Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor (13 page)

*

“You are a day early,” his wife whispered as he walked her toward the dance floor, her hand upon his arm. John had been more than upset when he had arrived at Thorn Hall in the mid-morning hours to discover his wife had created more havoc–so much so that her uncle and Thornhill had abandoned her at John’s home in London. To make matters worse, he had raced to Town to find his wife out among the
ton
.

“I am sorry my anxiousness has disappointed you,” he said bitterly. He set her in the line and assumed his position across from her. “Smile, my Dear. Pretend you have missed me.” John wished to roar at the injustice–at having made a colossal error, but he attempted to follow Sir Carter’s latest advice. The baronet had been at Thorn Hall, having escorted Simon Warren, who had come to Kent for a visit, to the manor. The boy was the Lowerys’ ward and a favorite playmate to Sonali Fowler, the duke’s daughter. “Surprise Lady Swenton and pretend to enjoy the Season as much as your wife,” the baronet had suggested.

John had entered Lady Cowper’s home with resolve in mind, but he had taken no more than a half dozen steps into the room before he had overheard the first of the whispers regarding his life: “His mother was some sort of actress.” and “I recall when Lady Fiona left the previous baron. It was a great scandal.” and “If he thinks to reclaim his wife, Lord Swenton must eliminate Morse with a gun.” His wife had obviously shared his family business with the worse of the
ton
, and all John’s reason had escaped; only his training as a member of the Realm had kept him civil.

His eyes instinctively had sought the rim of the ballroom, where he knew she was waiting and watching. When their eyes caught, Miss Neville had presented him an encouraging smile. The gesture calmed his rage, and he had breathed more evenly. From the distance, the lady appeared to be wearing some sort of sling about her shoulder. He directed his statement to his wife, although his eyes held a few seconds longer upon her companion. “It appears Miss Neville has met with some sort of mishap.”

Lady Swenton passed him during the first cross. With a snort of disapproval, his baroness said, “Silly girl! I never thought her so clumsy.”

John knew immediately his wife spoke an untruth. He had witnessed how easily Miss Neville adapted to the rise and fall of the sea. The lady was anything but clumsy. He wondered what had occurred: He was certain of his baroness’s involvement in whatever had plagued her companion. Perhaps he should have tarried longer at Thorn Hall, but when John had discovered his wife’s intentions again to ignore his wishes, he had departed immediately for London.

He caught the hand of the opposing female in his set and turned her to the opposite corner and then waited until he met his wife again in the form. “How is the boy? I did not think to call in at the nursery when I arrived at Swenton Hall.”

Satiné stiffened. “The child returned to Kent with the duke and duchess,” she said so softly John had strained to hear her over the music and the din of voices.

He waited for the next pass before he suspiciously asked, “Why would Thornhill assume the care of your child?”

His wife giggled nervously. “Surely you of all people know how much Thornhill prefers to assume he knows best. In your absence, the duke and Ashton made the decision.”

Thankfully, they parted to complete the form, which provided John a moment to swallow the first words he thought to say. When they came together again, he said, “We will discuss what occurred in more detail when we return to Swenton Hall. This is not the place or time.”

She replied tersely, “We spend a great amount of time in ‘discussing.’”

John leaned closer to perversely whisper, “If you wish, we can instead spend our time in my bed.”

The baroness blushed thoroughly, but as he had done earlier, Satiné had hesitated in her response. Finally, she admonished, “Is that all of which men think?”

John retorted, “It would not be an issue if you performed your wifely duties as expected of a bride.”

*

The evening had not improved John’s temperament. He and Satiné had stood dutifully together, but they rarely spoke to each other. John had held conversations with several of the young recruits he recognized from the Home Office. The men were testing their positions in Society, and he could not say he approved of the men’s choices of company; but he had understood the need to prove oneself. The crowd at Lady Cowper’s ball was not first tier
ton
. True, the titles were evident, but not the quality.

Satiné, on the other hand, had spoken softly to Lady Sanderson and Lady Kelley. What John knew of the women, they were far from loyal wives. Rumors said Lord Morse had practiced affairs with both. Therefore, John had not provided Morse the opportunity to approach Satiné. He was not certain which he despised more: Morse’s smooth seduction of married women or the belief his wife would succumb to Morse’s attentions if John had not interfered.

