A Scorching Dilemma

by Shereen Vedam

  Daniel ignored several trunks and boxes that looked untouched for years to look through a box that was fairly clean. Across the room, Sir Phillip exclaimed in surprise and held his candle up by a sea chest.

  Excited and relieved—maybe they could leave now—Daniel hurried over. “Did you find the shoe buckles?”

  Sir Phillip pointed. “See that?”

  Daniel bent to examine the worn old chest. The brass studs on the straps looked dull and scratched, and the leather casing was beaten with age. “Seems ordinary enough.”

  “Not the chest, Trenton. The portrait behind it.”

  Daniel held his candle higher to get a better look at the image. The flickering flame highlighted a well-built man riding a black stallion. The man’s deep blue gaze drew him in. Daniel might as well be staring into a looking glass.

  The dark hair, blue eyes, and aquiline features mesmerized him with an odd longing. Then he noticed the gentleman’s left hand resting on his knee—his fingers were all perfectly formed. Heaviness settled back in Daniel, similar to the feeling he’d had when he found out Faith was a duke’s daughter. Clenching his malformed fist, Daniel returned to his search.

  “Trenton,” Sir Phillip said in a shocked whisper. “Do not tell me you missed the resemblance?”

  “What of it? We are here to look for jeweled buckles.”

  “What of it? The style of dress and the man’s age suggests that this is the late Duke of Morton. And you sport a remarkable likeness to him. Do you not realize the significance of that? Mrs. Weatheringham once mentioned that you were an orphan, fished out of the River Thames as a child.”

  So Sir Phillip had been asking into his background. That should not surprise him. Investigating suspicious sorts like Daniel was his stock in trade.

  “I see where your thoughts fly, sir. It is possible that I might have been one of his grace’s by-blows.” Daniel’s clenched fist hurt. “One unwanted enough to be drowned on a cold summer night rather than acknowledged in the light of day.”

  The duke had probably impregnated one of the servants. Upon discovering the boy’s resemblance to his father, and likely unwilling to own up to his mistake, or even the child’s deformity, the old duke must have seen to it the boy was disposed of. Had he done the deed himself or hired someone to take care of the problem?

  “We have searched as much as we can for tonight, sir.” Daniel blew out his candle before he strode to the door. “We should leave before the family returns.”

  They descended to the floor below in silence. At the landing, Sir Phillip’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. Daniel shrugged off his concerned touch and raced belowstairs.

  GRANGER HELD FAITH in place as Morton left the room. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was in her home and one shout would bring several servants racing to her aid. Her stomach still fluttered with unreasonable fear. In a firm voice, she said, “Kindly release me, Mr. Granger.”

  “Do you not care for the touch of a man?” he asked, his grip tightening. “You present a cool façade, Lady Faith. I suggest you recover quickly from that attitude or married life will prove more distasteful than pleasurable. The choice is yours.”

  She wrenched her arm free, ignoring the sting of his nails grazing her skin. Once she put several paces between them, she faced him, her shoulders squared. “You need not concern yourself with my pleasure, sir. It has naught to do with you.”

  He stepped closer and smiled gently, which softened his face. It was the first genuine expression she had seen from him. His gray eyes were intense, and he bit his lips as if he had difficulty voicing what he meant. Then he spoke swiftly. “My lady, do not fear that your freedom will end with your marriage. It can be much improved over living under your father’s roof.” His hand gently skimmed below her sleeve and trailed down her bare arm. “Your life, in fact, could become very satisfying.”

  Faith’s cheeks suffused with heat. Was he suggesting she could become his mistress once she was married to his brother? She slapped his hand away. “Sir, be assured, it is entirely due to the presence of men such as yourself that I have never before yearned for marriage.”

  “Never before?” Mr. Granger asked, his familiar sneer returning. “That sounds as if you have changed your mind. Surely my limpid brother is not responsible for that?”

  Faith raised her chin. “The Duke of Morton is a hundred times the man you have shown yourself to be tonight, sir. Breeding, it seems, does show.”

