Authors: Charis Michaels
“Get on with it, Straka.”
“The old viscount is now dead; his wife, sick and old.” He waved his hands dismissively. “Wastrels, both of them. Addicts. Available for diversions but absent when the markers came due. Perhaps your uncle was the same?”
“My uncle liked expensive things.”
Straka went on, “Ultimately, the old viscount met a tragic end. Drowned in a river, or so I hear. He had no self-control; it was only a matter of time.” He shrugged. “When he died, their son became the viscount. But he is a very different sort of man. Serious. Good with money—very good. And my spies tell me he is desperate to restore the family name and erase the reputation of his parents as hedonists.” Straka smiled largely, gesturing with his fingers. “Did you hear that, Tryphon?
Desperate.
You know how I love a desperate man.”
Oh, God,
Trevor thought.
“Here is the favor I ask of you. Are you listening?”
Trevor looked at him blankly.
“I have
stories
I could tell about the former viscount, the dead father. Shocking stories.
Obscene
stories. The man indulged in predilections that fell well below what even I enjoy. These details, these stories, are succulent morsels that I am sure his son, the new viscount, would not wish to be known among high society or his lucrative business partners. They say he’s building a shipping empire.”
“Is that what they say?” Trevor’s voice was strangled.
“Oh, yes. He’s very rich, very rich indeed. And I am of a mind that he’ll pay handsomely to have these stories disappear altogether. Here.” He removed a sweaty stack of papers from his robe and held them out. “See for yourself.”
“You want me to blackmail a wealthy English viscount? Oh, God, Straka.” Trevor scrubbed a hand over his face. “Why involve me? Why not do it yourself?” Cautiously he accepted the documents.
“Do it myself? But why should I? You know the customs of the rich and well-heeled. You’ll travel in the same circles as a viscount.
You are one of them
. I am from the outside. You might even know him. The man’s name is Bryson Courtland, Viscount Rainsleigh.”
“I do not. I’ve never heard of him in my life.”
“Well,
discover him
.” Straka’s menacing tone brooked no argument. He trudged to the tree and yanked his knife from the bark.
Trevor watched, saying nothing, as Straka veered to the wall beside him and propped his hip against the stones.
“I know you will not disappoint me,” he said coolly. “I came to you, because you’re the only man who’s never failed me. Who
solved
problems. I could depend on you.”
“Am I also the only man you knew in England?”
Straka laughed—a short, bitter bark—but then he sobered. “In my gratitude, I am willing to release you from future service to me—”
“What?” Trevor shoved off the wall.
The old man went on, “You were under the impression that this was already your situation but, please. When have I allowed an arrangement such as this? To let something so valuable simply
go
? But, it is true, you are
soft
.” Straka chuckled. “And you have asked me boldly to move away from this life—my life. No threats. No lies.
“And so I have thought, all right. Perhaps I will honor this request because you were always so loyal and useful to me.” He held up a fat, gold-ringed finger. “But, before you go. I will need this one, final favor. Get me the money from this desperate man.”
Trevor closed his eyes, breathing deeply and dropped his head. He felt his throat closing and heard ringing in his ears. He saw his future, and Piety’s future, and whatever hope he had for freedom and a happy bloody life floating away on the Berkshire breeze.
“You
understand
?” Straka asked.
“No.” Trevor sighed, shuffling the papers he’d been handed.
“If you want to be released, you must do this, or my gratitude for your previous service will rapidly fade away.”
“But Janos,” Trevor said, frustration rising.
“But nothing.”
Straka let out a hiss, low and final. “Make this happen or . . . Well, I don’t have to elaborate on the result, if you deny me.”
Trevor drew breath to challenge him, but Straka cut him off.
“Ah, ah, ah! And don’t go telling me you are unmoved by my threats. Maybe you are, maybe you are not. But I know one person who will be, and that is your new lady wife. No, forgive me, your
fictional
lady wife.” He chuckled. He raised his knife, balancing the handle in his palm. “If you cared enough to marry her, then you will care enough to do this thing for me. To ensure her
safekeeping
.”
