Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (25 page)

Aidan’s feet felt as heavy as boulders, but he managed to shuffle his way toward the open door. However, when he reached the first step, his body balked at the necessity of climbing the stairs. With a sigh of defeat, he said, “I cannot…mount…the steps.” He leaned heavily against the door. The back of his head rested against the wood, and Aidan held his body in place by grasping the side of the door.

“Oh, my poor Aidan,” Miss Purefoy said as she braced him with her body. Having her so close brought his senses to alert, and the sound of his name upon the lady’s lips brought Aidan a different type of warmth. “You must know care, my Lord. You are too precious to us.” Miss Purefoy caressed his cheek, and Aidan turned his head to rest it in the lady’s palm. It had been many months since his head had known such confusing thoughts, but this time he did not fear the unknown. When the lady rose on tiptoes to offer him her mouth, the thought of the cold, which had held him captive for the last hour, dissipated immediately. “My Aidan,” Miss Purefoy whispered. Her breath warmed his cheek before her lips pressed against his.

At that moment, he was her Aidan. The heat returned to Aidan’s lungs, and he instinctively reached for her. She was the most remarkable woman he had ever encountered, and his arms held her tightly in his embrace. Aidan’s once chilled fingers pressed Miss Purefoy closer while his tongue swept the seam of her lips. Although tentative, her kiss was as sweet as honey from the comb. The lady’s mouth opened enough for Aidan to slide his tongue inside; Miss Purefoy gasped, but she clung to him, permitting Aidan to taste her completely. He wished for her surrender–finally to acknowledge his desire for her.
God!
He had forgotten how sensual a kiss could be! He had certainly not kissed Cashémere Aldridge as such, and if he had held Miss Satiné in a tight embrace, Aidan possessed no recollection of the moment. And sadly, Susan had never permitted him such liberties.

The lady teetered on the brink, and Aidan’s heart rejoiced. He purposely did not push her response. If she came to him, it would be Miss Purefoy’s choice. He would not take advantage of an innocent. Instinctively, he felt the give of her body.

He thought he could continue kissing the lady forever–to feast on her until his hunger was sated, but the sound of a distant shuffling of feet brought Aidan to his senses. He quickly set Miss Purefoy from him at the same instant Mrs. Osborne entered the kitchen.

“My Lord?” The cook shot him a suspicious look. “Is something amiss?”

Aidan swallowed deeply to push away his desire. “I had…had a riding…accident. Miss Purefoy and…Mr. Hill…are assisting me to my…to my chambers.” He spoke to the cook, but his gaze remained on Miss Purefoy. Even in the dull light from the fireplace, he could see her lips swollen from his kiss. To his delight, the lady was having as much difficulty as he in recovering.

Mrs. Osborne said doubtfully, “Where be Mr. Hill?”

“Here, Ma’am.” Hill stepped into the room carrying the brandy decanter. “I thought His Lordship might require something to warm his bones. Lord Lexford’s horse spooked and provided His Lordship with an unscheduled dip into the river.” Aidan suspected Lucifer had observed Aidan’s embrace of Miss Purefoy. At a minimum, Mr. Hill had overheard Aidan’s explanation of a riding mishap for Hill added details Aidan had not disclosed.

The cook’s gaze softened. “You’ll catch yer death, my Lord,” she said as she rushed to set a second kettle upon the fire. “I’ll have the tub for a hot bath brought up shortly. Kant be having ye takin’ ill.”

Aidan could easily read the lady’s thoughts. Mrs. Osborne feared consumption might take him also, but she had erred. The kiss he had just shared with Miss Purefoy meant he had something for which to live, and live he meant to do. “Perhaps Miss Purefoy could retrieve clean clothing from my quarters,” he suggested. He must maneuver Miss Purefoy away from the cook’s observations. They must speak on what had transpired between them, but it would have to wait for the moment. “Mr. Hill is capable of assisting me here in the kitchen. God only knows we encountered worst conditions during our war years.” Everyone always gave sway when he spoke of his service, and Aidan would use that particular fact to his advantage. “I see no reason to have the tub carried above stairs at this hour. That is if you hold no objections to my converting your kitchen into my dressing room.”

