Saving Marilee Read online

  I hung my head. "Just go." It came out as a whisper this time. I wasn't mad at him, but I was mortified for many reasons. I hated that he knew about my confinement. I hated that he had seen me attempt violence. I hated that he had seen me throw a fit worthy of a mad woman.

  I pulled my hands from where they rested on his chest and sank onto the sofa next to me, letting my head fall into my hands. "I'm not mad. I'm not," I muttered.

  I felt his weight dip the couch beside me. "I know that," he insisted.

  My breath hitched as I tried not to sob. "I threw a fit, just like she said. Please go."

  "Of course you were yelling! Of course you lashed out! Anyone would have done the same after hearing what she said. I wanted to do the same!"

  He pulled one of my hands from my face and I rolled my head into my other hand, sinking my fingers into my hair.

  His eyes were red-rimmed and his lips were pressed tight. "If you wish to be alone to mull things over and settle your mind, then—" He struggled with the words. "—I will leave you. But if you're only trying to get rid of me because of embarrassment, then please don't ask me to go. I brought that woman here. It is because of me that you find yourself overwrought, so please let me stay."

  I pulled my hand down over my eyes, squeezing them shut. "The way that she twisted everything..."

  "She was the one who was mad." His hand fluttered across my upper back, then pulled away. "I'm so sorry, Marilee."

  I turned to him and buried my head in his shoulder, shocked by my bravery, but desperate for comfort. His hand slipped to the back of my neck, letting me rest there as my mind tormented me with memories of pounding on my bedroom door, begging for release, apologizing for sins I hadn't committed.

  "There were times I thought I was mad." My voice was so low that I didn't know if he could even hear me. "I was surrounded by people who believed I was mad, and it was hard to think that they were all wrong. How could they all be wrong?"

  I heard him swallow, then swallow again. "I cannot imagine—" His voice broke.

  I moved closer to him and he rested his other hand on my back. The simple warmth that seeped into my skin gave me a breath of courage. "It was Beatrice."

  "What about her?"

  "She believed me. I was on the verge of going crazy simply because they had convinced me I was. I don't know what I would have done if..." I lifted my head to look at him and my voice trailed off. He was close, too close. I sucked in a breath and pulled back, the old panic rearing up. He had comforted me, yet somehow when I faced him head on, it was too much. I tensed, trying to figure out how to create distance between us.

  James let his hands fall away from my neck and back, then scooted as far from me as the sofa would permit. The knot in my chest eased as he held my gaze, concern written on his face. "I'm grateful you have such loyal friends."

  I swallowed down the residual panic. "So am I."

  We sat in silence, the space between us slowly filling with something I couldn't name. I was trying to muster the bravery to move a bit closer to him when a soft knock sounded on the door.

  "That will be the magistrate," James said.

  I turned to the door and then back to him, unable to put this piece of information in its place. "The magistrate?"

  "From the conversations I had with Mrs. Braithwhite, I suspected she might have been involved in your injury. She will need to answer for what she has done."

  "Oh." I had become so accustomed to being powerless that seeking justice hadn't occurred to me yet.

  "I must go speak with him. He may also wish to speak to you."

  I nodded. "Very well."

  It was late afternoon by the time the magistrate departed, taking Mrs. Braithwhite with him. She had remained stoic, determined to defend her actions in the name of loyalty to Damian. As Marcus took her outside, the magistrate stayed behind for a moment.

  "Princess Marilee." His voice faded and he struggled for a moment before getting the words out. "I wish I had known. There were rumors, but they contradicted one another and all seemed unreliable."

  I nodded. I had never blamed this man before, and I refused to start now. "I appreciate your assistance, sir."

  He looked toward the door, where Falstone and Leo flanked the entry. "I see that you have your own countrymen here to look out for you." He nodded his approval. "Was there anything else that you wished to discuss?"

  "No."

  He bowed, still looking sad and frustrated as he left.

