Catherine Archer - The Bride Of Spring

Benedict’s brows rose at what he felt was a less than flattering description of himself, but he made no comment. “I still do not see why you did not simply ask for my help. Why go to all of this effort at deception and cause us both such great embarrassment?”

She shrugged, with a frown of chagrin. “I did not think of it, never considered that you would help a strange woman with no familial ties to you. I knew only that I could not allow Denley to rape me and thus force a marriage. I could not allow him to gain control of all that my father had entrusted to me when he died. And truth to tell, I do not believe I would have asked that of you if I had considered it. Denley would have felt free to press his suit as long as I was unwed.” She shrugged again. “I do not know how you can doubt me on that score after having met him, seen his determination.”

Benedict grimaced. He could not argue the point. “The man does seem completely blind to all but the way he wishes to view things.”

Raine nodded. “Precisely.”

Though he did agree with her on that one matter, Benedict could not allow her to think he was dismissing the sheer madness of her actions. “Even saying that, I cannot forget your own disregard for the feelings of others, namely myself.”

She had the grace to flush scarlet, though he could tell by the way she tilted that finely shaped nose of hers that she resented his words. “Disregarding your feelings is not what I was trying to do.”

“Yet you did do it and we now find ourselves in this predicament.” His gaze went to the closed doorway. In spite of his sending all of them away, Benedict knew that there were questions that would need be answered in order to have any hope of salvaging Raine’s honor. No matter what he or she said now, things would never be as they had been. Too many people had seen them here together, witnessed the blood on the sheet.

Most of them would not stop to think about the ludicrous amount of blood, nor any other facts, even if the truth were told to them. But that was not his fault. It was not he who had brought this upon Raine’s head. She had.

Hadn’t she?

He stood and looked about the chamber. “Where are my clothes?”

She frowned and pointed toward the chest at the end of the bed.

He was somewhat surprised to see how neatly she had folded them atop her own equally neatly kept garments. He would not have thought her so tidy.

Immediately Benedict began to dress. He paid no attention to Raine other than turning his back. Any further show of modesty would be pointless. He was certain that she was the one who had undressed him, so there was really no point in attempting to hide himself from her.

He heard the rustle of her movements as she rose from the bed behind him. She did not speak until he had finished putting on his houppelande, which told him that she had made note of his progress in dressing.

When she addressed him, the regret in her voice made him turn and look at her bent head closely. “I am very sorry, my lord, for the trouble I have brought you.”

She then raised her gaze to his, even as she wrapped her arms all the more tightly around the waist of the green velvet robe she had donned. “Yet I must admit that I would do it all again. I love my brother and promised my father that I would look after him no matter what. Given my thought process, I could not have done other than what I did.”

Benedict sighed, sympathy for her again rising inside him in spite of the fact that she was at fault here. He was distracted from having to answer by a soft scratching at the door.

His gaze met Raine’s as she called out with forced composure. “Who is there?”

A hesitant voice replied, “William.”

The regret that stabbed him as chagrin and sadness filled her golden eyes surprised and worried Benedict. Wanting to give himself anything to think about other than his disturbing reaction, he strode forward to open the door.

The first thing Benedict noted about the young boy standing there was his heavy thatch of dark brown hair, which bore definite auburn undertones. It made his pale face, dominated by a pair of green eyes, seem somewhat small. Those eyes, though not nearly so translucent as Raine’s, made Benedict realize this could be none other than her brother. The lad’s hesitant but clearly concerned gaze first raked Benedict with uncertainty, then searched out his sister. When he saw her there in her robe, he pushed past Benedict to her side.

Benedict closed the door, then turned to watch the two. Raine avoided looking at him as she put her arms around her brother. Quickly the boy pushed back, his eyes searching hers as he murmured, “Oh Raine, is it true what people are saying? That you…”

She met his gaze unflinchingly, clearly putting aside her own concerns in an effort to soothe her brother. As she spoke, Benedict felt an unexpected stirring of respect. “Do not worry about what others say, but always first ask me for the truth. Besides, the opinions of these folk matter not in the least to us. We will soon be gone from here.”

The boy peered up at her, and Benedict could hear the relief that he tried to hide beneath a manly pose as he said, “I do not care what they might think. I was worried for you.” Then he added, his relieved tone giving away his youth and anxiety, “We are going home to Abbernathy?”

She ran a hand over his hair. “Aye.”

Benedict could not but be moved by this exchange. The love and care between them was more than obvious. He went toward them, speaking evenly. “You must be young William.”

The boy squared his slight shoulders, his gaze assessing. “And you are the man everyone is saying—”

Benedict interrupted wryly. “Yes, I suspect I am.”

William frowned, glancing at Raine. “Is it true what they are saying? That you and…this man—”

Again Benedict interrupted him. “Benedict Ainsworth.”

The boy nodded stiffly. “My lord Ainsworth.” His gaze met and held Benedict’s directly. “I hope you have not…the stories they are telling…Raine is my sister.”

Benedict could not fault him for his protectiveness toward Raine, but he had no wish to become involved in a conflict with the lad when he had committed no fault in this. He spoke evenly. “You must address me as Benedict.”

The young man frowned in frustration. His troubled gaze went back to Raine’s face. “Well, is it true what they are saying about you and Lord—you and Benedict?”

Meeting his gaze directly, she shook her head. “Nay, it is not, William. He did not touch me. Though I—”

For reasons that he could not explain, Benedict forestalled her. “Raine and I have done nothing untoward here. I simply had too much wine and fell asleep.” He was not certain why he felt the need to say that, to protect her. He’d simply had the feeling that she was about to reveal the whole of her crimes to her younger brother, and unaccountably, Benedict felt the need to spare her that. He told himself that there was no reason for the boy to know all. It could gain him nothing.

Glancing at Raine, he saw that she was watching him with surprise and, he thought, gratitude. When she noted his interest in herself she quickly turned to her brother. “You see, William, there is nothing to be concerned about. It has all been a misunderstanding.”

The relief on his young face could not have been more obvious. And Benedict was gladdened that he had acted upon the impulse to spare the boy. When Benedict’s parents had died on the return journey from visiting his aunt in Scotland, the raising of his own brothers had fallen to him. He had been eighteen, and the youngest of the three of them had been around the same age as the lad before him.