Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor

by Regina Jeffers

  Lexford greeted their former “captain” with an extended palm. “Did not know you in Brighton, Worthing.”

  Kerrington’s gaze scanned the disarray in the room. “Likewise. I was under the assumption Lady Swenton was alone. When did you arrive?” His gaze locked with John’s and John recognized the compassion. His friend would disclose another of the baroness’s secrets.

  “Only an hour or so prior.” Lexford gestured Worthing into the room. “We were greeted by the news of Lady Swenton’s mysterious disappearance. We are searching for clues.”

  John spared a quick glance to the bright comforting sun beyond the window. If only, he thought. If only I could book passage to Ireland and find comfort with Isolde. John looked at the man he had blindly followed through one hellish encounter after another and attempted to disguise the cracks in his defenses. “It might be best, Worthing, if you explain what brought you to my wife’s door.”

  Kerrington hesitated, and John could read the doubt in Lord Worthing’s mind: His friend wondered whether to speak with complete honesty. “Two nights prior, Baroness Swenton made an unexpected appearance at a supper Prinny gave in Prince Henrí’s honor.”

  John regarded Worthing in silence for several moments before he asked, “Did Lady Swenton offend Prince George? Did my wife cause a scene?”

  Worthing shook his head in the negative. “No one realized she had bribed her way into the entertainment until afterwards when Prince Henrí spoke of her presence to Prinny. The baroness sat beside Viscount Setcliffe, and all thought her his companion for the evening. I have spoken to Setcliffe who assures me Lady Swenton said nothing of her reasons for attending the celebration alone. Your baroness acknowledged your absence and having a prior acquaintance with Rintoul’s prince, but expressed nothing from the ordinary.”

  “I assume you were part of Prince George’s party.”

  Worthing presented a curt nod of affirmation. “Eleanor and I were late in arriving. Lady Worthing has not been herself of late, and I refused to leave her. If we had been on time, we should have been seated near Setcliffe and your baroness. As it was, we did not observe Satiné until Prince Henrí escorted her to the dance floor for a waltz. The ton was quite curious as to why Rintoul honored her for many of Prinny’s set did not recognize your wife.”

  John turned blindly upon his friend. “Did Lady Swenton remain with Prince Henrí after their waltz?” It ripped open his chest to think upon Satiné seeking another man’s bed when she likely carried his child. Did his wife plan to claim his heir to be that of Prince Henrí?

  Worthing appeared chagrined. “Eleanor wished to speak to her cousin to determine her purpose in attending the Prince’s gathering, and so I sought out your baroness among the party goers; however, Setcliffe assured me Lady Swenton had departed after her waltz. And if you wish to know if Rintoul accompanied her, the prince did not. He dutifully stood attendance upon Miss Callender and her parents. They set sail for France early the next morning.”

  “What?” Lexford asked before John could form a thought. “Do you mean Prince Henrí honored Lady Swenton with a dance and then ignored her afterwards?”

  John retrieved the vial. “Worthing’s retelling explains the why of the empty laudanum vial. Lady Swenton hides her heartache behind the opiate.”

  “But not initially,” Lexford corrected. “The maid said your lady woke late and then rushed about to dress for an afternoon in Brighton’s shops. I think it likely Lady Swenton knew nothing of Prince Henrí’s speedy departure.”

  Worthing inhaled what sounded a nervous breath. “Your assumption makes sense. When I questioned Setcliffe regarding whether Lady Swenton had been the viscount’s guest, His Lordship informed me of encountering the baroness outside the shops. It was Setcliffe who delivered the news to the baroness of Prince Henrí’s departure. Almost immediately, Lady Swenton excused herself and rushed away. I came to the Blue Fox because Satiné is my wife’s cousin, and I meant to insist she join us until I could contact you, but, moreover, because Setcliffe mentioned a man of dark skin, who had followed Lady Swenton until Setcliffe brought his cane down upon the man’s arm when the stranger attempted to stop the baroness’s progress.”

  “Jamot?” Lexford whispered the word into the silent room. Heavy doubt double scored their enemy’s name. “Are we certain it is the Baloch?”

