Dark Ruby (Ransomed Jewels)

by Laura Landon

  As she readied herself for bed, she thought about the conversation they’d had while picking berries. She’d never shared anything so private about her parents with anyone else. Never exposed such private thoughts. She didn’t know why she’d felt comfortable enough with him, except that there was something that made talking to him so easy. She hoped someday he’d feel the same about her and would share the cause of his nightmares.

  He hadn’t suffered another episode since that first time. Not that she’d heard. And Isobel was a light sleeper and thought she would have heard him if he had.

  She also hadn’t seen him when she’d gone in for her breakfast. To her, that was also a good sign. When he slept the night through, he didn’t rise as early as she did. It was only after a nightmare when he didn’t return to bed that he was awake before her.

  When Isobel was ready, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers beneath her chin. It had been a long day, and she was tired. She couldn’t wait to fall asleep.

  That’s when she heard it. The same low keening as she’d heard the other night. This time she didn’t have to wonder what made such a horrifying sound. She knew.

  She rose from the bed and slipped into her robe and slippers, then made her way down the hall.

  The door to his room was slightly ajar, as it had been before. As if Boswick, his valet, had rushed in to see to his master.

  Isobel pushed the door farther so she could see inside.

  Boswick rushed to His Lordship’s side and placed his hands on the marquess’s shoulders. “My lord. Please wake.”

  Isobel waited for Lord Halverston to wake. Instead, he struggled, then reached back his arm and swung it forward.

  Boswick flew several feet from the bed and landed on his side.

  Isobel waited for the valet to get up and return to where Lord Halverston thrashed on the bed, but the valet lay on the floor and didn’t move. The Marquess of Halverston’s arms swung through the air as if fighting imaginary enemies, then he bucked from the bed as if he’d been struck. Another horrifying cry rent the air.

  Isobel rushed forward, not considering the wisdom of her actions, or knowing what good she thought she could do. She only knew that she couldn’t allow Lord Halverston to suffer like he was.

  “Lord Halverston,” she said, loud enough for there to be strength behind her words. “You’re safe now. Your tormentors are gone.”

  He still struggled, but his actions weren’t as violent.

  “Everyone is gone,” she said. “You’re alone now. No one can hurt you.”

  His head moved from side to side as if he were checking the room. But his eyes didn’t open. Nor did the deep furrows ease from his brow.

  Isobel reached for his hand and held it. “Take my hand, my lord. Hold on to me and I’ll take care of you.”

  His fingers wrapped around her hand, and she clasped his damp palm between both of her hands.

  “You can sleep now, my lord,” she whispered. “You’re safe. They won’t be back to bother you.”

  Isobel sank to her knees beside His Lordship’s bed and nestled his large hand between her much smaller hands. Finally, his labored breathing slowed, then the harsh gasps eased.

  A short while later, his body relaxed, and he slept.

  Isobel waited until she could slip her hands from his grasp, then rose to her feet. She watched him for a few minutes to make sure the night terror didn’t return. Satisfied, she turned and walked to the door.

  Boswick was on his feet and walked to his master’s bedside. When their gazes locked, she noticed a bruise already darkening his cheek. His devotion to his master tugged at her heart.

  With a glance back to the man resting on the bed, she left the room.

  A painful weight settled in the pit of her stomach, and tears stung her eyes. She didn’t know what had happened to cause such horrors, but it had changed Lord Halverston dramatically.

  Tears fell as she recalled the man who’d accompanied her as she picked berries. The man who’d asked about her family and was interested enough in Isobel’s youth that he’d asked about her mother. The man who’d laughed when she shared the story of meeting the vicar in her berry-stained dress.

  That man bore no resemblance to the tortured man who’d thrashed on the bed to escape his demons.

  Isobel clutched her hand to her breast to ease the ache that burned inside her. And she felt closer to the Marquess of Halverston than she had a right to.

  Closer than it was safe to.

  Chapter 8

  Alex woke the next morning feeling like he usually did after he suffered a nightmare, but nothing else indicated that he’d had one. He woke up in his bed, something he never did after such an episode. He’d slept the entire night through. And yet . . .

  He pushed the covers aside, then sat on the edge of the bed. He raked his fingers through his hair as he stood.

  He felt rested, something else he never did after a nightmare. Perhaps he hadn’t had one.

  He was almost convinced he hadn’t. But when Boswick entered the room a few minutes later, Alex knew he had.

  “How did you get that bruise, Boswick?” he asked.

  “This?” his valet answered touching his fingers to his cheek.

  “Yes, that.”

  “Completely my fault, my lord. I turned too sharply and hit my cheek against something solid.”

  A lump formed in the pit of Alex’s stomach. “Did this something solid happen to be my fist?

  “Uh . . . no, my lord. Not—”

  “You make a terrible liar, Boswick.”

  “Perhaps you did have a minor attack, my lord. But the episode wasn’t severe enough to wake you.”

  “Just severe enough for me to strike you.”

  “You didn’t intend to—”

  “I never intend to hurt you, but I do.” Alex bolted to his feet and walked to the other side of the room. Boswick had a basin of water and a clean cloth waiting for him. After he’d finished his morning ablutions, he returned to dress. “What happened to stop me? Did I wake?”

