The Devil May Care Page 4

  “Today!” she exclaimed, sitting down on the bench once more and gesturing for him to join her. “And you came to see me?” Her voice was faint and somewhat incredulous.

  “Who else?” he replied, smiling and looking around for Mrs Goodly. “I am in desperate need of a confident and there was no one else I could possibly turn to.”

  Her eyes lit with pleasure at his compliment and he finally sat beside her as he noted Mrs Goodly taking up her position at the bench next to theirs.

  “But tell me first,” he asked, watching her face with care. “What were you so distressed about when I arrived?”

  “Distressed?” she repeated, looking uncomfortable. “Oh no. Nothing of the sort I assure you ... I ... I'm just a little blue devilled that's all.” She gave him a bright smile and smoothed back a strand of hair that the wind had teased free of her severe hairstyle. In doing so the slightly frayed sleeve of her pelisse was drawn back a little and Beau saw that her wrist was bruised.

  “Give me your hand,” he demanded and was then horrified by the terror in her eyes.

  “W-what?” she stammered, and Beau watched with growing concern as she tugged her sleeves a little lower.

  “Give me your hand, little bird,” he said again, his voice soft now. She still didn't move and so he reached over and took it for himself, pushing the sleeve up past her thin wrist to show it was circled with dark bruises. He swallowed down a curse and before she could protest reached for her other hand and found it in the same state.

  “Who did this?” he asked, trying hard to control the rage in his voice.

  “No one!” she said, her voice taut with fear. “I-it was just me being clumsy. I-I fell down the stairs ... and I took such a tumble. Quite s-stupid of me. I'm b-black and blue!”

  He put his hand to her face, holding her chin between finger and thumb with a gentle touch, but forcing her to look at him.

  “You did not fall down the stairs. Please do not lie to me, Miss Sparrow. Someone held you by your wrists, someone hurt you, and I have a fair idea who it was.”

  She shook her head, such terror in her eyes that Beau's heart clenched.

  “It was your cousin, wasn't it,” he said, not letting her look away and watching with growing fury as her eyes filled with tears. He'd kill the bastard who did this.

  “P-please, my Lord,” she said, her voice barely audible as a large tear rolled down her face. “P-please don't ... there's nothing you can do.”

  “Firstly, you ... call me Beau. Secondly, I will be the judge of what can and can't be done. So just tell me who did this, please, Miss Sparrow.”

  “M-Milly,” she stammered, forcing a smile and wiping her cheeks. “Then you must call me Milly.”

  He felt his chest ache with compassion as she tried so hard to put a brave face on for him. That the brute who was a large and powerful man would so abuse his position to hurt and intimidate such a frail and sweet woman was beyond his comprehension. And though he wanted to hear it from her lips he had no doubt it was Brownlow who had hurt her. “As you wish, little bird,” he replied, smiling at her. “But I must insist you tell me now ... who the devil hurt you?”

  She swallowed and took a breath, putting up her chin and smiling at him though he could see the misery in her eyes clear enough. “Please don't trouble yourself with my foolishness, my dear friend. I fell down the stairs. That is all.”

  “Damnation!” he cursed, and if he'd needed any further proof, the way she flinched away from him at his exclamation was quite enough. He got to his feet and strode away from her, until he was stood before Mrs Goodly.

  “Excuse me, Madame. I beg you will forgive me my appalling manners but I believe Miss Sparrow may be in some kind of trouble. I believe someone is hurting her and I would help her if she would only let me.”

  The woman, who had a pleasant and kindly face and looked to be in her late fifties, opened her mouth in surprise. Her eyes which were a faded blue lit with hope at Beau's words and she began to speak as Milly caught up with them.

  “Edith!” she cried, shaking her head.

  Mrs Goodly looked torn. Beau could see the desperation in her eyes, the desire to demand his help, warring with her loyalty to Miss Sparrow.

  “But Milly, darling ...” she begged, holding her hand out to the younger woman.

  “No!” There was surprising steel behind that one word and Beau looked around to see Milly rigid with tension.

