CHAPTER 13

Rexland Delaine closed the door to the Oceanview drawing room, leaving his older brother walled inside. The place was Marcus’s chosen domain, a gilt and mirrored chamber at the rear of the house with views out over the water that seemed to stretch forever. The room had been his brother’s favorite since he was a boy.

Rex wondered if now, forever locked in his chair, Marcus even saw the incredible beauty that beckoned beyond the windows.

Rex thought of his brother, of the difficult hours he had spent in his presence, and the muscles in his jaw went tense. He raked a hand through his wavy black hair, leaving it a bit disheveled.

God’s blood, what a morning.

Though Rex and Marcus had been born of different mothers, they looked a good deal alike. Rex was a little bit shorter, his features less harsh, his eyes a lighter shade of blue. But his hair was the same slightly curly black and his skin would have been as dark if he had spent as many hours in the sun.

The youngest of the three Delaine brothers, Rex was the one with the easiest disposition, the charming one, though lately his considerable charm seemed to have escaped him. Marcus was the cause. He had always been the difficult brother, arrogant and driven, determined to succeed on his own, unwilling to bend in any way to their father’s demands. Rather the black sheep of the family.

Rex almost smiled. Now that their older brother, Geoffrey, was dead, Marcus was the Earl of Hawksmoor. He had never wanted the title, shunned it even now. Ironically, of the three Delaine sons, it was Marcus who came closest to their father’s authoritative personality.

Rex’s smile slid away. A powerful, commanding figure his brother had always been. Now he was demanding as well, brooding, inconsiderate, and impossible to handle. Rex knew he was hurting, that he felt his life was over.

In truth, Rex believed his brother wished the accident had killed him, instead of leaving him what Marcus called “a hopeless cripple.”

Rex leaned back against the closed door of the drawing room, trying to gather his strength. He was tired. So damnably, utterly weary. When he wasn’t managing Hawksmoor lands and holdings, he was working on his own estates, part of a recent, quite sizable inheritance from his maternal grandfather. Now the business of Hawksmoor Shipping had fallen into his hands as well. It seemed he worked from dawn until dusk and still there wasn’t time to get all of it done.

And there was this constant worry for Marcus. His brother was drowning in despair, eaten up with hopelessness and defeat. Hour after hour, he simply sat in front of the window, staring out at the water, longing for the life he’d once had. God’s blood, if only there were some way he could help him.

Rex dragged in a steadying breath and shoved away from the door. Worrying wouldn’t help. In truth, he didn’t have time to worry—he had too bloody much to do.

Vowing to get some of it done, he strode down the corridor, making his way toward the study and the pile of paperwork that awaited. A commotion at the front door caught his attention as he neared the foyer, some sort of argument involving whoever had the misfortune to appear on the opposite side.

The butler, Milton Giles, stood firmly blocking the entrance, and clearly he wasn’t pleased.

Rex strode forward. “What is it, Giles? Is there some sort of problem?”

“I’m afraid, sir, there is.”

“What, if I may ask, is the nature of this problem?”

In answer, the tall, gaunt butler merely swung open the door. Rex’s brow shot up at the small red-haired woman standing on the wide stone steps outside.

“The lady has come to see his lordship. I have informed her he is not receiving callers, but she refuses to leave.”

Rex’s eyes skimmed over the woman’s petite figure. She was attired in an expensive traveling dress, the shade a bit too bright a green. Though the silk faille was well cut and obviously costly, there seemed to be a few too many ruffles across the bodice and a garish-looking row flared out at the hem. The bonnet she wore over her bright copper hair sat at a jaunty angle, yet there seemed to be a few too many flowers around the brim.

“May I help you?” Rex asked, for the first time seeing past the baubles to the lovely face and shapely figure of the woman on the porch. “Miss…?”

“My name is Brianne Winters. I’ve come to see Captain Delaine. He is also the Earl of Hawksmoor. I believe this is where he lives.”

The name rang an instant bell. Rex felt the pull of a smile. He knew who this lady was. His brother had told him a good deal about her before he’d departed on his ill-fated voyage. “It is indeed where his lordship resides. Do come in, Miss Winters. I’m Rexland Delaine, Marcus’s brother.”