  “No, my lord. You didn’t wake. You just . . . calmed.”

  Alex struggled to make sense of what Boswick said. Could it be that he was mastering his nightmares? Could it be that he was finally beginning to control the horrors that plagued him? That he’d finally found a way to get the upper hand over the dreams that had terrorized him since he’d been held captive?

  Alex studied his valet a moment longer, waiting for him to add more to his explanation, but he said nothing. He only held out the jacket he’d chosen for Alex to wear today.

  “Are you sure you weren’t injured, Boswick?”

  Boswick shook his head as he came closer with a jacket he’d chosen from the armoire. “Not at all, my lord.”

  There was nothing different in his valet’s actions than there was any other day, except that Boswick didn’t seem able to look Alex in the eye.

  Alex slipped his arms into the sleeves and tugged on his white cuffs.

  Boswick busied himself making Alex look his best, then said, “A messenger arrived a few moments ago with word that the books you ordered will be delivered this afternoon.”

  News that his books would finally arrive took temporary precedence over thoughts of last night. “Has Mrs. Moore already breakfasted, Boswick?”

  “Mrs. Moore?”

  “Yes, she told me she’d help me catalogue the books when they arrived. I wanted to give her notice that they would be here this afternoon.”

  “Oh,” Boswick answered. “Yes, I believe Mrs. Moore has already begun her day. Would you like me to find her and tell her that you request her presence this afternoon?”

  “Yes. Then tell Holmes to send a message to my steward that I won’t be available today.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Alex finished, then left Boswick to his work while he went to the breakfast room. There was something strange about his conversation with Boswick. What did his valet mean when he said A
lex had suffered a nightmare, but it hadn’t been severe enough to wake him? Yet he’d been violent enough that he’d blackened Boswick’s cheek.

  What did his valet mean when he said Alex had calmed before he woke? He never calmed when in the throes of a nightmare. There was something missing in Boswick’s explanation of what had happened the night before.

  But as Alex filled his plate, then drank his morning coffee, the events of the night before faded. The thought of getting the long-awaited shipment of books was much more pleasant to contemplate.

  Almost as pleasurable as knowing he’d be able to spend the afternoon with Lady Isobel. Almost as enjoyable as seeing the surprise on her face when she glimpsed each new title.

  Alex finished the food on his plate.

  His breakfast had never tasted so good.

  . . .

  Isobel stumbled through her morning as if in a fog. That’s what her mind felt like. That’s what getting little sleep did. And she was lucky if she’d slept even a few hours.

  How could she sleep after witnessing the torture the Marquess of Halverston endured?

  A gnawing pain gripped her heart and refused to allow her to push from her mind the thought of him thrashing in his sleep.

  It was impossible to imagine what he had endured that had been so horrific, but it must have been something more horrid than a man of his strong character could endure. He fought to escape the memories that haunted him with a desperation unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  Isobel took a sip of the tea in front of her, then entered another item to the growing list of supplies Cook had given her. Thankfully, His Lordship had stepped out when she’d taken his tea tray to him, and she’d been spared having to face him.

  She wondered if he knew she’d been in his room last night. Wondered if he knew she’d held his hand while trying to calm him.

  She considered how she’d react if he confronted her with what she’d seen. The thought terrified her. How could she justify that she’d been there? How could she lie and tell him she hadn’t?

  What if Boswick had told him she’d been with him?

  She closed her ledger, then looked up at the soft knock on her door.

  “Yes,” she said.

  The door opened, and Boswick stood there. “May I speak with you, Mrs. Moore?”

  “Of course. Please, come in.”

  Lord Halverston’s valet entered her room and took the empty chair next to her desk when she indicated that he should sit. “Would you care for a cup of tea?” she asked.

  “No, Mrs. Moore. I don’t intend to stay. I just wanted to speak with you about . . . last night.”

  Isobel tried not to stare at the dark circle on Boswick’s cheek, but found it impossible. “Are you all right?” she asked when Boswick noticed where her gaze focused.

  “Oh yes, Mrs. Moore. It only pains me when I touch it.”

  Isobel glanced at Boswick’s bruised cheek once more, then shifted her gaze away from the darkening spot.

  “My fondest wish is that you could forget what you witnessed last night, Mrs. Moore, but I know that’s impossible.”

  “Yes,” Isobel admitted. She doubted she’d ever forget what she’d seen. “Does His Lordship suffer from such horrible nightmares often?”

  “Not so often, as a rule. At least not since we’ve come to Temple Hall. The episodes were worse when we were still in London. And came more frequently.”

  “I can’t imagine,” she admitted.

  “He’s much improved since we’ve arrived. He’s gone several weeks without suffering an episode. It’s my hope and prayer that someday the violent memories will leave him and not return.”

  “Do you know what causes them?”

  Boswick shook his head. “His Lordship went through a difficult time not so long ago. But he’s never spoken of it. Unfortunately, it has left him with nightmares that terrify him.” Boswick leaned forward in his chair as if he intended to tell her something he wanted to make sure no one else overheard. “His Lordship doesn’t know you were there last night.”