Trevor stared, the anger pulsing with every heartbeat. He fought the urge to grab the knife and drive it home.
Straka laughed and pointed in the distance, at the gentle hillside beyond the cemetery wall. A rabbit hopped into to view, stopping in a puff of clover to feed. Straka smiled, delight clear on his ruddy face.
“Ah, look a moving target. My preference.” He gripped his knife, leaned back, and hurled the blade at the rabbit in the grass, stabbing it in the neck, and killing it dead.
T
he moment Trevor was out of sight of the Greeks, he ran flat out, mounting his horse in one lunge, digging his heels into the stallion’s flanks, and bolting down the hillside. He rode hard through the village and down the tree-lined drive to Garnettgate, not allowing the animal to rest until he clattered into the stable, flinging dust and rock.
Inside the house, he took the staircase three at a time, down the landing, and around the corner to the door of Piety’s chamber.
Joseph waited dutifully outside, alert but sitting on the floor. The boy scrambled to his feet when he saw him.
“Wait here,” Trevor said, knocking once before throwing open the door.
Piety was inside, thank God. Trevor allowed himself to draw his first conscious breath.
Logic had told him that she would, of course, be safely here, especially if Joseph was at his post, but he was flooded with relief. He’d needed to see her with his own eyes.
Miss Breedlowe attended her. They were bent over a pile of trunks, discussing a heap of garments on the bed. Her head popped up at the sound of the door, and she studied his face.
It took every ounce of self-control not to yank her against him and bury his face in her hair, to assure himself that she was safe, that she had not grown to resent him already.
Instead, he nodded curtly and said, “I’m sorry, Piety, but we must leave within the hour.”
Her face fell. “Well, that’s impossible. I won’t even be dressed in an hour. Let alone packed.”
“You must be, and you will be,” he said. “I have new, pressing business in London that prevents me from lingering in Berkshire, even until afternoon. It’s eleven o’clock. I give you to twelve thirty. Pack whatever you can in that time, and then send for the rest.”
Piety raised her chin. “If
you
must go, then go. Miss Breedlowe and I will follow later today. Or tomorrow.”
Trevor sucked in breath. Absolutely, that would not happen. “
No
. We go together and we go by twelve thirty. You are a married woman now, Piety—married to me—and you must do as I say.
“I will be too busy,” he continued, looking away from her stunned expression, “to show my gratitude to the marchioness. May I count on you to make our farewells and thank her on my behalf?”
Piety stared at him a long moment, searching his face, clutching a stack of linens to her chest.
Do it
, he willed in his head.
Do everything I say, exactly as I say it, so that I may keep you safe. Do not argue. For once. Acquiesce.
He held his breath.
“Fine,” she said at last, glancing regretfully at Miss Breedlowe. She waved him away. “It will be as you wish.
My lord
. Leave us, so I can meet your deadline.” She turned away.
Trevor nodded and fought a second urge to go to her.
In the hall, he motioned for the Joseph to follow him into the shadows.
“Did you find him?” Joseph asked.
Trevor nodded. “He’s asked me the bloody impossible.”
“What does he want? Do we have to return to Athens?”
“No. He’s cooked up a scheme that has me blackmailing a rich viscount.”
“Blackmail.” Joseph chewed his lip thoughtfully. “But what will we do?”
Trevor smiled, in spite of himself. Joseph was loyal to the end. “At the moment, I’ve got no plan. There’s no appointed time to return to Straka with the money. He’s said he will contact me. This means we’re being followed. He’s watching us—all of us. So, above all, starting now, Lady Piety may never be left unprotected. I’ll not have Straka or his spies anywhere near her. We cannot leave her, even for a moment, do you understand?
“Added to that,” he said in a rush, “
I
must be careful to not appear to be too involved with her or her daily routine. Not affectionate, especially. I’ve told him that I have no access to her money, because ours is a marriage of convenience. I’ve told him that we intend to live apart and eventually separate. Because of this, you and I will return to the empty house in Henrietta Place, and Piety will return to her renovations next door.”
