Tender Torment

by Meadowes, Alicia

  “Calm yourself, my dear. There will be no need to fight anyone as long as you are a good mother, and Harding is convinced you will be.”

  But Marisa was not to be appeased. “Then it is, obviously, you who is not convinced!”

  Straeford shrugged as he came toward her. “Who is to tell with a woman?”

  It was always the same motivation driving him. His mother. Oh, how she wished she could have done more than banish her picture to the gallery. If only she could send her memory into oblivion.

  “Don’t look so fierce, madam. I told you it is only a precaution.”

  “A precaution I find both unnecessary and insulting.”

  “Nevertheless, it will remain as part of the will!” Hard green eyes met cold blue ones, and she was goaded to rashness in an attempt to wound him as he had done to her.

  “This is preposterous. It is all of no consequence since we discuss a nonexistent child!”

  Her retort hit home for his eyes stabbed back at hers, and there was an ominous note in his voice when next he spoke. “Oh, but it is a matter of great consequence for I do not intend that you shall remain childless much longer.” And before she could utter another protest, she found herself firmly clamped in his arms. “It was part of the bargain, Marisa. You remember our ‘infamous bargain,’ don’t you, my dear?” he asked mockingly as his hand cupped one of her breasts.

  “Yes, oh yes, how could I forget?” she cried in a frenzy. “But even you would not be so contemptible as to take me here, my lord Straeford, for the whole household to see.”

  “Oh, would I not? This is my home. And you are my wife!” The incredulous expression which streaked across her face brought a deprecating laugh to his lips, and he held her at arm’s length, shaking her lightly. “No, Marisa, even /… with my blackened reputation, will try to refrain from such contemptible behavior… unless you provoke me further.”

  “Provoke you! It is you who has provoked me by your heartless insensitivity…” Instantly she found herself free of his hold and alone in the room, but she was too angry at the moment to ponder his sudden disappearance.

  Devil! Devil! Devil! she cried to herself. Now he was plotting to take away her rights as a mother. Why, oh why, had fate given her a man so totally consumed with a need to protect his heritage, but with no need for her love?

  To celebrate the tentative reconciliation between Angus Loftus and his son John, a family dinner was held at John and Ruth Loftus’s home in Islington. Only Straeford had not attended the occasion. As far as he was concerned, John Loftus was a coward beneath contempt, and Angus Loftus was a traitor to his principles. It was just as well that he had not been there, Marisa reflected as she and Meg returned to the house on Berkeley Square later that evening, for his abrasive personality in their midst might have hampered the overtures being made between father and son.

  And as if to further convince her of that opinion, Straeford, dark and brooding, met the sisters in the entrance hall.

  Cowed by his austere appearance, Meg clutched at Marisa’s hand. There had been a considerable change in Meg’s attitude toward her sister and her husband since that frightening night in the garden.

  “My lady,” Straeford approached his wife ignoring his sister-in-law completely. “Will you accompany me to the drawing room?”

  She knew it did not augur well to be addressed so formally by the earl, and Meg’s apprehension did little to lessen her own qualms. Nevertheless, she gave her sister a fleeting smile of assurance and followed Straeford into the drawing room.

  “I see you are wearing the Straeford emerald,” he remarked pointedly, surprising her by such an observation, but before she had the opportunity to reply she realized that they were not alone. A tall, thin, sober-faced man dressed plainly in dark brown and twisting a tricorne hat in his hand stood near the opened French windows which were letting in a cool spring breeze.

  “Lady Straeford,” Justin continued to address her formally, “this is Jeremy Clock. He’has a story to tell you which I think you will find fascinating. Please be seated.” She glanced at his stony face in puzzlement as he silently indicated a straight-back chair for her to occupy. “In due time your questions will be answered, my dear.” A corner of his mouth turned up in a mockery of a smile.

  After seating herself, Marisa realized she was directly facing Mr. Clock while the earl had positioned himself out of her line of vision. Although he could observe her clearly, she would have to turn her head in order to see him.