  “There is nothing you can do, my Lord,” she said, her voice taut, her brown eyes full of determination.

  Beau gritted his teeth. Despite his fury he knew she was right. To all intents and purposes she belonged to her cousin. If he chose to beat or mistreat her there was damn all anyone could do about it. He had no right, no grounds to interfere. In all likelihood if her cousin found out she'd confided in him, the situation would only become far worse for her.

  He raked a hand through his hair and cursed, turning away from her. He wanted to tear the bastard limb from limb. He should be able to protect her. After all, no one else would. Unbidden, a pair of blue eyes came to mind, the face of a little boy looking at him and trying not to cry. “It's alright, bruv, I'm alright.” But he hadn't been alright. Beau should have protected him. It had been his job as the eldest, to protect him, and he'd failed.

  Tearing himself back from the thought, he focused on Milly now. “There must be something I can do,” he said, his voice rough, full of frustration and fear that he was going to let someone else down, fear that someone else he cared for would come to harm because he wasn't strong enough to stop it.

  “There is,” Milly said, her voice soothing, reassuring. She slid her arm into his, tugging at it slightly. “Come and sit down and tell me why you wanted to see me so badly.”

  He shook his head. The last thing he could do now was unburden his troubles onto her. “It's of no matter. We can talk another time,” he said, casting around for some small way in which he could help her. “Would you and Mrs Goodly dine with me this evening?” he said, suddenly desperate that he should find a way to keep her from being at home as much as possible.

  For a moment her face lit with pleasure at the idea but then her smile fell away and she shook her head. “I would like that above all things, my ... Beau,” she amended. “But we are to take Hugo to see the fireworks at Vauxhall. The whole family is going you see, before ... before we leave.”

  He felt a jolt of apprehension at the idea she would be taken even further from any protection he could offer, alongside rush of disappointment at the idea she would not be able to meet him again. “You're leaving?”

  She nodded. “We go to the country tomorrow.”

  “Mr Brownlow goes with you?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

  She swallowed and gave a tight little nod.

  Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  “You shouldn't be going out tonight, Milly,” he said, looking at her carefully. She looked worn and tired and very unhappy, and the sight brought forward those memories he’d restrained for so long. He had seen his brother often enough in this state, and knew that the likelihood was that any further upset would cause an episode, as the doctors had referred to his brother's fits. “You should stay at home, rest.”

  He saw her throat working, such gratitude in her eyes that he understood how it was for her. “I-I cannot. Hugo is so looking forward to it, you see. B-but I thank you, so much, for your concern.”

  Beau reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly. Well there was nothing for it. He would go to Vauxhall tonight. He wouldn't abandon his friend to her fate. He wouldn't speak with her for fear of causing trouble with Brownlow, but he would watch and see how she was treated. He hadn't been able to save his brother, but he was damned if he would let his friend suffer the same fate.

  ***

  Vauxhall gardens looked, as ever, like something out of the stories of the Arabian Nights. Thousands of glass lanterns illuminated the wide sweeping walks, whilst still leaving plenty of darkened
corners where lovers could and did tryst and court scandal in seclusion. It was a place Beau had often frequented and enjoyed, but this evening he found he was filled with a nameless sense of foreboding. Frustration at his impotence to help Milly gnawed at him and made him more determined than ever to find a way.

  If there was one thing in life he despised it was a bully. That someone strong should terrorise those weaker than themselves for the pleasure of it was something he despised above all else. His father had bullied him and his twin for their whole lives, but poor Edward's life had been more fragile than his own. Born first, it seemed that Beau had absorbed all the beauty and vitality belonging to his mother. His brother, born hours later and at the cost of their mother's life, was in comparison thin and sickly and not expected to survive. But survive he had, against all the odds and Beau had been forever intrigued and delighted by a mind that seemed so much brighter and quicker than his own. Their father, though, never saw the genius of his second son, too appalled by the nature of his disabilities. He blamed Edward for the death of his wife and made no bones about showing his contempt and disgust.

