Heart of Courage (22 page)

Thor just nodded. He was furious with Wilkins and his treachery, but that problem could be solved.

It was losing Lindsey that tore at him.

“There is more,” Leif said. “I can tell by the look on your face. What is it?”

Thor sighed. “It is Lindsey. It has ended between us. She has finally come to her senses.”

“And by that you mean she believes the two of you do not suit.”

Thor paced over to the small, coal-burning hearth, though there was no fire lit there now. “I have told myself it is for the best and deep inside I know it is true. I could never give her the things she deserves. I am not the man she needs and I could never make her happy. Still, I…”

“I have been where you stand, brother. Losing the woman you love is not an easy thing.”

Thor's gaze swung back to Leif. “I did not say I loved her.”

Leif smiled sadly. “You did not have to. It is there in your eyes whenever you look at her.”

Thor stared into the dead coals in the hearth. “She is trouble. I am lucky to be rid of her.”

Leif made no reply, but when Thor looked back, he caught a trace of pity.

Thor said no more. Even he did not believe the lie. He wanted Lindsey as he always did, but she no longer belonged to him and never would again.

It was a pain that would not go away.

 

They waited for Stephen's valet, Simon Beale, at the Quill and Dagger Tavern, just two blocks from the viscount's stylish residence in Grosvenor Square. The promise of money seemed to have convinced the valet to agree to the meeting.

Lindsey sat next to Thor at a table not far from the door, watching anxiously to see if the man would actually appear. Krista and Leif sat at a table nearby, not wanting to make the man uneasy and also providing a chaperone for Lindsey, now that her mother and father were home.

Of course, her parents had no idea Thor would be with her. They would be horrified at the thought of her with a man who was not her social equal.

They need not have worried. Thor remained carefully distant, respectfully playing the gentleman he was not. Every minute Lindsey was near him was pure agony—surpassed only by the hours she spent without him.

She forced her mind away from him, back to the business at hand. “Do you think Beale will come?”

“You offered him a good sum of money,” Thor said. “It is likely he will come.”

“We don't even know what he looks like.” She searched the soft light of the tavern, only half full tonight. Situated in a wealthy neighborhood, the place was spotlessly clean, with low beamed ceilings and dark-oak-paneled walls polished to a glossy sheen. Just the faintest smell of tobacco marked it as a spot where men came to drink and converse.

“He is here,” Thor said, his eyes sharpening on a lean man with black hair who had just pushed through the heavy front door, the top half brightened by colored glass.

Lindsey leaned toward Thor, her gaze riveted on the stranger. “How do you know it is he?”

“He is the man who approached me in Foxgrove—the one who sent us to see Martha Barker.”

“I thought he was probably the one.”

Thor rose from his chair as the black-haired man came near. In the light of the candle flickering in the center of the table, Lindsey could see fine threads of silver in the black hair at his temples.

“Mr. Beale?” Thor asked.

He took a quick glance around. “Simon Beale.” He had a thin face and a bladelike nose, but his features were pleasant. “I believe we met before.”

Thor's mouth faintly curved and that simple movement made Lindsey's stomach float up under her ribs.

“Aye, that we did.”

Beale sat down and introductions were made all round. “We spoke to Mrs. Barker, as you advised,” Thor said. “It was an interesting conversation.”

“Ah, so you begin to see the sort of man Merrick is.”

“It is too soon to know for certain.”

“Perhaps,” Beale said. “But I believe Lord Merrick may be the man responsible for the murders of the women in Covent Garden—as well as that of Penelope Barker. I have no proof. I had hoped when you read the notes—and considering your brother had fallen under suspicion—you might be moved to involve yourself in the search.”

“How did you know about my brother?”

He shifted in his chair, nervously glanced toward the door. “Rumors travel among the staff of any big household. Word has a way of getting round.”

A tavern maid approached just then. Thor ordered Beale a tankard of ale, and she brought it quickly, smiling at Thor as she set the mug down on the table. Lindsey ignored a trickle of jealousy that skittered along her spine. Thor was an extremely virile man. Sooner or later he would seek out another woman. She had to resign herself to that, but dear God, she didn't want to.

“We've been searching,” Thor said. “So far we have found nothing of substance that points to Merrick.”

“Since you believe him guilty,” Lindsey said, “you must know he was in London the nights of the murders. Did he go out of the house both nights?”

“He goes out quite often.” Beale took a sip of his ale. “On those particular nights he said he was going to his club. I helped him dress in the appropriate manner.”

“We need to know why you believe the viscount is a murderer,” she said. “Surely it isn't solely because of Penelope Barker's disappearance.”

