Holding back tears, I glanced at the clock, wondering if enough time had passed to satisfy Macy and whether he would release me. “May I go and discuss this with my father?”
A weary look replaced his studying expression. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. “You have no idea how much it pains me to return you. If you knew half of what I know about R—” He bit off his own statement, looking vexed.
“How long do I have to consider your offer?”
“Not my offer, darling; my warning. There’s no time limit. I’d rather you return of your own volition. I need to know you trust me and will stay put. Had one of Bradshawl’s men intercepted you that night, you’d have been tortured and killed, just for the honor of being my wife. At least now, you’re safe in your nest, with my enemies having no idea where my most precious possession is tucked. Stay until you’re weary of being bullied and want freedom.” He kissed my cheek. “Yet be advised, my tolerance has limits. I’ve already tolerated one lover while we’re newlyweds. Don’t ask me to stomach another.”
“I have no interest in Lord Dalry, thank you.”
He laughed. “Remain here. I’m going to dress so I can take you home.”
AN EASTERLY WIND whipped my skirts and skittered leaves as we retired from Mr. Macy’s residence. The brisk air served to revive me, lifting Macy’s spell, waking sensibilities.
Rooke scowled, turning up his collar. To Mr. Macy’s great amusement, I’d requested a chaperone, lest a rumor spread that I was out alone with a gentleman.
I scrutinized his terraced row house. It matched every other house lining the street, betraying nothing of the corruptness inside.
“I’ve added lions to differentiate mine,” Mr. Macy said.
Beneath windows reflecting the turbid sky, engraved lion faces emerged from the stone window boxes and roared around the rings in their mouths. I stared at their teeth, dismayed, until Macy’s hand directed me toward his landau.
Rooke entered the carriage behind me, then pulled his hat over his eyes.
“You must not believe the things your father says about me.” Mr. Macy shut the drapes, ensconcing us in shadow.
I held the top of my cape, trying to expunge the cold, but my teeth chattered. “Your name isn’t permitted to be spoken aloud in his house.”
“Really?” Mr. Macy’s brows elevated. “Then he must know he’ll eventually be forced to surrender you. But come now, doesn’t Forrester at least mention me?”
“Yes,” I replied moodily. “Continually. He accuses me of being your spy.”
Mr. Macy laughed, leaning back in his seat. “He must think me desperate if I’m recruiting the likes of you. You’re scarcely the type of girl I’d use to accomplish my purposes.”
I bent my head. Humiliation mingled with indignation as I glanced at Rooke for his reaction.
“Julia, sweetheart.” Macy turned me by the chin to face him. “I meant no wound. You know I regard you as my most valued treasure.”
I made no reply. All I wanted was for this ordeal to be finished; I would do whatever I must to get back to London House. I would not argue; I would not speak.
Though the houses had suggested we were near my father’s residence, we travelled for the better part of an hour before halting. Macy disembarked, ordering Rooke to stay, and then extended his hand. I knew we were at London House the moment I saw the curb and the unique pattern of brick corbels that extended from our house.
I stood, taking in the changes wrought since morning. No longer did London House appear well regulated and businesslike. The open gate creaked in the wind. Muddy footprints were layered from street to door, evidence that a throng of people had trundled up and down the stairs since morning.
“Shall we?” Mr. Macy stilled the swinging gate.
I finally acknowledged him with a startled glance. “You’re not going in, are you?”
With gloved fingers, he brushed the tendrils of my hair that blew freely in the wind. His features became so loving, my stomach twisted. “You think me the type of man to send my wife where I wouldn’t dare tread myself? Of course I’m accompanying you. I wish to deem whether I desire to leave you in this milieu any longer.”
Dismayed, I followed him up the steps. The door was locked, so I clanged the bell for James. He answered, his wig slightly askew. Seeing me, he gasped, but his words died upon spotting Mr. Macy.
Adopting a formal look, James bowed. “Miss Pierson, welcome home. I believe you will find your father in the library. He has been most anxious about you.”
