In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  Rather than answer his question, Miss Murdock merely made her point all the more clear by saying, “I think, of course, that any further contact between us before I leave is unwise.”

  He lifted a dark brow, observed, “We seem to be at cross purposes, Miss Murdock. I wonder which one of us shall prevail?”

  “It is not a question of prevailing,” she returned, “but more a question of—Nevermind! I see no reason to explain to you any further than I already have,” she amended, flustered, her own unfinished thought unnerving her. “For if you have no understanding of my reluctance, further explanation will not enlighten you I am sure.” She closed her eyes in despair at her own lame answer.

  When she dared to open her eyes, he was frowning, his gaze on her, deep and probing. But all he said was, “Very well, Miss Murdock. I stand on notice of your planned departure.”

  “And you agree that you will not interfere and that we will have no further contact?”

  “I did not say that, Miss Murdock,” he told her, and then with a suddenness that startled her, he banged his cane upon the roof of the carriage, and as the horses slowed and then did a careful turn in the road, Miss Murdock was given to understand that it had been his command to return to the Duchess's home.

  She settled back in her seat, hoping that her face was enough in shadow that he would not notice how dismayed and unhappy she was.

  Self-preservation. That had been the word she had nearly said before catching herself. Not a question of prevailing but of self-preservation.

  He seemed to be as engrossed in his own thoughts, his lids hooded over his eyes making him very distant from her. Where before it had been peaceful to her to leave him alone in his ruminations, now it made her afraid.

  “Your cousin, Earl Larrimer, has spoken of trying to assist you on your trail of vengeance,” she said into the silence between them.

  The full painful gold of his eyes fixed upon her. “Indeed? He has said this to you himself?”

  “Yes,” she said with defiance. “He voiced the thought that as long as there were a Larrimer alive that it was their duty to see this through to the end. How many shall die on this futile quest of revenge, milord, I wonder, before someone has the sense to call an end to it?” His brows narrowed into an angry, frustrated knot upon his forehead in warning, but she continued unheeding. “If you by some miracle find a woman that will trust herself to your scheme, and you procure an heir before you die, is your son to be brought up to continue in this? Is that what you want? To see your own son sacrificed, and perhaps his son after him? When and where does it end, milord? Have you asked yourself that or have you been too blinded by the taste of blood in your throat?”

  He came across the narrow space between them like that suddenly released spring that she had sensed in him upon their very first meeting. He grabbed her arms and pressed his face close to her alarmed one. “It ends with ME, Miss Murdock,” he told her, his voice savage. “For if I do not do all I can to flush this enemy out, how am I to know that any son of mine will even survive? Or Andrew for that matter?”

  She blinked, sorry now that she had pushed him to the very edge with her scathing contempt of what she considered folly and he considered holy. He was clutching her with such intensity that she hardly dared breath and she was afraid that her eyes were very wide. His hands unclenched from her arm a degree, but he did not release her. He was crouched in front of her, his face on a level with her own and she could see the erratic beating of his pulse in his temple. She was aware of his body, taut and struggling for control.

  “Do not push me, Miss Murdock,” he said, his voice strained. “I understand your reluctance and have some sympathy for it. But if you continue to insist on going contrary to what your father and I have agreed upon, you will find that I have more weapons at my disposal to convince you than perhaps you had originally counted upon. I assure you, I will not hesitate to use them.”

  “Which should not surprise me in the least, milord,” she gasped. “For I should have guessed that threats were not at all beneath you!”

  “See to it that I shall not find it necessary to place you beneath me, Miss Murdock,” he told her with rough impatience. “For I swear if you continue to provoke me, I shall resort to it with or without a marriage license.” He raised a brow at her stunned look. “Many weapons at my disposal, Miss Murdock,” he reminded her. “And I can not think of any that would please me more to use.”

  “Release me,” she cried. “I would not have come with you tonight if I had not—!” and she bit her tongue rather than go on.

