To Capture a Rake by Lori Brighton
“Up ahead, Gid, I’ve found a magical place!”
He could practically see Lucy as she darted through the trees, blending into the shadows. He could practically follow the trail of her small footprints, touch her worn gingham gown as it trailed out behind her. Damn it all, he felt haunted. Haunted by a past he could not escape.
“Gideon, are you coming?” Lucy called, her voice echoing through the forest.
No. He froze as birds darted around him. He froze and clutched the sides of his head as if that could stop the memory. He’d gone mad. It wasn’t Lucy. She was gone. Nothing magical at all.
Hesitantly he lowered his hands. But someone was laughing. Childish, girlish giggles. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Lost, confused, he started toward the sound.
Something flashed and sparkled ahead. Not a ghost. Gideon followed the path as it sloped into a shallow stream. Light burst through a clearing, momentarily blinding him. Mouse raced by, laughter trailing behind her. The sight of the all-too-human child briefly grounded him in reality. Henry followed, his own laughter joining his sister’s.
“Do be careful!” Elizabeth called out from somewhere in the brilliant clearing.
He needed to see her.
Damn it all, for some odd reason he’d had to see her. More laughter, this time throaty and velvety…beautiful. Elizabeth. He swung his gaze around the clearing. The stream cut through a small opening where purple and yellow wildflowers bloomed. A piece of heaven. The sun shone down, highlighting the area with a heavenly glow and making the water sparkle like a river of diamonds. Henry and Mouse had left the stream and were racing through those wildflowers.
Then, from the corner of his eye he saw the subtlest movement.
Elizabeth.
She stood in the creek wearing only her shift, like some nymph from a fairy tale. Her hair had been braided, but a few strands had managed to escape and clung lovingly to her damp neck and shoulders. He couldn’t breathe. For a brief, terrifying moment he wanted her. Not just for a day, not for a fortnight.
Not having spotted him yet, the family was carefree and at ease, a perfect picture. Cally danced around the clearing like some tiny elf come to bless the earth with her innocence. Wearing only his undergarments, Henry raced back into the water, splashing and hooting like some sort of mischievous gnome. Here, with them, he could almost believe in happily ever after.
For the longest time he didn’t move for fear that they would vanish. His chest warmed, an odd feeling he wasn’t quite sure he could identify. He pressed his hand to his heart. A feeling he wasn’t quite sure he enjoyed. But one thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t belong here, a mere mortal spying on a magical world. He hesitated, unsure if he should step back into the shadows and return home, or…
“Mr. Gideon!” Henry called out, finally spotting him. “Do come play.”
Elizabeth froze, her wide eyes flashing with a wariness he felt to this gut. She obviously hadn’t been expecting his sudden appearance. Her damp hair wasn’t the only thing that clung to her skin. That white shift hugged her wet body, reminding him of their time at the inn and what lay beneath that clothing. Something primitive stirred to life deep within.
Although she blushed as if embarrassed, she gave him an unwavering smile, welcoming him into their fairy-tale land if he so dared. The wall around him shuddered, threatening to crumble. He knew in that moment he had to leave for his own sake and theirs.
“I beg your pardon,” he muttered, turning.
“No!” Mouse called out.
He cringed, hearing the plea in her tone. Damn it all, she sounded so much like Lucy. The hopeful begging that always pulled at his meager heartstrings. He heard someone splash through the water, and suddenly clammy, wet hands were grasping his arm. Gideon managed to glance back at them all.
“Do stay! Please.” Henry was looking up at him with a gaze so full of longing that Gideon found himself hesitating. “At the least take off your shoes and wade a bit.”
His gaze shifted to Elizabeth. She lifted a brow, provoking him. He didn’t want to stay, damn it all. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to lie awake at night and think about her lush body. He wanted to get as far away from the woman as possible, even as he craved her touch and attention.