  Beau pushed the memories of his brother away. He had failed Edward, he knew that. He should have protected him and he hadn't been strong enough. But now there was Milly, and that she should suffer from the same kind of debilitating episodes as his brother had seemed like he was being tested. In some strange way he was being given a chance to make amends for failing Edward, and this time, this time ... he would not fail.

  It took him the best part of the evening to track the family down in the crush and by the time he had it was clear that he was in a fair way to being too late. He saw Mrs Goodly running in the wake of a small boy who seemed wildly overexcited and beyond the control of his mother. The child shouted as the fireworks exploded in the night sky and ran about pushing people out of his way to get a better view of the entertainments. The woman Beau took to be his mother was shouting in a shrill voice that he should be taken home forthwith and doing nothing whatsoever to try and control the child herself.

  But Beau didn't give a damn about the boy or his mother. He did care that Mr Brownlow was holding Milly's arm and speaking to her in a fashion that was making her look utterly terrified. Before he could think about what he was doing he strode up to the man, casting Milly a look that warned her not to acknowledge him. Her eyes widened in alarm as he approached and called out to Brownlow.

  “Well, Brown-nose, fancy seeing you here.” He intoned with derision and took a deal of delight in the look of outrage on the man's face. Brownlow would remember the nickname well enough. One he'd earned by being a sneak and tattling on the other boys at Eton.

  “Beaumont,” he said in disgust. Beau didn't for the moment correct him on his change in title and looked him over, keeping his expression icy with disdain as he took the man in. The years had not been kind to him. Only two or three years older than Beau he had gained weight and lost most of his hair. Small, beady grey eyes stared at Beau from a face and figure that was in all other respects corpulent, from his thick neck to his flabby lips. Beau shuddered inwardly and cast a pointed look at the hand that still gripped Milly's arm.

  “I think the lady would prefer you let go of her.”

  Brownlow narrowed his eyes at Beau who stared back at him.

  “This woman is my cousin and has greatly displeased me. If I see fit to reprimand her I do not see what it has to do with you.”

  Beau allowed the faintest flicker of a smile to show as he watched Brownlow's hand release Milly nonetheless.

  “Surely any gentleman would be revolted at seeing a lady manhandled and made to look afraid for her life? Do you not agree?”

  He saw a muscle tick in the flabby folds of the man's jaw as he considered his answer. Despite the fact that Beau did in fact have no authority to check his behaviour to his cousin, he knew well enough that Beau was not someone who backed down from a fight. He also knew he was a crack shot and skilled with a blade. Fury at his interference mingled with the suspicion that Beau might actually call him out.

  “But of course, I was forgetting,” the man replied with an oily note to his voice. “You were the white knight that rescued Millicent when one of her revolting fits of madness overtook her. I should thank you for your bravery, my Lord. Not many men would risk touching one so badly tainted by such a repugnant affliction.”

  He heard a quiet gasp of horror beside him and felt a surge of rage that the man would speak in so callous a manner in front of Milly.

  “You bastard,” he whispered, taking a step forward. Brownlow's piggy little eyes widened with alarm, but before he could act on his impulse to strike him, Milly crumpled to the floor.

  Chapter 5

  “Wherein events change everyone's fate.”

  Brownlow was forgotten in the moment Milly collapsed and Beau went to his knees beside her.

  “Milly!” he exclaimed, his heart thundering with fear as memories of holding another frail body as it thrashed helplessly in his arms were brought to mind. “Milly, love, it's alright. It's alright. I'm here. I won't leave you.” He held her body still as the seizure stole her control, ignoring the gasps and stares of those who had begun gathering around them.

  “Where's your carriage?” he hissed at Brownlow who was staring down at his cousin with a look of repulsion in his eyes.

  “Where's yours?” Brownlow sneered at him. “You're so concerned by her, why don't you take her home?”

  “Because then she'll be ruined and you damn well know it!” he threw back at him, wishing more than anything that he could lay hands on the bastard.

