Of Valor & Vice: A Revelry's Tempest Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  His jaw clamped shut, and his look swung forward, silence falling over them.

  Adalia gave an imperceptible sigh, her eyes busying themselves with watching the passing bark of the trees closest to the trail. At least he wasn’t fighting her on it. The entire time they had spent together thus far had been riddled with more contrary conversations than she could remember ever having had with one person.

  Was that what Theo had seen in Toren? A man who would drive his sister to Bedlam with his converse opinions? Had Theo thought it would be funny to toss the two of them together? She wouldn’t put the notion past her brother.

  She looked at Toren, studying his profile. His brown eyes remained forward, his face gone to blankness. Yet even with that blasted emotionless look, she recognized he was handsome. Strong features, with a hard jawline that lent itself to impenetrable aloofness, if the assessment stopped there. But his eyes, his mouth—when they weren’t a mask of indifference—softened his face, making him almost approachable. A peculiar attractiveness she could not deny.

  Especially when his lips were on her bare skin as they had been the previous night.

  “Why did Theo trust only you?” She blurted the question, startling herself.

  “He trusted only me?” Toren looked at her. “That is an assumption. I think your brother trusted a lot of people.”

  “No. In his letter—he said very clearly that you were the only one I could trust. The only one.” Her hand tightened on the reins as she looked to her mare’s silvery mane, which reflected the rogue rays of sunlight that fell through the tree canopy. “Not even my friends, and my friends are beyond trustworthy.”

  “Your friends are women. They are in no position to protect you and the twins.”

  “Yes, but Theo had scores of other friends.” She looked at him. “I am just curious as to why you were the one he sent me to.”

  Toren shrugged. “It is a mystery to me as well. Though, if you were he, trying to protect a sister—or the twins—whom would you have chosen?”

  She looked past Toren, considering his words.

  She would have chosen the strongest, most connected, wealthiest, smartest, most honorable person she knew. Someone with unfailing integrity. Irreproachable valor. Someone who was unattached and would have the time and energy to devote to eliminating the threat. That’s whom she would have chosen.

  Her gaze landed on him.

  Bugger. She would have chosen Toren, or someone exactly like him.

  Except maybe someone who also had the capacity to care, as well. Yes. That would have been a nice addition to the necessary qualities.

  But certainly not the most important thing on the list.

  “My brother was a smart man, wasn’t he?”

  The corner of Toren’s mouth quirked, though his face stayed mostly blank. “Yes. And clever beyond words—he kept that well hidden from most.”

  Toren pulled up on his horse, pointing to his left. “This is the first branch in the trail. It goes west and will follow the stream that runs through these woods. It doesn’t split off, and it eventually emerges near Dellington. It is the quickest way to get to the village.”

  Adalia looked at the parting in the trees that she had almost missed, then craned her head backward, searching for distinctive markings around the break in the trees. “How far to the village?”

  “A little less than two miles.”

  She nodded, spotting an odd clump of three fat stumps just before the opening. That would do.

  Toren nicked his horse along and looked to her once hers was beside his. “I also wanted to come out here so I could talk to you away from the girls. I did not want them to overhear anything that may frighten or upset them.”

  A chill went down her spine. “What did you want to discuss?”

  “My trip back to London. I arranged for Theodore’s body to be delivered to the Alton estate in Derbyshire for burial.”

  The words stole her breath. It took long, silent seconds for her to steel herself enough to look at him and speak. “Did you see him, his body? Did you verify it was him?”

  His chest rose in a long breath as his eyes flicked to the side. “I did.”

  “You paused. What are you not telling me, Toren?”

  He met her eyes. “I did not pause, Adalia. This is not an easy topic, and I do not wish to bring you any more heartache.”

  “No, you did pause. Now please don’t argue it. What are you not telling me?”

  He looked away from her, heaving a sigh. The horses took several steps before his gaze centered on her. “Theodore was not . . . whole . . . It had been a severe beating, and—”

  “No. Nothing more.” She cut him off, able to stammer out only the few words before she had to stop and swallow the bile that had rushed to her throat. Her head bowing, her eyes closed as she fought the waves of revulsion running though her body. The onslaught of dizziness—exacerbated by every step her mare took—threatened to make her slide from her sidesaddle.

  The pommel. Grip the leather. Don’t let go.

  Long minutes passed before she could crack her eyes open, but she could not lift them, could only concentrate on the white tips of her horse’s ears. “How could you tell me that?” Her voice a raw whisper, she could not look at Toren.

  “I did not want to. And I attempted not to. I apologize. I do not profess to know what I can and cannot say to you, Adalia. I did not realize it would distress you as much as it did.”

  Her chin bumped into her chest as she drew a steadying breath. “Thank you for . . . attending to Theo. I had to leave with the girls so suddenly that I did not have time to do so, and it was weighing upon my soul. I would like to visit his grave at Glenhaven soon.”

  “Of course. As soon as it is safe.”

  She managed to lift her head, looking at him. “When will it be safe?”

  “I do not know.” His eyebrows drew together. He was choosing his words carefully. “I go under the assumption that Theodore knew of the danger you three were in, so I am retracing what his last steps were in London, hoping for a clue as to who would have attacked the twins, and why.”

