The Lodestone (43 page)
Authors: Charlene Keel
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cleome told him. “I’ve always thought being alive preferable to being honorable, if called upon to make a choice.” She made him sit down at her writing desk and take up paper and pen. “Sketch the layout at the villa,” she said. “Mark where you saw guards, and how many.” When he was done, she looked at him seriously. “This will require more than a luxury yacht and a few hearty sailors,” she said.
“It needs military precision and men of experience. And a great deal of money.”
“Don’t worry about money, Garnett,” she admonished. “It’s there for our use and we shall have the best that can be found. Drake will know how to go about it.”
“I’ve sent a message to him that I had to resign, for the time being.”
“Have you told Oliver yet?” Garnett shook his head, and Cleome continued. “You must go to him now. I’ll find Drake. I agree that we should leave it to Edwina to tell them as much as she wishes, if we can. Perhaps it will be enough for them to know Paolo is drugging her and has made her his prisoner.” She opened the strong box she kept in her desk and gave him a few sovereigns and a fifty-pound note. “Here,” she said. “You must have a carriage or horse at your disposal—do not argue—and money for incidentals. Let us meet at Drake’s in an hour’s time. If he isn’t at home, we’ll go to his club. Someone there will likely know where to find him.”
**
Since it was just past noon on Sunday, Cleome was not surprised when Drake’s young footman informed her that the master had not yet awakened. She handed the sleepy boy her card.
“Kindly tell him that Cleome Parker is here,” she said dispensing with her title. “And that I wish to see him on an urgent matter.”
Still yawning, he showed her into the library, and she resisted the urge to look around, wondering if she might see the mysterious Mignon. She didn’t have to look far, for an oil painting of her rival hung over the fireplace. Although Mignon lived in an upstairs suite at Stoneham House, Cleome had heard that the strange, silent creature spent lots of time at Drake’s townhouse, looking after matters that were customarily handled by a housekeeper.
Or
, Cleome thought, a wife. Stoically, she dismissed such thoughts, even as she studied Mignon’s portrait. She would not allow misplaced jealousy to distract her from her purpose. She could afford to buy a ship and hire a crew but neither she nor Garnett were capable of leading a band of mercenaries on a dangerous rescue in a foreign port. They needed a soldier for that, a man with experience, daring and military training.
“To what do I owe the honor of a visit from Lady Houghton-Parker?” The rich voice rang deep and true behind her and she whirled around to see him standing in the doorway. He was wearing form-fitting breeches, boots and a white linen shirt that hung open, revealing an expansive, well-muscled chest. He ran his fingers through hair still disheveled from slumber, and he looked as if he had dressed hurriedly.
With another quick glance at Mignon’s likeness, she said with only a touch of disdain, “I do hope I haven’t called you away from anything pressing. If it were not a matter of the utmost gravity, please believe I would not disturb you at this early hour.”
“Or any other?” he asked caustically, crossing the room with but a few strides to where she waited. Leaning close, he gazed deeply into her eyes. “Tell me what you want from me,” he said softly.
“Nothing for myself. Edwina is in trouble—”
“Whatever your charming little friend has gotten herself into, I believe it can wait until I’ve had my coffee. I hear she has married an Italian count and now lives with him on his own private island. Won’t you join me?”
“I really do not want any coffee, thank you,” she replied sharply.
“But mademoiselle—it is still mademoiselle, is it not?” His sarcasm was almost too much to bear. “I do want coffee. I am no good without it—at this
early
hour. Mignon would never think to awaken me without a cup of it in her hand.”
Cleome stiffened as if a bullet had pierced her heart. Yet still she was drawn to him, wanting him as much as ever—more than ever. There was a loud banging on the door and Cleome was relieved when the lad who had greeted her on her arrival, and not the ever-present Mignon, entered bearing a tray laden with coffeepot and condiments.