Finally, at night’s end, he escorted his wife and Miss Neville home. Instead of calling in at his room, John had silently followed Satiné to her quarters. Closing the door soundly behind him, he waited in the entrance, hoping she would
welcome
him into her bedroom; but his wife ignored his presence. She reached for the bell pull, but John caught her hand. “I will assist you.”

She swallowed hard. “As you wish, my Lord.” Satiné presented him her back so he might release the lacing on her gown and corset.

When his fingertips stroked her shoulder blade, she froze. “I shan’t hurt you, Satiné,” he said roughly. “When will you learn to trust me?”

“You do not know trust either, my Lord.”

He turned her to face him, and she clutched the gown to her body in a protective gesture. “Can you not see when you work against me, I am left no other option.” John held her at arm’s length so as not to frighten his wife. “I understand your desire for company. For friends. And I am willing to spend a bit more time in London, but only another fortnight, Satiné. Until the last week of April. Then we will return to York. I pray you will set your mind to this compromise.”

“If I refuse?” she whispered.

“Please do not make a decision just yet. We will use the fortnight as a courting period. I realize we do not know each other well, but our joining is important to me. I wish us happy. We have battled enough.”

“And tonight?” Her eyes skittered away toward the bed.

John recognized her hesitation. “If I were courting you,” he said evenly, “I would plead for the privilege of a kiss.”

Like a frightened bird caught in a trap, Satiné shivered. “I would hold no objections to a kiss,” she ventured.

John swallowed his desire as he gathered her to him. “I mean to make a nuisance of myself. I will court one of London’s most beautiful women.” He leaned closer to brush his lips across hers–to tease her softly before he claimed her mouth.

Satiné still clung to the cloth as he nudged her closer, the back of her hands rested against his chest. John would have preferred her to release the gown and to wrap her arms about his neck; however, he accepted what Satiné willingly gave. When she did not respond, John dutifully withdrew. “Until tomorrow,” he said softly. “I thought we might ride along Rotten Row in the morning. If I recall you are quite the horsewoman.”

“I possess no mount,” she protested, but her tone spoke of pleasure.

“I will see to the details. You are simply to dream of riding with the ribbons of your bonnet flaying behind you.”

*

He had waited nearly an hour–until the house had turned to its beds before he tapped upon Miss Neville’s door. John required answers, and Satiné would provide him only half-truths. Unfortunately, he had not thought of how the lady might appear when she answered her door: a wrapper over her nightrail, bare feet, flaming red hair braided and draped over her shoulder. John’s breath caught in his throat.

“Lord Swenton?” she whispered.

“I should have thought you had sought your bed.” The muted light from the wall sconces invaded the darkness. He glanced over her shoulder to where the counterpane had been turned back. “I must know what has occurred in my absence,” he said in explanation. His eyes returned to her countenance.

She protested, “Someone may see.”

John shook off her objections. “The household is asleep.”

Miss Neville hesitated before opening the door wider. John slipped into the darkness. “Wait here,” she instructed. “I shall light a candle.”

The moon provided John a silvery show as Miss Neville moved about the room. Finally, the flint provided the spark for a paper roll and the lit candle. From where she turned to face him, the lady asked, “What do you require of me, my Lord?”

It was John’s turn to pause. His body still clung to the hope of knowing a woman’s soft curves this evening. “I wish to know what occurred at Briar House to drive my wife to Swenton Hall.”

She warned, “The story will not portray the baroness in a sympathetic manner.”

He admitted, “I did not expect it would, but I would know it all.”

Miss Neville gestured to the chairs before the empty hearth, and John accepted the invitation. When she joined him, the lady wove a tale he could never have predicted: She spoke of Ashton’s arrival, of Thornhill’s declaration of returning to Kent, of her rescuing Edward Fowler, of Ashton’s escorting Satiné to a hotel, of his wife’s uncle making plans to remarry, of Lady Swenton’s suggestion that she remove to Swenton Hall, and of the baroness’s house calls, as well as of the exposing of his family’s secrets.

“I assumed it was so,” John confessed. “I overheard the whispers when I entered Lady Cowper’s ballroom.”

Miss Neville said empathetically, “I wish I held the means to keep the pain from your countenance.”

Without considering his actions, John caught the lady’s hand, and warmth shot up his arm. “Your sacrifice on behalf of Master Fowler does not surprise me,” he said softly. As if of its own accord, his finger traced a circle upon Miss Neville’s wrist. “Yet, it grieves me you have suffered in any form.”