I entered and unbuttoned my cape. Angry voices carried from the library, my father’s shout prominent. Mr. Macy removed my cape and handed it to James. Then, tugging off his gloves, Mr. Macy scoured my father’s residence with his all-consuming eyes. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, squeezing as if convincing himself of ownership. “I have no objections to the house, but are you certain you wish to remain here, darling? Your father sounds rather brutish. Come home with me instead.”
I tucked my chin, avoiding James’s appalled expression. “James, you’re dismissed. I’m famished. Have Pierrick send me up a tray.” I placed my hands over my churning stomach as if to emphasize my manufactured appetite. “Hurry now. Go.”
James’s mouth pursed and he squinted at Mr. Macy, but he withdrew.
“That was almost convincing, darling.” Mr. Macy slid his hand to the small of my back. “When he presents you with tea, I want you to eat. You’ve had a trying day, and while you may not feel hunger, victuals will benefit you.”
I yearned to shrink away from his touch but feared to upset him. I fastened my eyes on the library door, just wanting to make it into the next chamber. At the threshold, I paused, listening to my father’s shouts. If he was already this angry, how would he react at finding Mr. Macy in his house? Taking a deep breath, I entered on wobbly legs.
Four men I did not recognize stood alongside Mr. Forrester, Isaac, and my father, poring over a yellowed map of London, so large it engulfed the reading table. Their faces were bright red as tempers boiled over. They pointed at pins concentrated in one location over the map, arguing. Isaac alone sensed my presence. He straightened and dropped his compass. Blue eyes met mine, somehow calming me.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Macy announced in a loud voice, “I believe I found what you seek.”
My hands began to quake, but Isaac managed to hold my gaze, exempting me from witnessing my father’s reaction.
“I found the poor child wandering the streets of London unprotected.” Mr. Macy laid his hand on my bare head. “She’s slightly dazed by the experience, but I have no doubt in a few hours, when the shock wears off, you’ll find her satisfactory.”
Silence engulfed the room, and I shifted beneath Mr. Macy’s touch, breaking Isaac’s gaze.
“Ha-ha. Well, then, all’s well that ends well.” A man with thinning hair removed steamy spectacles and wiped them. His voice trembled as he polished condensation from the lenses. “Shall you . . . uh, I mean . . . Are there any instructions, sir?”
“No, Inspector.” My father straightened and placed a weight over a corner of the map. “Take your men. You’re dismissed.”
The inspector shot Mr. Macy a panicked expression, betraying that his question had been aimed at Mr. Macy, not my father. The weight of Macy’s hand increased as I realized that even here, he held power.
“Ah, well, ah, yes . . . I suppose I have your permission to leave.” The inspector fumbled with a leather bag, attempting to shove loose papers inside. As many papers fell to the floor as inside the bag. “I do have your permission, do I not?”
“Leave,” my father growled.
Mr. Forrester strode to the door and held it open. “Gentlemen, thank you.”
Only Isaac dared to approach Macy. As if unaware of anyone but me, he crossed the chamber and took my trembling arm. He quietly assessed me from head to toe. I felt tension in his fingers, but he gave no visible evidence of his thoughts.
Three men slunk fro
m the room. The inspector inched his way, taking shuffling steps. “If my presence was required, you know I would stay. I should hope that you would state whether you desired me to remain? You have only to say the word.” He paused near the door, receiving no answer from anyone. Then, turning a sick, pasty color, he ducked from the room.
“Were I a politician, Roy—” Macy removed his hand from my head and sauntered to the mantel—“I’d address the problems with the corruption within the police force. Really, one must wonder what the world is coming to.”
“State your business, then leave,” my father said.
With a careless gesture, Macy lifted the lid of the cigar box on the mantel. He withdrew one, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. “I’ll gift you from my private stock. You’ll thank me later.”
“State your business.”