  “You may begin, Mr. Clock.”

  “Well, it’s like this m’lady. I be a Bow Street Runner.” Some broken teeth showed a kindly smile.

  “Bow Street Runner?” Marisa was mystified and spun about to face Justin whose set features revealed nothing.

  “Continue, Mr. Clock.” Straeford looked past his wife to the runner who shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. There was something about this handsome couple which disturbed him, and he wished he were any place but here.

  “You see, ma’am, I be trackin’ this gang o’ jewel thieves. They been operatin’ perty reg’lar… ‘bout a yer. Verry clever slip’en val’bles an’ gems owt ta country.”

  “Yes, I see, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me? Justin, I…” She tilted her head in his direction.

  “If you’ll listen, I’m sure, Mr. Clock will eventually get to the point of his discourse.”

  The countess flushed at the tone of voice he used with her before this stranger, and Mr. Clock, sensing her embarrassment, rushed on.

  “Last night we captured the lot of ‘em… red ‘anded, ma’am.”

  “Well, good for you,” Marisa tried to remain polite amidst her growing frustration.

  “Twer lucky fer you, too, ma’am, cause we fount yor ring ‘mong the stol’t jewels.”

  “My ring?” She darted a look at the emerald on her third finger, left hand, as Justin held out another jewel with the Straeford crest etched in its center. “Mr. Thomas of Richardson’s on Bond Street identified it as the Straeford heirloom and Mr. Clock was instructed to return it to me.”

  “But I…” Marisa was staring in horror from one ring to the other. When the significance of the two emeralds blazed itself into her consciousness, she lurched to her feet, almost oversetting herself in her agitation, but Straeford clamped a firm arm about her shoulders, steadying her. Then he turned to Mr. Clock and dismissed him. Being rather astute, Jeremy Clock could see that the lady was in for a raking-down. Hawking her jewels for paste ones! Well, a domestic quarrel was no place for the likes of him. Quickly the Bow Street Runner clapped his hat on his head and left the august couple confronting one another.

  The breeze whispering against the curtains was the only sound to disturb the awful silence in the room. Straeford swore under his breath and strode away, leaving Marisa alone in the center of the salon. Suddenly he whirled round and faced her. “All right, what are you waiting for?” his voice cracked like a whip into the tension-filled air.

  “Justin… I don’t know… understand exactly how… this happened…”

  “For God’s sake, woman, don’t feign innocence! What kind of a fool do you take me for? Just tell me who you gave the stone to. Who helped you replace the Straeford heirloom with paste?” He almost strangled with anger.

  “You can’t believe I had any part in this deception.” But she could see that he did. “Of what are you accusing me?”

  “Damn you! The evidence is before your very eyes.” He stalked over to her, grasped her; left hand, and held the emeralds next to one another “Now, ask me of what I am accusing you.” In disgust he thrust her arm away from him. “Give me the name of your accomplice… or should I say lover!”

  “Oh, no!” She placed shaking fingers to her quivering lips.

  Although Justin would not admit it even to himself, he was blinded by the pain of her apparent infidelity and could not perceive the situation rationally. A seething black rage was engulfing him, and his harsh w
ords would not be stemmed.

  “So, you intend to protect this… swine. Who would have thought a conniving bitch such as you could show so much loyalty!”

  The injustice of his attack finally overrode the limits of her endurance. “You have no right to speak.”

  “No right! Why you faithless slut…” Hatred blazed out of his eyes at her and he raised his hand to strike her defiant face. Bravely she stood her ground and his threatening gesture wavered, his hand fell to his side convulsively clenching and unclenching. “Get out of my sight, you perfidious bitch!” he rasped through gritted teeth, barely able to control himself. “Get out of my sight before I kill you!”

  With as much dignity as she could muster from her shaking limbs, Marisa managed to cross to the door. Before she could escape from his presence, he hurled a final parting rebuff in her direction. “Go to your lover for all I care!”