  “Trusted me?” he asked, and his eyes glimmered with sudden, damning sureness. “Oh, you can trust me with your life, Miss Murdock. I just would not be so certain of trusting me with your virtue.” He did release her arms, and she drew in a ragged breath of relief that was short lived, for he sat back on one heel, took one of her agitated hands and raised it to his mouth, a movement as delicate now as though he were about to partake of a very fine and rare wine. Just before his lips, he murmured, “Perhaps you are in need of an appetizer, Miss Murdock, so that you can fully appreciate how well prepared the meal will be. I know that I am in need of just a small taste, for you build a tension in me—” He turned her hand palm up and settled his mouth on the pounding pulse of her wrist. His eyes burned at her as he studied her reaction to his tongue tracing the blue vein of it, and he raised a brow when he must have felt the sudden jolt of her blood rushing through it and her other hand fluttered somewhat helplessly to her breast.

  He pushed her sleeve up, traced his lips and tongue up her arm to the soft inside of her elbow, and Miss Murdock gave a little defenseless murmur, a sighing acquiescence. He pulled his head back, moved her hand so that he kissed only her fingers, his breath heavy on their tips. “Make no mistake, Miss Murdock, you are as dangerous to me as I am to you.”

  The coach stopped and Miss Murdock blinked her brown eyes, feeling as confused as if the earth had suddenly quit turning. A voice came to her from outside in the sudden stillness: “But his lordship said t'was my job tonight!” Young, boyish. Miss Murdock remembered that it must be Steven, he who had tapped for entrance upon her window.

  She started up, frantic. “Would you leave go of my hand?” she asked in hushed urgency.

  “Tsk, Miss Murdock,” St. James replied more evenly as he released her hand in lazy gesture. “I am sure even a lad of Steven's age has seen hand-holding and wrist-kissing.”

  She blushed furiously at his easy summation of what they had been doing, and his words made it seem a good deal less significant than it had been, for her at any rate. The thought that it could be, in fact, of so little significance to him mortified her, but the ease in which he had accomplished it seemed to confirm this conclusion.

  As these thoughts whirled in her brain, she heard Tyler saying to Steven outside, “I'll attend to the door, lad, I'm sure his lordship would prefer it.”

  That Tyler should have so clear an inkling of what had been progressing in the coach, and seemed to be quite at home with the discretion it called for from him (evidenced by his not throwing open the door as would have been customary and as Steven, no doubt, had been about to do, but by tapping with diffidence upon it) brought her scattered emotions together in such a fury, that before she knew what she was about, she whirled on St. James and slapped him with force across his cheek.

  His head whipped back at the impact, and she saw her handprint, a white branding, on his cheek. She burst into very unladylike tears.

  “Take a walk, Tyler!” St. James ordered less than graciously.

  The implications the groom must be arriving at by this announcement upset her all the more. “Damn you!” she said through her crying. “That was entirely beyond all bounds of fairness.”

  “So is slapping, Miss Murdock, but you do not see me bewailing the sudden lack of rules.”

  “You deserved it.”

  “I did.”

  “I should box your ears also.” />
  “If it will make you stop crying, you may do so.”

  “Oh, you are a bloody fiend.”

  He dug in his pocket and held out a handkerchief to her. “I have never denied it.”

  She took his handkerchief, a delicate affair, dabbed her eyes with it, and then, rather defiantly, blew her nose into it with less than ladylike restraint.

  St. James took the abused garment back when she handed it to him, stared at it for a thoughtful second, and then unlatched the door and threw it out into the gutter.

  Despite herself, Miss Murdock gave a snuffling giggle. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Miss Murdock, I assure you I have a dozen, and for no other reason than that distressed young ladies may blow their dainty noses in them with great bellowing honks.” He gave a twisted smile and she saw with dismay that her hand print was already welting on his cheek in flamboyant color.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “I am not apologizing, mind you, but I do rather wish I had not slapped you quite so hard.”