Macy tossed the cigar into the case and shut the lid. “My wife appears wan; thus I’m displeased with your care. Had I known she’d be punished for my demonstration at Lady Northrum’s, I would have spared her. Allow her to make the rounds in society again. I promise to behave.”
“Is that all you came to say?” My father crossed his arms, glaring like a military commander wearing down an insubordinate. “State your true business.”
“My true business? Surely you cannot think I approve of my wife’s being held hostage.” At the nearest bookshelf, Macy tilted back the leather and gilded volumes, looking behind them. “One would hope, as her father, you’d share my concern.” He dropped the books back into place. His probing gaze swung around to the windows. “You have my word, Roy. I will leave Julia alone in public. I swear it.” His attention travelled to Isaac and his mouth twisted. “That is, unless your lordling tests my patience too far.”
“You’ve said your piece. Now leave.”
“I’m serious, Roy. I expect to see my wife enjoying life. I’ll not allow her to grow ill because she frets all day behind these walls.” Macy frowned as he tested the windows. “You might want to have this lock secured.” He tapped the right windowpane. “It would be easy to bypass, and I’d hate to keep one of my men continually occupied guarding these windows.” He released the heavy draperies and made his way back to me. With a tender expression, he lifted my chin. “Sweetheart, are you absolutely certain you wish to remain?”
I swallowed, waiting for my father to cry out that it wasn’t my decision, but he uttered no sound. I stared at my father, wondering if Macy had more power than he pretended. Perspiration prickled over my palms. Or did my father think I’d sought out Macy on purpose? I twisted my skirt into my dampened palms, wondering if he still wanted me.
“Having qualms?” Macy asked, his amusement evident.
Biting my bottom lip, I shook my head.
“As you wish, then.” Macy drew near. His breath warmed my ear as he whispered, “I keep my men posted nearby. When you’re ready to leave, you need only to step outdoors.” He placed the gentlest kiss near my ear, then sauntered from the room.
I counted twenty seconds before I heard the heavy front door close. I covered my mouth, gasped a sob, and sank to my knees. I was safe. He’d actually left.
“Isaac, Robert, leave.” My father stepped from behind the library table.
Lord Dalry knelt at my side, gathering me. “No, sir, not until I know for myself what happened to Julia—”
“Leave!”
“Come on.” Forrester grabbed Lord Dalry’s sleeve. “Just because the door shut doesn’t mean he actually left the house. We need to secure the grounds.”
Isaac looked distraught, but when I refused to acknowledge him, he allowed Forrester to pull him from the room.
As I wiped my palms against my skirt, terror replaced relief. I faced my father. “Papa . . . I . . . I . . .”
His mouth twisted in odd directions, his jaw clenching. He took two furious steps toward me. I cringed, squeezing my eyes shut. Strong arms engulfed me and breath was crushed from my body. Anguished, choking noises followed, as I realized my father had fallen to his knees. He wept, clutching me tighter and tighter, as if fearing to let go. He wept harsh words, too garbled to understand but full of pain. I buried my face in his shoulder.
An hour later, my father’s bottle of port clinked against a crystal tumbler as he poured his second helping. Before drinking, he paused and rubbed his brow. When he looked up at my tearstained face, he grimaced. “Julia, for the last time, you’re not married to that man.”
“But I saw proof.” I clasped my hands and placed them on the table, imploring him. “He was earnest when he said he carried as much weight as you.”
My father gave a dark chuckle, downed the port, then chuckled some more. “He is a liar. He has always been a liar. Place no faith in anything he says.”
Frustrated, I flung myself into a chair. Nothing I’d said convinced my father. I’d been arguing since my arrival that Macy still considered me his wife and wouldn’t relent. “If you would only go and look at the discourse. He said you’d find it easily enough.”
He slammed his tumbler down. “That proves what, exactly? That he is married to a Julia Elliston? Someone I’ve never met, never heard of? Consider the suspicious light it would cast upon us. I announce I have a sequestered daughter—whom no one knew existed—and then suddenly I take interest in the legalities of Mr. Macy’s marriage. Can you not see the bait? See what he hopes will happen?”