  Worthing acknowledged, “Sir Carter had recently sent word of Jamot’s presence in Brighton. He knew I was to travel with Prince George and thought I should be made aware of Jamot’s possible presence in Brighton.”

  With a soft huff of exasperation, John declared. “Jamot’s presence changes everything; his pattern is to place our loved ones in danger.”

  “Is Satiné your loved one?” Worthing asked with empathy.

  John’s scowl said it all. “I assisted you and Wellston in the search for the Aldridge twins long before I made Satiné my wife. The Realm does not shirk its duties. Now, I would be pleased if you both leave your criticisms behind and assist me in locating my baroness.”

  Neither of his friends questioned him further, but John could read their thoughts: Satiné had made him a bigger fool than Lady Fiona had his father. The thoughts of his mother brought the realization of the obvious. “Worthing, did the baroness wear the diamond and emerald necklace I presented her as a wedding gift to Prinny’s party?” he could feel Lexford’s eyes upon him, but John did not turn his head to meet the viscount’s look of compassion.

  “Yes. Lady Worthing commented on how well they appeared with the baroness’s gown. Why?”

  John’s gaze returned to his wife’s trunks. Immediately, he searched for a false bottom. “When Lexford discovered my baroness had sold Lady Fiona’s brooch, Jamot somehow learned of the jewels.” His fingers ripped at the trunk’s lining. “When the Baloch broke into my house, he bargained with Satiné for the jewels. He meant to present Lady Fiona’s diamond and emerald set to Mir as being the Baloch warlord’s emerald broken into pieces to disguise it.” He tossed the filmy material to the side. “There is nothing here. We must determine if Lady Fiona’s jewels are missing as well.”

  They each searched in earnest. “Here are the earrings.” Lexford held the jewels aloft. “They were under the pillow. Lady Swenton likely removed them when she slept and then either forgot about them or had no time to think upon them before her mid-nighttime exit.”

  John drifted to the screened dressing area while Kerrington searched the bureau. Stepping behind the screen, he surveyed the silk gown in which his baroness had slept. At home, when he called upon her, Satiné wore only high-necked muslin gowns, but for Prince Henrí, his wife had chosen a satiny temptation. The realization was another sharp stab to his heart. Then his eyes fell upon the scattered sheets of foolscap upon the floor. He thought to stamp upon them–to grind his heel into the print to wipe it from the page, but instead John bent stiffly to retrieve the two smudged sheets, which contained his name.

  “What have you discovered?” Worthing asked from where he looked on.

  John closed his eyes to the pain of the truth. “My wife’s farewell to her foolhardy husband.”

  Worthing disappeared with nary a word, and so John sat heavily upon the bench meant to assist a lady with her toilette. With a rasp of despair, he read of her misery and of Satiné’s plan to reunite with Prince Henrí. Never once did she beg for his forgiveness nor did Satiné acknowledge her weaknesses. In each line, he read of the injuries bestowed upon his wife’s head. His baroness spoke only of what she termed to be the injustices practiced upon her. “What have you inflicted upon me? Upon your family?” he growled before ripping the pages in two. “Damn you, Satiné!”

  Both Worthing and Lexford appeared. For the first time in his life, John considered murder as a just revenge for the excruciating emotions coursing through him. “We must rescue my wife from whatever madness she has created. The lady carries my heir, a child I desire above all else. After Lady Swenton delivers a healthy birth, I will decide
what to do with her.”

  *

  Jamot had retreated to the ruins a medieval monastery, one, which, ironically, sported a battlement reminiscent of those he had observed upon the Continent. He enjoyed the view from the height, looking out upon the town below and the farmlands above. Sheep grazed upon the sprouts of new grass, dotting the landscape with puffs of white against the gray chalky soil. He did not understand why anyone would choose the filth of London or the crowded streets of Brighton when he could look upon the green farmland of the South Down.

  “Henrí.” His prisoner moaned again. Despite his dislike of all things ‘Realm,’ Jamot felt consideration for Lord Swenton. The baron’s wife called out for another man.