“But you will tell her
why
you must live apart. You’ll tell her you cannot be seen too attached because of Straka?”
Trevor shook his head. “I will not. If she knew, I could not prevent her from paying Straka herself, with her own fortune.” He looked at her closed door. “Because she would do it. God love her, she would do it in a second.”
Joseph made a sound of frustration. “But maybe she should pay him, Trevor. I think she would rather part with the money than to go along, believing that you wish to live apart.”
“We were always meant to live apart, Joseph. We are merely carrying out our plan. It was all decided before I agreed to marry her.
In name only
. This was the pact. She
knew
it would be this way.”
Joseph shook his head, “But at the wedding? And then last night? I thought . . . ”
Trevor growled in frustration. “There’s no time to explore the wedding or last night or what anyone thought, don’t you see? Our very lives are in danger. I must get rid of Straka before anything else can be addressed. I must rely on you to help keep Piety safe. To keep my dealings with Straka unknown to her and anyone else.”
“Yes, yes, my lord—Trevor. Of course, you can rely on me.”
Trevor took a deep breath and straightened, looking around. He nodded. “Very good. I must ready the horses, see to the carriage. You remain outside this door until she emerges, and then do not leave her side.”
“Yes, my lord.” He studied Trevor with a frustrated mix of disappointment and devotion.
Trevor walked him back to his position by the doorway and said, “I could not do this without you, Joseph.”
“And I would never do it if you weren’t forc—er, asking me. Not this way.”
To that, there was no answer. Trevor looked once more at the door and strode away.
B
y Trevor’s edict, they were on the road to London by half-past noon. The journey took two days, even at Trevor’s punishing pace.
For the duration, Jocelyn sat beside Piety in the carriage, while he rode on horseback outside. It was a ridiculous arrangement, as ridiculous as it had been to leave Berkshire in a blind rush, especially in the spitting rain. But Piety dare not quibble.
How much wiser and less hurtful to do it
his
way, to ride in the rain rather than be tempted by each other. But, how could she pretend?
In fact
, she thought again,
how can he
?
His resolve to push her away served only to magnify her broken heart. Not to mention, he was distracted and impatient and cagey.
He is only your husband for a time.
Jocelyn tried to cheer her, speculating about the changes to her house. Mr. Burr’s last letter had assured her it was nearly complete, and she could reside comfortably in any room instead of making camp. Piety clung to this, but when they arrived, it was too dark to see beyond the open front door. Fumbling around in the dark was the last, proverbial straw, and Piety summoned Joseph to fetch Mr. Burr. She would have a tour, she told Jocelyn, even in the middle of the night. Trevor opposed this, naturally; he only spoke when he could be contrary, but Piety asked him what else they intended to do, alone together, in an empty house after dark.
Mr. Burr arrived presently with workmen and lanterns and candles and led them through every room. The restoration was stunning, even unfinished and lovelier than her wildest dreams. Piety clapped her hands together and raved at each new appointment, but in her heart, she merely followed along. All she saw, room after room, was herself alone without Trevor, closed in by four walls.
Trevor trailed behind them, saying little or nothing at all. Mr. Burr took care to point out the earl’s many contributions, but he barely had the courtesy to nod.
“You know, we haven’t seen the solarium,” Piety told Trevor, thirty minutes in. “Lady Frinfrock will return within the week, and seeing it will be her first request.”
“Consider the hour, Piety, please.” Trevor checked his timepiece. “Why not allow Spencer to continue the tour in the proper light of day? When you detain him late into the night, you set back his duties for morning.”
“Don’t bother on our account, my lord,” Spencer said jovially. “The solarium is not so far along, but they have begun to reset the tile in the mosaic. Quite lovely, that mosaic.”
“I should
love
to see the mosaic, Mr. Burr,” Piety said pointedly. She turned away.
Trevor grabbed her by the arm. “Piety?”
She stared at his hand on her arm and then back at him.
“I have to go out,” he said.
“Out?” This was a surprise, indeed. As far as she knew, Trevor had never caroused the streets of London at night.