Faith

by Deneane Clark

  Before he could finish, the door opened behind him and Grace appeared, followed closely by a rather sheepish-looking Amanda. Their husbands followed more slowly, Jonathon glowering and Trevor smirking.

  “—the Earl and Countess of Huntwick,” Desmond finished. He gave Grace a look of disdain. “Who were also unannounced,” he added.

  Grace stepped around the butler, who turned and left the room, muttering under his breath. She ignored him. “Good day, my lord.” She stopped abruptly and stared open-mouthed at the mess.

  Amanda nearly ran into her. “My goodness, Gareth, it looks as though someone has been brawling in here!”

  Grace’s brows snapped together. “Where’s Faith?”

  “Asleep, I presume,” replied Gareth. “Which is where I’m going as well, if you will all excuse me.”

  “Asleep?” Grace’s voice took on a note of surprise. “But it is late afternoon,” she protested.

  “Perhaps, my dear, Faith was up rather late,” put in Trevor, who was clearly enjoying the situation.

  “Indeed,” agreed Jonathon. “We should all apologize and take our leave.” He gave his wife a stern look.

  “It’s late afternoon?” Everyone turned to look at Gareth, who was staring at the windows. No one had come in to open the curtains while he slept off his excesses, and the room was still shrouded in gloom. He glanced at Grace, his brow furrowed. “Faith hasn’t been to see you?”

  Grace shook her head, her eyes growing wide with alarm. When Gareth left the room and headed for the stairs with long, ground-eating strides, she grabbed Amanda’s hand and followed, tugging her friend helplessly along with her.

  Gareth was already halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste to reach the second floor. Amanda and Grace followed more slowly, encumbered by their skirts. By the time they reached the top, Gareth had disappeared down the hall. The two women followed, glancing into each room as they passed until they found him, standing just inside the doorway of the master suite.

  Grace pushed past him. “Where’s Faith?” she repeated.

  “She’s not here,” said Gareth tightly.

  “I can see that she’s not here. Tell me where she is.”

  Gareth gave her a scathing look. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have come looking for her. She was in that bed when I went downstairs last night.”

  “And got drunk,” accused Grace hotly.

  Gareth narrowed his eyes. “I seem to recall finding Hunt well into his cups a time or two while he was courting you. Is driving men to drink a trait peculiar to Ackerly women?”

  Grace glared.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jonathon drunk,” offered Amanda pleasantly.

  “I don’t get drunk,” agreed Jon as he walked into the room.

  Trevor appeared as well and nudged his friend, tilting his head toward Grace and Gareth. Grace looked ready to launch herself at the marquess, who looked as though he’d welcome the fight. “So, where’s Faith?”

  Both angry faces snapped toward Trevor. “She’s not here!”

  “Well, I can see that,” he muttered.

  Amanda’s lips twitched, and Jonathon gave her a baleful look. She quickly composed herself. “Faith is not given to acting rashly,” she said. “If she isn’t here, and she hasn’t been to see Grace, then she’ll obviously be at the next logical place.”

  Grace shook her head. “We came here straight from a visit with Aunt Cleo.”

  Gareth frowned. “She mentioned going home to Pelthamshire.”

  Again, Grace gave a negative shake of her head. “We’ve just come from there, and she’d decided to return with us. Besides, she might leave you, my lord, without a word of explanation, but she would never leave town without letting me or Aunt Cleo know where she was going.”

  Gareth began pacing the room, his brow furrowed in thought. He stopped a moment and looked at the unmade bed, the memory of how he’d taken Faith’s virginity in such a clumsy manner tugging at him. The evidence on the sheets taunted him, and he closed his eyes, regret and self-recrimination stamped on his features. The two forgotten couples conversed in whispers near the door, watching him carefully.

  He opened his eyes and stepped closer to the bed, the pounding in his head forgotten, intending to flip the covers up to cover the soiled linens, certain Faith wouldn’t have wanted even her closest loved ones to know what had transpired the evening before. As he reached for the covers, he caught sight of something lying on the floor next to the far side of the bed and stiffened. In two long strides, he was there.