  He turned to gaze upon her countenance once more. When he had brought Baroness Swenton to this place, he had bound her to the metal rings within the crumbling brick wall. The lady had not fought him; instead, the baroness had turned into his body and had begged him to make her his lover. Ironically, he had considered doing just that when he had entered her rooms at the inn. Jamot knew enough of the opiate to know those who imbibed regularly had dreams filled with ecstasy. Because violating the baron’s wife would be sweet revenge upon Jamot’s enemy, he was sorely tempted by her pleas. Moreover, Lady Swenton’s coal black hair reminded Jamot of Ashmita. In truth, he would enjoy the fantasy of finally knowing the woman he had once loved.

  However, when he had placed Lady Swenton unceremoniously upon his makeshift bed, he had observed her small frame, made smaller by the lady’s obvious attempts to please a demanding man: Lord Swenton or the lady’s lover? Jamot had explored her body, running his hand up her twig-thin legs. He had opened Lady Swenton’s gown to view her chest: the lady’s breasts small and unappealing against the bony structure of her rib bones. “What have you done?” he had growled. “And why has Baron Swenton permitted you to torment yourself so? As much as I despise the baron, I cannot imagine His Lordship starving you as if you were his prisoner.” Appalled, Jamot had turned away from the lady, disgusted by her appearance.

  When she called for her lover a second time, Jamot had not moved from his position by the window. The lady held no charm for him. If he were seriously to consider a woman, it would be someone of the caliber of Ashmita. He had failed her, but Ashmita had never failed him, and above all, Jamot required a woman’s loyalty, something of which Lady Swenton, obviously, held no knowledge. Jamot had longed for Ashmita for what felt an eternity, but those feelings had diminished over the four plus years he had spent in England searching for Mir’s emerald.

  “I thought perhaps Lady Swenton’s jewelry held the key, but in the sunlight, even I can see the flaws in the stone. Mir described his gem as “green perfection.” I no longer believe Mir would accept Lord Swenton’s gift to his wife as a replacement of equal merit.” Jamot sighed in resignation. “Which means I cannot return to my homeland.”

  Such thoughts brought an image of the chocolate-haired Maria, a woman who had never turned up her nose at the color of skin. Nor had Maria denied their natural attraction. “You are an outsider,” she had said with that rolling of her vowels, a sound, which had not repulsed him, as had the hard enunciation of the English. “As am I. Yet, if we could manage a bit of courage and a bit more funds, we could claim a portion of the dream. Do you not wish a home, Murray, which was her special name for him, claiming Murhad was as foreign as her Roma name of Maarah?”

  Little did the girl know he had accumulated a small fortune from his many clandestine dealings. He could well afford a place of his own, but Jamot had always thought doing so would announce his failure in fulfilling Mir’s mission. His pride would not permit him to grasp the fantasy Maria offered; yet, he wholeheartedly admitted the girl was tempting.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  John froze when he heard the board creak outside the door to his wife’s inn room. He glanced to Lexford, who had reacted in a like manner. Satiné’s room was at the end of the passageway: Only a person with nefarious purposes would be lurking outside the baroness’s door. Silently, they positioned themselves on either side of the portal. “On three,” Lexford motioned. The viscount’s fingers rose one by one.

  In concert, John jerked the door open as Lexford caught their intruder and plastered him to the wall. “What is your mission?” Lexford hissed, his forearm pressed against the man’s chest.

  “What business have you with my baroness?” John cocked the gun he pressed the tip to the man’s temple. “And keep in mind my patience has been worn thin.”

  “I…I.” The man swallowed hard. “I know where the baroness be.”

  John stifled the growl of frustration crowding his throat. “I suspect you should tell me quickly. I am in no mood for dramatics.”

  Lexford shoved the man into a nearby chair. “Do as my friend suggests if you wish to see another day.” The viscount pointedly sat across from the interloper, his gun pointed at the stranger’s heart.

  John watched with satisfaction as the panic crossing the man’s countenance escalated. “I…I thinked to know…to find the baroness and…and make her pay…pay fer costin’ me me position in Prince George’s household.”

  Lexford shot John a quick glance that said he would handle the questions, while John should assume a look of formidability. “How was Lady Swenton responsible for your dismissal?”

  The stranger’s gaze reached John’s countenance, and John purposely scowled. “If you think me ruthless,” John warned, “you are not far from the truth.”