“I have worked for Lord Merrick since he was a youth. I know his habits, his proclivities better than anyone. I know that he frequented houses of ill repute—though I am not certain he still does. I know that in the past when he returned home after such a night, on occasion there were bloodstains on his clothes.”

Lindsey sucked in a breath. This was certainly not the Stephen Camden she knew!

“Go on,” Thor urged.

“I know what he did to Penelope Barker after she told him she was with child, that he used a horsewhip on her, that he might have killed her right then if one of the grooms hadn't stumbled upon them. I know he disdains women without morals, that he is repulsed by whores and at the same time attracted to them. He once recounted the punishment he meted out to what he called ‘a particularly sinful whore' at the Red Door. I believe there is something not right in the viscount's head that might make him capable of murder.”

“Why do you not go to the police?” Thor asked.

Beale scoffed. “I am a servant. Do you really believe the police would take my word over that of a viscount? And as I said, I have no real proof.”

“If you believe the man is a murderer, why do you continue to work for him?” Lindsey asked.

“I stay because I wish to see justice done for Penny. In that I am determined.”

Lindsey flicked a glance at Thor, read the thoughts swirling round in his head. “Thor spoke to Merrick's coachman. The driver said he took the viscount to White's the nights of both murders.”

“The driver said he heard about each woman's death the next day,” Thor added, “and thus he recalled.”

Lindsey straightened in her chair, a notion popping into her head. “Rudy is a member at White's! I shall convince him to ask around, see if he can discover if Stephen was actually there and if he was, what time he might have left the club.”

Although convincing her brother might not be easy. He and Stephen had both gone to Oxford. Stephen was nearly four years older and Rudy had always looked up to him. There was no way he would believe the viscount was capable of murder.

“It's been six months since the first woman was killed,” Beale reminded them. “I doubt if anyone will recall much about it.”

“Perhaps not,” Lindsey said, “but there is always a chance. And the second murder wasn't all that long ago.”

They talked a little longer, exploring different avenues, going over anything that might be valuable in their search for some sort of proof. At the end of the meeting, Lindsey shoved a pouch of coins across the table toward Beale.

He reached out a thin-fingered hand and shoved it back. “I was in love with Penelope Barker. I was too old for her, I suppose, but I loved her just the same. I want justice for her and the others. If I find out anything useful, I will be in touch.” With a last glance round the room, he rose from the table.

Lindsey watched him walk across the room and disappear out the tavern door, her mind running over bits and pieces of their conversation, wondering if it were possible that Stephen was actually guilty of murder. When she turned, she felt Thor's fierce blue eyes on her face and all thought of Merrick fled.

“Thor…” At the sound of his name, his features closed up. His expression turned guarded, but a hint of longing remained. Her heart swelled with love for him. “Thank…thank you for coming,” she said, just to break the awkward silence.

He shook his head, ran a hand through his wavy dark hair. “We should not be together, Lindsey. When we are, I remember the way it felt when we made love. I remember the feel of your beautiful body moving beneath me and I can only think of having you that way again.”

A soft little whimper escaped her throat. She swallowed. “Perhaps…perhaps we could meet…just one more time. Perhaps…”

His jaw firmed. “Our time together is over, Lindsey. You know this.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away. It was over. She was the one who had ended the affair. She had done the right thing, she told herself.

A few feet away, she saw Leif and Krista rise from their table and begin moving toward them.

“They'll want to know what we have learned,” Thor said.

“Yes…yes, of course.” Lindsey told herself she was grateful when they arrived and Thor began filling them in on what the valet had said.

But she couldn't quite convince herself.

L
indsey slept poorly that night. Her dreams were filled with images of Thor, memories of them laughing together, of riding his magnificent stallion, of him holding her, kissing her, making love to her.

“Time to get up, miss.”

She groaned, unable to believe it was already morning. Her eyes slowly opened to see her maid, Kitty, hovering over the bed.

“Are you feeling unwell, miss?” She rarely slept late, wouldn't have today except for her restless night.

“I am fine.” She threw back the covers and slowly swung her legs to the edge of the bed.

“Your mother wishes you to join her. She said to tell you that once you are up and dressed and have had your morning cocoa, she will see you in the Blue Drawing Room.”

“Did she mention what this is about?”

“No, miss.”

Stretching to work the kinks from her neck, Lindsey walked over to the bowl and pitcher on the dresser, poured in some water and washed her face. Feeling a little better, she finished the cocoa and biscuits Kitty had brought up, then chose a velvet-trimmed, chocolate-brown wool gown in deference to the chilly, late-October weather, dressed and made her way downstairs.

In the Blue Drawing Room, her mother sat waiting, the full skirts of her rose silk gown spread out around her, an embroidery hoop in her hand. She set the hoop aside as Lindsey approached.