“It’s ever so lovely,” Cally added, spinning around and around and sending an arc of water into the air. The droplets caught the sun like little sparks of light. They had no worries, no cares.
“Come along!” the children said as one.
They didn’t wait for him, but burst through the creek, following the twists and turns. It was shallow and clear enough that he could see the rocky bottom. He was startled by how readily they welcomed him. Startled and unnerved, he shook his head, emerging from the choking confines of his emotions.
“Do you need assistance?” Elizabeth asked, wading through the water toward him.
He could tell by the sparkle in her eyes, she was jesting with him, playing the doting lover. No one had ever helped him undress, and he sure as hell didn’t need someone now. He looked away, unable to hold her gaze. He swore she could read his thoughts when she looked at him that way.
She shifted closer. “I must warn you, tis rather cold.”
“The children don’t seem to mind,” he said, watching them as they splashed from the creek and raced across the small field.
He thought of the games he and his sister had played, the memories difficult to dwell upon. They’d lived in the city, the streams too disgusting to splash in, but they’d played silly things, like hide the spoon, running through the streets, knocking over crates, to find it. And they had had a wonderful childhood…until…
He swallowed hard, pushing the memory aside. “They seem so happy now when only the other day they were miserable.”
She shrugged her bare shoulders. “Yes, children don’t wallow in the past, do they?” She plucked a purple flower from the stalk near the creek. The water caught the hem of her shift, the current tugging gleefully on the thin gown until it hugged her curvy form. To say he was suspicious of her motives would be an understatement. “They do not let the past taint their lives.”
Yes, but at some point it became too deeply embedded for them to escape. It might not be too late for Henry and Cally. It might not even be too late for Elizabeth. But it was too late for him.
“They only live in the happiness and innocence of the moment. If only we could live in such a way.”
She paused a few feet from him and tucked the flower behind her ear. She felt no shame in wearing only her shift. She wasn’t a lady. No lady would be so carefree. She had grown up in the slums, just like he had. Yet, one wouldn’t know it by looking at her. For the first time in his life Gideon wondered if perhaps people could change. He clenched his jaw and looked away. Some perhaps, but not him.
“How?” he said, his voice harsh. He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but now that the word had slipped from his lips he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “How do we live that way?”
She shrugged and brushed her braid over her shoulder, the movement sending her lilac scent through the air. “Perhaps remember your own childhood.”
His mood grew dark. “And if my childhood was a sad affair?”
She grinned and much to his dismay, cupped the side of his face. It was a brief graze of her palm over his skin, but he felt it all the way to his bones. He’d called the woman a whore, and in response she offered him life. He jerked back, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Then you shall share ours. They’re good children, Gideon. They do not mind sharing.”
He stumbled back a step, feeling the sudden urge to bolt. For the first time in over fourteen years the thought of having a future of his own making did not seem so impossible. The Americas. Australia. Even the Highlands if he was so bold. Elizabeth was much more dangerous than he’d realized, for the woman had offered him something he hadn’t held for years…hope.
“I have
Aye, he just might have a future after all, and the thought scared the hell out of him.
The bed was cold and the air chill.
Confused, Gideon shifted, rolling onto his back. In the last fourteen years of his life he’d known only comfort. Feather beds, silken sheets, warm fires on cold nights. But this…this was something different. Something not normal, yet something vaguely familiar. His stomach growled, bringing him fully awake. The painfully gnawing hunger hadn’t come to call in over a decade.
Startled, he cracked his lids. The ceiling above him was not a painted fresco of cherubs as he’d expected. No…it was wooden rafters covered with cobwebs and dust. There was not the fresh scent of lemon and soap, but the scent of unwashed bodies, earth, and simmering stew.
What the hell had happened? The small room shifted in and out of focus. Gideon groaned, rolling to his side, only to realize he was on the floor, some sort of makeshift bed with dirty blankets that were more like rags. He shoved the material aside, sickened.
