The lieutenant leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Janie Heyer is the last known person to have seen Lexy. Janie told us she let her down the stairs at The Labyrinth around two fifteen. Lexy was by herself—”
“Lieutenant McCabe,” she interrupted. “You’re wasting time sitting here repeating information I knew three weeks ago. Why don’t you tell me something new?”
“We’re at a dead end,” he said. “Maybe if your video cameras had been operational—”
She shot up from her chair. “Don’t blame this on my video cameras. If you’d get out there and do your job, maybe you could find something. She didn’t vanish into thin air.”
Her father told her not to worry about the nonfunctioning video cameras. He said it was a small matter and shouldn’t hold up the soft opening for the VIPs. She wished she’d gone against his advice. Count on the ever-helpful Dallas PD to drudge up reason number twenty-two on her “Reasons I Feel Guilty About Lexy’s Disappearance” list.
“Sit down,” Lieutenant McCabe said in a tone probably reserved for convicted felons.
She sat.
“Let’s talk about Lexy’s car.” He stood, walked to the end of his desk and leaned against the corner. “It was in the parking lot three days before anyone reported it.”
Right. And there was reason number three.
She lifted her chin. “Everyone thought it belonged to an employee. I was out of town or else I’d have reported it sooner.”
“A three-day lag between Lexy’s disappearance and its report helped no one. We were too late from the get go.”
“And there’s your cop out,” she said.
She knew it was wrong to talk to him in such a manner. If her father could have heard her, he’d chew her up one side and down the other. Oh well, her father wasn’t here. She was. “You can push the case to inactive because my cameras didn’t work and my employees didn’t report the car.”
“Miss North,” he said. “Contrary to your opinion, we have been working hard on this case. We’ve talked with everyone at the shelter, most of the women Lexy worked with, and double-checked everyone on your attendee list. We have nowhere else to look.”
He was right. There was nothing else to do. Deep down, she’d known. Tears prickled her eyes. Stop it. She closed her eyes and forced her lungs to work. Don’t cry here. Five minutes and you’ll be in your car. Just five minutes.
“We’ve done all we can for now,” he said, his voice softer. “You have my card. If you think of anything or come across something, be sure to call me.”
She grabbed her purse and moved to the door.
“Miss North?”
Now what?
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Four minutes.
Chapter Eighteen
London
1580
Lexy smelled London before she saw it. The stench of raw sewage, unwashed bodies, and rotting vegetation accosted her senses, reminding her of the more unpleasant aspects of the sixteenth century. Lukas rode ahead, unaffected by the odor. He’d have no reason to find it strange, she reminded herself. It was nothing but another city to him.
Living as she had been, she’d had no reason to dwell on the downsides of the sixteenth century. Too late to have doubts, she thought, looking at Lukas. Much too late.
After riding past several crude-looking buildings, Lukas stopped. ‘Whitefield Inn,’ the sign beside the door read. The building appeared better than the others, but it was no four-star accommodation. Or maybe, by sixteenth-century standards, it was.
Lukas smiled as if reading her thoughts. “Mayhap not exactly like the cottage.”
Everything was okay. She’d be with her husband. She’d be fine, no matter what she found inside the inn.
They were quickly shown to a small room upstairs. Lexy looked around, relieved to find it reasonably clean. A bed, two chairs, and a table with basin and ewer made up the furnishings. For the first time, she offered a prayer of thanks she’d been born a princess in this time. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to live as a common woman.
A servant carried their bags to the room. Lukas fell into a chair as the man left, his weary grin claiming her heart all over again. “Welcome to London.”
“I think I should have stayed at Hullington.”
He motioned for her to come to him. “Not what you were expecting?”
She walked to him, sat in his lap, and sighed when he put his arms around her. “Too much like what I was expecting, truth be told.”
“We are fortunate,” he whispered into her hair. “Are we not?”
“We are.” She closed her eyes and leaned into his chest.
“I never thought of it before.” He stroked her back. “There are many things I never thought of before. It shames me.”
They sat in the dimming light for several minutes, the sounds of the city fading around them. Never had she felt such contentment. She felt as if her heart would burst.
”I love you, Lukas,” she whispered at one point.
“Alexia,” he said, voice full of emotion. “I thought never to hear those words from you.”
She pushed back to meet his gaze. “I said it before.”
He traced her lips with his fingertips. “No. I would have remembered.”
She took his hand and kissed it. She hummed as he ran his fingers through her hair. “Consider this payback then. With interest.”
****
When Lukas returned to their room late the next morning, she knew by his downcast demeanor his errand had not gone well.
“Did you meet with your father?” she asked.
He squeezed her shoulders and shook his head. “No, he has traveled to Somerset with the Duke of Oldenbourg. He returns in two days.”
“We stay here then?”
“It hardly seems worth our while to return to Hullington.”
“I can think of worse things than being alone with you for two days.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed.”
“Yes. For now, I want out of this room. Let’s go for a walk.”
He looked like a child who’d dropped his ice cream cone. “A walk?”
