Honour's Redemption

by Joan Vincent

“Then there is little time,” Halstrom said meeting Lucian’s gaze. “I shall send to the Keep for your mother’s jewels.”

  “But my lord,” Lucian protested. “We wish only your presence at the ceremony.”

  Surprise widened his father’s eyes, Lucian saw, and most unexpected again, a gratefulness that prompted his own.

  “May I offer my good wishes?” Halstrom asked strolling up to Lucian his hand extended.

  Lucian stared down at the proffered hand. Distaste and fear rose first, then hope and cautious joy tumbled over one another in a wild jumble. His heart pounded against his chest as he met his father’s gaze and knew they had made a beginning. “I am most thankful for them,” he said, his grip on Halstrom’s hand firm and steady.

  The marquess released his son’s hand and turned back to the fireplace. “How shall I address this bride of yours?”

  The tenseness in his shoulders told Lucian how difficult it was to ask. “Lady Gilchrist, of course, Father.” As his father turned he nodded in acceptance of the title and his role in carrying it into the future.

  Halstrom roughly cleared his throat. He fingered the fobs on his waistcoat. “There is someone recently arrived in London you may wish to call upon before you return to Purse Caundle. Lord Blake Major Danbury was sent bearing dispatches.” The look the marquess gave his son told of his realization that the older officer had fathered and protected Lucian.

  “Lord Blake,” Lucian said slowly and sighed. “The devil come home to roost, eh? I had better beard him before I lose all courage.”

  * * *

  Lucian had almost given up running Lord Blake to ground when he finally found him at White’s. It was an unusually quite night with very few members present. The major sat in one of a pair of leather chairs before the fire. Studying him, Merristorm was taken aback. Lord Blake had always appeared elegant, sophisticated, a man of the day bored with life. This eve there was little of the burden of ennui if you knew Danbury’s pose. The man held a glass of brandy and stared at it as if seeking an answer.

  How little I know the man, thought Lucian. How much I owe him. With purpose he strode to the fireplace. “May I join you?” he asked.

  For a moment Lord Blake didn’t move. Then he slowly raised his head. A flair of surprise and then pleasure appeared before slipping behind the mask Merristorm knew so well as the man stood and offered his hand.

  “Of course, Merristorm. Lud, never thought to see you.”

  Lucian watched the man study him as they both sat. When Lord Blake raised his glass in question he merely shook his head. “How fare Vicar and Vincouer?” he asked of his fellow officers.

  Lord Blake gave a careless shrug. “Their usual selves.” Then he said more seriously, “Goodchurch has become a fine officer. Vincouer racquets about Portugal and Spain like a mad hen. Quite effective in his way.”

  “But De la Croix tells a most extraordinary tale.” He ran a finger down the scar that ran from his eye to his jaw. “You look none the worse for it.”

  “You mean I look the better for it,” Merristorm said sardonically.

  “There is that,” Lord Blake drawled. “Tales are tiresome, are they not.”

  Lucian sat forward and clasped his hands. “I can never repay—”

  “Lud, spare me, dear man,” Lord Blake drawled. “Do not become tiresome. It’s a dreadful bore.”

  “But—”

  “But congratulations are in order, are they not,” Lord Blake continued. “When is the happy event?”

  Lucian smiled broadly. “Monday next. You must come and meet Ruth.”

  With a quirk of his lips, Lord Blake sighed. “It may not be possible. I have a, ahem, an assignment from Hookey that has proved, err, troublesome, shall we say.”

  “Wellington—but what? You troubled?”

  “A matter of keeping secrets safe.” Lord Blake pursed his lips. “Yes, secrets safe.”

  Lucian looked at him for more but the major was momentarily lost in thought.

  With a rueful shake of his head Lord Blake met Merristorm’s gaze and dropped his facade. “’Tis good to see you whole and well. But enough maudlin,” he became his usual self. “Let me tell you about the Lines of Torres Vedras. The fortifications stopped Massena in his tracks. You will not believe what Wellington and Flectcher managed.” With a wink, he settled back speaking softly.