  He bent, swept the objects off the floor, and straightened, holding Faith’s stockings in his hand, then looked at the group across the room. “She didn’t dress normally,” he announced.

  Grace’s eyes grew round and riveted on the delicate lengths of silk in his hands. “No,” she agreed. “Something forced her to dress quickly. She left off her stockings to save time.”

  Gareth nodded. “Something,” he echoed thoughtfully. “Or someone.” And then, just like that, all the evidence added up for him. The cuff link, the vandalism at Rothemere, the near proposal, the way he’d hung near and basked in Faith’s kindness…

  Grace tilted her head to the side, her mind spinning. A memory, vague and dim, niggled at her consciousness, something to which she felt she should have paid closer attention, something she might have noticed and dismissed. She frowned. What was it? Gareth watched the changing expressions on her face, waiting for her to come to the same conclusion he had.

  And then her face cleared. The dance last night! Grace sucked in her breath and raised wide blue eyes to Gareth’s inscrutable brown ones. “Lord Jameson,” she said on an exhaled breath. Jameson had been acting particularly strange, and he was the only culprit she could imagine.

  Gareth nodded tightly, and Grace wondered at his lack of expression, at the missing sense of urgency in his demeanor.

  Jon stepped forward. “If this is true,” he said quietly to his brother, “if she left here with Jameson, it was not as his lover. Get that out of your mind.”

  The marquess shrugged. “I suppose that remains to be seen,” he replied. He looked at Trevor, then Jon. “Would either of you care to accompany me? I think I’m about to pay a house call.”

  Thirty-six

  Faith opened her eyes and winced. Her head was pounding, and her arms and legs felt strangely heavy. She frowned, wondering at these oddities in her waking ritual. She reached for one of the many pillows that littered her bed, intending to pull it over her face and go back to sleep, but her questing fingers found nothing.

  Reluctant to open her eyes into what she was sure would be a provokingly bright, beautiful morning, Faith groaned. I must have slept roughly, she thought, and knocked the pillows from the bed. A restless sleep would also explain the headache.

  Then she remembered Horatio.

  Faith sat up abruptly, her eyes flying open to encounter a dim room. She tried to cry out, but her mouth was dry as cotton and her tongue felt huge. All she managed was a pathetic little croak.

  “Laudanum.”

  Startled, Faith’s head snapped to the side, prompting another wave of excruciating pain. She could barely make out the figure in the shadowy corner of the room, but the voice was decidedly female.

  “Why?” Faith managed to whisper, despite the arid condition of her mouth and throat.

  “Because Horatio may be vulnerable to your considerable charm and, to my mind, rather bland beauty, but I am not. I knew it was only a matter of time before you stopped playing along with him and became difficult.” The voice paused. “There’s a glass of water on the table beside the bed, if you’d like it. Not that I care about your comfort. I simply don’t wish to listen to you try to croak out your side of this conversation.”

  Faith reached for the water and brought the glass to her lips before she remembered the tea. Obviously, the tea Horatio had offered her when they arrived was laced with the laudanum. She sniffed at the water s
uspiciously.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, drink it. It’s just water. You really are a prim, icy creature, aren’t you?” There was a rustling sound as the unknown woman shifted in her chair. “I honestly don’t know what either Gareth or Horatio sees in you.”

  Even the mention of her husband’s name did not alleviate Faith’s need to end her horrible thirst. She pushed away her distrust of the liquid and took a small sip. When she tasted nothing except cool, clear water, she drank the rest in long, grateful swallows. She set the glass down and pushed back the coverlet to swing her legs out of the bed.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re bound to be a trifle wobbly yet.”

  Given the heaviness in her limbs, Faith had to admit that the unknown woman was right. It wouldn’t do any good to try to leave until the effects of the drug entirely left her body. She squinted into the shadowy corner instead. “Who are you?”

  “You haven’t figured it out yet?” The woman laughed. “Tsk. I thought you a bit brighter than that.”