She didn’t hide her relief. Apparently she knew who he was as well. “It is a very great pleasure to meet you, Mr.… or is it my lord?”

“It’s simply mister, I’m afraid.”

She smiled at that. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Delaine. Your brother spoke of you quite fondly.”

“As he did you, Miss Winters.”

She seemed surprised at that. “He did?”

“It was some time back … but yes, as a matter of fact, he did.”

She seemed pleased and even more relieved. “I have traveled quite some distance to see him. I won’t leave until I do.”

His brow arched up. His brother had said she was quite a spirited woman. Apparently it was the truth. “Am I to presume you have heard about the accident?”

“Yes. One of the men from the Seahawk brought me the news. That is the reason I’m here.”

He eyed her a moment more. She carefully took his measure as well, then her gaze flicked away to her surroundings. Her hands were shaking, he saw, as her eyes took in the huge domed ceiling with its heavy crystal chandelier, the black and white marble floors beneath her green kid slippers. There was no doubt that she was nervous, yet she also looked determined.

“All right, since you appear quite set in your purpose, perhaps we should go into the drawing room where we may be private.”

Big golden brown eyes, slightly tilted upward, swung back to his face. “As you wish, sir.”

She was lovely in the extreme, he now saw, hardly in need of the ruffles and baubles that only disguised her beauty, however briefly. Her breasts were high and full, exposed modestly but enticingly above the top of her high-waisted pea-green gown. Her ankles were trim, her neck slender and perfectly arched, her skin as smooth as cream. Marcus had said that he’d wanted her quite badly. Rex could well see why.

He led her down the hall to the White Drawing Room, a chamber done in ivory and gold with high molded ceilings and ornate gilt mirrors on the walls. A pink marble hearth sat at each end of the room, and fresh-cut flowers bloomed from silver vases.

Standing beside him, Miss Winters surveyed her surroundings, and she couldn’t disguise her wonder, or her approval.

Not that she seemed inclined to try.

“It’s lovely.” She studied the room again, one of Rex’s favorites in the house. “From the outside … fashioned as it is from all those great blocks of stone, the house looks cold and uninviting, but inside … inside, it is beautiful, and it isn’t cold at all.” She smiled then, a soft, sincere, unaffected smile, and he knew in an instant that his brother had felt far more for this girl than the lust that he had admitted.

“I’m glad,” she said, “that Marcus had a place like this to come home to.”

He noted the way she said his brother’s name, with an odd sort of longing, and a funny thread of hope sprang to life inside him.

“You realize my brother has been very gravely injured. If you came here expecting to find the same man you knew aboard the Seahawk, you are bound to be sadly disappointed.”

Her eyes leaped to his and her face went suddenly pale. “Are you saying that … that something has happened to his mind as well as his body?”

Rex shook his head. “No, no, of course not. His legs are useless, that is all. His mind is as sharp as ever.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and for an instant her eyes slid closed. When she looked back at him, her shoulders seemed a little bit straighter. “Then he is exactly the same man he was.”

Rex couldn’t help an inward feeling of approval. Still, it wasn’t completely true. “Inside, perhaps he is. On the surface, he is different. He believes his life is over. There are times I believe he wishes he were dead.”

The girl looked away, but not before he caught the slight sheen of tears. She blinked furiously, then scrubbed away a drop of moisture that ran down her cheek. Straightening her small shoulders, she swung her eyes back to his face. “That is a ridiculous way to feel and I intend to tell him so. Please … you must let me see him.”

A corner of his mouth curved up. “Somehow I don’t believe I could stop you even if I wanted to.”

She tried to smile, but he could see how worried she was.

“Normally, I would inform him that he has a visitor. But if I do…”

“If you do, he might refuse to see me.”

“Exactly so.”

“Then we will surprise him. We will simply give him no choice.”

Rex grinned. “Rather the way you did before, Miss Winters, when you stowed away aboard his ship?”

A hint of color rushed into her cheeks. Her lips were full and well shaped and they curved up now at the edges. “Very much like that, sir. Very much like that, indeed.”

