Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

T he following day, they boarded another train. They stopped at Langley Hall just long enough to freshen up, eat a good meal, and obtain a carriage for the rest of the journey to Rosie's mother. That was where he probably would have shipped Rosie off to if she had agreed. He didn't trust himself to spend a night in his own estate with her, which was why it was a quick stop. He may not be able to keep his word to Ash otherwise. Even last night he'd had to take himself in hand after going to bed.

Had she done the same? He watched her from across the carriage. Perhaps she didn't even know how to pleasure herself. He would soon make sure she did. Thank god for the heavy blankets over their laps. He was hard just thinking about teaching her how to touch herself. This may end up being the longest carriage ride of his life.

Rosie's nervousness made it a little easier to concentrate on her needs rather than his own. Once again, Daisy mostly slept. But Rosie's eyes hardly blinked for the entire journey. She didn't say a word. Even when he reassured her that everything would be fine and that he would keep her safe, her smile did not reach her eyes, and she merely nodded.

By the time the carriage finally pulled up near the small cottage, the sun was getting low in the sky. They could have saved some time by simply hiring a coach from the nearest train station, but he'd stopped at Langley Hall for a reason. Although he generally preferred to downplay his status, he wanted Rosie's stepfather to know what he was up against from the moment they arrived. He helped her to alight from the well-appointed carriage. It was pulled by four perfectly matched bays and two liveried footmen made sure that everything was in order, before standing at attention awaiting further instruction.

Rosie had sent a letter to her mother ahead of time, so that her arrival wouldn't come as too much of a shock. Her mother stood in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, a nervous smile on her face. As they walked toward her, movement to Patrick's left caught his attention. A man stood in the shadows, sneering at them. A man Patrick recognized.

"You're the bastard who stabbed me."

After a brief moment, recognition dawned on the man's features. "You attacked me first! I was just trying to take back what was mine!"

Patrick still didn't understand why that man was here, though. He looked back at Rosie in search of some kind of explanation. She was as white as a sheet. That's when he finally realized why the man was here. This was the devil who had terrorized Rosie.

Without a moment's hesitation, he charged and slammed the blackguard against the wall. "You'll pay for what you did to her!" he growled in the man's face and then plowed his fist into his stomach. "Only cowards force themselves on women." He punched him again. He'd never wanted to kill a man so much in his life.

"She wanted it." he hissed, breathlessly, trying to pull out of Patrick's iron grip. "She's a whore."

Patrick's fist connected with the bottom of the man's jaw with a crunch and Patrick threw him onto the ground.

A commotion broke out at the front door. Patrick looked up just in time to see Rosie's mother tumble to the ground. An older version of the scum he'd just dealt with was marching toward him with a shotgun. Wicked Warren, presumably.

"Leave my son alone!" he shouted. His words were slightly slurred, and he was not entirely steady on his feet, but he leveled the gun at Patrick.

An explosion ripped from the barrel of the gun, and to Patrick's horror, Rosie threw her body in front of his. It seemed as if the shot had completely missed them, but before he could make sure she wasn't hurt, Rosie was charging the man. His Rosie was charging a man with a gun, and who clearly had no qualms about shooting. Icy fear gripped his stomach like a vice as he ran after her.

She screamed like a banshee. "You'll not take him from me!"

The man's eyes widened in shock, and he shuffled backwards. He tripped and lost his balance. The gun exploded again, firing far over all of their heads, but its recoiling energy propelled him onto the ground. His head hit the edge of a rock with such force, it made a sickening thud, and blood splattered the side of the cottage.

Patrick grabbed Rosie's shoulders and spun her around to face him. He frantically looked over every part of her body. "Are you hurt?" She'd charged a madman with a gun in order to save him.

"I don't think so." She threw his hands off of her. "Are you?"

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. "I'm fine, Rosie. I'm fine."

He was certainly better than the man on the ground. Even from here, Patrick could tell he was dead. A little river of blood ran from underneath his head and was slowly making its way straight for Rosie's mother. She sat on the ground where she'd fallen, a hand over her wide open mouth, probably unable to move from shock. He needed to get her up before the blood reached her.

He stepped back and summoned a footman with a wave. "Get her back into the carriage please."

"No!" she shouted. "My mother! I need to help her!"

Patrick grasped her shoulders firmly. "Rosie, listen to me."

She stopped fighting and looked at him, her eyes wide and her body trembling. "Your mother is fine. We're not going to leave her. I promise. I will make sure she's unharmed and get her over to the carriage to join you, but I need to know that you're safe while I take care of that. Do you trust me?"

She nodded, tears streaming down her face.

"Then go with the footman and don't look back this way. Can you do that for me please?"

She nodded again and sniffled. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before letting her go. She did as she was told, and Patrick quickly made his way to her mother. She still hadn't moved, and although the blood had slowed down, it was inching ever closer to her.