The lady swallowed hard, but he heard the hitch in her breathing. The knowledge he affected her was a heady realization. “It was nothing beyond what any of the duke’s servants would not have done, Sir.” She watched his finger’s movement, as did he, and John felt the familiar tug in his groin.

He recognized the second Miss Neville thought better of his actions. She slowly slid her hand from his grasp, and John permitted her withdrawal. “I must protest, my Lord,” she said on a rasp. “I shall not become your mistress.”

John should have assured her he held no such thoughts; however, he was too honest to speak an untruth to this particular woman. “I understand, and I would never press you into the role; yet, it was exquisite to know not every woman finds me repulsive.” He stood to end their conversation. “You should know I have made the decision to court my bride. I have promised Lady Swenton we will remain in London for another fortnight.”

“And then?” she whispered into the stillness, which rested comfortably between them.

John ran his fingers through his hair. “In truth, I possess no idea; however, I must make an honorable attempt to save my marriage. Not to do so would fracture the man I wish to be.”

Good to his word, John had escorted Satiné about town: the theatre, long rides in the park, Vauxhall Gardens, museums, and evening entertainments of her choosing. Although he despised each moment, he had promised his wife he would customarily bring her to Town to enjoy the happenings, but nothing he offered appeared to impress his baroness. She had not complained, but his baroness had made no move to respond beyond what proper manners required. He had bit his tongue more than once to keep from speaking a vinegary retort.

Despite his best efforts to introduce Satiné to some of London’s best families, his wife continued to gravitate toward those who treated life as a fast race to the end. John did not understand his baroness’s need to know those whose reputations would taint hers.

He glanced into his wife’s sitting room. All her callers had departed except Lady Kelley. With a sigh of resignation, he entered. Every time John came in contact with Viscount Kelley’s wife, the woman made a point of touching him: a caress of his arm or a brush of her palm across his back. “Pardon me, my Dear,” he said with a bow. John remained by the door. “I have received a message from Sir Carter. He has asked that I call on him. I shan’t be long. I will return in plenty of time for us to enjoy this evening’s opera.”

Lady Kelley smiled prettily at him. “You are most fortunate, Lady Swenton, to have such an attentive husband. Please, my Lord,” she said with a well-practiced pout, “promise me you shall speak to Kelley and convince him not to abandon me so often.”

“If the opportunity arrives,” John said noncommittally.

“Perhaps this evening,” Satiné disclosed. “I have asked Verity and Lord Kelley to join us in your box.”

John stifled his groan of disapproval. He had come to the conclusion his baroness made her choices simply to vex his resolve. “I will be delighted for the viscount’s company. Now, if you will excuse me…”

“Wait,” Lady Kelley called out. “I have just this minute recalled a previous appointment. You will see me out, Baron?”

John bit the inside of his jaw. “Certainly, Lady Kelley. Say your farewells to my wife while I ask a footman to summon your coach.” He stepped into the hall to motion his man to do the lady’s biding. He leaned heavily against the dark paneling, while steadying his breathing. He was not built for all the games his wife’s companions played. He was a simple man, with simple dreams, not a strutting peacock.

Reluctantly, he returned to the sitting room. “Your coach awaits, Lady Kelley.” He extended his arm to the woman, who was most certainly his elder by half dozen years. The viscountess laced her arm through his, and John fought the urge to flinch.

“We shall see you at eight,” Lady Kelley called over her shoulder to a trailing Satiné, who meant to see her friend to the door. “Oh, please, do not bother. Your husband is the perfect escort.” The woman discouraged Satiné’s efforts.

“As you wish, Verity,” his wife said obediently. John wished his baroness were of sterner stuff with those who would manipulate her.

“Lord Swenton?” John looked up to note Miss Neville’s approach. He had seen very little of the woman since the evening he had gone to her room. Satiné had agreed to dispense with Miss Neville’s services in the evenings, leaving the girl to her own devices.

“Miss Neville. Do you set out on an errand?” The woman wore her bonnet and shawl.

She smiled when she observed Lady Kelley’s possessive hold on his arm. “Just to the lending library, my Lord. Afterwards, I have an obligation for the baroness.”

He winked at her. “Then come along. I am to show Lady Kelley to her coach. I have another arm for my wife’s companion.”

“You are most kind, my Lord.” The lady’s hand had not touched his arm, but John had felt her heat just the same.

“How blessed am I?” he spoke over his shoulder to his wife. “I have a beautiful baroness and the company of two fine ladies.” He turned the viscountess’s steps toward the main entrance. “Very blessed indeed.”