  “Have you found anything?”

  “Not as of yet. But I have a team of Bow Street Runners attempting to piece together what his final days were. What ship he stepped off of, where he had been, why. What he was doing in the rookeries. That he didn’t seek you out immediately once he set foot on English soil is telling. He thought the threat of the utmost importance.”

  “You will tell me if there is news from the investigators?”

  “I would prefer not to. I believe the less you know, the safer you will be.”

  “Do not even attempt that argument, Toren.” Her hand waved in front of her. “Do you see where we are—what you are showing me and why? You yourself said the more knowledge I have the better. This is no different.”

  His hand lifted, and his gloved fingers rubbed the back of his neck. For several breaths he didn’t answer her. Finally, he sighed, his look going to her, his brown eyes searching her face. “I will tell you. But I will guard against words that may distress you.”

  She nodded.

  That he agreed to that much was a victory in itself.

  Past his chambers, Toren walked along the hallway, fat bricks of gray stone to his right, the warmth of plaster and paint to his left. He stopped, turning to the stones, and brushed his finger along the dusty mortar.

  He had always appreciated being able to see the bones of the castle. But now with two little girls running about . . . maybe the stones weren’t appropriate.

  For that matter, maybe they were. What did he know of little girls?

  Add it to the list of items to ask his new wife.

  Toren turned from the stone wall and moved to the open doorway of Adalia’s chambers. Her back to him, Adalia sat inside, tucked up to the delicate rosewood writing desk by the tall windows. Her little finger tapping on the desk, her head tilted up as her attention shifted to the window.
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  Pausing at the threshold of her room, Toren stared at the back of her head. Her hair had been swept into a simple knot, freeing the back of her neck to the air. He liked that spot on her. The exact center of the divot along the back of her neck that sent her skin to prickling. He was amazed he had discerned as much about her as he had the previous night, but she held little—nothing—back in the bedchamber.

  Immediate trust born of marriage. Confidence in him from the start. Whether that was wise of her or not.

  A pang of guilt struck him, a frown carving his face. He’d had to do it. Tell the lie that would keep her safe.

  He rarely—never—lied. The truth was always simpler, harsh though it could be. He had never once been afraid of the truth.

  But this. This he had to lie about. He had no choice.

  His look centered on the back of her neck as the nettlesome debate on the wisdom of his decision gnawed on the back of his mind.

  Her right hand lifted, dipping the tip of a quill into an inkwell.

  No.

  It spurred him across the room, his hand grabbing her right wrist before she set nib to vellum. Ink splotched across the paper.

  “Toren? What?” She looked up, peeved.

  He released her wrist. “Who are you writing?”

  “My friends, Violet and Cassandra.” She pointed at the one letter, already sealed and sanded and propped against the box of inks in front of her.

  “No. Absolutely not.” He plucked the finished letter from the desk.

  “Why in heaven’s name not? They are my dear friends, and they will be dreadfully worried about me. We left London without a word, and they—”

  “No.”

  Her mouth clamped shut, her head snapping back.

  “Do you want to be safe, Adalia?”

  “Well, of course, but these are my friends.” She reached for the letter in his fingers.

  His elbow jerked back, holding the letter out of reach. “Do you want the twins to be safe?”

  Her glare deepened. “Telling Violet and Cass that I am safe does no harm.”

  “Do you want the twins to be safe?”

  “Yes.” The word hissed from her teeth.

  “Then no. No one can know you three are here. No contact with anyone until I determine what Theodore was doing in the rookeries. Until I determine what the exact threat is.”

  “And just when will that be, Toren? I don’t think you understand the extreme worry this—that I disappeared with the girls—will be causing my friends.”

  “They will survive.”

  She slapped the quill onto the desk, her mouth clamping shut.

  At least she managed to resist calling him an overbearing ogre. He could see the insults were brimming on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back.

  Again, because she trusted him—so quickly it was near to foolish on her part.

  “Is that alone why you came in here?” Her words clipped, she was dismissing him.

  He set the sealed letter on the desk in front of her. “I will tell you when you can send it. And no, I actually have a request of you.”

  “Yes?”

  “I was hoping to have you talk to Mr. Fredrick, my head gardener. I know nothing about roses, but it appeared as though the rose beds sparked an interest in you, and I thought we could revive the rose garden. I asked him to meet me in the study in a few minutes to discuss the plans. Perhaps you can help?”

  The tight line of her mouth relaxed as the whole countenance of her face softened—so much so that it made him blink. Curious. He had never seen anger leave a person so quickly.

  “I would enjoy that. Very much.” Not quite a smile, but acceptance. He would take it.

  “Good.” He started to step away from the desk, but then curiosity stopped him. “What is it—that odd look upon your face?”

  “Nothing. You came in here and took something away from me.” She swiveled in her chair to fully face him. “But then in the next instant, you offered something to make me happy. I am just not sure what to do with that.”

  “You don’t want to be happy?”

  “No—yes—of course I do. I am an entirely happy person. I always have been. Life has just not encouraged it in recent years.” Her hands lifted, palms flipping upward as a hesitant smile crossed her face. “So this, the roses . . . It is kind. That is all. It was unexpected, so I thank you.”