  Faith chewed on her lower lip, trying to put together all the clues with her drug-fogged mind. A woman known not only to both herself and Gareth, but also to Horatio Grimsby. One with whom she’d interacted enough to have angered in some way.

  And then all came clear. “Lady Blakely?” Faith frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. And I suppose I should be fair enough to acknowledge that none of this is actually your fault. But I’m just not that fair.” She stood and stepped out of the shadows, her lovely face contorted with jealous hatred. “For a while there, it appeared I wasn’t going to have to take such extreme action.”

  Faith closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, forcing herself to think, fighting the cobwebs and the dizziness from the laudanum. “You and Gareth once had an…an…understanding?”

  “No!” Evelyn’s voice became sharp. “We did not have an ‘understanding,’ as you so delicately put it. We had a relationship. One you wouldn’t begin to comprehend, given your recently removed innocence.”

  Faith’s eyes grew round.

  “Oh, yes. Horatio told me about those sweetly soiled sheets, about how the Ice Princess did not even sleep with her own husband until the marriage was already weeks old. He is of the impression that Gareth raped you, but you and I know that isn’t true, don’t we?”

  Faith blushed hotly. “You mean you and he—?” She broke off, unable to speak so casually of the intimate act.

  Evelyn laughed, an evil, grating sound that made Faith wince. “Still so prim. I’ve enjoyed many men in precisely that way. None quite so much as your husband, though. Which is why I intend to have him again.”

  Faith shook her head. “He doesn’t want you now, Evelyn. And he will come for me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Right now, everything is pointing to the fact that you left with your lover. And that is precisely what you are going to do. Horatio is at his town house packing right now. We’ll keep you here for a couple of days, after which you’ll board a ship for America with him.”

  “America?”

  “Of course. I considered the Continent first, but the world has become so much smaller, and I rather thought Gareth might manage to find you. America, however, is so large, so far away.” The older woman smiled with smug self-satisfaction. “And once he learns you’ve left willingly, he won’t be so inclined to go looking for you.”

  “Why on earth would Lord Jameson go to America? He’d be nothing there. Untitled, unable to work, since he never has.” Faith shook her head, trying to clear it long enough to reason through the conversation.

  “Because he is a fool who fancies himself in love with you. And because I’ve convinced him it is the only way you can be together.” Evelyn tossed her head proudly. “I can be rather convincing when a man is…recently sated.”

  Faith’s eyes grew wide when she caught Lady Blakely’s meaning. She narrowed them and lifted her chin. “Gareth will find me before that.” She looked down her nose with all the lofty disdain she could muster. “He loves me.”

  Evelyn’s eyes flashed. “Ah, but he does not trust you. We’ve made sure of that. From there, it’s only a small step to falling out of love.” She sneered. “And then I’ll be right there to pick up the pieces.”

  “You’re mad.” Faith blinked, fighting the residual effects of the laudanum. Sleepiness was overtaking her again, and she knew she couldn’t fight it much longer. “He’ll figure out it was Horatio, and if he doesn’t, my sister Grace will.”

  “I have every intention of them figuring it out, but they’ll never link Horatio to me. And since you’ll both be here until it is time to sail, they won’t find either of you until it is far too late.”

  Faith’s drug-fogged brain struggled to put bits and pieces of the conversation together. Something was odd. “Here?” It was the second time Evelyn had made reference to being in a different place than Horatio. Faith had assumed the town house to which he had brought her was his.

  “You are in my home, Faith.” Evelyn stood. “You might as well go back to sleep. You’ll not be able to do anything until you’re less woozy. And I’ll only be drugging you again anyway. We can’t have you boarding that ship kicking and screaming, can we?”

  “I won’t go willingly,” Faith murmured. “Never willingly.” Her eyes closed on a long blink, and she struggled to open them again. When she did, Evelyn was standing in front of her.

  “You’ll go willingly, Lady Roth. Either comfortably, in a cabin with a nice bed, and explanations to the crew that you’re quite mad…or in a box.” Evelyn shrugged and turned to leave.