*   *   *

Brandy followed Rexland Delaine back out into the hall, walking along the gleaming marble floors to the patter of their echoing footsteps. Her legs were shaking, her knees knocking together beneath her skirts with every move.

She was out of her element in the beautiful house, a magnificent structure beyond anything she had ever seen. It had taken every ounce of her will to walk down the imposing tree-lined drive and up those intimidating wide stone steps. But Marcus was the reason she had come and no pile of stone, no matter how artfully put together, was going to keep her from him.

They continued down the hall and Brandy paused beside a narrow, marble-topped table to remove her hat and gloves. Though she knew little of the social graces, she was certain it was not the thing to do when a lady went calling, but she didn’t really like the bonnet that Flo had helped her choose, and she wanted Marcus to see past her newly fashioned garments to the person she was before—the tavern maid he had left on the dock in Charleston.

“Ready?” his brother asked, not questioning her odd behavior, as if perhaps he understood. Already she liked this youngest Delaine. He was handsome and gracious, a softer, less forceful version of Marcus, and instinctively she believed that he loved his older brother very much.

And he was worried about him. Extremely worried.

“As ready as I’m ever going to be.” Which meant, of course, she wasn’t ready at all. In fact, she was shaking inside, her fear and uncertainty building every second. She was desperate to see him again, ached for the suffering he had endured.

When Rex Delaine stopped outside the door to another of the mansion’s many drawing rooms, Brandy took a long, courage-building breath. What would Marcus say when he saw her? Would he be happy that she had come? Or angry that she had taken it upon herself to interfere in his life again?

“Shall we go in, Miss Winters?” Rex asked.

She steeled herself and nodded, prepared at last to face Marcus. The moment the door swung wide, she discovered she wasn’t prepared at all, not when she stepped into the room and the man in the straight-backed chair turned his dark head away from the window and stared in her direction.

For an instant she swayed on her feet and only the subtle pressure of Rex Delaine’s hand on her arm kept her from falling. Instead of the tall, unbearably handsome man she had loved, a thin, hollow-eyed, gaunt-faced man stared back at her, his features drawn into a hawklike parody of the arrogant, dynamic man he had been before.

His cheekbones were razor-sharp, his cheeks pale and sunken in, his black hair overly long and decidedly unkempt. He wore no coat, and his frilled shirt was rumpled in a way he would never have allowed before.

And yet in an instant she saw past his ravaged state. He was Marcus and he was hurting.

It was all she could do not to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him tightly against her. She wanted to comfort him, to mend his injured body and heal his tortured soul.

“Marcus…” she whispered. Ignoring the thunder of her heart and her trembling limbs, she started toward him, sure he hadn’t yet realized who she was. The narrowing of those piercing dark blue eyes, the tic that started in his cheek, told her he knew exactly who she was, and that he was wildly, furiously angry.

“Bloody hell, Rex—what have you done!” His harsh words cracked across the distance between them, halting Brandy where she stood. “If you are responsible for bringing this woman here, I swear I will never forgive you.”

Brandy swallowed. She closed her eyes a moment, willing herself not to turn and run. Brig had warned her. Rexland had warned her. She had known it wouldn’t be easy.

She forced a stiffness into her trembling limbs. “Your brother had nothing to do with my coming. I only just arrived. We met for the first time a mere few moments ago.”

Angry color seeped under his pale skin, making him look more like the man he was before. “I don’t know why you are here and I don’t care. I want you out of here.”

A sharp pain slid through her. Hurt and grief all at once. Ruthlessly, she tamped it down. “I heard what happened. I came because I care about you. Because I was worried about you.”

He scoffed at that. “There is hardly a reason to worry. My legs, such as they are, have mended. I am simply unable to walk. Your presence here isn’t going to change that. Now that you have satisfied your curiosity, please be on your way.”

Mixed with the pity, Brandy felt a tiny spurt of anger. “That is what you believe? That I have traveled thousands of miles out of simple curiosity? You think now that I have seen you, I will simply go away?”

“You will do exactly as I tell you.”

