Chapter Seventeen

“You will not embarrass this family,” her stepmother seethed, wagging a bony finger in Rosamunde’s face.

Behind the woman, her father watched them, his face impassive. Pain unfurled in Rosamunde’s gut. She’d thought she’d been prepared for it, the lack of love in her own household. However spending the weekend with the St. Martins’ at their house with their friends and family had shown her what she’d craved her entire life. What she still craved.

How a family should be.

Closing the book she had been reading on the lounge in the sitting room, trying to stay warm, Rosamunde blinked and glanced from the finger to the angry gaze of the woman before her.

“I’m not understanding. What are you accusing me of doing now?”

I haven’t left this house in a week, keeping to my room and this room.

“The viscount is going to be here in two days. I’m talking about when he gets here, and don’t think I won’t smack the impertinence off your face.”

“And what, tell my new husband-to-be I’m clumsy because I’m fat?”

Where this attitude came from she didn’t know, but she wasn’t shelving it. She’d been a good girl her entire life and look what it had gotten her. Sold to an old man she didn’t know all so the other people who were supposed to be her family could live a better life.

Blue eyes sparked dangerously and Harriet raised her hand, intent perfectly clear.

“She has a point, Harriet. You shouldn’t hit her. He will wonder what is going on.” Not even a shred of fatherly concern in his tone.

Not wanting to go back to her cold bedroom, Rosemunde settled back into the lounge, enjoying the warmth from the fire. She could handle the cold shoulders she got from family, that wasn’t anything new, but she wasn’t about to give up the heat. If her being there made them uncomfortable, they could leave.

“Something else, or can I go back to my book now?” Tone dismissive, she didn’t even wait for an answer before opening the tome once more.

“I can’t wait until you’re gone.” Her stepmother stomped her foot.

“Feeling is mutual,” Rosamunde replied without heat and without glancing away from the words on the page.

The room warmed considerably when her stepmother exited and Rosamunde tugged the blanket up back over her legs as she remained curled up on the lounge, book on her lap.

“Rosamunde.”

She jumped at Lovell’s voice and glanced up, a sharp gasp leaving her. “What happened to you?” He had a black eye and a split lip. “I thought you had gotten better at boxing.”

His blue eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “Your man did this to me.”

Even knowing he didn’t mean the statement how her body and mind wished it to be, she had no recourse to stop the flush of heat that surged through her at the simple thought of Bryn.

And his touch.

All of them.

All over her.

“My man? I have a man? Or are you perhaps talking about the man who is still on his way here?”

He moved his chin with one hand, like soreness pained him. The injury looked unpleasant.

“You used to care about me.” A slight whine entered his tone.

“Bored with this conversation already, Lovell.” She closed the book and stood. “Come with me, I have something to say to everyone.” Head high, she walked from the room and went to her father’s study. The door was closed but she knocked once and stepped in, not surprised to see both Harriet and her father in there. And the twins.

“What is the meaning of this?” Her father’s demand would have cowed her in the past. Not now. She had nothing left to lose.

“I have something to say to all of you.” She looked each one of them in the eye before focusing on the head of the house. “I get I’m the unwanted child. Because I’m fat, and I’m not hers. You had a dalliance, perhaps more than one, I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“Watch how you talk to me!” he growled.

“I’m not finished.” She took a deep breath. “We all know you are selling me to this Italian count or whatever he is to make sure you can cover your own shortcomings. I’ve accepted it. But I will not put up with you trying to pretend I should do anything for any one of you from here on out because of familial obligations. We’re not a family. I keep to myself and you all continue to pretend I don’t exist. Except now, when you want something from me. No more. Don’t come to me.”

Without another word, she walked out, head remaining high, shoulders back. She made the trek back to the sitting room and reclaimed her seat there, tucked herself in and opened the book once more, heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

Rosamunde wasn’t sure how long it was after she started reading again before she felt him standing over her and finished the final two pages of chapter she was engrossed in before lifting her gaze to once again, find her battered brother, standing over her.

“What now?”

“He’s refusing to train me anymore.”

Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, she shrugged. “That’s your problem.”

“Look what he did to me!”