  When the magistrate's carriage was out of sight, I sat down. Right there on the front step, I just sat. It was indecorous, but my feeble knees didn't recognize the rules of decorum. Rogue settled by my side without a sound. I pushed one hand into his fur and used the other to cover my mouth with my palm as I stared into the trees.

  James sank down next to me. Neither of us spoke.

  I pulled my hand from my mouth, sliding it over my chin to rest on my neck. I ran my fingers over my scar as the image of Mrs. Braithwhite sliding a knife over my skin flashed through my mind, over and over. Damian was always in the dark and murky background, never trying to stop her. It was a means to an end. A way to control me. Control and dominance.

  Part of me was glad for the truth. Another part of me resented it because it gave me one more reason to despise Damian.

  James broke into my thoughts. "I wasn't sure I would find you here today."

  I turned to him, almost surprised to find that he had stayed.

  "I had started to think that either you would be too busy with your family or that you would not be home at all. I thought perhaps you would have returned to Dalthia."

  I gazed at him, unsure if he was trying to ask a question.

  "Why didn't you?"

  "I told you. I refuse to run away."

  "Do you think you can be happy here?"

  I shrugged, pulling a lock of hair from behind my ear and twisting it around my finger. "I hope so. As long as I don't have to be in the new wing, I can almost pretend that I'm in a different house altogether."

  He lifted his gaze to the towering house behind us. "Damian built that for his new bride."

  "He built a cage."

  James opened his mouth, but shut it. He probably wanted to say how sorry he was. I was glad that he didn't. Instead, his eyes grew dark, and he said something I was entirely unprepared for. "Mrs. Braithwhite said you tried to escape once."

  My head shook, almost unconsciously. I didn't want to think about that. "I didn't make it very far." I could see he was going to inquire further, so I redirected the conversation. "How did you know that I had been confined to my room?" Another uncomfortable subject, but not nearly as bad as fixating on my attempt to leave.

  His jaw tensed. It seemed to be his natural reaction any time discussion of my mistreatment came up. "Mr. Tennsworth mentioned it."

  "I'm not sure what I think of my loyal stableman sharing that with you."

  "I think he did it out of loyalty, not in defiance of it. He wants to protect you; he wants me to protect you." He looked off and took a deep breath. "Your servants are extraordinarily loyal." He turned back to me. "Tell me about Cecily. And what's the name of your young cook?"

  A smile lifted my mouth. "Emeline."

  "Yes. Tell me more about them."

  I decided I didn't mind the change of subject. Though I was embarrassed by what Mr. Tennsworth had told him, I knew he was right.

  "Beatrice is Emeline's great aunt. When Emeline's parents died two years ago, Beatrice found her a position here. She had served alongside her mother in the kitchens of another estate since she was four years old. When she was brought on here, she was officially a scullery maid, but couldn't seem to keep herself from cooking. She never spoke back then. Beatrice told me she would just watch the cooks with her hands fisted together. They caught her trying to make things on her own several times. She was severely reprimanded for it, but on the third occasion, Beatrice calmly asked the cooks if Emeline's creations tasted good. The
way she tells it, the cooks sputtered a bit before admitting they'd never tried any of them. Once they had tried her latest creation, they admitted she had some talent, but it didn't matter. She was a scullery maid and that was the end of it. However, the scolding stopped after that day. She would cook or bake in silence, and no one bothered being upset about it because she was so efficient and helpful."

  I could feel my emotions slipping and had to pull back on them as I related the next part. "When Beatrice found out the quantity and quality of the food that was sent up to me, she took it upon herself to not only deliver the food, but to have Emeline cook it for me."

  The air suddenly thickened and I looked up to see James biting down on his fury. "He didn't even allow you to eat well?"

  "It's not as though he starved me. But he knew that I enjoyed food."

  "So he did his best to take the enjoyment out of it?"

  I forced a smile. "Beatrice and Emeline did what they could to thwart his plans. And I always ate well when the other Rockwells visited."

  "A silver lining to everything?"