Drake let the boy pour two cups. “That will be all, Richard,” he said. “Thank you.” With a look at Cleome, he added sardonically, “See that we are not disturbed by other callers who may be about—at this
early
hour.” He offered Cleome hot milk and sugar but she declined and ignored the coffee, waiting impatiently as he leisurely added both to his. Then he sat down in a chair across from her and studied her a moment.
“As I recall, milady, the last time we met, you said you would never forgive me.”
“Nor will I,” she snapped. “But I need your help. Edwina is in terrible danger. She has married a fiend. We must go and get her.” Cleome hadn’t realized until that moment that she was planning to go along. “Garnett has seen her. Her husband is drugging her and keeping her a prisoner at Isola di Paresi.”
“To what purpose?” His question took her by surprise for she had not intended to reveal the whole of the situation. “To what purpose?” he repeated. “If you want my help, Cleome, you must tell me everything.”
“Very well. I’ll tell you what I know, but Garnett has more details than I. He has gone to fetch Oliver. They should be here soon.”
Drake settled himself comfortably in his chair and waited. “Go on then,” he said. “Why is the count holding his wife captive?”
“He wants an heir,” Cleome began hesitantly.
“That is within his rights, wouldn’t you say?”
“No. At least, not the way he’s going about it,” she blurted. “Drake, he has not, in all these months, consummated the marriage.”
“Why ever not?”
“He . . . he has some deformity of birth . . . that renders him incapable.” Her color deepened but she forced herself to continue. “He has demanded that a surrogate perform the task for him.” She fought her embarrassment as she finished, “He employs some doctor—an Englishman—to help him drug Edwina into acquiescence.”
Drake sat up straighter. “How do you know—how does Garnett know this?” When she told him of the price Paolo had demanded for Edwina’s life and Garnett’s freedom, Drake’s look of consternation turned grim. “Indeed?” He gripped his coffee cup so hard that she feared it would shatter in his hand. There was bitterness in his tone as he added, “Even as lovely as our little Edwina is, that must have been difficult for young Easton, considering his tender feelings for you.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” she erupted. “What Garnett did, he did to save their lives—and I’m sure Edwina considers that as noble an act as I do. Now we must go to Italy and bring her home!”
“You know the situation there, since the war?”
“Of course. There’s much talk of revolution. Garnett says because of it, Paolo’s estate is heavily guarded.”
“How many men?” Drake asked.
“Of course, he didn’t see every part of the island,” Cleome told him as she showed him Garnett’s sketch. “We can only assume there are as many men posted around the house as in it.”
“If not more.” Drake studied the rough drawing and then looked at her skeptically. “Edwina is a charming girl, to be sure,” he said. “But do you really expect me to risk my life in a country about to go to war, the low scoundrel that I am?”
“You are that, sir,” she countered. “I would pay handsomely, of course.”
“You would have to, to get a decent crew. As recompense for my services, however, it isn’t your money I want.”
“Then what?”
“I believe you and I have some unfinished business, Cleome.”
She looked up at him for a long moment before she replied. “We can finish it,” she said softly, so low that he almost didn’t hear.
“I beg your pardon?”
“After we rescue Edwina, we can finish it. You can collect your long overdue winnings,” she mocked.
“Indeed?” He was surprised but he quickly recovered.
“If you still want to,” she amended.
“I cannot think of anything I want more.” His voice was suddenly husky with his desire for her. “Make no mistake about that. But I’m not in the habit of making love to young ladies who despise me and abhor my touch.”
“I do despise you,” she admitted. “No more so than at this very moment, for you needn’t make this so difficult for me. But I do not abhor your touch.”
“That much, at least, was evident.”
“Then can we not compromise on that point? Drake, we are wasting time,” she begged, exasperated. “Will you help us or not?”
“I’ll want payment in advance.”
“What?” her color rose again, this time with hot indignation. “Are you no better than that cur Edwina married?”
“Indeed I am. Much better, in fact.”
“How so?” she fumed.
