Betraying Mercy. Amber Lin

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      He was selfish to take her this way, but concern whispered, too.

      What would she do here? Jasper may have been a poor excuse for a caretaker, but a young woman with no means could starve in the next cruel winter. She deserved better than him for a rescuer, but he was all she had.

      Another excuse. The simple truth was, he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave her here, in a place that reeked of death.

      “Did you send the note?” he asked suddenly. He didn’t know where the idea had come from, but he knew the answer even before she nodded.

      She’d sent the note, because she knew there was trouble. She’d used code from their childhood, so that he would understand. And that was as good a reason to take her as any—there were very few people he could trust.

      Just her, perhaps.

      As he knelt, she placed her slim foot in his hands. She weighed almost nothing as he lifted her up. He mounted behind her and they set off. A soft, slim girl in white backed by a bedraggled man. Traced from the pages of a picture book, a lady and her savior. Except the woman was a sacrifice and the man had just killed her father, casting William into the role of the dragon.

      They rode through the mist with Beck following behind. William didn’t give a damn about Beck’s disapproval, but the girl’s fear gave him pause. She was beautiful and brave and everything he wasn’t. He wanted her with an intensity that stole his breath. He wanted to join with her, to sink into her softness and never come out.

      He swiped the rainwater from his eyes. “Go.”

      “My lord?” she asked.

      Damn her, didn’t she understand how close he was to breaking?

      “Leave!” He turned to Beck, who rode up beside them. “Take her home.”

      Lacking the willpower to watch them go, William stalked up the slick hill. The house was as forbidding as he remembered it, but relief warmed him. Thank God she was safe. From him.

      He’d always been so damn careful to leave her alone when they were young. Not to even look at her, when she was sixteen and shy and so lovely it hurt to breathe. It had been a relief when he could finally move to London and never see her. Never be tempted. Mercy. She wasn’t his class. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t be with her. The only thing he could do was ruin her. The temptation had always been there, through the years. And in that dark moment, in the barn, he had given in to it.

      But now that would not happen.

      He went to his room upstairs, where a fire heated the hearth and water sat on his dresser. No servants appeared, though apparently they still did their duty.

      William peeled the wet clothes from his body and kicked them into a pile in the corner. He would burn them once they dried. Despite the fire, the night air pebbled his skin. He used the lukewarm water to bathe all over. Over and over he washed and rinsed, until the water had turned murky. His skin still felt gritty, soiled.

      He looked to the bed, draped by a coverlet, so white, so innocent. A red spray of blood. He blinked and the vision changed again, to thin wet cloth draped over slim curves.

      Hell.

      He flung back the counterpane and climbed beneath the cool sheets. His mind was as blank as the ceiling. Maybe it would be like this for the rest of his life, going through the motions. A mechanical body and an empty mind. Maybe he’d died along with his parents, in every way that mattered.

      A solitary thought pierced the veil of regret—the girl. Even now, he wanted to use her in the most abominable way. She would be somewhere far, far away from him by now.

      God. So beautiful, so sweet. Sacrificing herself on the altar of her family, when he hadn’t even been able to save his own.

       Chapter Three

      Mercy Lyndhurst shivered in her nightgown, the threadbare fabric proving little protection against the chilling winds. Cold rain slashed her skin and wet grass froze her bare toes, but none of it could dampen the raging furnace within.

      Inside she burned with fear. And guilt.

      She watched the corner where Rochford had disappeared. He told her to leave, but it couldn’t be that easy. Nothing in her life had been easy. Hardship and betrayal, those were things she could count on.

      And if her family was supported in the process, all the better. Her body was worth that price. Who would blame her? The entire village would. They would shun her—and Hannah—but maybe that was worth the price, too.

      Owen Beck blocked her path. “I’ll take you home.”

      She wanted nothing more than to be home with her family, almost safe and not quite warm. Only an hour ago, her father banged on the door, screaming to be let inside. Even Mama didn’t dare let him inside when he was so deep in his cups. So he’d gone to sleep in the barn, but Mercy kept her vigil, in a silent battle of wills with the moon.

      Only when it relented to the pale wash of morning would her sister be safe for one more night. When the knocking came again, she assumed her father had returned. She peeked out the window. Horses. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach, and relief and hope and gratitude.

      She was wicked for wishing her father dead. She couldn’t stop wishing her feather dead, even though he was. Mercy had devoted so many hours, so many years to protecting Hannah. If it were taken away, what would she have left?

      She straightened her spine. “Let me pass, Mr. Beck.”

      “Mr. Beck,” he mocked. “As if we weren’t in the same schoolroom and you didn’t follow me around with your thumb in your mouth.”

      She’d been lucky in that regard. The pastor had allowed girls to attend the church-run school room. More importantly, he’d allowed her to attend, even though she hadn’t always had proper clothes or shoes to do so. She had sat near the back—at first, with her thumb in her mouth—and learned.

      She tightened her grip on her nightgown, the last threads of her supposed propriety. Truthfully, she had lost any rights to virtue years ago. “We aren’t children anymore.”

      His hair had escaped its queue, framing his face in wet tendrils. “I’m not letting you do this.”

      She never had an older brother, but it appeared Owen wanted to act as one. Why had he not done so at her home, when her father had threatened her sister? Or for the years before that when she desperately needed help? No one in the village had intervened, though her father’s nightly rages were almost as legendary as the countess’s.

      Only one man would have helped her, who had enough power to. Enough goodness. And it wasn’t the man in front of her.

      “I intend to honor my word, Owen.” She used his name as a jab, since he insisted.

      Let him pretend to be her friend when just weeks before he had barely troubled himself to acknowledge her. “Even us lowly villagers understand a simple trade.”

      Though the thought of actually following through СКАЧАТЬ