  Proudly she swept around and met his black frown with one of despair. “You have wronged me… grievously wronged me,” she asserted quietly and slipped out of the room.

  Meg was waiting for Marisa on the first landing and assisted her trembling sister to her bedroom. There Marisa collapsed into a heap and sobbed out a halting monologue of the accusations that Justin had launched at her. At its end she lay back drained, unable any longer to think clearly at all. Eventually needing relief from the shattering experience, she fell asleep, and Meg stole away.

  It was shortly after dawn when Jenkins was forced out of bed to answer the pounding on the front door. There he was confronted by John and Angus Loftus holding a cowering Foxworth between them.

  “Tell his lordship we have come to see him on a matter of great importance,” Angus Loftus bellowed as he pushed past the butler.

  “B-but Lord Straeford retired not so very long ago, gentlemen, and I do not think he would wish to be disturbed at this hour of the morning.” Jenkins was not a courageous man, and he had heard and seen enough last night to know better than confront his master in one of his black tempers.

  “Either you get him down here, my good man, or I will!” Loftus roared.

  The butler did not like the look in the eye of this man much more than that of his lordship. “Very well,” he acquiesced and showed them into the drawing room.

  After drinking heavily and pacing the floor half the night, Straeford was in no condition to face his father-in-law. Bleary eyed, unshaven and still wearing a dressing gown, he stormed into the salon and scowled at the assembled figures.

  “What the devil is this all about?” he demanded furiously.

  Angry color suffused the elder Loftus’s face as he attempted to control the rage he felt against this blackhearted devil he had forced his daughter to marry. His life-long ambition to see his children marry well and establish themselves in society was causing nothing but grief and despair. He had almost lost his only son and he had sold his devoted daughter into bondage to this… scoundrel. Swallowing hard, he forced back his outrage. “Lord Straeford, I believe you are under a misconception concerning a certain emerald ring.”

  “So, she ran to you, did she?”

  “If you mean Meg…”

  “Meg? What does she have to do with this?”

  “She came to me last night to inform me of your accusations against her sister!”

  “I don’t intend to discuss this matter with you, let alone Foxworth!” Straeford insisted darkly as he strode to the door.

  “Just one minute, my lord,” Loftus shouted before Straeford could leave them. “Foxworth is directly involved in the disappearance of the emerald.”

  “Oh, he is, is he!” Justin made straight for Richard Foxworth who shrivelled in his chair. “So, you’re the blackguard…”

  “My lord Straeford,” John Loftus stepped between the two men halting the earl in his tracks. “There has been a terrible mixup and if you will let Foxworth speak, I believe this whole unpleasant mess can quickly be cleared up.”

  “Do you now?” Straeford eyed his brother-in-law contemptuously. The slimmer, younger man neither flinched nor looked away, surprising Justin so much that he capitulated.

  “Oh, very well. Let’s have it. What cock-and-bull story is he about to tell me?”

  Foxworth came abruptly to his feet and spoke for the first time. “N-no cock-and-bull-story, I swear, Straeford. Lady Marisa had no part in it… I was desperate… badly dipped, and Loftus,” he eyed the older man resentfully, “refused to pay my debts any longer—now that my usefulness to him was at an end. He’d got what he wanted…”

  “Richard, we are not here to discuss your grievances. It is my sister’s integrity that we are discussing.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I shall get right to the point. It was the night of the Claridges’ soiree. You were to attend with your lady, Straeford, but you’d suddenly left town. Remember?” If he had hoped to disconcert his lordship, he was sadly mistaken. Straeford continued to stare questioningly at him. “Get on with it, Foxworth.”

  “Oh, very well,” Foxworth pouted. “The evening of the party I escorted Lady Maxwell and your wife there and back again. It was on the way home that Lady Straeford lost the emerald ring in my carriage. I saw it as the answer to my prayers, a God-sent opportunity to get out from under the hatches. I couldn’t stop myself. So I had a paste replica of the ring made up, passed it off to your wife as the real thing, and sold the heirloom. I never thought to be found out. It was just my luck that the jewel thieves were captured before they could unload it in Holland.”