“There ye go now, me luve, just a bite.”
Gideon stiffened, his heart pounding so hard it actually hurt. He recognized that voice, but no…it couldn’t be. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the corner of the small room. His mother stood at their scuffed table, trying to force his sister to eat some sort of bread.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She placed her hands on her narrow hips, her frustration palpable. “Ye ain’t had anything to eat in two days.”
He didn’t dare move, afraid if he did, they would disappear. He didn’t question how or why, he only knew that his sister was alive again. She sat there with her head down, her long, dark hair hiding her face. Dirty bare feet stuck out from beneath the tattered hem of her gingham dress.
She was ten, perhaps, and he knew that was wrong. She should have been much older by now, but he was too overwhelmed to understand; too happy to care that the scene wasn’t right in some way. Slowly, he settled his feet upon the cold floor. Bare feet, dirty floor. Tattered brown shirt and buff trousers too short for his long, scrawny legs. His stomach growled again.
Happiness gave way to confusion. Panicked, he surged to his feet. His mother glanced his way. Her face was pale with hunger and exhaustion, her blue eyes almost void of emotion. So very familiar. She set the bread down, rubbed her hands on her dirty apron, and stood. Even now he could still see the vestiges of beauty. She had been stunning…once, until poverty had taken away her youth and vitality.
“Gid, see if ye can git yer sister to eat. Yer a good lad, always helpful. She won’t touch a bleedin’ thing for me, and I ain’t got time for such nonsense.”
She hustled away toward the back room of their cottage. Gideon watched her go, wanting to call out to her, wanting to understand but he was afraid if he spoke, it would all disappear. He jerked his attention back to his sister. She hadn’t moved.
“Lucy,” Gideon whispered, his voice cracking.
The child didn’t look at him, but a soft, pathetic whimper rang through the room. Gideon’s heart clenched. Slowly, he started toward her as if she was a wild rabbit, easily spooked.
“Why aren’t you eating? You have to eat.” It all seemed so damn familiar, and he had the oddest sense that this had all happened before. He reached out, resting his hand on the top of her silky head.
“Lucy?”
She didn’t respond. Panic, bitterly cold, surged through his body. He had to get through to her, must make her understand. He dropped to his knees, hitting the floor hard, but he barely felt the pain. He didn’t question this second chance to save her, merely grasped it with both hands.
“Please, Lucy, talk to me. We can stop this, you don’t have to…”
Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. Her beautiful face was sunken and pale, almost skeletal. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in days. The sight of her brought back painful memories, memories he’d tried so hard to bury with the past. Gideon drew back, flinching.
“Please, Lucy,” he whispered, even knowing it was a lost cause. “Please eat.”
“No, Gideon.” Her large gray eyes were wide, sad. “It’s too late. I’m dead because of you.”
Gideon jerked awake with a start. Panic clawed at him. The frantic need to draw breath overwhelmed him, but his lungs wouldn’t fill. He jerked upright, gasping for air, and settled his feet on the soft carpet. The beautiful room wavered in and out of focus around him. The coldness was gone. The scent of dirt faded. He wasn’t home, he was here…at Elizabeth’s. He flattened his hands to the silken bedspread and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. In. Out. In. Out.
Not real. It hadn’t been real. Just a dream. So why was his heart hammering so madly against his chest he felt like it would burst through his ribs? Why was his body coated in a chill sweat? Why did shivers rake over his skin again and again? Why? Why? Why?
“Just a dream.”
He raked back his damp hair, his fingers trembling.
“Just a dream.”
But it didn’t feel like it. He surged to his feet and dressed quickly. Damn it, with one dream, one memory, he was that lost and weak child. He couldn’t go through this again. He fisted his hands and slammed them into the soft mattress, resisting the urge to yell in outrage. He would not be that innocent lad. That boy had died over fourteen years ago, he’d made sure of it.