  His lips drew inward, his brow creasing as he gave a slight nod. He started to move away from her, but her voice stopped him before he stepped into the hallway.

  “Toren, I promised Josalyn and Mary we would play cards this evening. Would you like to join us?”

  “I . . .”

  “Four would be optimal for whist.”

  His knuckles rapped softly on the wood of the door frame as he looked at her. “You are teaching them whist? Are they not too young?”

  “Not by far. They can hold the cards, Toren. I learned when I was five and Theo had to hold my cards for me.”

  “I generally avoid games of chance.”

  “Please? It will save me from playing two hands and partnering with both of them simultaneously.”

  Her green eyes were so enticingly hopeful, Toren had to nod. “I will join you.”

  Laughing, Adalia watched as Hazard squeezed in between Josalyn and Mary just as they scampered through the door of the library. Three wide, they got stuck in the door frame, much to their instant delight. Hazard yelped, wiggling forward, and the girls broke free in fits of laughter.

  “Good night, my dears, you both played very well tonight. I will check on you soon,” Adalia called out after them.

  Mary grabbed the doorknob and closed the door. “Good night, Auntie Ada.”

  Adalia tapped the stack of playing cards in her hand on the square table, her look going to Toren. He had leaned back in his chair, his left ankle slung up over his right knee. The white of his muslin shirt interrupted only by the dark of his waistcoat, he looked relaxed, his sleeves rolled slightly, shirt open wide at his neck. Even more relaxed than he looked naked, if that was possible.

  “Remind me to never play against you,” he said, threading his fingers together behind his head.

  “I strike fear in your heart?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Or at least to never bet against you. I fear I ruin all the progress you make with the girls. If they follow my example, they have long lives of losing ahead of them.”

  She laughed, shuffling the cards. “No bets? Even if it was for something worth winning? Something valuable?”

  “Valuable?”

  She looked up at him with no control over the wanton smile that invaded her face. “Such as my clothes? We are currently alone.”

  He laughed, a low rumble that warmed the already toasty library. “That. That I do not think I can refuse.” He sat up, flicking his fingers toward the cards. “Deal, then. Even though I know I will regret this. It is comical how good you are and how bad I am.”

  “Each trick, one item?” Adalia shuffled the cards and started to peel them out, one by one. “I used to play so often—I realized tonight how much I miss it. I rarely get to play at the Revelry’s Tempest anymore, since it became so busy.” She looked up at him. “You will get better, I imagine.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not have the demeanor for it. I do not care for risk, for guessing at the duplicity of those around me.”

  “But that is half the fun. Who has what. Their tells. Trying to outwit those around you, which is even more fun when you know your opponents well.” She set down the stack of cards in the blind, picking up her hand. “That burst of giddiness when you catch someone bluffing—my heartbeat speeds just thinking on it.”

  “You embrace all of it so fully—your brothers raised a peculiar woman.”

  She shrugged with a grin. “They did their best.”

  Toren leaned forward, lifting the tops of his cards to note them, and then fanned them out acro
ss his stomach as he leaned back in his chair. “Tell me of your late husband’s family.”

  He tossed the king of spades onto the table.

  She glanced at him above her cards. “You would like to probe into my past?”

  “I want to make sure I know of any possible enemies who would harm you or the girls.”

  After flipping out the ace of spades, she slid the trick toward her. “Your waistcoat.”

  She waited until he shrugged out of his waistcoat before laying the jack of spades. “You think Pipworth’s family could have had something to do with Mary being abducted?”

  “I think nothing until there is evidence.” He followed suit with a queen. Bugger. Not in the blind. “Your left slipper.”

  She flicked off the heel of her left slipper with her right toes and exhaled, flipping her fingers in the air. “No. They are harmless. They are angry—at my late husband, and by extension, me—but they are harmless. I understand that they now realize how very much of the fortune was spent on his vices. Vices that had nothing to do with me.”

  He nodded. “Can you think of anyone else who would want to harm you—harm the twins?”

  “No. Goodness, no.” She shook her head even as Mr. Trether’s face popped into her mind. She instantly dismissed the vision of him. Mr. Trether was handled—he wanted the Revelry’s Tempest, nothing more. And he most certainly had no intention to harm her, much less the twins. “There is no one.”

  Six tricks went by, various items of clothing disappearing. While Toren had quickly been relieved of his shirt, both boots, and stockings, Adalia had managed to lose only her other slipper.

  His forefinger tapping the edge of his cards, Toren looked at her. “Did you enjoy your late husband, Adalia?”

  Though the question should have given her pause, Adalia had long since removed from herself all emotion regarding her first husband. She shrugged. “I held Pipworth in esteem for a while. At least from afar. That was until we were married.”

  “Marriage was not what you had hoped for?”

  Adalia’s card hand dropped, her look meeting Toren’s. “My eldest brother, Caldwell, chose him for me. Pipworth was a dear friend of his. We married months after Caldwell died. I do not know if it was obligation upon Pipworth’s part. I imagine so. Regardless, we spent very little time together.”