*

“Of what do you accuse me?” John growled. All that had remained of his good humor had evaporated. After handing Lady Kelley into her carriage, he had walked Miss Neville to the lending library some three streets from his townhouse before mounting his waiting horse to call in at the Home Office. When he had entered the baronet’s office, the scent of a unique woman still clung to him, and John had known contentment. Yet, no longer. Sir Carter and Pennington meant to know the details of how his mother had come by the emerald and diamond pieces he had presented to Satiné upon their marriage.

The fact his wife had thought so little of the gift that she had sold his mother’s brooch gnawed at John’s soul. Was nothing sacred to Satiné Swenton? How had he gone so astray? Among his associates, he was the one known for his astute judgments–the one whose inner voice always knew what played best.

Pennington said calmly, “No one is making accusations, Swenton, but we would be remiss in our duties if we did not make inquiries.” John grudgingly sat again. “Now, could you please answer Lowery’s question: Do you have knowledge of how Lady Fiona came to own the emerald pieces your baroness wears regularly when out among the
ton
?”

“So you have followed my wife about London!” John accused. “Was an interest in Lady Swenton’s jewelry the reason behind Barrows and Northam’s appearances at Lady Cowper’s ball?”

Both Lowery and Pennington ignored his observation, which meant John had seen through the Realm’s manipulations. “Simply answer the baronet’s question,” Pennington reiterated.

John hissed, “Lady Fiona never accepted any gift of value I offered, whether it was my devotion or a mere trinket. My mother preferred the ‘love’ of her gentlemen artists than to that of her only child, and as to her jewels, Lady Fiona came from a wealthy family; she could easily afford whatever she wore. I neither inquired into who shared the former baroness’s bed nor who paid for her purchases. Although I fooled myself into believing Lady Fiona held me in regard, ours was not an intimate relationship. She accepted me only as a distant cousin who attended her fetes upon occasion. We never spoke of father or of what had occurred between them. I was simply another of her guests when Lady Fiona entertained. She directed beautiful women into my path, but she never inquired whether I partook of the offerings.”

Lowery placed the emerald brooch before John. “There are rumors that Jamot has been asking similar questions about you. The Baloch has developed a cache of informants. Unfortunately for Jamot, many of his informants also work for us. He knows of your marrying Lady Swenton and of the baroness’s selling the brooch. We assume he had followed Lexford to Town and witnessed the viscount’s acquaintance with your wife at the jewelers. The baroness’s actions have brought the Baloch’s attentions to your door.”

John palmed the brooch, his finger repeatedly tapping the pointed end of the pin. It bothered him he must learn of Satiné’s encounter with Lord Lexford second hand. “What else should I know?” he complained resentfully.

“The Baloch has expressed the obvious,” Pennington responded. “You are the last Jamot has sought. Unless he has made a mistake, which he would never admit, only your guilt remains.”

John was shocked by what the Realm’s leader did not say. “You have realized I was the one not in Mir’s tent when Fowler initiated his rescue of Ashmita. You think I stole the emerald during my absence!” His emotions raged. “Bloody hell, Lowery. I considered you my friend. Thought you trusted me! Thought we have given a bit of ourselves to the other. A brotherhood! I have been a fool!” John stood to exit. “My time with the Realm is finished. Call on me no more. As far as our connection is concerned, consider me dead to you.” Without a backward glance, he had stormed from the room.

Mounting outside the Home Office, he had ridden toward the shore, away from London and all those who had betrayed his loyalty. John was a good five miles beyond London’s outskirts before he reined in his lathered mount. “My apologies, Kratos,” he whispered into the stallion’s ear, as he patted the animal’s neck. “I have taken my anger out on you.” The horse turned his head to nuzzle John’s gloved palm. “No treats,” he said, “but a full bucket of oats when we return to the mews. Your strength and power has never failed me.” He sighed heavily. “I wish I could say the same of those who walk on two legs.”

Turning the horse toward the Capital, he set an easy pace. John required time to order his thoughts. To determine how best to protect his foolish wife. He had attempted diplomacy with his baroness, but he had failed miserably. They were no closer to discovering happiness than they had been two months prior when they had exchanged their vows. However, John meant to change that particular fact when he reached Swenton Hall.

*

Isolde knew the instant she had laid eyes upon Lord Swenton his day had not gone well. “Please ask my wife to attend me in my study.” His stance spoke of complete dejection.