  Straeford thrust an agitated hand through his uncombed hair. He found himself wanting to believe Fox-worth, but he was not completely convinced. The man was a known liar and a coxcomb.

  “My daughter came to me when she thought it was stolen, blaming herself for wearing it without having it sized…”

  “Are you trying to tell me she never had it cut down?”

  “All I know,” Loftus said sincerely, “is that she begged me to locate it for her.”

  “Why couldn’t she and Foxworth have planned it that way, so he’d get the capital, and she’d still have the ring with no one the wiser,” Straeford calculated coldly.

  “Are you suggesting my own daughter would perpetrate such a deceitful hoax on me?” Angus was flabbergasted.

  “Women have been known to do much worse.”

  “No!” Foxworth cried. “I swear on my mother’s grave it ain’t so!”

  “And I swear on my daughter’s honor it wasn’t like that!”

  “He’ll not believe any of us, Father,” John’s voice shook with suppressed emotion. “Perhaps the Claridges or, better still, Lady Maxwell might convince him, but not us. We’re not gentlemen in his eyes, and therefore are incapable of his peculiar kind of honor. The only thing he’ll understand is a challenge from one of us to defend Marisa’s honor. Very well, my lord, consider yourself challenged.”

  “Wait now,” Richard Foxworth intervened. “If any one is, to challenge his lordship… it must be… m-me. I-I’m the one responsible. I’m at your service, sir. Name your seconds.”

  Their audacity unexpectedly amused Straeford. The cringing dandy and the cowardly soldier stood belligerently confronting him while the elderly Loftus looked as if he were about to pummel him with his fist. “There will be no challenge, gentlemen,” he emphasized just as a commotion in the outer hallway reached their ears and drew the attention of the four men.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” a flustered Jenkins peeked around the door, “but more… visitors…”

  “Never mind, Jenkins, we’ll announce ourselves.” Lady Maxwell, followed by Meg, entered. “So what Meg has been telling me was true.”

  “Grandmother?” Straeford was once again annoyed and exasperated. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, my boy. I can straighten everything out in a minute.”

  “This beats all! I have a quarrel with my wife and it turns into a family fracas. So, Grandmother, you too have obviously come to defend t
he lady—and Meg,” he added with cynicism, “have you done your part by assembling the participants or do you also have something to say?” Meg remained mute as Justin looked around the determined group. “You know,” a spark of mischief glinted in his eyes, “the only one missing is the lady herself. Shall I send for her?”

  There was a chorus of protests which was finally overridden by Lady Maxwell who insisted that she be given five minutes to settle the misunderstanding.

  “Very well, Grandmother, the stage is yours. Everyone is already aware of most of the scenario,” he smirked. “I’m intrigued as to what revelations you shall divulge.”

  “Don’t be flippant with me, Justin. I shall be as brief as possible. Your wife left the ring to be cut down to size at Hanovers’. It was they who informed her that the emerald was a fake. That’s when she came to me, to ask my advice in telling you, Justin. She did not know whether Foxworth had exchanged the rings, or if it had happened some time ago. There was the distinct possibility that your mother might have used the genuine stone to pay off some debt. We decided to consult my solicitor and have him do some quiet investigating before we brought the matter to your attention, Justin. Of course, we did not anticipate this turn of events which brought to light the real culprit.”

  There was not a sound in the room from anyone when she finished her disclosures, and uncomfortably Straeford observed the people around him. While Fox worth hung his head in shame, Lady Maxwell looked uncertainly at her grandson, and Meg eyed him reproachfully; finally the hostile expressions of John and Angus Loftus jolted him into speaking.

  “Apparently, I have been wrong,” he stated in an arrogant manner revealing none of his inner turmoil and self-condemnation. “It seems I owe the countess an apology. So if you will all kindly return to your own homes, I shall get on with the business.”