“While you were boxing. It seems you get hit in that activity.”

Lips pinched, Lovell shook his head vehemently. “This was not during boxing. This was when he told me he refused to train me again.”

That didn’t sound like the man she’d gotten to know. At all.

“That has nothing to do with me.” She looked back at her book, then squealed when Lovell yanked it from her and threw it across the room. “What is your problem?”

“You!” He got up in her face, looming over her like their father used to do when he wanted them scared. Lovell grasped her around the neck and squeezed. “He did this to me as well, cut off my air. How does it feel?”

“Lovell!” Her father’s deep voice reverberated through the room.

Her brother, who she’d thought had been getting better about being kind—a mistake obviously—dropped her like she’d burned him and stepped back.

She gasped at the refreshing and much-needed air as it flowed back into her lungs. Breathing hard, she stared at him wide-eyed, unsure who this person was in front of her. The brother who once had looked up to her, then had treated her with indifference and now apparently had no problems snuffing out her life. Fear slithered into her.

Her father was behind them, a slight frown on his face. “Leave us, Lovell.”

Another glare from her brother and he stomped out of the room.

Rosamunde swung her feet to the floor and took her time folding up the blanket she’d had over her legs. Once it sat beside her, she got to her feet, grateful her legs were strong enough to keep her upright.

“We need to talk.”

“Why? I’m only a commodity for you to use. Let’s not pretend you actually care about me or ever did.”

His cheeks pinkened but he didn’t drop her gaze. “Things are difficult for a woman to understand.”

She scoffed. “Sure.” The energy to fight him and push for him to protect her no longer existed.

“Little Bit.”

Deep in her chest where she was still a little girl who craved her father’s love, she melted at the use of her childhood nickname. The desire of that little girl from the past was squashed immediately and ice froze it.

“You lost the right to call me that when you sold me to keep yourself and your wife from debtor’s prison.”

He clenched his jaw. She wasn’t swayed.

“It’s a shame too because I loved you once, more than anyone else in this house, but I wasn’t good enough for you. We’re not family any longer and when you or she repeats this mistake, who are you selling off next time to cover the mistakes you adults made? I don’t care and I have nothing more to say to you.”

She walked out, got her coat and struck off down the street. After a few stops to warm up, she gave in and rented a hack for the rest of the way then climbed out at the house for orphans and cautiously traversed a safe path up the walk to the door.

It opened moments after she knocked. “Miss Fletcher, good to see you again. Come on in.”

Not too much later she sat in the heated kitchen holding a six-month-old baby whose mother had passed away on the streets just that morning. Her darker skin and jet-black hair had Rosamunde thinking the child might be from Indian parents.

“What will happen to her?”

The cook clucked her tongue as she stirred a large pot of gruel for the children. “Hard to say. A lot of people don’t want darker-skin children. If she survives, she’s in for a rough life on the street. Her mother was a worker at Mac’s. Guessing one of the gents got a bit too rough with her and she succumbed to her injuries.”

“Mac’s? What’s that?”

The cook adjusted the scarf around her head before shaking her head. “No place for someone of your ilk. It’s not fit for proper ladies. The scum of the city visit there. Lowborn and ruffians.” She waggled the wooden spoon at Rosamunde. “Neither is this place. You should be at home.”

Sad thing was, this place felt more like home than her house did.

“Where is it? If someone hurt a woman then they need to be talked to.” She couldn’t stand to do nothing when a woman was being abused. Surely her name would give her some safety? She could at least have a chat with the owner and perhaps he would provide for the child, or at least help.

A bark of laughter escaped the cook. “Honey, no one there will listen to you. It’s not safe for your kind. They will see you as someone to take to a back room and have their way with.”

“I have to try.” She rose and settled the sleeping tot back in the rickety crib near the heat. After brushing a kiss over her head, she made sure she was tucked in. “Where is this place?”

The cook shook her head and gave her directions. Bundling back up, Rosamunde exited the orphanage and headed for Mac’s, determined to get some answers.

* * * *

Bryn shifted in his seat before the roaring fire, stretching out his legs and putting his left ankle over his right. The tumbler of amber liquid in his left hand dangled from his fingertips as he watched the gathered crowd.

