The Thorn and the Rose (Wicked Sons Book 4) by Emma V Leech

Author:Emma V Leech [Leech, Emma V]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

When I get my hands on you, sister dear, I shall make you sorry you betrayed me and left me to rot in this festering pit. I shall make you sorry you were ever born.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon’ble Everett Branagan, Baron Childe to his half-sister, Miss Rosemarie Fortesque.

12th February 1847. Gillmont, Hampstead Heath.

It was rather too late to regret the fact he’d borrowed the carriage and horses from his father’s stable in town rather than renting something. Thorn was only glad it was dark as they navigated the lanes that led to the remote location of Gillmont, so the gilded crest on the door ought not be remarked on.

At least he knew that the fellow who had been set on doing them harm was safely behind bars, and so the danger to this place ought to be no more than the usual worry about gossip.

Thorn climbed out of the carriage, stretching his aching limbs, which were protesting the many hours of immobility. He’d not wished to move, though, not with Marie sleeping so trustingly in his arms. Until she woke up and seemed as nervous as a cat. He wished he knew what she was up to, for he did not doubt there was something going on behind those beautiful eyes. As desperate as he believed she was, there was a hint of steel in the slender creature that stepped down from the carriage. He had sensed it in her from the start. She might be bent by the way fate and her brother ill-used her, but she would not let it break her. Marie was fighting for survival, but what side did she think he was on? Was he the enemy? How far might she go to save herself? Thorn did not believe for a moment she was about to put herself into his keeping, not that he would even allow that. The idea of taking advantage of a woman’s desperation made his blood run cold, but she did not know that. Why was she here?

“So, this is Gillmont,” she said, staring up at the large, handsome brick farmhouse. It was an attractive prospect on a chilly night, golden lamplight glowing in the windows.

“It is. Come on, you must be tired and hungry.”

Thorn picked up her bag, went to the front door and knocked, noticing her look of surprise. Had she expected him to march in without a by your leave?

Noise behind the door and sliding back of the bolt confirmed the knock had been heard and a moment later, it opened.

“Evening, George,” Thorn said, taking his hat off.

“My lord!” George replied, eyes wide, as well they might be. Thorn had not been here since they had first begun the place, though he took as much interest in the wellbeing of the house and its inhabitants and paid his share of the upkeep. “This is a surprise. Come in out of the cold.”

“Thank you, George, and may I present to you, er… Miss Marie Smith,” Thorn improvised, belatedly realising Marie really needed a last name.

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