  Isobel breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I would like to ask that you don’t tell him, Mrs. Moore.”

  Isobel was impressed that Boswick thought enough of his master that he wanted to protect him from the embarrassment of knowing his nightmares had been observed by a virtual stranger. She was also insulted that he thought she’d speak of such a private thing.

  “You have no need to fear that I will,” she answered. “In fact, I’m relieved to hear that he doesn’t know. I dreaded that he knew I was there and that I’d have to face him if he knew.” Isobel hesitated, then asked a question that had been stirring within her. “Is there anything I can do to help His Lordship?”

  The expression on Boswick’s face saddened. “I wish I could say there was. I would like nothing more. Unfortunately, I don’t think there is . . . although the calming effect you had on Lord Halverston last night was miraculous.”

  “Then perhaps I can—”

  The shake of Boswick’s head stopped her words.

  “No, Mrs. Moore. I can’t allow you to approach Lord Halverston when he’s in the midst of a nightmare. Although he’s not responsible for his actions, the violence can quite . . . overwhelm. As you saw.”

  “Yes, but if there’s a chance I can calm him . . . ”

  “It’s too dangerous. Please, don’t risk it. And . . . ” Boswick paused. “Nothing would distress His Lordship more than knowing you witnessed him while he was . . . ill.”

  Isobel nodded. She knew Boswick was correct. “I will be most careful then,” she said.

  “Thank you,” the valet said, then rose. He opened the door, then stopped. “Oh, I nearly forgot. His Lordship asked me to tell you that the books he ordered should arrive shortly. He mentioned that you offered to help him when they were delivered.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I’ll have Holmes inform you when they’re here then.”

  “That will be very good,” Isobel said as Boswick closed the door behind him.

  After he left, Isobel considered what Lord Halverston’s valet had told her. Although he wouldn’t have revealed it had she not seen his master, she knew how much His Lordship’s night terrors bothered the faithful servant. Perhaps, in time, she would get to know the Marquess of Halverston well enough that he would reveal what had happened to cause such episodes.

  She was sure that sharing what had happened to him was the only chance he had to rid himself of the horrors that plagued him.

  She hoped she would be here long enough to be of some help.

  But that was something she couldn’t guarantee.

  Chapter 9

  Isobel made her way to the Halverston library when Holmes informed her that His Lordship’s package had arrived. She couldn’t wait to unpack the books and hold them in her hands. She couldn’t wait to open them and bring them to her nose to breathe in the smell that was only found in newly printed books. She couldn’t wait to read the latest news from London. Hopefully, there’d be news of Vanessa’s betrothal. She’d prayed that there would be.

  The door stood open when she reached the library. The books had been placed on a table, and the Marquess of Halverston stood over the open box. The elation on his face caused her heart to shift in her breast.

  The marquess was a man who craved learning, who enjoyed the written word, who desired knowledge. She’d known it when she entered his library the first time. His books didn’t look as if they’d just arrived from the bookstore and remained untouched. The spines were cracked and the pages worn as if they’d been read. Perhaps more than once.

  And the topics of the books on his shelves weren’t just the classics that were found in every library. His Lordship’s literary tastes were as varied and complicated as the man himself.

  But that’s not what struck Isobel at first glance. It was difficult to focus on the book His Lordship held in his hand when she couldn’t shift her glance from the muscled st
rength of the man holding the book.

  He’d removed his Brunswick green jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves to just below his elbows. The sinews of his long arms flexed each time he reached into the box on the table and lifted out a book. He would hold the book up to read the cover, then smile and place the book back into the box.

  Isobel would have been content to watch him for hours but didn’t wish to put him through such torture. It was obvious that he was waiting for her to be here before he unpacked the books.

  She stepped into the room. The rustle of her skirts alerted him that he was no longer alone. He turned.

  Isobel’s heart somersaulted in her breast. A cascade of butterflies invaded her stomach. The smile on his face was the most magnificent sight she’d ever beheld.

  The elation he exuded was impossible to miss. His mouth fell open and showed the whiteness of his teeth. His smile reached from one side of his face to the other, while two deep creases framed his mouth on either side.

  He had dimples.

  The Marquess of Halverston sported deep, heart-stopping dimples that dented both cheeks.

  As if that weren’t enough, his midnight-blue eyes seemed to light the room as they shone with excitement.

  Isobel clutched her arms around her waist. She was doomed. She knew she was. She’d seen His Lordship at his worst and struggled to fight the pull he had on her. But this . . . this happiness. This exhilaration. How could she fight this? She knew what he felt. She understood his appreciation for the written word. She’d experienced it every time she entered Rundles Book Shoppe. She’d experienced it the first time she’d entered this room to see shelf after shelf lined with books. Books that had been lovingly read. Then read again.

  That same expression was on his face now.

  “Mrs. Moore,” he said, facing her. “Come see what Claire has sent.”

  Isobel walked across the room and peered into the open box.

  “I regret I couldn’t wait to open this box, but the anticipation was just too great.”