Falcon was at another table, taking some entitled prick’s money from him without the slightest hint of remorse.

Bryn sighed. Dr. John Bridges had been correct with his assessment. A fool and his money are soon parted.

Neither he nor Falcon had any qualms about taking money from others. Bryn smirked as he returned his gaze to the flames. Perhaps he was more untamed savage than respectable member of the ton after all. Not that it would shock anyone in his family. Following the usual dictates of their society had gone by the wayside with his father. Lucien had been content bucking tradition and what had been expected of him to marry for love and not one who had been readily accepted.

Even now, years later, people still spoke of how the marquess had gotten on his knees before his wife at a ball and bared his heart and soul to her.

A flurry of movement to the right snagged his attention. One of Jimmy Mac’s top enforcers, a large man named Brent, moved through the crowd, his scarred face set in a line of annoyance. Interesting.

I didn’t know anyone could get under his skin.

And Bryn had seen men purposefully try to get under the man’s skin. Not the wisest of decisions when dealing with a top enforcer for Seamus “Jimmy Mac” MacGuire. But men, especially intoxicated or drug-impaired ones, didn’t always make the best decisions. And forcing, or attempting to force, an altercation with that man was definitely a mistake.

The man stopped by Jimmy Mac’s chair, where the boss played with the men at his table. As the owner, he didn’t need to do a damn thing, but the man did love to gamble. The smoke hanging from thin lips wobbled a bit as his reddish-brown eyebrows shot up. Green eyes snapped over to Bryn as an eerie smirk turned up his mouth.

Shit .

The man placed down his cards and pushed back from the table. The majority of the women watched him move across the room. Bryn knew all of them from his time here. Hell, he’d bedded some of them. Handsome, strong and completely exuding the vibe of danger, Jimmy Mac moved like a predator. Made sense, as he was one. The man pretty much ran the seedy underground side of London.

Scuffed black boots were near his own when the man paused. “You need to get your woman.” The Irish lilt wouldn’t ever completely leave him and it was a bit odd to hear it mixed with the cant he’d picked up from years of being in London.

Protectiveness rushed Bryn and he rose in one smooth motion. “You telling me my sister is here, Seamus?” A low growl rolled from his chest. The thought of Keely here kicked him into a dangerous territory.

The man narrowed his eyes as he took a final drag of the smoke and flicked it into the fire without taking his focus from Bryn. They had known each other for years now and there wasn’t much that went on in this city that Jimmy Mac didn’t have his finger on the pulse of. The man had knowledge of things one wouldn’t expect a guy who spent his time in the slums of the city would know. Still, for all his shady dealings, the man actually had a heart of gold for things that were important to him.

Seamus “Jimmy Mac” MacGuire wasn’t a small man, stocky and strong as a goddamn bull, but if it came to his sister, Bryn would lay waste to the entire building and everyone who got in his way without pausing for a second.

“Sister?” A head shake. “Nawh. Not this one. Pretty little plump miss. Hangs out with your sister at the orphanage up aways.”

The orphanage that Jimmy Mac donated money to so it could keep its doors open and take the unwanted. Not that he would ever let it be known he had done anything of the sort. Didn’t look good for the scary-as-hell image he preferred to maintain.

Holy fuck! Rosamunde was here? His heart nearly stopped and his legs shook at the news. His palms began to sweat and he gulped to get the ability to speak.

“Where is she?” The question came out in a low, deadly rumble as every single muscle in his body prepared to fight, if needed.

Seamus’ green eyes sparkled as much as a miss who’d laid hands on the latest gossip rag and couldn’t wait to read all the tidbits. The man knew exactly who she was and what she meant to him. Bastard . He didn’t need to ask why or how he had found out, this was the man people paid to keep their information private or to acquire something on others.

Goddamnit, Rosamunde. She needed a keeper to ensure she didn’t go poking around in places like this.

“Have her in a back room.” Jimmy Mac held up a hand the instant Bryn slid forward, body instinctively settling into a fighting stance, and Bryn settled into one as well. “Dill is watching the door. From the outside, but she’s not happy.” Crossing his arms, he tilted his head. “You and I are friends, Bryn, but this can’t happen again. That woman doesn’t belong here, much less threatening to bring the robins to my door because some baby ended up at the orphanage.” A shrug. “I know she’s yours and you need to get her to heel.”