He crouched down next to her, purposely blocking the view of her husband's body. "Mrs. Sheppard?" She didn't even seem to know he was there. Her eye was blackened, but it didn't appear to be a fresh injury. It was undoubtedly put there by the man who was now dead. At least she wouldn't have to endure any more of his abuse.

"Mrs. Sheppard?" Slowly, she began to come out of her trance. Her eyes looked up at his face. "Are you hurt?" he asked gently.

She dropped her hand and slowly closed her mouth. "I don't believe so."

"Good. Rosie is waiting for you in my carriage."

Her brows drew together in confusion, but eventually she asked, "Rosalyn?"

"Yes," Patrick answered with a smile. He forgot there were people in the world who didn't know her as Rosie. "Would you like to see her?"

She nodded, tears filling her eyes.

"Let's get you to your feet." He helped her up and then ushered her over to his carriage, trying his best to keep her from seeing any of the blood.

Once she was safely inside with Rosie and Daisy, Patrick spoke with the three servants. Thank god he'd brought them all with him. "I think that one is still alive." He pointed toward the man he'd pummeled into unconsciousness. "But if I'm the one who restrains him, he won't be by the time I'm done. Will one of you please see to that?" The coachman gave a confident nod and set to work.

"Fuck. What a mess." Patrick scrubbed his hands over his face. "Will one of you please cover him with something?" He pointed to the dead man.

"Yes, my lord," they chimed in unison.

While they took care of that, Patrick climbed into the carriage. "Are any of you hurt?" he asked the three women. They all shook their heads.

"Is my husband dead?" The woman appeared stoic as she asked the question, but her pallid face suggested otherwise.

"Yes." Patrick nodded. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Sheppard."

"Does it make me a horrible person if I say I'm not sure I am?" She spoke just above a whisper. "He sent away my daughter, and he could have killed her tonight." Sobs burst from her and she reached for Rosie's hands.

"We're losing light, and the sooner we leave, the better. Is there anything I can collect for you from inside the house, Mrs. Sheppard?"

"But surely I cannot leave. I need to stay and see to my husband's burial."

Patrick shook his head. "He will be taken care of with complete deference, and you can, of course, plan a service. You have my word."

Patrick went into the house and gathered the few items Sarah had requested. He handed the bag off to one of the footmen and then collected the shotgun off the ground and loaded it with fresh shells. The hogtied piece of trash had begun to moan and move, and he didn't want to leave them unarmed with him, just in case.

"I'm taking the women away from here. I need you two to stay and guard him and watch over the body until reinforcements arrive in a few hours." He handed the gun to the footman. "It looks like he's pretty securely tied, but if that changes, you have my full permission to shoot him."

It was a long, quiet ride back to Raven House. Rosie held her mother, but no one said a word. Patrick had just turned the poor woman's world upside down in an instant. He had no plans in place for this scenario, but as long as they were all safe, that was all that mattered.

Patrick's gaze never left Rosie. This was meant to be a joyous occasion, and instead it had turned into a nightmare. He gave her a reassuring half smile when she looked at him and touched the side of his foot to hers to try and tell her everything would be alright.

The carriage finally came to a halt beneath the porte-cochere on the back side of Raven House. Patrick jumped down and immediately sent the doorman to fetch Ash, then turned and helped the three ladies to disembark.

"Daisy, will you please take Rosie's mother to your room? I need a word with Rosie. No explanations, no talking, just straight to your room, please."

Daisy gave him a nod and escorted the woman inside.

As soon as the pair was through the door, he pulled Rosie into the shadows and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. Nothing on earth felt better than having her body pressed against his. He could have lost her today. He pulled away just enough to be able to press his lips to hers.

"I'm so sorry, Rosie. I wish I could just hold you all night, but I have to go clean up my mess and make sure this is all taken care of properly." He rested his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes.

"There's no need to apologize, Patrick. It was my family that caused all the problems."

He held her face between his palms. "I'm your family now, Rosie." He kissed her again to pour all of his love into her and assure her he would always take care of her.

Ash burst through the door, "What's going on, Patrick?" He asked frantically.

Rosie tried to pull away, but he didn't let her go. He held up a hand to Ash. The man could wait ten seconds while he gave his love a proper kiss.

Ten seconds was not nearly enough, but he forced himself to pull his lips away. "I have to leave, Rosie, but I promise I will make sure your mother is taken care of."

"I know you will."

* * *

Rosie turned before closing the door behind her. Patrick was already deep in conversation with Ash, explaining everything that had occurred. His broad shoulders took on the weight of all of this as if it were nothing.

When she entered her room, her mother sat on the edge of her bed. She scooted back and lay down, holding up an arm. Rosie climbed in and pushed herself back against her. Her mother wrapped her arm around her and began rhythmically rubbing her hand over her hair and ear. Rosie had spent many a night of her childhood, just that way. It was comforting and took her back to simpler times. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

When she woke the next morning, she gradually started the task of telling her mother everything. She may not need the details, but she needed to at least know what this place was, and who the women were who lived there.