“I’ve been sitting here staring at the street all morning. I’ve never been to London, you know. Let’s go for a walk.”
“I am not certain a walk would be—”
She reached for his hand. “Come on. What can happen? I’ll be with you.”
He sighed. “Well, if you insist.”
As fascinating as sixteenth-century London was, Lexy admitted Lukas was correct. The smells were bothersome and even though she assumed they were in the wealthy part of town, some of the people they passed had a less than honest appearance. Lukas kept close to her side, shielding her as much as possible. They turned to walk back to the inn, when a low laugh stopped them in their tracks.
“Lord Lukas Reynard. Can’t say I expected to see you today.”
She’d not met many of Lukas’s acquaintances and normally the prospect would excite her. But the way her husband stiffened and slowly turned, as if to delay the meeting, sent her heart racing.
Seeing the man who called out did nothing to set her mind at ease. He was shorter than Lukas and covered in grime from mangled hair to grubby shoes. An untamed beard concealed the lower part of his face. She guessed him to be in his thirties; of course it was hard to say with all that dirt. He probably hadn’t had a bath in three months.
The wind changed directions, bringing a vile stench with it.
Make that nine months.
“Byron Davis,” Lukas addressed the man, voice void of emotion. She glanced up, shocked to see his expression. The mask was back.
Byron spat, the slimy spittle landing inches from the polished toe of Lukas’s boot. “Who’s the wench?”
“My wife. Lady Lukas Reynard.”
“Lady Lukas, hm?” His gaze slid over her. “Tasty-looking little piece.”
Byron’s tongue darted out and ran across what remained of his upper teeth. Sweat popped out on her lip, and she forced herself to breathe. Did Lukas have his sword? Surely he had his dagger.
“Watch yourself, Davis.”
Byron gave a low laugh. He winked at her. “Think so, Reynard? Because as I see it, you owe me a wench. I think your little lady here would settle the debt nicely.”
She pulled herself up straighter and tried to act bored. She didn’t think it worked.
The grimy man took a step closer. “I can tell by looking at her she’s too much woman for you. You never cared for the spoils of war like a real man anyway, did you? She’d probably thank me.”
Lukas’s hand moved to his side and her breath came easier. He had the dagger. “Lady Lukas to you, Davis,” he said through clenched teeth. “And you forget yourself.”
Byron shook his head. “That’s not the way I see it. Not the way I see it at all.”
“Move one step closer to my wife, and it will be the last move you make this side of eternity.”
“Trying to impress your wife with those fancy words, Reynard? Why don’t I tell her what’s under all that pretty talk? Bet she has no idea what you’re like. Especially with the ladies. ” She noted with relief that while Byron still talked big, he hadn’t moved closer.
“It was a pleasure seeing you again, Davis. I suggest you take your leave.”
Byron ignored Lukas and kept his gaze on Lexy. “One day about five years ago, we were in Spain when we came across a group of gypsies. Ask your husband what he did with his bare hands. Better still, get him to show you what he did to the gypsy girls. Good to know you’re around, Reynard. You decide to settle that debt, you let me know. I’m easy to find, milady, you can ask anyone. I’ll be waiting.” He made a low bow to Lexy then turned and sauntered down the street away from them.
She watched him leave, not ready to face her husband.
“Alexia?” Lukas asked tentatively, reaching for her hand.
She stared at the outstretched hand. The hand he traced her lips with so lovingly the previous night. The hand she placed numerous kisses on before he buried it in her hair. What else had that hand done?
She closed her eyes. “Take me back to the room.”
“Alexia?” he asked again, touching her shoulder.
“Don’t,” she whispered, jerking away. “Don’t touch me.”
****
Her fear from the encounter with Byron simmered until it reached a boiling point as they entered the room. When Lukas closed the door, she spun to face him. “I have spent the last four years of my life dealing with the aftermath of violent men! God may think He’s being funny having me married to you, but I am not amused!”
“I never made a secret of my past.”
He was much too calm for her peace of mind. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘never’ if I were you, Mr. I-handled-it-poorly! Besides, there’s a difference between hearing about your past and having it try to assault me!”
“I would have killed him before he got close enough to touch you. He should be thankful he has breath left in his body as it is.”
His words from the previous afternoon came back to her. Yes, he’d have killed Byron, of that she had no doubt. But there was another question bothering her. “How many women have there been?”
He stared at her blankly. “I cannot even act as though I know what you ask.”
She took a step closer. “How many women have you raped?” It damaged her soul to ask, and her heart broke waiting for the answer.
He blinked several times. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t think I stuttered. How many women have you raped?” she yelled, unable to help herself. “Tell me now so it’s not a surprise when some woman recoils in horror at the mere sight of you!”
“How dare you ask such a thing?” Anger laced his reply. “How dare you think I could to that to a woman?”
His calm had disappeared. She supposed there wasn’t a good way to ask a husband how many women he’d raped. “So it’s my fault now? You keep telling me how horrid your past was and it’s my fault when I think the worst?”