  “It is but a small matter, Miss Murdock. I am sure society will merely mark up my injury as another tasty on dit to add to my rakish reputation.” He ran a finger along his cheek as he spoke and then gave a nearly imperceptible shrug. “If you are feeling better now?” he asked.

  She nodded, feeling crushed at how badly everything had turned out. He kicked the door that was still ajar from his disposing of his handkerchief further open and called out softly into the night, “Tyler?”

  That man appeared out of the shadows not far from them. St. James nodded. “Thought you would have not gone far.”

  “Aye, milord. Wouldn't think it prudent for several reasons.” He squinted for a closer look at his lordship's countenance. “By gaw, worry for Miss Murdock didn't need t'be one of them, I see!” he exclaimed with more pleasure in his voice than Miss Murdock could readily find reason for.

  “I fear I needed more protection than she,” St. James admitted stepping down from the carriage. He turned then and Lizzie took his hand as he helped her out.

  “Just so the point is well taken, milord!” she told him.

  He retained her hand for a thoughtful moment. “But one has to weigh the pleasure against the consequence to decide if the action was worth it, does one not?”

  She blushed and dropped her gaze but Tyler came to her rescue by saying, “That will be enough, milord! I shan't have you frightening her more than you have already and having to put up with your foul mood for weeks to come when she refuses to have anything to do with you,” and he spat tobacco at the end of his words as if to punctuate them.

  “See her to the door, would you, Tyler,” St. James directed. “And where, by the by, has the lad gone to?”

  “I sent him to make sure the front door was still unlocked. Didn't want anything unseemly spilling out of the coach in front of his young eyes.” He tugged his cap in Miss Murdock's direction. “Pardon me for saying so, Miss, no reflection on you, of course. It's just I know how the lordship can be.”

  “So I have already gathered, Tyler, so no offense taken,” she answered, her voice bleak.

  St. James frowned at his groom. “If you are finished disparaging my character now, Tyler?”

  “I won't send a lamb off with a wolf and tell her it's her dear, sweet grandmother, milord, if that is what you are getting at,” the groom returned unperturbed. “If you are ready, Miss?”

  “I am!”

  She took his arm and Tyler led her around to the front of the house where Steven waited for them. The door was indeed unlocked, and as Miss Murdock bid them quiet good night and slipped through it, she was overcome with such profound relief that she could have wept.

  Her room when she reached it was as she had left it, even to the window that still remained open, like an accusation of her ill-advised activities. It had brought quite a chill to her room and she went to close it and again draw the curtains even before taking off her cloak. She must have been in a state indeed to forget that simple task, and she had to wonder at herself, for it was something so automatic to her that she could scarce credit that she had forgotten it.

  But the window was open, so she must have.

  She disrobed back down to her sleeping gown, and when she crawled into bed, she lay awake for a long time, although she was very tired, and consoled herself that she need only avoid him for the remainder of the week before she returned home.

  Which did not quite answer the question of how she would return home, but she was certain that she would procure the funds somewhere. In the midst of these comforting and distracting thoughts, she dozed off, and slipped finally, into deep sleep.

  In the morning she was awakened by Jeannie, who handed her a cup of hot chocolate and opened the curtains to let the morning light pour into the room. She was chattering as she did so, most of her words and their meaning going quite past Miss Murdock as she was too engrossed upon trying to decide if all that had happened the night before had been real or merely a very compelling dream.

  However, when Jeannie threw open the door to Miss Murdock's bedchamber and began directing two maids (of the housekeeping variety) to bring in the parcels, Miss Murdock perceived that Jeannie's happy chatter had been that the first of Miss's new clothing had arrived that morning. Jeannie seemed to be in perfect ecstasy as she began opening the many boxes that were piled onto the foot of the bed with little ceremony. “Oh, Miss,” she exclaimed as she pulled out the first dress, a ball gown of buttermilk yellow, “I have been in an agony wondering what had been procured for you. And so quickly!” Her green eyes met Miss Murdock's now attending ones. “You will look so beautiful in this and when your hair is redone. And to think, I shall be the one getting you ready this evening.”