Once every hour or so, Rosie made her way down to check for any sign of Patrick or Ash, but every time Ash's office door was locked and no Patrick. Throughout the day, ladies welcomed her mother warmly, and she happily stepped into the role of surrogate mother to a few of them. By nightfall, her mother was happy to retire to the room that had been made up for her, assuring Rosie that she needed some time alone with her thoughts.

Rosie kissed her goodnight and then took up a post outside Ash's office. After what felt like an eternity, Patrick finally appeared. Clean shaven and dressed in crisp, clean clothes. Rosie threw herself at him, knowing he would catch her. He chuckled and squeezed her so tightly she could barely breathe.

"Don't mind me," Ash said as he made his way around them and unlocked his office door.

"I missed you," she whispered in his ear, and then she slid the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear, just as he had done to her.

A growl vibrated in his chest. "You little imp." He swatted her backside playfully.

Before she could even laugh, his lips covered hers, his tongue darting into her mouth. She followed his lead, her tongue dancing with his. All too soon, he pulled away. "Now look at what you've done." His arousal was obvious as he slowly slid her down his body until her feet touched the floor.

Ash cleared his throat and Patrick let out a sigh. "I know. Go on ahead, Ash. I'll be right behind you."

"Alright, but don't forget your promise." Ash pulled his office door shut and locked it once more.

"I won't forget." Patrick glared at him until he turned and headed for the stairs that led to the corridor that connected to The Raven's Den.

"I have good news," Patrick said, smiling down at her. "I got our marriage license today."

Rosie's heart filled with excitement. "Does that mean I'll be able to move back in with you now?"

Patrick raised a brow. "Under the nose of your mother, and Ash, who might as well be your mother?"

Rosie laughed. "Ash is worse than my mother." Patrick nodded in agreement.

"I lived with you before." She pouted her lips.

"I know, and I miss having you there. I especially miss your stew."

She laughed and his wink made her stomach flutter just as it always had.

"I think it's best if you move back in with me once we are officially wed. But how about a goodnight kiss before I leave?" He grabbed her hand and strode down the hall toward her room. To her disappointment, he didn't go inside. Instead, he pressed her up against the wall next to the door, his mouth plundering hers, until she could barely draw breath. His thumbs flicked her nipples through her nightgown sending bolt after bolt of desire straight to her core.

His lips left her suddenly and he whispered into her ear. "Think of me tonight and touch yourself, here." He flicked her sensitive nipple. "And here." He plunged two fingers between her legs, pressing against the place that was begging for him to touch. She moaned quietly and rocked against him.

"Why do you have to leave?" she asked desperately.

"I'm sorry, love. I don't want to go either." She continued to rock wantonly against his fingers.

"We'll be married in ten days, and then I promise I'll make it up to you. But for tonight, will you pleasure yourself?"

He flicked her nipple again and she gasped, the pleasure burned through her body.

"Will you do that for me?"

She nodded, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to, but suddenly his fingers were gone from between her thighs. He gave her one more brief kiss, and her other nipple a quick flick, then he shoved the door to her room open, and he was gone.

Rosie stood with her back against the wall, not quite sure what had just happened. She wasn't even sure when, or how, he'd opened her robe, but she quickly closed it and tied the sash. Her entire body was trembling, and the place where his fingers had been, throbbed unrelentingly. Letting out a shaky breath, she pushed away from the wall and went into her room. Daisy was working tonight, so it was dark and silent.

She closed the door and leaned back against it. Could she really do what he'd asked of her? She nibbled nervously on her lip. Her body certainly wanted her to. She'd always believed the pleasure she found with him to be shameful. Deriving pleasure from the marriage act was something only whores did, surely. Patrick obviously didn't seem to think that to be the case, though. He'd practically begged her to pleasure herself in his absence.

With shaking fingers, she untied the sash at her waist. She closed her eyes before tentatively touching the tip of her finger to her nipple and giving it a light flick. She gasped at the foreign sensation. It wasn't the same as when he did it, but it was almost as good.

Rosie swallowed and moved away from the door, shedding her robe and draping it over the back of her chair. She climbed into her bed. In spite of her newfound daring, she still needed the privacy a blanket would provide. Slowly, she slid both of her hands up to cup her breasts, massaging, and then gently squeezing both nipples. A moan escaped her lips before she could stop it and she froze, listening for any indication that someone could have heard her. Complete silence. Clamping her lips shut, she began alternating between pinching and flicking, pleasure building within her until she could no longer resist the desperate need between her thighs. She hitched up her nightgown and plunged her finger into her folds. She nearly cried out from the pleasure that rushed through her. Experimenting with different motions, she eventually settled into slow circles. Pleasure throbbed more exquisitely with each revolution. It built and expanded within her until at last, like a tidal wave, it washed through her entire body, sending her over a cliff of ecstasy. She opened her mouth wide in a silent scream. It took everything she had to keep the sound in.

Gradually, the maelstrom of sensation began to calm. She breathed in deeply and let out a long breath, her lips slowly turning up in a satisfied smile.

Oh Patrick. What have you done to me?