Restless, he paced to the windows. The sun had yet to rise, and the sky was a dull and melancholy gray. Bracing his hands on the windowpane, he stared out onto the dark, rolling hills toward the woods. He hadn’t thought about his family in years. What had triggered the dream?
Just as soon as he’d asked himself the question, the answer came to mind. He gritted his teeth and shoved away from the window. Elizabeth.
He pulled on his boots.
Elizabeth and her ridiculous charm. Her merry laughter haunted him like bells ringing out Christmas day. Elizabeth, and her scent of lilacs and spring and hope. But even Elizabeth couldn’t bring back his sister. He tore open his bedchamber door and made his way down the dark hall, letting his instincts lead the way. The urge to escape the stifling house was overwhelming. He couldn’t breathe in that blasted bedchamber with its clean and innocent scent of lemons.
Not even the maids were up this early. The fireplaces were cold, and the house was eerily silent, watchful. He felt haunted by ghosts, followed by the past. A past he had so desperately tried to bury with his family. He moved down the narrow servant’s steps and shoved open the door at the back of the house. The blast of cool morning air was just what he needed. Blessed relief. He paused on the stoop, watching the birds dart through the garden. Tiny black shadows. They were already up and ready to take on the world. Their merry tunes peppered the darkness, bringing life to the dreary gray.
As a child he’d taken shelter in the outside world, desperate to escape the poverty of his home. Out there he could be anyone, go anywhere, believe in anything. And Lucy had always been at his side, always listening to his dreams, always urging him to discover more. She’d believed in him, believed in life and in hope. And look where it had gotten her…dead.
Weighed down by the heaviness of the past, Gideon moved to a stone bench. Why? Why had he dreamt of his family when he’d worked so hard to ignore the memories? He sat down, resting his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. It was a momentary slip brought on by his new surroundings, and by a woman who reminded him of hope. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t soft. He’d destroyed his past, and he would not let it abuse him once more. He would not dream of them again.
The soft crunch of gravel alerted Gideon. He stiffened, jerking upright. The yew trees and forest beyond were black shadows. But he could see the glow of a cheroot before he actually noticed the shape of the man. His hands fisted, instincts on alert.
“Good morning,” Mr. Smith’s wary voice spoke from the shadows.
He relaxed…somewhat. Gideon grunted in response
“I thought I was the only one who woke at such an ungodly hour.”
Wonderful, the bleedin’ man wanted to chat. Gideon didn’t bother to respond, and he sure as hell didn’t bother to correct the man. In fact, it wasn’t normal for him to be up early. Usually he slept like a babe, no conscience to keep him awake. But now…now the dreams had returned. He shuddered as if the hand of a spirit trailed down his spine.
Mr. Smith dropped his cheroot and crushed it with his boot, extinguishing the glow. He was carrying a small bag, indicating he’d only just arrived. “Serendipitous, as I wanted to speak with you anyway.”
Gideon narrowed his eyes, watching the man as he settled on the bench across from him. Even though it was bleedin’ early and there was no one around, Mr. Smith was dressed fully in jacket and pressed trousers. I had planned to head to London for a fortnight, but decided to return to the estate.
“And why would I care?” Gideon growled.
“Because I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her here alone with you.” Mr. Smith smiled. “If you haven’t noticed, Mrs. Ashton is an incredibly caring and rather trusting woman.”
He didn’t miss the warning in his tone. When he should have been cringing with guilt, Gideon instead grew furious. If that dandy thought to threaten him, he’d realize soon enough that no one told him what to do. And damn it all, he would not feel guilty.
“Mr. Smith—”
“She found most of her staff in the slums,” he said, interrupting Gideon as if his comment was of no consequence. “Taking them in when others had given up hope that they would ever be part of genteel society.” He glanced at the house. Only a few of those many, many windows were lit. Most were on the third floor where the servants slept. “Cutthroats, thieves…you name it, they have all found a home with Mrs. Ashton.”