Her chin went up. “I am sorry, my lord Captain. I am no longer at your command. The fact is, I have rented a cottage here in Tintagel, just down the road from this estate. For the next several months, that is where I intend to remain.”

Marcus’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “Are you insane? Can’t you see that you are not welcome? You will leave this house at once and you will not be allowed to return again.”

With a casual air she did not feel, she turned to his younger brother, praying she had read him correctly, that she could count on him to help her. “Marcus appears to be somewhat overwrought, I’m afraid. I shall leave him to recover himself. On the morrow, I shall return, if that is acceptable to you.”

Rex Delaine merely smiled. “I shall look forward to seeing you again, Miss Winters.”

“Bloody hell!” Marcus’s voice rang across the room. The tea service sitting beside him went crashing to the floor.

Brandy smiled sweetly. “I hope you will be feeling a bit less ill-tempered by then, Lord Hawksmoor. It really doesn’t suit you.”

Marcus swore foully, slammed his fist against the arm of the chair, and whirled away to stare back out the window. It took all of her courage to simply turn away, to follow his brother out of the room and wait while he quietly closed the door.

She was shaking all over, her stomach rolling with nausea, swaying on her feet. She wanted to simply sit down and weep, but she knew that she could not. Instead she forced some stiffness into her legs, made her lips curve up in a smile.

“Well, considering the circumstances, I don’t think that went too badly.”

Rex Delaine’s expression changed from grim resignation to astonishment. His lips twitched, then suddenly he burst out laughing. When he finally brought himself under control, he wiped tears of amusement from his face. “I believe, Miss Winters, we are going to get along just fine.”

Brandy actually smiled. In that moment, she knew without doubt that she had an ally. And if she was lucky, perhaps even a friend.

*   *   *

Sitting in his straight-backed chair, Marcus ground his jaw. His hand balled into a fist and he slammed it down on his numb, unfeeling limbs. How dare she have the gall to barge into his life again! How dare she! If he could have paced the floor, he would have. Instead he sat in his chair with his insides churning, silently calling her every vile name he could think of.

The last person in the world he wanted to see was Brianne Winters. The last person in the world he wanted to see him as he was now, a broken, defeated shell of a man, was Brianne Winters. God, how could his brother have let her in?

He thought of those moments again, wishing he could strangle Rex Delaine, wishing he could blot the look of pity he had seen on Brianne’s pretty face. It hadn’t lasted long, only an instant, but it was there just the same, and he would never forget it.

“Your lordship?” A footman nervously poked his head through the drawing room doors.

“What do you want?” Marcus snapped. “I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“You haven’t eaten all day, my lord. Your brother thought perhaps—”

“If I want something to eat, I’ll ring for a tray. Now get out and leave me in peace.”

“Y-yes, my lord. Of course, my lord.”

The door closed swiftly, leaving him alone once more. Marcus turned to stare back out the window. Sitting as it was on top of a Cornwall cliff, the house commanded a view of the sea that was unsurpassed. Today the ocean was a dark midnight blue that extended unbroken as far as the horizon. The sky was still clear, but clouds had begun drifting in. The sun was fading, disappearing behind a wall of incoming fog. Beneath it the sea remained calm, unlike Marcus, who still sat there fuming.

Most days he watched the sea with longing, his mind on his ship, on the days he had spent striding the deck, days he would never know again.

It tore him apart to think of it and yet he could not stop. Day after day, he sat in the drawing room, consumed by the loss he felt, consumed by his need for the life he had loved, the voyages he would no longer make, the ship that would never again sail under his command.

As he had this day and the day before and the day before that, Marcus stared out at the building swells, heard the piercing screech of a gray and white gull rising over the water. Then a distant sail passed by just over the horizon, a sight that earlier in the day would have tightened his stomach into a desperate knot of grief.

Now he was so angry he barely noticed the scene that would have haunted him for the balance of the day.

Instead all he saw in the huge pane of glass was the face of the woman who had appeared like a specter out of his past. The only things in front of him were the golden brown eyes and fiery copper hair of Brianne Winters.

*   *   *

Brandy couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Marcus’s haggard, weary face, saw the dull glaze of pain in his eyes, saw the terrible defeat.