  I just nodded, distracted by the changing color of the sky as the sun started its descent.

  "And what of Cecily? How did she come to join your band of merry women?"

  I smiled at his description. "Cecily was actually born into a noble family."

  His face made it clear that I had shocked him.

  "Not even she is certain of what happened. When she was nine years old, her father earned the reputation of a traitor. Whether or not that is true, she never did find out. Though she was born noble, they were never very wealthy, so when her father fell from grace, her family was ruined. They were taken in by relatives, but by the time she was fifteen, she couldn't stand being dependent on someone else's charity anymore. She went into service, determined to live her life on her own terms, instead of everybody else's."

  "She must have a fair amount of tenacity to do such a thing."

  I grinned. "Cecily certainly has that, and it's a good thing too. Being in service ended up being far more difficult than she expected, but she's determined, and she's not afraid of work. She also has little concern over what others think of her, and quite a lot of experience with people judging her unfairly."

  "She saw through the lies that your husband told about you?"

  "Beatrice recognized her as a kindred spirit. She took very little convincing."

  "I would imagine that to be the case with anyone who knows you."

  The sun was just about to touch the horizon when James took his leave. He was reluctant to go and I was reluctant to say goodbye, but it had to be done. He kissed my hand and I couldn't help the blush that dusted my cheeks. I bid him a good evening then called Rogue to my side.

  Entering the house, I found the nearest window so that I could watch James mount his horse and ride away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IT WAS ROGUE that woke me. My bed shifted as he stood and jumped to the floor. I rolled over as his claws clicked across the stone to the door.

  He growled and I pushed myself up, alarmed by the low rumble vibrating from his chest. My heart pounded and my breathing seemed unnaturally loud. I flung the covers off and grabbed for my dressing gown.

  I crept to the door and put my hand on Rogue's head, but he didn't acknowledge me, just let out another menacing rumble.

  I listened, trying to hear whatever it was that Rogue believed might threaten me.

  Was that a door opening downstairs? Was it voices? I wished I could attribute my fear to my own fanciful imagination, but I wasn't imagining Rogue's distress.

  I could scream, or hide, or run for help. But I reminded myself that I was no longer alone. I had guards, men I trusted. Just as I reached to open the door, a knock reverberated through it.

  "Highness?"

  I sighed in relief at the familiar voice. "Yes, Falstone?"

  "There is a man arrived."

  I opened the door and saw Falstone's face lit by the candle in the wall sconce. The light by my door always burned. "I apologize for disturbing you, but he is insistent and claims he is known to you."

  The audacious thought crossed my mind that it might be James, but I dismissed it. James would never be so discourteous. "And his name?"

  "Rockwell."

  "My father-in-law?"

  "I know not."

  I looked down at my dressing gown, wondering if I should dress. Surely anyone showing up at such an hour wouldn't expect me to be awake and put together. And even if they did, I had no desire to waste time dressing and undressing when I should be sleeping. My shoulders pulled back and I swept from my room, Rogue trotting at my side. If it was Damian's father, I would be forced to be polite, but I would not be kind. Anyone who showed up unannounced at this late hour deserved my ire. And if it wasn't the duke, but someone pretending to be him, then my guards would throw him out on his ear.

  We traversed the cold stone corridors in silence and I started wishing I had taken the time to put something on my feet.

  Rain splattered the windows. "Has it been raining all night?"

  "This is the first I've heard it, Highness."

  We descended the stairs just as a flash of lightning jumped through the high windows, momentarily illuminating the entry hall.

  I didn't have to ask where I would find my 'guest'. There were two guards stationed outside the drawing room, both looking surly and ill at ease with the visitor. Obviously the duke had been rather heavy-handed when inserting himself here.

  As I approached the door, Rogue growled, but quieted when I set my hand on his head. I gave the guards what I hoped was an encouraging smile and entered the drawing room. Only two lanterns were lit, both close to the door. I searched the dim expanse and found my guest crouching before the fireplace. He cursed under his breath and I couldn't help smiling just a little. "Do you need assistance, sir?"