The lady fussed with the fire. “This be yer house, my Lord. Ye be free to do what ye think best.”

Aidan stepped past Miss Purefoy to block her from the cook’s view. He slid his hand around hers. Desire shot up his arm, but he made himself gently squeeze her fingers in encouragement. “I am pleased you agree, Mrs. Osborne,” he said evenly. “Claiming Lexington Arms as distinctly my own is exactly what I intend to do.”

She had kissed him. Unconsciously, she touched her fingers to where the warmth still remained on her lips. “Like a common tart!” Mercy moaned as she climbed the last of the stairs leading to His Lordship’s chambers. Lord Lexford had protected her by sending her for his clothing. If she had turned to face Mrs. Osborne, the cook would have easily observed the look of bewilderment upon Mercy’s countenance and the swelling of her lips from the pressure of the viscount’s kiss.

“Why?” she groaned softly as she tapped upon Mr. Poley’s door. Hearing the bolt released, Mercy straightened her shoulders to meet Mr. Poley’s usual disdain. She would never allow Lord Lexford to know the condemnation she encountered daily from certain members of His Lordship’s staff. She would not dwell long with Aidan Kimbolt, and there was no reason to set him against his servants purely for her to avoid a few moments of discomfort. She was the outsider, not they. Mercy would send the valet to retrieve the viscount’s clothing. She certainly could not enter Lord Lexford’s quarters without bringing more censure upon her head. Besides, viewing His Lordship’s bed and rifling through his clothing would engender thoughts no lady should possess.

The valet’s door cracked but a few inches. The man held a candle aloft. “Yes, Miss?” he said flatly.

“Your master has had a riding accident.” Mercy doubted the pretext the viscount had given was the truth. She had personally witnessed the expertise, with which Lord Lexford rode, and she knew his horse’s temperament; however, the staff would accept whatever excuse Lord Lexford offered. “He was thrown into the water and requires dry clothing.”

Mr. Poley opened the door wider. He shot a quick glance across the hall toward his master’s room. “Is His Lordship waiting elsewhere? Why have you been sent as Lord Lexford’s courier? It is well past a lady’s bedtime.”

Mercy normally would have simply answered the man’s question and been on her way, but the valet’s impertinence enflamed the anxiety coursing through her. “It is not of my station to explain myself to yours,” she said aristocratically. “Be about your duties. Lord Lexford awaits your services in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” the man call after her, but Mercy’s nerves had had all the turmoil she could handle for one day. She walked briskly away. She meant to find her bed and bury her head under a stack of pillows. “Stupid. Stupid girl,” she chastised herself as she entered the dark quarters. Despite how easily Lord Lexford had wormed his way into her heart, Mercy realized she did not deserve the viscount. A woman who spoke untruths could never own such happiness. She took a moment to stoke the fire before undressing. Mercy performed her nightly ritual without thinking on it. “You have played the fool,” she told her reflection as she set before the mirror to brush her hair. Her misery only fortified the idea she must leave soon. “All you have done this night is to speed your date of departure. You may no longer linger until the date of His Lordship’s house party. Lord Lexford is, obviously, too great a temptation.”

*

“The person who attacked me was a living, breathing woman,” he told Lucifer. The appearance of his valet had not pleased Aidan, but he had accepted the man’s assistance with as much grace as he could muster. In reality, Miss Purefoy had done the practical thing by sending Mr. Poley rather than to return to the kitchen, but that particular fact did not quench Aidan’s desire to hold her again.

Lucifer sipped his brandy. “Then your
ghost
cannot be Lady Lexford.”

“No.” Aidan paused. “I am not certain whether the idea pleases me or not. I am grateful my mind is not conjuring up specters to punish my guilt, but I do not look upon the situation with comfort. Someone has attempted to kidnap Aaron, to kill Miss Purefoy, and to drown me. All this chaos started with my return to Lexington Arms.”