  Brownlow laughed aloud, his voice harsh and cold-blooded. “So what! She's damaged goods anyway. Worthless and good for nothing but being a burden to me.”

  “By God,” Beau whispered. “I'll make you pay for that.”

  He turned back to Milly, stroking her hair as the tremors subsided, and he made up his mind. He wouldn't leave her to this cold-hearted man's abuse. Not when he had the power to give her safety. He lifted her into his arms, finding his heart fill with pity at the ease with which he did it. She really did seem to weigh less than a sparrow.

  “Milly!” Beau turned and saw Mrs Goodly running towards them. “Oh, my poor girl.”

  “Mrs Goodly, would you kindly direct me to your carriage, we need to take Miss Sparrow home,” he asked, desperate to get her away from the curious stares of the crowd.

  “Oh, yes!” she cried, hurrying forward. “Yes, right away.”

  Following Mrs Goodly, he hurried after her as she guided him down the path to the exit where Brownlow's carriage awaited them He ignored Brownlow's threats and curses from behind him as the man's fatter frame struggled to keep up with Beau's longer strides and Mrs Goodly who ran ahead of them both.

  Once Mrs Goodly was in the carriage, he carefully lowered Milly so that her head was resting in her friend's lap. She blinked, her breathing coming in short little gasps as she looked around her and her gaze landed on Beau.

  “Oh!” she cried, her eyes filling with dismay. “Oh, Beau, you shouldn't have ... My dearest friend, you shouldn't have ...” She began to cry and Beau reached out, taking her hands in his.

  “Yes,” he said. “I should. I had to, little bird, and I promise you need never be frightened again.”

  She shook her head, quite unable to believe in a world where her cousin could no longer hurt her. By this time Brownlow had caught up with them. Sweating and flushed, his face full of fury, he leaned into the carriage.

  “Damn you, Beaumont! How dare you?” he shouted, spittle flecking his thick lips as he raged at Beau. “What right do you have to interfere in my family? I take care of this wretched creature out of Christian charity, though I put my family at risk to do it!” He drew himself up, pompous and full of righteous indignation. “Without me she'd be a beggar on the streets, for God knows no man would ever touch her. It's not as if anyone would ever want to marry her!”

  Milly flinched at his wo
rds and Beau squeezed her hand before he looked back to Brownlow. Sitting himself with a nonchalant air on the seat opposite Milly, he stared at Brownlow who was framed in the carriage doorway, with a contemptuous expression.

  “I have to tell you, Sir, that you are wrong on two counts,” he said, finding that the manner his father had used to intimidate him and so many others for decades was only too easy to slip into. “Firstly, your cousin will marry.”

  He watched the incredulous expression flit across the man's face as his meaning became clear.

  “Y-you can't be serious? Her ... the wife of a Marquis?” he sneered. “You couldn't, your father would never allow it!”

  Beau smiled at him, an unpleasant smile that made Brownlow's insulting expression fade from his eyes. “No,” he said, his voice quiet. “Not the wife of a Marquis. You see my father is dead, you fool, and your cousin is about to become the Duchess of Ware. She'll be a very powerful woman, and if I were you ... I'd stay well out of her way.”

  He watched the man gape at him, his mouth opening and closing in a revolting manner. With great satisfaction Beau stretched out one long leg, put his foot squarely in Brownlow's chest, and pushed. The fat fool plummeted backwards, arms wind-milling as Beau rapped sharply on the carriage roof and reached to pull the door shut as they began to move forward. He caught one last, vastly satisfactory glimpse of Brownlow sprawled in the mud, before sitting back in the carriage and chuckling to himself.

  He turned to the women opposite him to see them both staring at him in mute astonishment.

  “You've run mad,” Milly whispered, her thin chest heaving with emotion.

  Beau frowned, worried that if she didn't calm herself she would cause another fit to follow on the heels of the last. He moved to kneel beside her, for once not caring a damn if his clothes were rumpled or filthy, only that she was not to be further upset. He reached out and took her cold hand, covering it between his own.

  “No, little bird. I'm perfectly sane, I assure you.”