Patrick's knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists.

"Look," Ash said, gripping his shoulder, "There's nothing more you can do here tonight. Finch will be looked after, and if there are any changes, I'll send word. You need to go home to Rosie."

Patrick nodded. Of course he needed to return home, but somehow he was much more terrified of that than of bashing a few skulls together. He breathed in deeply and let out a sigh.

"Why can't I seem to manage to keep the people around me safe?"

"Perhaps it isn't your job to keep the world safe."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "I can't even seem to keep her safe from me."

"Just go home, Patrick. She's waiting for you."

Perhaps waiting for him wasn't quite the proper description. The smell of alcohol assaulted him when he entered his study, after finding his bedroom deserted. Rosie's top half was sprawled on his desk and she snored, her deep sleep undoubtedly alcohol induced. Could he blame her? It was exactly what he would like to do. He sighed and gently removed the glass she still held loosely in her hand, before it tipped and spilled its contents across the papers on his desk.

Patrick never left paperwork lying on the desktop, so he took a closer look at what she'd found. A lead weight fell into his stomach. Just when he thought the night couldn't possibly get any worse. On the top of the stack was a letter from his pompous brother, who couldn't even write a letter to his own brother without signing it with his full name, title and all.

Your brother,

Edward Michael Benjamin Woodcombe

Sixth Marquess of Epworth

"Fuck." He breathed the word out quietly. So much for easing her into his other life.

* * *

Rosalyn's head pounded as she lifted it from the hard surface and squinted at her surroundings. Where was she? She blinked a few times before everything came into clearer focus. Ah yes, Patrick's study. As she sat up, a piece of paper fluttered to the desktop. Apparently, it had been stuck to her cheek. She spotted the signature at the bottom of the letter, and it all came flooding back to her. Patrick was the brother of a marquess. Patrick, the man who had practically demanded she marry him, was the brother of a marquess. She groaned as she stretched her stiff neck.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake." Rosalyn's head whipped around at the voice, and she swayed, suddenly off balance.

"Patrick?" She blinked a few times, trying to focus on him rather than the roiling in her stomach.

There was an apology in his half smile. "I can see I have a lot of explaining to do. But first, you need some coffee."

"Is Finch alright?" she asked, remembering the reason she'd spent the night alone in Patrick's study.

"Yes." Patrick nodded. "A bit worse for wear, but he'll live." Relief washed over her. She'd seen the urgency on Ash's face.

"Ash just sent word that he is awake and drinking broth. The doctor says that means his prognosis for a full recovery is good."

"I'm so glad!" A girl entered the room then, carrying a tray, but where had she come from?

"Miss." She inclined her head and then turned to Patrick for instruction.

"Just place it on the desk, please, Mary." With a nod, she did as she was bid and then turned back to Patrick.

"I thought Miss Rosie might be in want of some toast, as well."

Patrick smiled at her with what appeared to be pride? Who was this young lady?

"Thank you, Mary. I'm sure it will be much appreciated." The girl beamed at him, and then seemed to remember herself.

"My lord," she said softly and dropped into a deep curtsey before turning and leaving the room.

Patrick rose and made his way to the seat where Rosalyn had always sat across from him. It felt somehow wrong to be sitting on his side of the desk. She swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling somewhat guilty for snooping through his private things.

"Here," he said, placing a steaming cup of black coffee in front of her. "It will help with the headache."

She'd never had coffee before and wrinkled her nose as the bitterness settled on her tongue.

Patrick chuckled. "It will grow on you," he said, encouraging her to take another sip. She did, but it wasn't any better than the first.

She nibbled on the corner of a piece of toast, unsure if it would settle her stomach or just upset it even more. After a few bites, it definitely seemed to be helping, but she daren't press her luck. She set the remaining half back on the tray and looked up at Patrick.

His eyes didn't look away and after a moment, he let out a long sigh. "Perhaps it's because I'm a coward, but I was hoping you might want a bath and to get freshened up. Then we could discuss, well,"—he nodded at the papers on the desk—"that, over our usual game of cards?"

Rosalyn raised her eyebrows. A bath did sound inviting, and despite everything, his obvious if inexplicable dread of their upcoming conversation, pulled at her heartstrings a bit.

"Very well, but who will fill the tub with Finch gone?"

"Not to worry. Mary's brother, Alfred, is here as well. Although, he prefers to be called by his surname, Grove. He has aspirations of one day becoming a footman. I haven't the heart to tell him he'll still likely be addressed by his given name unless he makes it all the way to the rank of valet or butler." There was that proud smile, once more.

Rosalyn furrowed her brow. "Who are they?" she asked. "To you, I mean."

"I don't understand." He cocked his head to one side.

"Pride radiates from you when you speak of them," she explained.

"Ah," he said with a nod. "Their parents are the owners of the Crown and Anchor, the tavern that has kept me fed whenever I can no longer stomach Finch's cooking." He smiled fondly, clearly already feeling Finch's absence. But then he continued. "I've known them both since they were just babes, and I've watched them grow to be wonderfully ambitious and hard working." He shrugged. "I suppose I am proud of them."

"I see." It was all that Rosalyn could say. So much kindness. So much appreciation. She'd never actually seen the like in any other man she'd encountered. The truth was, it terrified her. She could feel herself quickly falling in love with this man. A man she could never actually have. The brother of a marquess.

She shook herself from the thoughts and stood. When she came around the desk, Patrick grasped her shoulders gently with his warm hands and looked into her eyes. "Thank you, Rosie, for being patient with me."

She felt her heart slip just a little bit further down that dangerous path. Only heartache lay in that direction.