The Lodestone

by Charlene Keel

  “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.”

  “But . . . why have you not told anyone she’s your sister?” Cleome asked.

  “She begged me not to. She was afraid her reputation would follow her here and it would ruin me. I have not been able to convince her otherwise, until now. So you have been jealous all this time, for no reason at all.”

  “You are mistaken, sir. I am certainly not jealous of any woman you choose to ply with your attentions!” Cleome declared. “Now, if you’re going to help me save Edwina from that satyr she has married, you will finish dressing and prepare to receive Garnett and Oliver. We must act quickly. Or will I have to go and rescue her myself?”

  He bowed slightly, still unsmiling, but he could not keep the amusement from his tone. “At your service, mademoiselle. But do not deceive yourself on one point.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I will collect what you owe me . . . this time.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Before Cleome could reply, Mignon returned with Garnett and Oliver.

  “Drake—” Garnett began but got no further.

  “Silence!” Drake commanded. “I’ll deal with you, sir, in a moment.” To Mignon, he said quietly, “Send Richard for Mr. Collins. We’ll need him as well.”

  Mignon scurried away but Cleome thought she detected a rosy glow on the woman’s cheek when the clerk’s name was mentioned.

  “Drake,” Garnett put in again, “I trust Cleome has explained why I left my post in Barcelona. Please understand—”

  “Not another word!” Grabbing Garnett by his coat lapels, Drake hauled him over to a chair and roughly pushed him into it. “You and I will have a private conversation, man to man, while my sister Mignon gives Oliver and Cleome some breakfast in the dining room.” Ignoring Garnett’s surprise at the revelation that Mignon was related to him, Drake continued to Cleome and Oliver as he ushered them towards the door, “We’ll join you as soon as my secretary arrives; and after we’ve fortified ourselves with some nourishment, we can make a solid plan and get this rescue mission under way.”

  Mignon led them out of the library and Drake slammed the door behind them but Cleome heard his voice rise in anger as he began to interrogate Garnett.

  **

  Unobtrusively, servants had placed an elaborate feast on the sideboard in Drake’s well-appointed dining room. Enough, Cleome thought, to feed the army of mercenaries they would have to hire. There were scones, poached eggs, porridge, a variety of breads and biscuits, three kinds of fish, a roast of pork, potatoes (both baked and fried), chicken in a rich, savory-smelling cream sauce, a large bowl of oranges, bananas and limes, and strawberries dipped in chocolate and glazed with sugar.

  “Please serve yourselves,” Mignon entreated. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

  “Should we not wait for Drake, my dear?” Oliver put in when Mignon had gone. He seemed not the least bit surprised that the woman of mystery was Drake’s sibling.

  “You knew!” she accused him. “Why have you never told me?”

  “Umm . . . known what, exactly?” he avoided her gaze.

  “About Mignon! How long have you known?”

  The kindly old barrister sighed with relief. “I don’t like keeping things from you, Cleome,” he said. “But in this case I had no choice. Drake made me his solicitor, not long after you arrived in London. And as such, I could not divulge his confidences any more than I can yours. He forbade me telling anyone, even though he didn’t agree with Mignon that keeping such a secret was desirable or necessary.”

  “And you let me go on resenting her?” Cleome demanded. “I, who have always considered myself a champion of women’s rights and defender of the downtrodden? I feel such a fool. And a hypocrite.”

  “You’re nothing of the sort. She was never aware of your feelings.”

  “But I was aware! You must never allow me to make such an error in judgment again. I count on you, Oliver.”

  “Please do not berate me so this morning. I’m quite beside myself with worry.”

  “Of course, my dear.” Cleome put aside her chagrin. “Now, you must not fret. I promise you that we’ll deliver your darling girl safely into your arms.”

  Mignon entered with a large silver teapot. “Won’t you be seated, milady,” she said. “I can serve you if you tell me what you like.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Cleome responded cordially. “Won’t you join us, Miss Stoneham?”

  “Mignon is my name,” she said softly. “The nuns so christened me and it is what I like to be called. I’m afraid I have many duties to attend, milady. ’Tis the servants’ day off. Only cook is here this morning, and young Richard.”

  Cleome was ashamed of the unfounded hostility she’d harbored towards this gentle creature and she wanted to engage her in conversation so that she could offer her apology and friendship. She said, “May I ask, who is Richard? Is he another relative?”

  Mignon returned Cleome’s smile without reservation. “Richard is an orphan my brother found in the market, trying to steal food. Drake brought him home and employed him as footman and runner, since the lad knows the streets so well. And he’s as nimble as a dragonfly flitting round the garden.”

  “Your brother has a very big heart,” Oliver observed.

  “Yes,” Mignon agreed. “He is the kindest man in the world. He is also having Richard educated.”

  “Do sit with us,” Cleome entreated. “At least for a moment. I . . . I wish to speak with you if I may.”

  Mignon joined Cleome and Oliver at the table and after she poured their tea, she looked at Cleome expectantly. “Yes, milady?”

  “I have done you a great disservice,” Cleome said. “I assumed . . . along with many others I’m afraid . . . I believed the worst of you. That’s why I didn’t make a point of introducing myself at the opening of Stoneham House, and why I have avoided speaking t
o you ever since, though I have encountered you in Drake’s company on other occasions. Can you forgive me?”

  “There is nothing to forgive, milady. It is I who created the mystery. I am responsible for the opinion people have of me. My brother has made me see how wrong I was. Please do not give it a thought.”

  “There’s no excuse for my behavior, Mignon. It was most unjust, especially since I’ve long endured a similar wrong. Almost everyone in the village where I lived shunned me because they believed me illegitimate. I never thought myself capable of judging others so harshly and I do beg your forgiveness most humbly, for I shall never forgive myself.”

  “Of course, milady—” Mignon’s pardon was interrupted when Drake’s young messenger charged into the room with Mr. Collins at his heels.

  “Was that fast enough for ye, me fair Mignon?” asked the enthusiastic boy, who was now fully awake.

  Cleome had just a moment to note the tender gaze exchanged by Mignon and the clerk before the library door opened and Drake roared, “Mignon! Come in here, please.”

  Mignon sent Richard to the kitchen to have his own breakfast and turned to the clerk. “You had better come with me, Mr. Collins. He wants you immediately,” she said and then proceeded toward the library.

  With a bow to Cleome and a murmured, “Milady,” Collins nodded to Oliver and hurried after Mignon.

  “Well said, Cleome,” Oliver offered. “I am touched by your gesture. I believe Mignon was, as well.”

  “It wasn’t merely a gesture,” Cleome replied solemnly. “I meant every word of it. How utterly stupid I’ve been.”