  For Lucian it was like the many fires they had shared in the heat and cold, in battle and retreat in Portugal and Spain. It was a homecoming of sorts, another healing for which to be thankful.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Purse Caundle November 12th

  “Married in the veils of November mist, Fortune your wedding ring has kissed,” Ruth murmured the verse Sairy Jane had whispered to her right before they left Whitby.

  Codie Smith, the young maid Ruth had chosen as abigail, unbuttoned the pale ivory gown delicately embroidered with russet roses and forest green leaves at hem and cuff. The silk whispered seductively as it slid over her head. Ruth shivered, not from the chill though the night was cold, for the room was warmed by a roaring fire.

  Our chamber, Ruth thought as the abigail unlaced her corset and carefully removed it. She clenched at the thought of what was to come. Warmth spiralled through her.

  Before Lucian she never would have believed the days could be so long nor the nights so lonely as she waited for this moment. It had gotten to the point where they hardly dared be within reach of one another. A simple touch and the world disappeared.

  “Is something wrong, my lady?” Codie asked shyly.

  Ruth wondered who the girl addressed and then called herself to order. “It has been a long day,” she prevaricated. A very very long twenty-one days.

  “But now you be Countess Gilchrist,” Codie sighed.

  Countess Gilchrist. How strange it is. A burden never wished for but one she accepted willingly for Lucian.

  Does he realize how easily he has slipped back into the role? Ruth wondered. She smiled. Had he ever really left it? Already Jemmy had a tutor and Lucian had sought her help with plans to bring the orphans to Purse Caundle. There was so much the title would help them accomplish.

  At Codie’s urging Ruth raised her hands and let the maid slip a scandalously sheer silk night-rail over her head. It whispered down her body. Whispered promises of Lucian’s hands, of pleasures to come.

  “My lady?” Codie said.

  Ruth heard the quaver of fear and looked kindly at the young girl.

  “Surely you do not intend to wear this old thing?” The abigail held up Ruth’s serviceable wool nightrobe. “The one that came with the night-rail is so very beautiful.”

  Blushing, Ruth shook her head and reached out her hand. “That is the one I want.”

  “You must let me do it,” Codie urged. “Mrs. Howertone has told me ever so often what I should do.”

  Ruth put her arm into the proffered sleeve. This dance of dressing and undressing was still most difficult. When the robe had been sashed she took the abigail’s hand. “Do not fret over Mrs. Howertone,” she said gently. “You and I are both new come to our stations. We shall grow into them together.”

  “Why yes, miss—my lady,” Codie stammered. “Thank you, my lady.” She stood a moment and then started. “You must sit, my lady, so I can unpin your hair.”

  Ruth sighed as she sat, impatient for this to be at an end. She met Codie’s troubled gaze and smiled reassurance.

  The abigail furrowed her brow and with extreme care began to work free the pins that held the simple chignon in place. “It is such beautiful hair,” she said as she worked.

  Gazing into the mirror as the carefully styled auburn tresses sprang free and feathered into tiny curls Ruth doubted it. It was too untamed to be ladylike, too unrestrained. She thought with wonder, Yet Lucian appears fascinated by it.

  She looked down, embarrassed at her thoughts, and saw the open jewellery case. In it lay the elegant pearl and diamond necklace and earrings Marquess Halstr
om had presented to her shortly after his arrival.

  The marquess had proven a surprise. Handsome as sin as was his son he had been restrained and quiet, not at all the flirt Lucian had painted. Halstrom moved and spoke carefully about his son as did Lucian about him. She supposed it was natural after so severe a break over so many years.

  Halstrom had even proven not only kind but adept with her father. There was no hint of disdain on his part as he renewed the old friendship. Their conversations of the past had steadied her father. He had not faltered until very near the end of the ceremony that morn.

  I shall make certain Halstrom is oft invited here. That he and Lucian learn to know one another again.

  Ruth’s throat thickened. Father and son would gain each other while she slowly lost hers. Lucian refused to let her thank him for the gift of her father’s care; for the freedom to enjoy what time they had left before he knew them no more.