“Good morning, dearest.”

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Did you sleep all right? You look a little tired.”

“I am fine,” she lied.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, thank you, I would.” Lady Renhurst was an attractive woman in her late forties, with thick brown hair a darker shade than Lindsey's, lightly streaked with silver. They were of a size, both tall and slender, though her mother appeared to have put on a bit of weight during her latest travels on the Continent.

She poured a fragrant cinnamon tea into two gilt-rimmed porcelain cups then set a cup and saucer down on the table in front of Lindsey. Her mother seemed in no hurry to begin whatever discussion she wished to have, but Lindsey had never been much for wasting time.

“You asked to see me. Does this have something to do with Rudy?” She picked up the silver tongs, snared a lump of sugar and dropped it into her cup.

“Your brother has his own set of problems. This has to do with you, dear—you and your future.”

Lindsey felt a sliver of alarm. Nervous now, stalling for time, she added an extra lump of sugar and carefully stirred until it had dissolved.

Her mother pinned her with a knowing stare. “I can see you would still prefer to avoid the subject. Unfortunately, your father and I have shirked our duty where you are concerned far longer than we should have. That is about to change.”

Lindsey took a sip of her tea. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“I believe you do, but in case you truly do not, I shall not beat about the bush. It is past time you married, dearest. You are two-and-twenty. You have enjoyed your youth long enough. Now it is time to look to the future.”

Her stomach was churning. She wasn't prepared for this conversation. “I like things the way they are, Mother. I have a job I enjoy. I have friends, a life of my own.”

“You are still living at home, dear. It is time that changed.”

“You and Father are rarely in London. I didn't think you minded.”

“Of course we don't mind! This house is your home. But that can't go on forever. You want children, don't you? You want a family of your own?”

There was a time she hadn't been entirely certain. That time was past. In the months she had come to know Thor, she had discovered a good deal about herself. She wanted children, she had learned, wanted a husband and family. Thor's beautiful face popped into her head.

If only the man in her life could be Thor.

Her throat tightened. “Of course, I want those things…someday.”

“But that is the point, darling. If you wait, you may miss out on the very things you want. You are in your prime, dearest. The time to act is now. Your father and I have discussed this. We believe it is time you accept a proposal of marriage and begin to plan your future.”

“That may sound good, Mother, but in case you haven't noticed, I haven't received a proposal of marriage.”

Her mother smiled. “Do not fret, dear. Your father and I have been looking into the matter and we have come up with several interested suitors. You will merely have to choose which one you want.”

Her uneasy stomach clenched into a knot. “I cannot believe this. You are saying you have chosen the man I am to wed?”

“Of course not. We have merely put together a list of suitable men, all of whom have expressed an interest in making a match.”

This couldn't be happening. “H-how many are there?”

“Three, so far. We can probably come up with another one or two if you are truly disinclined toward all three of them, but I think you may be surprised at the quality of the candidates we've come up with.”

It was madness. She was an independent woman—for the most part. She didn't need her parents to find a husband for her.

“I appreciate your concern, truly I do.” She tried to smile, but her lips felt stiff and unwilling. “But you see I am simply not ready to wed.”

Her mother set her saucer down on the table with enough force to rattle her cup. “Perhaps I have not made myself clear. As our daughter, it is the responsibility of your father and me to provide for your future, and we believe it is in your best interest to marry. Though you have never been one to take advantage of our generosity, should you decide not to wed any of the men we approve, you will be cut off completely. You will be asked to leave the house and you will not be welcome here again.”

Lindsey just sat there.

“I realize this has come as a shock but perhaps when you see how well we have chosen—” She broke off, reached over and picked up a sheet of paper lying next to her on the sofa. “These are the names of the men your father has interviewed. Each of them was excited at the prospect of making you his wife.”

Embarrassment flooded her, along with a rush of anger. “I cannot believe Father would do such a thing! Those men must think I am desperate. They must think I can't get a husband on my own!”

“Not a 'tall,” her mother soothed. “You are a lovely young woman and the daughter of a baron. Mostly they were flattered that you would consider them as a potential mate.”

Lindsey's hand shook as she reached out and took hold of the list, looked down and read the first name.

William Johnston, Earl of Vardon.
She had danced with the earl on numerous occasions. He was always attentive, always tried to be charming, though he had never completely succeeded. His interest in her came as no surprise. The man had money and social position. But Lindsey hadn't the least bit of interest in
him.

“Vardon would be quite a good catch,” her mother said, “though your aunt seemed to think you might prefer Michael Harvey.”