  Mr. Granger’s face darkened.

  Her anger dissipated and fear swept in, spurring her pulse. She drew breath to scream when footsteps approached. A footman carrying a chair stopped at the far end of the long gallery. Faith sighed in profound relief while Mr. Granger huffed in annoyance.

  He leaned toward her and whispered, “Morton may be the duke, but I am the man of the house where you shall soon reside. And I consider anything of Morton’s to be mine.”

  The footman passed by them, head bowed, eyes averted.

  Faith’s body trembled in horror. Her head went cold and sweaty all at the same time. She was sure she was about to faint when another set of footsteps approached.

  Morton poked his head round the gallery door, though his eyes never quite met hers or his half-brother’s. “It seems the talk of Wellington’s ball has destroyed Mother’s appetite and she wishes to leave.” He came toward Faith, though how he located her without actually looking directly at her was a mystery. He offered his arm vaguely in her direction. “I am to escort Lady Faith to the drawing room.”

  Faith took his arm, grateful for even that feeble rescue.

  DANIEL AND SIR Phillip arrived back down to the residential floor. Sounds from below alerted them that the family had returned early. They separated, melting into the shadows.

  There was a door to a room immediately behind Daniel and he slipped inside. Several candles were lit in this sitting room and in the adjoining bedroom. The slender chairs and a long narrow settee offered no place to hide. The curtains were too flimsy to disguise his bulk.

  Voices sounded directly outside the door. Any moment he would be caught. Heart pounding, he took a deep breath and rushed toward the hearth and plunged in, shifting his whole body into flames. He landed against the coals and hugged the cool refreshing little dark mounds, which energized him wherever he touched a piece, and set off sparks.

  The intruders swept into the room in a surge of colors. There were three of them. He could not make out individual identities, merely sensed their energy like a buffeting breeze. Their speech thrummed. Each one was a light-colored shade moving in an arena of darkness.

  One’s movement was fluid but disruptive. Daniel labeled that one an angry female. Whenever she gestured, flares swiped across the room. The other two’s stiffer movements marked them as masculine. One dominated, stretching taller and broader than its counterpart. The smaller one cowered without overtly appearing to do so. His color was subdued, faint.

  Something had upset these three, especially the woman. Her conversational vibrations were wild streaks of light. Her anger was directed toward the little light. He sat far from his companions, but the extra space did little to blunt the female’s ire or the larger male’s scorn. The familiar way they spoke with each other suggested kinship, though the larger two showed little sign of affection toward the little one.

  Daniel’s flames cooled as this family drama continued. He had an urge to flare and act as a shield before the smallest light. He shook off the protective impulse. For all he knew, the little one could be the duke Faith planned to marry.

  Chapter Eight

  THE ONE-WAY barrage finally ended, and the angry female gestured to the door. The small male slunk off like a dog thrown out of the house for bad behavior.

  The remaining male said something. The disturbance of his speech agitated Daniel, an
d his flame grew hotter. The woman threw back her head and the room exploded in a vicious vibration that was a horrible mimicry of laughter.

  Suddenly, Daniel’s fear for Faith grew. She had said she did not care for the duke’s family. That something about them made her uneasy. All jealousy aside, he believed Faith.

  Stolen shoe buckles or not, this family meant her no good. The smaller man, if he was the duke, could not control the other two. And if the larger man was the duke, then Daniel definitely feared for Faith’s safety.

  The night wore on, and the two moved to a round table and chairs. Tiny objects rolling across the table set off a mild pattering followed by shouts of triumph or despair. The vibration of coins being exchanged suggested they played dice. Whatever their game, as long as they stayed here, Daniel remained trapped in flame form.

  Servants entered and left in a rush of cool air. One poked at the coals in his hearth, and he jumped, disliking the cool iron. The stirring of the coals, however, exposed a bit more dark fresh coals from which he could draw energy. After a curt command from the female, the maid dropped the poker, then she picked it up, put it away and scurried out.