  Faith rallied one last time. “He doesn’t want you, Evelyn. You’ll do all this for nothing. He doesn’t want you.”

  The widow turned. Her hand flashed out, and she smacked Faith hard enough to knock her backward. Faith curled up, a hand pressed to the side of her face.

  “You’re weak and unimaginative, my dear. Go to sleep. You don’t even know how to get what you want.” Then, without waiting for a response, Evelyn stalked from the room and slammed the door behind her.

  Through the waves of sleepiness, Faith heard her bolt the door from the outside. She closed her eyes and succumbed once more to the laudanum.

  Going somewhere, Jameson?”

  Horatio whirled at the lazily drawled question, shielding the open trunk into which he was haphazardly tossing articles of clothing. “How did you get in here?” His voice quavered with fear.

  “Your servants weren’t about.” Gareth straightened from the doorjamb against which he leaned nonchalantly. “You’ve already dismissed them in anticipation of your travels, perhaps?” He strolled over to glance into the trunk. “A shame. Looks as though you could use a valet with some packing skills.”

  Horatio backed up and circled toward the door, giving Gareth a wide berth. “I could have you arrested for breaking in here!”

  Gareth crossed his arms and stood still. “By all means. Summon the authorities, if you’ve anyone around to send. Perhaps they can tell us what you’ve done with my wife.”

  At that, Horatio lunged for the door.

  “You won’t get far, Jameson. I didn’t come alone.”

  The earl stopped short, his eyes skipping between the doorway and Gareth.

  “My brother and Huntwick were at my home when we discovered Faith was missing, so we thought we’d come pay a call on you, see if you had any"—he paused—”advice as to where we might find her.”

  “I have no idea where your wife might be. Perhaps she left you.” Horatio raised his eyes but looked quickly away when he encountered Gareth’s inscrutable dark gaze.

  “Oh, I think you do know. But just in case you decide to keep it a secret, Trevor and Jon have taken it upon themselves to search the premises.”

  Horatio felt a burst of triumph. If the other two men were searching the house, where he knew they wouldn’t find Faith, he could possibly get past them all and outrun Roth. He
took another step toward the door.

  Gareth chuckled. “I thought you might try something foolish. So I picked up a couple more friends on the way.”

  Horatio stopped.

  “Blackthorne and his cousin Asheburton are also downstairs. Asheburton is Scottish, you know.” Gareth smiled disarmingly. “A rough bunch, those Scots. Always positively itching for a fight. It’s almost as though they think they’ve something to prove to us English chaps.”

  Horatio sighed and turned, defeat written in his posture. “I don’t have your wife.”

  “But you know where she is,” Gareth asserted.

  Horatio hesitated, thought about the rank, stature, and general physical condition of the men assembled in his home, and visibly crumbled. He nodded.

  Gareth’s face turned hard, and he strode across the room. He grasped Horatio’s shirt just under the collar and twisted, lifting the smaller man up off the floor and pressing him back against the wall. “If you’ve harmed a single hair on her head…!”

  Horatio’s voice was a squeak. “She’s fine, my lord! I promise. I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Put him down, Gareth.” Jon stood in the doorway. “He’s no good to us if you frighten him to death.”

  Gareth took a deep breath, then let go without warning. Horatio’s feet barely found the floor in time to stop himself from landing on his rather soft backside. “You question him, then. It’s all I can do to keep myself from killing him.” He brushed past his brother and left the room.

  Faith opened her eyes again, this time to complete darkness. The pounding in her head had subsided, and she sat up and stretched, flexing her feet to test out her ability to use her legs. Everything felt normal. She sat still for a moment, listening carefully, her eyes roving the dark room to try to ascertain whether or not she was still alone. She heard nothing.

  Carefully, she pushed back the covers and slid from the bed, her bare feet encountering soft carpeting. She felt her way along the wall until she came to a window covered with heavy drapes. She pushed open the curtains, which allowed a bit of light from the city to filter into the room, revealing the location of the door.