  Closing her eyes, Ruth said a prayer of thanks. She stilled, knowing at once it was Lucian and not Codie who stood behind her. Breathing in his scent curled her toes, his sigh matched hers as his fingers threaded through her hair. Her bones turned to mush.

  * * *

  Lucian stalked to the dressing room door and stared at it. Ruth and her abigail’s voice murmured lowly on the other side.

  “Damme the maid,” he swore lowly, reached for the knob, and then slowly dropped his hand. If you can’t control yourself here what will you do in there? he chided and paced away from the door.

  Five minutes later Lucian faced the door again. This time he eased it open and slipped inside. A finger to his lips, he motioned the abigail to leave consigning the gossip that would run riot below stairs to the River Styx.

  Lucian’s heart hitched at sight of Ruth before the mirror, her russet hair unbound, a riot of delicious colour. He padded silently behind her, sighed his thanks for Ruth, and slowly twined his fingers through the silken mass. The seductive glide of burnished copper through his fingers sent a jolt of hot desire through Lucian.

  Combing his fingers through it increased the riot of jagged pleasure to an unbearable pitch. Not yet. Not yet, he ordered himself as he bent, smoothed back her sinful hair, and nuzzled Ruth’s slender neck.

  “My love,” Lucian murmured and breathed in her fragrance that spoke of spring and hope and unbounded pleasure. With effort Lucian stepped back. He took Ruth’s hand and gazed into the mesmerizing depths of her green eyes, dark with passion. Love and desire filled their depths, warmed his soul. “My beautiful love,” he whispered and drew her upright.

  Lucian feathered a kiss across Ruth’s bottom lip. His eyes nearly crossed at the sizzle that singed through him when she nipped his. He put his hands on her upper arms and bowed his forehead against her shoulder.

  “What is wrong?” Ruth whispered.

  “I fear you shall undo me before we get to the bed.”

  “Then heigh us there my lord,” Ruth tossed back with desire driven bravado.

  Lucian cupped her face with his hands and lingeringly kissed her. When Ruth pressed against him he twitched open the sash about her gown. Slipping his tongue between her parted lips, Lucian tasted, teased. So overwhelming was the wave of pleasure that he made to push the robe from her shoulders.

  Reading his sudden tenseness for the urgency it was, Ruth unfastened his sash and pushed aside the front of his dressing gown. She splayed her hands across his chest and freeing her lips, dropped a trail of kisses downward until he stayed her.

  “My sweet,” Lucian said trembling. He pushed first one and then the other side of her robe free. When she stood before him in the sheer silken night rail he gazed in dazed anticipation at the puckered nubs on her full rounded breasts. He put out his hand and gently caressed the right and then the left before he pulled his thumbs across the peaks and shuddered at her responding tremor of delight. It nearly ended thought and he claimed her lips once again.

  Ruth sank into Lucian, pressed against his engorged penis and thrilled to the glide of his hands upon her breasts. A groan came unbidden to her lips and frantic need. She pushed back his dressing gown seeking greater contact and twined her hands about his neck as her hips moved against his of their own volition.

  “Now,” Ruth pleaded and pressed even closer. She squirmed seeking him and then reached down and ran her fingers across the silky top and down the steely length.

  “Dear God,” Lucian moaned throwing back his head. The next instant he lowered it to her breast and trailed his hand between her thighs.

  Ruth groaned with pleasure and clutched at him as he suckled her breast. A whirlwind low in her abdomen flexed, rose. Fluid, slippery and hot, spilled over her fingers as she stroked him and he eased a finger into her heat.

  Arching to him, Ruth clutched his shoulders. “Now.”

  Lucian ripped her night-rail away, lifted her in his arms, their lips fast and staggered towards the bed. He staggered as a foot caught on his dressing gown as it fell away.

  They sprawled back upon the bed, Ruth beneath him. Lucian thrust into her core. He paused as a spasm of pain flitted across Ruth’s face. But then she grabbed his hips and pulled him to her as she ground hers against his.

  Ruth’s eyes widened as the whirlpool inside her spun out of control. Stars and glittered light exploded before her as pleasure rose like a fever and consumed her mind and body. She clutched Lucian’s back and clenched her muscles about him. The world flew to pieces carrying her with it.