He was drowning in sorrow and grief. He couldn’t look past the things he had lost to the reasons he had yet to live. Life was so precious and it could be sweet. Dear God, she had to help him!

By the time morning arrived, she was exhausted. Her muscles groaned with fatigue and a dull ache throbbed in her temples. Still, she forced her legs to the side of the bed, lifted a leaden arm to ring for her maid, Sally Dunston, and began to ready herself for the day.

“I brought you some chocolate and cakes,” Sally said, setting the tray on a small carved table near the dresser. She had dark brown hair, was slender of build, shy, and a little withdrawn, but she was sweet and attentive, and Brandy had needed a companion to accompany her to England, since it was hardly acceptable for a young lady to travel alone.

In the beginning, she had hoped that Flo would go with her, but that was a futile wish.

“I’m not like you, Brandy. Charleston is my home and I haven’t the least desire to leave. Besides, Will is here and he needs me.”

“I need you,” Brandy had argued. “This thing with Will can never work out. If you went away, perhaps you would find someone else.”

Flo smiled sadly. “I told you—for me there is no one else.”

Brandy didn’t argue. Instead, she simply hugged her, wished Florence well with the tavern, made her friend promise to write, or at least find someone to do it for her since she hadn’t the skill, then hired Sally to go with her instead and set off on her journey to England.

It hadn’t been easy, just two women on their own, but at least she hadn’t gotten seasick as she had before, and eventually the ship had arrived in London. Marcus had given her his brother’s address in Cornwall before he’d left Charleston. She made her way there from the city, had been fortunate to find a small, well-cared-for cottage on a parcel that bordered the earl’s huge estate, and moved herself in.

Now, as she tied the ribbon of her narrow-brimmed bonnet beneath her chin and smoothed the long purple plumes, she thought of the defeated man she had found in the drawing room, and knew if there was any way at all she could help him, the trouble she had gone to would be worth it.

“Shall I expect you home for supper, Miss Brandy?”

“I imagine so. The captain will hardly be glad to see me and I’m not sure how much of his abuse I am prepared to handle all at once.”

Sally smiled sweetly. “You’ll bring him around. I know you will.”

Brandy returned the smile. “Let’s hope so, Sally.” She prayed the girl was right, but in her heart, she wasn’t so sure.

*   *   *

Marcus fidgeted in his chair before the hearth in his massive bedchamber. He had never thought to stay in the ornate room, would have preferred to occupy his smaller, less elaborate bedchamber down the hall, but now he was the Earl of Hawksmoor, and the servants would be aghast at the thought he might do otherwise than reside in the master’s suite.

He had rarely noticed the furnishings when his father and mother had lived in this part of the house. Now he knew every wrinkle in the gold brocade counterpane, every fold in the burgundy velvet bed hangings, as well as those in the draperies at the window.

The room was elegant in the extreme, yet Marcus saw it as a velvet-lined prison. He sat there now, waiting for his valet to finish helping his dress, needing the man’s assistance to do even the simplest tasks. Fortunately, Frederick was a large man, capable and loyal. He had been adamant in his insistence that he be the one to care for the master of the house.

Marcus inwardly cringed. Like a child, he thought. Dependent on the people around him, no longer able to take care of himself. Unconsciously, he reached down to rub his useless legs. In his darkest imaginings, he never would have dreamed his life would come to this.

His life. Silently, he spat the words. He had no life, none at all. He never would again. He fidgeted in the chair, waiting for Frederick to return with fresh garments. He had worn the same clothes for the last two days simply to be perverse, to countermand the feeling that he was somehow at the mercy of Frederick and the rest of the servants. Today he couldn’t bear the thought of putting on those same soiled, wrinkled clothes again.

Marcus glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. It was already ten o’clock in the morning. It took so much time these days, just to dress and prepare for the day ahead. He hated each one, couldn’t bear to see the rising of the sun, to know another useless day awaited him.

He wished he could simply lie down one night and fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep, a sleep so complete that he would never awaken. He glanced again at the clock.

Perhaps, if he was lucky, she would not come.