“I would thank you to understand the man I am.” His cool, even tone shot fear to her innermost being. “Had I been the sort to take my pleasure wherever and whenever I wanted, do you think our wedding night would have ended the way it had? Believe you me, Alexia, were I that sort of man, I would have claimed you then. I wanted to. Badly.”
He stepped closer, eyes blazing. “You were mine. In the eyes of God and man, you were mine, and no one would have begrudged me what was my right. But I could not take you to wife knowing I also planned your destruction. I spent a fortnight fighting my every urge, and you have the audacity to ask how many women I raped!”
He’d told her he’d wanted her as a true wife, but she’d not considered how difficult the last few weeks had been. Part of her was shamed, but another part knew the question inevitable. “But Byron said—”
“Byron Davis abhors me. He always has.” Another step and she could feel his breath hot on her face. “Have you any idea what a man such as Davis could do to a woman? What it took to control him?”
“Yes!” she shouted, irritated he thought she led such a sheltered life. “As a matter of fact, I do know what a man like Davis could do; I’ve seen it! Many times. Believe it or not, I didn’t live in a crystal palace in the future. My hands were plenty dirty. I worked hard to put those broken women back together after they ran into men like you!”
He recoiled as if hit. “Like me?” he yelled back. “You are the most infuriating woman!”
She strode past him to open the door. “I want to be alone.”
He started to speak, but instead stomped to the bed and reached under it, jerking out the sword discarded the night before.
She watched with growing apprehension. “Are you going to find him?”
He strapped on the sword, eyes veiled. “No. Heaven help me I want to. But no, I will not.”
On the way out he glanced back. A look of infinite sadness covered his face. “There has only been you, Alexia. Only you.”
****
She stood for some time with her back to the door, sobbing, unable to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. Why Lord, when everything was going so well? Why? She slid down the door to the floor, a billowing heap of skirts and fabric following.
Eventually, she rose and walked to the saddlebag in the corner of the room to retrieve her Bible. She set it on the table but went to the window instead of reading. Outside, men unloaded cargo from a nearby ship, but when she scanned their faces looking for Byron, she didn’t see him.
Thoughts of Byron brought her mind back to Lukas and the past he carried with him. The past he would always carry with him. With a heavy heart, she walked to the table and opened her Bible. Working through the unfamiliar translation, she read over John 13.
Oh Lord, she prayed, I don’t know why it had to be like this. I love him, but why? Why not an upstanding gentleman whose worst offense was a snide comment he made once?
‘Forgive, even as I have forgiven.’
She sighed. Easier said than done.
‘Seventy times seven.’
It struck her then, how she claimed Lukas’s past didn’t matter. What had she told him? God would take it and use it for good? He exposed his uglier parts for her scrutiny, and she’d told him they didn’t matter and then kicked him out when it became too uncomfortable.
She’d whispered words of love, but treated him with hate.
She’d spoken forgiveness, but refused to give it.
She’d claimed to be a Christian, but acted the hypocrite.
She put her Bible away, rang for a servant and prepared for his return.
****
Darkness filled the room when Lukas returned. She hurried at his call and opened the door. He stood quietly in the entranceway, seeming to wait for her to invite him in. She stepped aside to let him pass.
> “I can leave.” His voice held no hope. “I shall take another room if you desire.”
“Shh,” she whispered and shut the door. Turning back, she unlaced his coat. He stood still, but gave a sharp intake of breath when she moved behind him and slid it from his shoulders.
She led him to the seating area across the room, the flickering candlelight guiding their way. When they arrived, she sat him in the chair and stood across the table. She pushed the sleeves of her shift up, tucked her hair behind her ears.
Slowly, she loosened his left cuff. Her fingertips brushed the soft linen of his shirt as she rolled the sleeve along his forearm. Her hands trembled and she wondered if he noticed. Once his arm was uncovered, she placed his hand beside the basin and rolled his other sleeve up. His hands lay bare and vulnerable before her, visible reminders of his past. His fingers trembled.
She lifted his left hand and whispered, “When you gave your life to Christ, He washed your past away.”
The warm water she poured into his hand collected in his palm before splashing into the basin. She took his soap and worked it into a lather, its sweet almond scent filling the room. Then, with his hand tucked in hers, she began to rub her thumbs over his palm.
Her fingers moved over his knuckles. “It was as though your past never happened.” When his hand was clean, she rinsed away the last traces of soap. “God doesn’t even remember what you’ve done.” She tenderly dried his hand with the towel she’d laid out. “He’s forgotten it.”
She poured water over his other hand. “I said your past didn’t matter to me.” As she picked up the soap and began to wash, her tears fell into his hand where they mixed with the lather. “But when confronted with it face-to-face, I said something completely different.”
Her fingers slid across his palm and she felt its roughness, the calluses. Oddly enough, it brought her comfort. With this hand, he would protect her, he would love her, and he would help her in the fight ahead. “I’m not proud of my actions today or of the words I spoke.” She used the last of the water to remove the soap. “God made you a new person. It isn’t my place to judge the one you were.” She dried his hand. “Your past is forgotten to me as well.”
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