He moved closer and lightly brushed her lips with his own, teasing her, making her breath quicken and her heart race before he stepped away. “Because you want me as much as I want you, my darling. You’re just too damned stubborn to admit it.” With a disarming smile, he concluded, “And there’s a question as to whether or not you can be trusted to live up to your word once I’ve delivered Edwina safely into your hands.”
“How do I know you’ll help me, once I have delivered myself into
your
hands?” She was furious with him but she kept a careful control over her temper. “I’m going with you, Drake. You’ll be able to claim your payment immediately, once Edwina is safe.”
He poured himself more coffee and stirred it slowly as if giving the matter careful consideration. At last he said, “Done. Now, you know we must take Paolo by surprise, so we’ll need a distraction. You’ll pose as my lover. There is nothing he likes so much as salacious gossip. It would be natural for you to pay a visit to Edwina if I were taking you on a romantic holiday—”
“I will not pose as your lover,” she proclaimed.
“Very well, then, as my wife. But we’d be better able to hold his attention if there is something scandalous about our relationship, especially in view of our infamous cribbage game.”
“Leave it to you to think of something like that.”
“Shall I ask Mignon to help us out, since you object so strongly?”
“No!” she exclaimed, realizing she had protested too quickly. She leapt up from the chair, almost knocking over the coffee tray in her fury. Heading for the door, she added, “Why did I think you would help me? Why did I think you would care one whit what happens to Edwina! You are a beast, and I was right to cut you out of my life!”
He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, catching her head in one broad hand, then pulling her close and covering her mouth with his own. Kissing her long and hard, with all the desire he had denied for months, he pressed her slight form against to his own strong one, now rigid with a craving only she could satisfy. He felt a similar heat in her, even though she struggled against him. When he pulled his lips away from hers, she was breathless with undeniable passion. Still he did not release her.
“And what of your heart?” he asked. “Have you cut me out of your heart, Cleome?” She fought wildly against his embrace but he would not be denied one more scorching kiss. “I will help you,” he whispered. “Now, be still. I do not believe you’ve ever been introduced to Mignon. Let us rectify that oversight immediately.” Still holding her close with an iron grip, he went to a bell pull and summoned his mystery woman. The door opened almost instantly, as if Mignon had nothing better to do but wait on the other side of it for his call.
She swept gracefully into the room, curtsied to Cleome and smiled adoringly at Drake. “Lady Houghton-Parker,” he said formally, releasing Cleome at last, “may I present to you my sister, Mignon.”
Cleome was astonished. She couldn’t believe she had heard him correctly. “Your sister?” She stared, confounded, at Mignon.
“She doesn’t talk much, I’m afraid. After a long search, I found her in Rome, where she was living in a convent. I brought her here—”
“And made her one of your . . . your
ladies upstairs
? Your own sister?”
“Well, half-sister, really. We do not share a father. And her job at Stoneham House, though I admit she does have an upstairs apartment there, is spinning the roulette wheel. And she acts as my housekeeper here. Mignon, come and say hello, and then tell cook Lady Cleome is having breakfast with me, and we are expecting two gentlemen to join us. Please show them in as soon as they arrive.”
“Milady,” Mignon murmured shyly as she curtsied again.
Cleome scarcely had time to nod before the wraith-like creature was gone. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“You thought she was a prostitute?” he asked. Cleome nodded, still stunned by his revelation. “I do not employ women to work in that capacity. My mother had no choice, and her daughter suffered terribly because of it. The ‘ladies upstairs’ at my club are window dressing, nothing more, at least by night. By day, they take care of tasks necessary to running such a large establishment—cleaning, laundry, mending—with Mignon to supervise them.” He chuckled. “Since they are off-limits to my customers, I’ve even heard rumors that I keep them all for my exclusive use.”
“Yes,” Cleome acknowledged, not sharing his amusement. “I have heard those same rumors.”
More seriously, he explained, “The proprietor of the so-called boarding house where my mother was employed, and where she lived with my sister, held Mignon responsible for the rent owed when our mother died. Though Mignon was only sixteen years old, he set customers upon her that very day. She was most cruelly used and her nerves were shattered when I brought her here.”