Menace lingered but Bryn didn’t take offense, Seamus had his people to protect. Not to mention his image.

Slamming back the rest of the drink, he tried—honest, he did—to keep his temper in check. “Take me to her.”

His words were so deep even he had a difficult time understanding them. With a nod, Seamus walked away, leaving Bryn to follow. At the door, in a different portion of the establishment, he waved away Dill and paused before facing Bryn.

“You in control?”

Was he? Fuck no. “I won’t hurt her if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Not a concern, I know you wouldn’t raise a hand to a woman. I’m asking if you’re in control. Believe it or not, Bryn, you’re a scary motherfucker, and from the ranting and raving coming from behind that door, she’s going to push every single button of yours she can. So I will ask once more. Are you in control?”

“Fucking open the door.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, a need to lay eyes on Rosamunde riding him harder than anything had in his past. He had to make sure she was safe and unharmed. Before he spanked the foolishness out of her.

With a single chuckle of laughter, the man withdrew a key and unlocked the door, swung it open and stepped to the side.

“Fairer sex and all that, boyo. Not sure why you’re trying to set her up with anyone else when it’s obvious to everyone she belongs to you.”

Bryn grunted, not even asking him how he’d found out. It was pointless because the man knew damn near everything. He stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“You can’t keep me in here, locked up like a common—”

Those shamrock-green eyes widened when they found him. Rosamunde clamped her mouth shut on her tirade and chewed on her plump lower lip. Her skin was flushed from her rant and some of her chestnut hair had escaped whatever style she’d pinned it up in.

“Bryn.”

His cock thumped hard as her breathless moan of his name floated between them.

“Yes, lioness. Me.”

Scanning her best he could without putting his hands on her, he rested against the door. Content for the moment she was unharmed, he stared.

She swallowed, eyes moving from him to the handle behind him and back again.

“What in the fuck are you doing down here, Rosamunde?”

“Me? What are you doing here? Hoping to get a woman to warm your bed?”

Bryn lifted an eyebrow at the hurt and jealousy he heard in each word. “Offering yourself up?”

She snorted, not the least bit intimidated by him. “Did that already and you turned me down. I’m not foolish enough to do so again.” Rosamunde crossed her arms over her full breasts and heaved a sigh, which only made her all the more enticing. As if she knew the direction of his focus, she lowered her hands and clasped them before her waist.

“We’ll get to that load of shit in a second. Tell me. What. You’re. Doing. Here.” He had no patience left. Did this fool woman not realize how dangerous her coming here had been?

“Let me out of here. I need to speak with the owner.”

Irrational jealousy spiked him. “Why?”

“None of your business.” She stomped her foot. “You have no right to keep me here in this room. Open the door this instant.”

“Ohh, baby, you have no idea how wrong you are. You can scream all you want and not a single person will come to your aid.” He pushed from the door and prowled toward her, unable to keep the distance between them, even now. “This isn’t your part of London.”

The moment her violet and mint scent hit him, part of him calmed and yet another part roared even more to life, demanding he claim her as his own.

A hint of fear crept into the gorgeous green eyes as she backed from him. His smile, he knew, wasn’t the slightest bit kind. Rosamunde retreated and he pursued until their inevitable dance took her to a corner, where the wall at her back prevented any escape.

Hands on either side of her head, he blocked her in with his body. She licked her lips and he experienced an answering kick in his groin. God, what he wouldn’t give to have her on her knees, sliding his dick between those lips.

“I still don’t think you understand what you’ve unleashed.”

“Let me go.”

“It’s too late.”

She licked her lips once more. Her swallow was hard, as if she’d suddenly realized the reality of her situation.

“Bryn?”

The tremor in her tone may have encouraged him to back off. Before. Not now, because the thought of her putting herself in danger, deliberately, made his blood boil, made him see red.

“Yeah, you’re smart enough to be scared now, aren’t you, lioness.”

It wasn’t a question.