  The coal sustained Daniel, but he was reaching his limit. Yet, he could not change back while these two remained in the room. What would happen if all the coal turned to ash? Would he have enough energy left to change back? He could not die before he had warned Faith about this family.

  One hour stretched into the next. How long had it been since he changed? Four hours? Five? And he had worried about holding his shift for thirty minutes not so long ago. There was hardly anything left of the coals to draw energy from. His flames grew smaller and fainter. Weariness settled over him like a heavy wet great coat. Staying alert became difficult. Thinking was harder. Daniel was no longer certain from one blurry moment to the next which form he was in. What if he accidentally shifted back?

  A scrape jarred his senses and Daniel flared awake. The woman was standing. With a wave, she entered the adjoining bedroom. The male stood and walked toward the door. Daniel was poised, ready to transform the moment that door shut. Then a maid hurried inside. He drew back, hardly able to spark with indignation. The maid ran into her mistress’s bedchamber.

  Just a little longer. She might come out. She did not. He hoped that meant she slept in her mistress’s bedroom. In any case, he could not wait any longer. The change was overwhelming him. If he did not leave the hearth, he might end up trapped inside this contraption in human form. He slipped out through the bars of the grate in one fluid motion. The instant he touched solid ground, he shifted back. He lay flat on the carpet, his every muscle quivering, no longer under his control. He could not have stood now if his life depended on it.

  His heart pounded a rapid drumbeat in his chest as he waited for his strength to return. Sweat beaded his forehead and his ears were flushed with heat. Silently, he promised Mrs. Pollard that he would never again skip a meal and apologized to Miss Wood for scoffing at her idea that members should carry something to eat on their person at all times. And he vowed to never again play an unkind jest on Sir Phillip if he would, this one last time, come to Daniel’s rescue.

  The door opened.

  The maid? He could not see past the sofa to identify the intruder. He shut his eyes and mouthed a curse.

  Soft steps approached.

  Why did the girl not shout out? Strong hands lifted him and he opened his eyes to meet Sir Phillip’s concerned gaze.

  “Can you walk?” he whispered.

  Yes, but I enjoy lying on the floor waiting to get caught. “Stuck. Hearth. Flame. No strength.” Daniel barely managed to say those few words before his throat seized. He hoped Sir Phillip understood. Lady Roselyn’s husband was not a shifter but he was married to one and lived with the Rue Alliance. And after what happened to Lady Roselyn’s sister last year, he was aware of the price a shifter paid for overextending energy.

  Sir Phillip released him. “I shall be right back.”

  Seconds passed. Then minutes. Just when Daniel was certain Sir Phillip had been discovered, he returned with food in hand—a handful of currants, a slice of smelly cheese, and bread smeared with precious, energy-rich, sweet jam. Sir Phillip fed him a few bites until Daniel could sit up and devour the currants and then the bread and jam. A rush of vigor swept through him and he gobbled down the cheese.

  With Sir Phillip’s help, Daniel was then able to hobble out of the room, descend the stairs, and slip out of the house. Moment by moment, Daniel’s strength increased and they made better time. A hackney had dropped them off here, so they had no quick way to return to the townhouse.

  Several streets away from the Morton mansion, Sir Phillip deemed it safe to leave Daniel so he could catch a hackney. “Will you be all right until I return with a carriage?”

  Daniel nodded, grateful to collapse beside an ash tree. Even with help, walking had sapped the last of his strength. As Sir Phillip was about to leave, he said, “Wait, sir.”

  “What is wrong?”

  “Why did you come back for me?” The question had bothered him since they left the mansion. “You could have been rid of me for good if you had left me there.”

  Sir Phillip wore a crooked grin in the pre-dawn’s glow. “But then, Trenton, what would I do for a butler?”

  As Sir Phillip turned and sprinted off, Daniel stared after him. Sir Phillip had been joking, but his words laid bare an unpalatable truth. This night, he had been more capable as a partner in crime than he ever had been as a butler. His mind filled with uncomfortable thoughts, Daniel took a deep breath and leaned against the solid trunk.