Her gaze shot to the second name on the list. Great heavens, her father had spoken to Lieutenant Harvey? Had he dangled her pedigree in front of him, knowing that marriage to the daughter of an aristocrat would help his career? With Rudy still a suspect, she was surprised Michael would even consider the notion of marriage, no matter the benefits it might bring him.

“Mr. Harvey hasn't Vardon's fortune or title, of course, but he is extremely well-connected, his uncle being a duke and all.”

“Great-uncle,” she corrected.

“Yes, and according to what we've found out, he is quite well situated financially. His father inherited a great deal of money and Michael is in line for the fortune. He can provide for you very well and if he is more to your liking—”

Her eyes widened at the third name on the list. “
Stephen Camden?
You talked to Stephen about marrying me?”

“The man is in need of a wife. He requires an heir and the two of you are well acquainted. His property connects with ours and our families have been friends for years. Stephen was pleased to be approached. Of course, none of the men know there are others who are being considered so we must be careful how this is handled.”

Lindsey stared down at the list. “I cannot…cannot believe this.”

“Perhaps not, but as you can see, your father and I are quite serious. You may take some time, of course. We want you to be happy with whatever choice you make. And as I said, we believe we can enlist another one or two names, should those three be unacceptable.”

Lindsey said nothing. She couldn't believe her parents were selling her off as if she were a prize piece of livestock, a wife with the proper pedigree who would suit each man's purpose.

Lindsey lifted her chin, facing her mother squarely. “This is all quite unexpected. I'll need some time to think it over.”

“That is certainly to be expected.”

She set her cup and saucer down on the table and rose to her feet. “I have a few things I must do. If you will excuse me, Mother…”

“Of course, dearest.”

Lindsey left the drawing room on legs that felt wooden. She made her way up the sweeping staircase, went into her bedroom and closed the door.

Her parents were determined she should marry. It should have come as a shock and in a way it did. But in another way, she had known this day would come, that she couldn't live with her parents forever, that if she wanted to continue the sort of life she was used to living, she would have to wed.

It was strange, but the notion of marriage no longer seemed distasteful. In truth, over the past few months, the idea of a husband and family, of children and a home of her own had been stirring at the back of her mind. The trouble was, the man she wished to marry wasn't on her parents' list. He had no fortune. He didn't fit into the society in which she and her parents lived.

Lindsey tried to imagine herself wed to stuffy Lord Vardon, not unattractive, but twenty years her senior and utterly bland.

She thought of Lieutenant Harvey. Michael was handsome and charming, but his job would always come first and she wasn't in love with him and never would be.

For the first time, she realized there was only one man she wanted. Only one man she would ever want.

She wanted Thor Draugr and it didn't matter how much money he had or that he was different from other men. She wanted him to be her husband, wanted him to be the father of her children.

Instead of the worry and fear she expected to feel as she gazed at her parents' list, Lindsey felt a jolt of exhilaration. She had never been good at taking orders—though in this she had just decided to accept her parents' edict.

They wanted her to wed—then wed she would!

But when she married, it would be to the man she loved.

 

Lindsey's thoughts centered on Thor the following morning—as they had for most of the night. Discarding one idea after another, she had tried again and again to figure out the best way to approach him. She was sure he would agree to marry her. He felt guilty for making love to her when they were not wed. He would feel it was his duty.

She considered that. What if he married her out of obligation? What if he didn't really love her?

As she made her way downstairs to the breakfast room, Lindsey cast the notion away. Thor loved her. She was sure of it—well, almost sure. And if he didn't love her quite yet, once they were married and he realized how much she loved
him,
he would surely grow to love her in return.

And she had discovered that—contrary to what she had believed—the two of them were very well suited. Thor's soft-spoken, thoughtful manner complemented her more impulsive nature. They both loved horses and the country. He could be stubborn and demanding, yes. But she had always had a tendency to run over the men in her social circle. Thor would not let that happen.

She smiled to herself as she continued along the hallway and shoved open the door of the breakfast room. A sunny chamber that overlooked the garden, the room was empty except for Rudy, who lounged in a high-backed chair consuming eggs and sausage collected from a row of steaming silver dishes along the sideboard.

“Mornin', sis.” He smiled at her but his nose remained buried in the morning edition of the
London Times.

“Good morning.” Lindsey walked over to the sideboard, lifted the lid off a silver chafing dish and scooped a spoonful of eggs onto a plate for herself.

Thinking that now might be a good time to speak to her brother in regard to Stephen Camden, she joined him at the table. A footman brought her a cup of tea and she took a sip, her gaze running over the young man immersed in the newsprint. His sandy hair was mussed and he looked a little sleepy-eyed, but not dissipated and lackluster as he used to after a night of carousing.