“Certainly, my Lord.” Isolde hesitated. “May I be of service instead of the baroness? You appear troubled.”

John shook off her offer. “I must speak to my baroness.”

“As you wish, Sir.” Isolde turned to the main stairs. It ate at her soul how Baron Swenton suffered in his marriage. Entering the baroness’s rooms, she again became aware of the girl’s extremely thin appearance. “Permit me, Lady Swenton.” Isolde laced the back of her mistress’s gown.

“Has Lord Swenton returned? I thought I heard his voice below.” Lady Swenton adjusted her sleeves, ones which disguised the baroness’s weight loss. Isolde chastised herself for not taking note of this particular fact earlier. The baroness’s obsession with maintaining a small waistline was another issue with which the baron should be made aware, and she feared the task of making him aware of the danger his wife courted would fall upon Isolde’s shoulders.

“Lord Swenton wishes to speak to you immediately in his study.” Isolde tightened the laces.

The baroness scowled. “Did the baron indicate his reasons for my presence?”

“No, Ma’am.” Even if she knew Lord Swenton’s grounds, Isolde would never have disclosed them to the baroness. Isolde’s constancy to the man remained in tact. The baron’s defeated demeanor had signaled another change in the house’s dynamics. The thought of what had occurred to upset Lord Swenton sent a shiver of dread down Isolde’s spine.

*

John had purposely chosen his study for the war of words he was to conduct with his wife in order to force her into his world. In their previous disagreements, he had gone to her quarters. Today, he meant for her to know the disorientation of an unfamiliar setting.

After sending Miss Neville in search of his baroness, John had written a hastily scribbled apology to Lord Kelley, begging off this evening’s entertainment. He had handed Peter the message and had sent the footman on his way just as his wife entered the study. “You asked to see me, my Lord.” She stepped tentatively into the circle before his desk.

John did not rise to seat her, a purposeful statement of his displeasure. “Please close the door and then have a seat, Baroness.” He gestured to a nearby chair.

“You frighten me, my Lord.” She shifted her weight nervously once she was seated.

John spoke without inflection. “I should frighten you, Satiné. My patience has been broken. Soundly destroyed.”

His wife’s spirited defiance had arrived. “Of what am I accused?”

John reached into his pocket, removed the brooch, and placed it in the middle of the desk. He said not a word, just watched Satiné’s mind search for an explanation. When she offered none, he said, “I wish I knew why you find everything about me so contemptible. From the moment I lifted you over the lip of the glass cone, I have desired nothing but your happiness.”

“I never meant to leave it at the jewelers,” Satiné said on a rush of nonsense. “I simply required funds to open Swenton Hall in your absence.”

“Then why not speak of your selling your wedding gift so I might retrieve the piece?” he accused.

She watched him in indecision. “We have come to a peaceful coexistence in the past week. I did not wish to displease you.”

The soft disdain of his words had rattled her. It was the first time John thought he could win the battle of wills. “It is odd you considered the prospects of displeasing me. In the two plus months of our joining, I have failed to recognize when you have set yourself the task of pleasing me. I must beg your forgiveness, Baroness.”

“Do not think, my Lord, I do not recognize the feigned exculpation in your speech, while, in truth, you deliver an insult,” his wife said waspishly.

Her tone was a slap to John’s cheek. “You sold my mother’s jewelry,” he blamed. “Where is the money, Satiné? Upon what did you spend it?”

Satiné employed her favorite tone of woe, the stricken voice with which John was all too familiar. “You were estranged from Lady Fiona since childhood! The piece could hold no sentimental value. Moreover, you have managed to have the brooch returned to you.”

“At a high cost,” he growled. John regretted having cut ties with his Realm associates. They had been his salvation when he had lost his way in the world. “And I do not speak of the money the jeweler charged for the return of the brooch.”

His wife huffed. “Then tell me how my actions have shamed you.”

“You foolish girl!” His words sounded brusque even to his ears. His carefully crafted emotions had shattered. “Your greediness has brought Murhad Jamot’s notice. You do recall how dangerous the Baloch can be, do you not? He hung your eldest sister from a warehouse roof, and he left you and Lady Yardley stranded on a thin ledge to tumble to your deaths.” John was exhausted from pretending all would be well if he could be patient. His life was not well. It might never be well again. “Jamot has spent the past three years searching for a missing emerald reportedly belonging to his tribal leader! He has staged kidnappings and attacks upon those of my acquaintance in order to force my compatriots to trade the stone for their loved ones.