He wished it. Sweet Lord, how he wished it. And yet … and yet … God, she had been beautiful. Even in her overdone gown, she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. He despised her for it, despised her for making him remember how beautiful she had looked lying naked in his bed, her pretty golden eyes moving with wonder over his body.

Even now, he could remember the way it had felt to kiss her, to be inside her, to make love to her as he never would again. He wanted to weep with the reminder of another part of himself he had lost. He wouldn’t do that, of course. He would steel himself against the urge, as he had done from the moment he had awakened in his cabin aboard the ship and discovered he was unable to move his legs.

Then he’d held at least a small thread of hope that he would recover. Now he had none. Not when his legs were dead weights merely attached to his torso. Not when his greatest efforts could not move a single solitary muscle.

It was over and he knew it, had accepted it.

Now she was here to taunt him with the knowledge and make him wish more than ever that he was still a man. His hand squeezed into a fist. Perhaps, after the welcome she had received, she would not come.

The notion settled over him, an even heavier weight than his unless legs.

He turned and barked a command, and Frederick came hurrying into the room. “I want you to cut my hair. It is exceedingly long and bothersome. I wish for you to trim it at once.”

Frederick stared at him in amazement, then quickly gathered his wits. “Yes, my lord. Of course. I should have seen to it sooner.”

His valet didn’t remind him he had tried on numerous occasions to make the earl appear more presentable, but Marcus had refused.

To hell with him, Marcus thought. It’s none of his concern. But in truth, he was a bit amazed himself. He had no reason to care about his appearance, so why the devil…? He let the thought trail off, refusing to consider the cause of his change of heart, settled himself against the chair, and waited for Frederick to return with the scissors.

*   *   *

Brandy left the cottage just before noon to make the short walk to Hawksmoor House. When she arrived, she was surprised to find Rexland Delaine standing in the entry almost as if he had been waiting.

He invited her in with a smile that seemed to hold a hint of relief. “I wasn’t sure … after the way my brother behaved … I though you might not return.”

“I’ve traveled a goodly distance. A few harsh words are hardly enough to turn me away.”

Rex nodded, looking even more relieved. “You said that you were staying nearby.”

“That is correct. I have taken a lease on the Hammond cottage. It borders your estate on the western side.”

“Yes, I am familiar with the place. I hope you’re comfortable there.”

“I’m there with my maid, a cook, and a chambermaid. The view is lovely and the cottage is charming. We are all of us quite comfortable.”

Rexland cleared his throat, looking a little uneasy. He glanced around to be sure that they were alone. “I realize it is none of my affair, but when my brother spoke of you, I got the impression you were … He implied that you might, perhaps, be in need of financial assistance. If money is any sort of problem—”

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Delaine, but I’m no longer in the same situation. My father passed away a few months back. He left me very well settled. In truth, I inherited a very large sum.”

He smiled quite broadly. “Then I shall not worry, and should my brother be concerned I will set his mind to rest as well.”

She nodded, though if yesterday was any indication, she doubted that Marcus would have the least concern. She glanced down the hall toward the drawing room he had occupied the day before. “How is he?”

Rex Delaine shook his head. “About the same—brooding and difficult. At least he had something to eat this morning. He usually eats barely enough to subsist.” He smiled. “I think you made him so mad he worked up an appetite.”

Brandy sighed. “He certainly wasn’t happy to see me.”

“I suppose on the surface it would seem so. After you left, he raged at me for nearly an hour, demanding I bar you from the door.”

Brandy groaned.

“Believe it or not, I happen to think that’s a very good sign.”

An eyebrow went up. “How could you possibly think the fact your brother loathes the sight of me could in any way be a good sign?”

Rex grinned. “Because, my dear Miss Winters, that is the most emotion he has shown about anything since he learned that he couldn’t walk.”

Brandy wasn’t sure she agreed with his assessment, but it didn’t really matter. She had come there to help him and she meant to find a way. She only prayed that he would let her.

“Shall we beard the lion, Miss Winters?”

She smiled. “Waiting won’t make it any easier.” Rex offered his arm and they started down the hall. Even knowing the reception she would receive, she found herself longing to see him.