  Miss Murdock choked. “This evening?”

  “Why, yes, Miss! Almacks' first ball of the season is tonight and I had word from the Duchess that you are attending, along with herself and Lady Lydia and Earl Larrimer also. Do you think, Miss,” she asked in a whisper, “that they may be matchmaking the two of you?”

  Miss Murdock, regaining her equilibrium, said rather shortly, “No.”

  “Oh,” Jeannie sighed, apparently very much disappointed. “It is just that he is so handsome and an Earl.”

  “And a mere boy only out of University less than a year ago,” Miss Murdock pointed out, totally ignoring the fact that this made him three years older than herself.

  “Oh, but that is nothing to look upon as a deficiency, miss,” Jeannie returned, “for I believe it is better to get them when they are still young before they become old and dissipated like his cousin the Duke of St. James.” She busied herself hanging up the ball gown, but she put it on the door of the wardrobe so that it would be within easy reach for later that day. “Do you know,” she asked Miss Murdock as she turned to open the next box, “that I have heard that the Duke cannot even get vouchers for Almacks? Have you ever heard of such a thing, miss? A Duke unwelcome at Almacks?”

  “Indeed, I have never heard such a thing,” Miss Murdock replied. She sat up more fully in bed, and tried to decide whether she was relieved or disappointed that the possibility of seeing St. James that night at Almacks was clearly out of the question. If nothing else, she conceded, it would all probably be a little flat without him.

  “Ah, all the proper undergarments, miss,” Jeannie was saying as she laid out countless silk intimates. “I ask your pardon, but I was quite worried about that, you know. Not proper for a miss such as yourself to be wearing cotton underthings. And the fact that you had no crinoline—!” She shook her head at her remembered dismay at discovering her new charge had lacked that essential.

  For the first time, Miss Murdock paid attention to the amount of clothing that was being laid out on her bed below her feet that Jeannie was carefully sorting, refolding or hanging. Not only were there countless chemises and intimates and stockings and no less than three crinolines, but as Jeannie opened the next box, an assortment of hats, reticules and gloves spil
led out of it, and the next box contained no less than a dozen pair of shoes: slippers with heels, walking slippers, dancing slippers. . .

  “Good Lord!” Miss Murdock interrupted the ongoing inventory. “I do not remember ordering any of this. Or even looking at the half of it!”

  “Oh, but miss,” Jeannie hurried to say. “You must realize that for every dress you ordered the proper shoes and reticule and hat and gloves had to be ordered also? And as they have only delivered the very beginning of your order, there will be many more coming tomorrow, and the next day also, I expect. And once you go to Almacks tonight and see what every one else is wearing, I am sure that the Duchess will have you down at the shops again tomorrow to order any of those things that are the rage and that you simply must have.”

  Miss Murdock was left quite speechless and could only put her cup aside and put a hand to her forehead as she watched the countless items being so efficiently unpacked, appreciated, sorted and stowed. The room she was in was fast taking on the quality of a resident's room rather than a visitor's, and Miss Murdock watched it all with a sick feeling in her stomach.

  The amount of money that was being spent upon all of this. And she to be here only to the end of the week! If St. James had received the bill for this yesterday, he more than likely would have strangled her last night instead of—Nevermind! she told herself sharply.

  Oh, God help her, how was she to repay all of this? How could she ever! Even if she had some sort of employment, there was probably over a year's salary sitting in her room at this moment, and as Jeannie had pointed out, there would be more coming. And it was too late to cancel, for although she was not certain how these things worked, common sense told her that once the cloth had been cut to fit her, they could not simply use it for someone else. Payment would be demanded and if the intended wearer of the outfits disappeared, it was not the shopkeeper's problem.