Seven Years to Sin(92)
“Hitting me,” she said, “would be the biggest mistake you will ever make in your life.”
He laughed and drew his arm back.
Michael vaulted onto the back of his horse, then watched Alistair do the same. A raging feeling of helplessness goaded his agitation. He wanted his handkerchief back, damn it. He wanted Hester. And he wanted Regmont dead with a fervor that scared him.
“Say something!” he snapped at Alistair, who hadn’t spoken since he’d challenged Regmont.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Christ.”
“So you kill him in a duel. Then what?” Alistair spurred his mount away from Remington’s. “You avoid persecution by fleeing the country. Your family suffers without you. Hester hates you for taking her husband from her. Jessica becomes furious with me for being even remotely attached to this mess. Will you feel better then?”
“You’ve no notion of what this is like! How it feels to know she needs looking after and I cannot be the one to do it!”
“Don’t I?” Alistair asked softly, glancing aside at him.
“No. You do not. Whatever envy you may have harbored for my brother’s good fortune, you at least knew he cared for Jessica and saw to her comfort. He made her happy. You did not have to wonder at every minute of every day if he was raising his hand to her. If she was terrified or hurt or—”
Alistair yanked so hard on his reins that his horse reared up with a whinny of protest. The clap of hooves to cobblestone was like a thundercrack in the darkness. The gelding pranced in agitation, turning completely around. “What did you say?”
“He beats her. I know he does. From things I’ve observed, and things my mother has observed as well.”
“Damn you.” The fury in Alistair’s tone was unmistakable. “And you allowed him to leave? What if he’s at home now?”
Michael’s own wrath boiled over. “What can I do? She is his wife. I have no recourse.”
“Jessica is there! And her greatest terror is a man’s rage.”
“What the devil—?”
“Hadley was abusive,” Alistair bit out, pulling his horse around. “He punished the girls as liberally and as painfully as possible.”
Michael’s gut twisted. “Jesus.”
Alistair kicked his mount into a gallop, bending low over the horse’s arched neck and weaving recklessly through the busy streets. Michael followed close behind him.
Jess watched Regmont’s arm draw back and steeled herself for the blow, refusing to cower.
But before it came, a sickening thud reverberated through the room. She watched, astonished and confused, as Regmont’s eyes rolled back into his head. He crumpled to the floor in a boneless heap.
Startled, she stumbled back. Blood seeped through his blond hair and glistened in the candlelight. A harsh clattering drew Jess’s gaze to the fireplace poker rattling on the floor … dropped from Hester’s lax hand.
“Jess …”
Her gaze lifted. Her sister doubled over with a sharp cry of pain. There was blood at Hester’s feet, coursing down her legs, rapidly forming a spreading pool. No …
Pounding footsteps approached. “Jessica!”
She called out to him as she leaped over Regmont toward Hester.
Alistair appeared, followed directly by Michael. Both men skid to a halt at Regmont’s body. Jessica caught Hester just as her sister’s knees gave out. Together, they sank to the floor.
“Is he dead?” Jess asked as she paced the length of the downstairs parlor. Acheron sprawled beneath the table between the settees, whining softly.
“No.” Alistair came to her, bearing a glass of brandy. “Here. Drink this.”
She looked at the amber liquid longingly, wanting the soothing oblivion of liquor with a ferocity that was nearly undeniable. Her throat was dry and her hands unsteady, symptoms she knew would be alleviated by one small drink, but she found the will to shake her head. She wasn’t going backward. The past was behind her. After tonight, she was newly determined to leave it there.
Her gaze roamed the room. The cheery yellow décor seemed absurd considering the state of the couple who laid claim to it.
“She brained him with the poker,” she murmured, still trying to grasp the enormity of what had transpired and how blind she’d been to the signs of abuse
“Good,” Michael said with vehemence.
Alistair set the brandy down and came up behind her. He caught her shoulders with his large hands, massaging the painfully tight muscles. “The doctor is seeing to your sister first, but he says Regmont will need stitches.”
Jess’s heart broke. “She was despondent before. Now that she’s lost the baby …”
Michael snatched the brandy from the table and tossed it back in one swallow. His hair was a mess from the relentless raking of his fingers, and his dark eyes were haunted.
Finally, Jess saw the love he harbored for her sister. Guilt ate at her like acid. She had steered Hester toward Regmont all the while a man worthy of her was right beneath their noses.
She looked over her shoulder at Alistair. “After we are wed, I would like Hester to stay with us for whatever time she needs. I don’t think she should remain in this house any longer than necessary.”