  "I'm trying to light a blasted fire." It wasn't the voice of the duke, but the angry intonations were horribly familiar. It was Damian's voice. My mouth went dry as the breath was squeezed from my chest.

  Perhaps this was a nightmare. But I knew it wasn't. I took a step back just as the spark caught the kindling. He leaned in, blowing the spark into a tiny flame.

  A scream wrenched my throat as Damian's profile silhouetted against the light. Rogue gave a threatening bark, and I stumbled for the door as Falstone, Marcus and Leo rushed in. Marcus caught my arms before I lost my footing, then positioned himself between me and the man kneeling by the fire. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against Marcus's solid back, unwilling to look up. It couldn't be true. Damian was dead. I knew that. I had seen it. He was buried and gone.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Damian demanded. Only it wasn't his voice. Not quite.

  I leaned to the side, looking around Marcus. Leo was going about the room lighting lanterns, and Rogue was halfway between me and the stranger, tense and ready to attack. I forced myself to look at the man as the room lightened little by little.

  The knot in my stomach eased, but not completely.

  Before me stood Damian's brother, Edmund. He was soaking wet and irate.

  I swallowed and forced my back to straighten as I stepped out. Though I'd only met Edmund a handful of times, I'd never seen him so rumpled. I tried to see the similarity to Damian that had surprised me when he lit the fire, but looking at him straight on diminished the similarities greatly. Damian had been clean shaven where Edmund kept a neat beard. His eyebrows were thicker and his hair darker. It must have been the profile that was so shockingly familiar.

  "Lady Mary, will you—"

  "Marilee," I cut him off. "My name is Marilee, and I will thank you to not call me Mary ever again."

  One of his eyebrows rose. I couldn't tell if he was surprised by what I'd said or by the boldness with which I had said it. "Very well..." He studied me through narrowed eyes. "Will you please tell me why it is that I have received such a shameful welcome?"

  "Rogue." I tappe
d the side of my leg and he trotted over, sitting himself directly in front of me. My canine sentinel. "I don't mean to sound impertinent, Lord Rockwell, but what did you expect?"

  "This is my family home. I expected to be received in the same way that I've always been received. If the loyal servants who used to be employed here had welcomed me, there would have been no need to even rouse you from your bed. I've arrived on this very doorstep on many occasions and at all hours of the day and night. I was shocked to be received with so little grace, especially as the next sovereign."

  "If my men had been given any reason to expect your arrival, I'm certain you would have been greeted with the utmost courtesy." I let that accusation sit in the air for just a moment before continuing. "Instead, you showed up just as you have every other time in your life. Except this time, you knew that the situation had changed. This isn't just another of your family homes; for the time being, this is my home. Unless, of course, you plan on contesting my right to this house."

  "I assure you, Princess Marilee, the idea has never entered my mind." He raked his fingers through his hair and shook the moisture from his hands, clearly frustrated. He brought his eyes back to me, his brow furrowed. "I don't know you well," he began abruptly. "You did not accompany your husband's body back to our home. You did not attend the funeral. I have no idea why, but it occurred to me that you might be in need of some assistance."

  I pulled my chin in. "Assistance, sir?"

  "This is an old manor. Damian had a unique way of running things. I wanted to ensure that everything was in order and running smoothly for you."

  I was brought up short. He had been upset by his welcome, but he wasn't lashing out at me. There seemed to be kindness behind his offer, and I couldn't sense any judgment despite his mention of my absence at Damian's funeral. My mind spun around his offer, knowing that I could use the help, but unsure if I could accept help from him. I couldn't decide right now.

  "Leo. Please waken Beatrice and Cecily. Have them prepare a chamber for our guest in the new wing." Leo bowed and left the room. "Lord Rockwell. It is late. I'm certain you are tired and would appreciate a chance to get dry. I appreciate your offer and would be happy to discuss these matters further, but now is not the time."