  He was both grateful and ashamed. A long time ago, after Daniel had been dispatched back to a workhouse after the Trentons’ deaths, he had sworn to never find himself in a position where he must depend on the mercy of others. Yet, here he was, praying for Sir Phillip’s swift return.

  With nothing but time on his hands, he faced up to a few more unpalatable truths. The portrait Sir Phillip had found in the Killians’ attic was most likely of Daniel’s real father. He had looked strong, capable, and competent. He had not seemed the type to allow himself to be blown about like debris at the whim of a breeze. There had been purpose in his eyes and strength of will.

  Sir Phillip, too, was a man who ruled his life. He did what he had to do, no matter the cost. That kind of determination had nothing to do with money or status or knowing where he belonged. It had to do with knowing who he was, who he wanted to be, and doing what was right and necessary for those he cared for.

  Daniel glanced at his malformed finger and clenched his fist. He did not need a father to show him who he could be. And where he belonged should be a path of his choice, not where he ended up after being pulled out of a raging river.

  Where he wanted to be right now was at Faith’s side to warn her about the danger the Killians posed. Ignoring his trembling limbs, Daniel pushed himself to his feet. His head held high, he strode down the street after Sir Phillip.

  THE MORNING AFTER Morton and his distasteful family left, Faith ordered another hot bath. She had scrubbed her flesh in an effort to wash away the unclean feeling Mr. Granger left on her skin, but felt the need to do it again upon waking. Once out of the tub, she dried herself and huddled on her window seat, hugging herself tightly. But she felt no cleaner. All the baths in the world would not make her feel better. Not as long as the threat of having to marry into Mr. Granger’s family remained.

  Across the back yard, the woods, dappled by the morning light, beckoned. Where the baths had failed, a dip in the lake might help. Would I feel less sullied if I immersed myself there?

  Her bedroom door opened and Mrs. Hutchinson entered.

  Not up to company, Faith sighed and rested her forehead on the cool glass. Reluctantly, she faced the lady.

  Well past her middle years, Mrs. Hutchinson always a
ppeared subdued. She wore a severe black gown, with her hair pulled back into a prim knot, and her pale face devoid of color.

  At her beloved governess’s death three years ago, Faith, heartbroken, had told her mother she was too old for another.

  Her mother had hired Mrs. Hutchinson anyway, saying the lady, a distant relative, had fallen on hard times and it was their Christian duty to show her charity. Besides, she assured Faith, Mrs. Hutchinson’s role would be more that of a companion than a governess. So Faith accepted her new companion, but there were times, like now, when all she wanted was to be left alone.

  “What shall we do this morning?” Mrs. Hutchinson asked, apparently unaware of her charge’s gloomy mood. “Shall I fetch the petit point you were working on?”

  “Thank you, but I plan to read this morning.”

  “I am perfectly happy to join you in that activity.” Mrs. Hutchinson went over to an armchair by the hearth and picked up a volume from the table. “Shall I read this to you?”

  “That will not be necessary. You may have the morning off.”

  The lady looked ready to argue, but perhaps finally noting Faith’s tightly held lips, she shrugged. “As you wish.”

  She placed the book down, but did not leave. Instead, she walked over to Faith. “My lady, I see you are troubled. It has been my experience that young girls often exaggerate fears in their minds. Talking can sometimes lessen the enormity of our worries. Is it your upcoming marriage that concerns you?”

  “What marriage?”

  “The servants spoke of a match between yourself and the Duke of Morton.”

  “That is idle gossip. There is to be no marriage.”

  Her companion blanched, and Faith regretted her brisk tone. Why should this lady take the brunt of her bad humor? “Thank you for your concern.”

  When the lady did not leave, Faith wondered if something else was on her mind. “Is everything well with you, Mrs. Hutchinson? Are you happy here with us?”