“That’s not his intention. If only you had seen his face.”
“Name his intentions then.” All patience left my father’s eyes.
Exasperated, I dropped my hands. There was no way he’d believe me. “To spare me from another scandal?”
My father exhaled heavily through his nose. “Remind me why you wed him in the first place.”
I turned my face toward the window, hating that he thought me the naive one. “He was protecting me from you.”
“Was he?”
I waited until my voice would sound normal. “He swears so.”
“You’ve lived with me now. Is there anything in my nature that would make you imagine I am such a brute?”
I frowned, deciding not to answer honestly.
“Macy has known me for nigh thirty years. He had full knowledge you were in no peril. Have you forgotten that Macy housed you under the same roof as your mother’s murderer? Think upon that. Really consider it. This man never had a shred of concern about you.”
My eyes drifted to Mama’s vibrant sunflower painting behind him on the wall. I didn’t know all the answers. No one understood Macy. Not even his closest friends. “And what if he really is trying to spare me?”
My father scoffed, pouring his third helping. “Julia, he cares nothing for you. Nothing. Why would he?”
Bruised, I lifted my gaze. Some words are a death knell. They become furies digging their talons into the soul, ripping and shredding all that they find. Another soul, another person might not have felt the sting, but something vital within me died.
And yet, though he was temperamental and difficult, I loved my father. At that time, it felt like a brute instinct, that some perverse rule of the universe forced a child to love her parent, even at cost to self.
I cannot tell you what my father said next. I saw the knit of his brow, the forcefulness of his opinion, but I ceased hearing him. It was as though he were miles away.
There is no hope for us, I thought. If he didn’t see anything about me worthy enough to capture Macy’s attention, then he saw no value in me. And if I was valueless to him, then it was time to take my fate back into my own hands.
My father stood, breaking my deep concentration so I could hear him again. “If Macy wanted to spare you a scandal,” he ranted, “then why not just leave you completely alone?”
“Because,” I said, feeling dead, “only the worst sort of rake actually abandons his wife.”
I could not know it then, but my words struck the rawest chord in my father’s heart. His bottom lip curled as he raised the back of his hand as if t
o strike. I had no fear of being struck, however. I looked up, waiting. The blow would only justify my decision.
No more would I hope to win my father’s love. My only goal now was to find my way back to Edward, back to the only man who had truly accepted me and loved me.
My father did not strike. Instead, awareness seized him. He dropped his hand and, paling, stared at it as though it were foreign to his body. He set down his drink, stumbled a step or two backwards. Then with grief, pure and undefiled upon his face, he fled toward the door, where the visible outline of feet paced beneath the crack.
When he opened it, Lord Dalry and Forrester turned with anticipation.
“May I question her now?” Forrester unbuttoned his frock coat and started to shed it.
“No one is to question her!” my father roared. “I will not tolerate his lies circulating in this house!” My father spun, pointing his ringed index finger at me and, with spittle on the edges of his mouth, shouted, “You will not repeat one syllable of one word that Macy said.”
Banishing emotion, I folded my hands over my lap, trying to appear dispassionate. Let him think I felt no regret for my words. Let them all think me wicked. I no longer cared.
“Roy, I need to know where Macy took her. Where—?”
“I forbid it! Now move from my path!” My father gave the door a forceful shove, bashing it against the wall, then stomped down the hall.
Forrester tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat, seemingly uncertain whether to follow him or attempt to question me. With a scowl, he turned and followed my father.
I bent over the map of London. My head throbbed as I took in a ragged breath.
My chair shifted suddenly to the right, and I lifted my gaze to find Isaac beside me.
“Julia?” His tone comforted and inquired.
I shook my head to show him I couldn’t yet speak.
It seemed to me he held his breath, battling his next course of action. “Whatever took place between you and your father can be mended. I promise. His temper has been out of sorts all day.” He rose and offered his arm. “Come, join me before the fire. I’ll read to you.”
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