  The man nodded his understanding. “The baroness be givin’ me ten pounds to permit her…her entrance…through the servants’ door. Ten pounds be a year’s wages for me pap, and so I’s took it, but one of the prince’s men sees and tells the prince.”

  Lexford prompted, “And then?”

  “I’s spent part of the money on nuff drink to provide me courage. Then one of me pals suggested if the baroness had ten pounds she likely had more, and I shud claim a larger share for me trouble.”

  Every muscle in John’s body had primed and tensed for action. “Finish your tale,” he growled.

  The man hesitated; his bought courage no longer lingered. “It didn’t’ take no talent to discover the lady’s whereabouts fer her coachman brags to those in the mews.” His eyes opened wider, and the panic had returned when Lexford shifted to hold the gun closer. The man’s face paled. “I came, and I’s watched, waitn’ fer the ret time, and I was hidin’ in the private room when a dark-skinned foreigner comes down them steps. “ He gestured toward the hallway. “The stranger be carryin’ a bundle over his shoulder, but it weren’t no ordinary baggage; it were Lady Swenton. I sees her face plain as day.”

  Lexford’s steady gaze said he had given merit to the man’s story. It was reassuring for John not to have lost the measure by which he made sound judgments for he, too, thought the man spoke the truth. “Is there anything else we should know?” Menace remained in Lexford’s voice.

  “Nothin’ exceptin’ I follows them…follows the man who be takin’ the baroness.”

  “Did my lady fight her abductor?” John needed to know if Satiné had gone willingly.

  “She didn’t move, Sir. The man walks with confidence.” If nothing else did, this description of Satiné’s captor spoke Jamot’s name.

  Lexford asked, “Did no one else see the man remove Lady Swenton from the inn?”

  “It be late. Only one man remained in the common room, and McClenton be distracted with him. The dark man hides in the shadows. No one sees but me, so I’s follow him. He walks from town and toward the monastery. I sees him carry your lady in, Sir, but I never sees him come out. I watch all night and most of the morning, but no one moves within. Then I’s begin to think the rumors of tunnels in the monastery be true. I’s hurry back to town to sees if’n the pair returned.”

  Lexford’s voice held his suspicions. “You meant to report the lady’s disappearance to the proper authorities?”

  The man shrugged as if his con
fession was nothing of significance. “I’d told meself if’n the lady be gone, I’d help meself to something to holds me over before I tells the magistrate.”

  The interloper’s reasoning was so logical even John recognized the necessity of the man’s desperation, but the fact the stranger possessed no principle ate at John’s sensibility. Their captor would have permitted Jamot to violate Satiné while he searched the baroness’s room for money. “So you meant to become a thief before doing the honest thing?” John’s voice foretold his disdain.

  The man’s upper lip curled in a snarl of defiance. “Your lady owes me. She’s no ret to get in her fine carriage and ride away. She destroyed me life.”

  John stormed toward the man, meaning to use his fists upon the interloper. “When will anyone take responsibility for his actions? It was you choice to accept the baroness’s bribe!”

  Lexford stepped between him and their captive. The viscount instructed, “Our ‘guest’ will agree to lead us to this monastery, and you will present him with an appropriate reward. Understood,” he emphasized the last word.

  “Understood.” Grudgingly, John unfisted his hands. “But let us be about it. I want this matter finished.”

  Lexford whispered, “Should we wait for Lord Worthing’s return?” Their friend had returned to the Pavilion to assure Prince George that John would take control of his wayward baroness. Evidently, the Prince had thought Satiné’s actions as an affront. Only John’s past service had proved the difference. Secondly, Worthing meant to call in on his viscountess. Although Kerrington had kept his own counsel, John suspected Lady Worthing’s impending lying in was the source of the lady’s discomfort. The possibility increased John’s despondency for he feared never to know such happiness. Finally, Worthing meant to retrieve the latest express from Sir Carter regarding Jamot’s movements in the area. As a trio, they had thought the baronet’s report might shed some light upon the Baloch’s whereabouts. No need for Sir Carter’s intelligence was required, for he and Viscount Lexford possessed the answer: Jamot was hiding in a deserted monastery.