  Lucian thrust again glorying in the pleasure that washed over Ruth’s face. The moment she reached her climax he covered her mouth as she opened it to scream her release only to throw back his head a second later as he too shattered into a thousand pieces of searing pleasure.

  “My love,” he whispered later sated with the oblivion of love’s pleasure. “My own love.”

  Ruth traced the angular jaw with pure contentment. “This will kill us,” she whispered.

  Laughter rumbled deep in Lucian’s chest. “Consume us,” he managed as he drew her closer.

  “We shall grow old doing this?”

  “Please God,” Lucian murmured as he drank in her beauty.

  A smile slowly curved Ruth’s lips. She lovingly traced a finger across his lips. “A prayer,” she half teased.

  Lucian stilled and gazed deep into her gold flecked green eyes. In Ruth’s gaze he read understanding and mutual wonder at the miracle of their journey, how they had changed each other, and the joy and sorrow they would share through the years to come.

  “Yes, a prayer,” Lucian agreed. “A fervent hope.”

  * * * *

  HONOUR’S REDEMPTION

  The PROLOGUE occurs in April 1802

  The rest of the story takes place from OCTOBER 1810-NOVEMBER 1810

  Characters in order of introduction:

  Lucian Merristorm, Earl Gilchrist, –nightmares tormented Captain in the 14th Light Dragoons serving in the Peninsula known for drink and womanizing; was forced to sell out due to scandal created when he killed Eugenio Hernandez; secretly provides a home for orphan boys in Spain and in London

  Hellfire Stranton Merristorm, Marquess Halstrom – Lucian’s father known for his licentious lifestyle

  Jasmine Randolph– young woman who accidentally fell to her death from the Keep’s upper wall; sister of Brandon Randolph

  Professor Robinson – Lucian’s Greek professor

  Sir Brandon Thornley–befriends Lucian meaning to do him harm; name taken by Brandon Randolph as part of a bequest after which he added the “Sir”

  Benen — young man sent to care for Lucian when he is sent to his grandmother in Purse Caundle

  Ruth Clayton—daughter of Vicar Sampson Clayton who suffers from a form of dementia, and elder sister to Marietta

  Eleazor Scruggs–former army man in charge of home for boys Merristorm set up in London

  Jemmy–boy Merristorm rescues in East Retford

  André Ribeymon, Baron de la Croix—French émigré rescued fr
om mob as a child and now a British spy disguised as a dandy

  Sairy Jane—old woman who volunteers to clean and cook for the Claytons in Whitby

  Peace Jenkinson—owner of Wise Owl and leader of smugglers. (Also the émigré Vianne, Comtesse Bettencourt)

  Donatien—French master spy known for his disguises–latest as Bernard Geary, Riding Officer; In Book 1 Honour’s Debt Jacques Porteur and Squire George and in Book 2 Honour’s Choice as the French spy Chercheur and the Prussian officer Berthold von Willmar, in Book 3 Honour’s Compromise the English Mr. Tredway and footman at Bellum Castle

  Pascual Walsh—André’s cousin who often aids him in his government work

  Major Lord Blake Danbury on temporary assignment with the 14th Light Dragoons (Hussars)—3rd son of the Duke of Devereaux, scar runs down right cheek and suffers from perpetual ennui

  * * *

  About Joan Vincent

  Joan Vincent lives with her husband in Kansas. Her hobbies include sewing for and playing with her young grandchildren, crocheting, quilting, and flower arranging. Her husband claims her favorite hobby/passion is filling an ever-increasing number of bookcases with books on all facets of 18-19th century English, French, and Spanish life and politics. Her previously published books are available at Regency Reads

  About Joan Vincent and her books at JOANVINCENT.NET

  The 6th of each month Joan blogs at BITS & BYTES ROMANCE THE WRITER’S WAY

  Email Ms. Vincent’s at JVREGENCY@GMAIL. COM

  JOAN VINCENT

  ISBN 978-0-9916503-1-6

  Copyright 2017 Joan Wesolowsky

  All Rights Reserved

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