Hill closed his eyes as if searching for the correct words. “Have you considered the possibility of the person behind this design as being Jamot? I certainly would not put it past that crazy Baloch to devise some scheme to find Shaheed Mir’s infamous emerald. I do not imagine Mir will welcome Jamot home until the Baloch completes his mission.”

For an elongated moment, silence greeted the question while Aidan considered Hill’s conjecture. “Last I heard, Jamot was in Liverpool. Likely, with the number of ships coming and going from the port, he can hide more easily there than in other parts of England.”

“Liverpool is not so far,” Hill reasoned. “While you were in Cheshire someone broke in the manor. Rummaging through drawers and such. I believe the culprit to be Murhad Jamot.”

Aidan frowned. “Why did you not inform me of this development previously?”

Hill shrugged. “I was not aware of the incident until I returned from Scotland. By then, you were recovering from your attack. Only thought of it again recently, after the attempt to steal the boy. I started asking question of those below stairs. Two of the grooms reported seeing a dark-skinned man running from the house. They gave chase through the woods, but did not catch the intruder.”

“You think Jamot meant to trade Aaron for the emerald?”

Hill sat his glass on a side table. “It would not be the first time the Baloch has used kidnapping to learn more of the missing emerald. Miss Sonali. Miss Aldridge. Hell, at first, Lord Worthing considered Miss Satiné’s abduction Jamot’s doing. That is until Miss Cashémere recognized Charters’ family name as to the coach’s letting.”

Aidan voiced other scenarios in which Murhad Jamot had been involved. “The Baloch meant to intimidate Thornhill by wounding Lady Eleanor in Hyde Park, and he arranged that elaborate trap for Miss Cashémere and Miss Satiné in the glass cone.” Aidan’s fingers tapped out a staccato upon the chair arm. “Could Jamot have hired a woman to impersonate my wife?”

Hill thought on the possibility. “Jamot is a cagey opponent, my Lord. He has shown himself intelligent enough to learn the intimate details of each of the Realm members’ lives. To exploit any weaknesses. As masters of grand estates, you and your associates are fodder for the local gossips. Servants and villagers alike speak freely of what they know of your lives. It was the means by which Jamot knew of Miss Aldridge’s returning to Lord Averette’s Scottish home and how, when he sought a place to hide Miss Sonali, Rahmat Talpur knew of Thornhill’s Cornish home. Mir schools his agents well in discovering vulnerable points.”

Aidan reasoned, “I require more information on Jamot’s most recent appearance in Liverpool.”

“Is not Sir Carter still in the port city, seeing to the dismantling of the Chinese ship?”

Aidan stood. “I will be away from the house for several days. Reportedly, Pennington has rushed to the Dowager Duchess of Granville’s side and has left Sir Carter in charge. The baronet and Swenton have taken over the case.”

“What of Lord Godown?”

“The marquis searches for his wife. Lady Godown saved the marquis’s three aunts, but then disappeared into the night. Lord Godown has belatedly discovered his wife’s honesty; however, he was too late to salvage his marriage.”

Hill said earnestly, “I am sorry to hear it. The marquis has known enough sorrow. I pray for an early resolution to his troubles.”

“I pray for the same for each of us.”

*

Mercy heard the door open and close, but she did not open her eyes. Likely, Lord Lexford had sent her maid Millie to check on Mercy, especially after Mercy had not returned to the kitchen last evening. If she kept her eyes closed, the girl would think her asleep and leave. As if Mercy could sleep with thoughts of dashing viscounts dancing through her mind.

Someone leaned over her, and so Mercy concentrated on keeping her breathing even and her eyes tightly closed. “You are so beautiful,” a decidedly masculine voice whispered, and Mercy’s heart lurched to a halt. How could she breath when the man who regularly stole the air from her lungs lingered above her? His warm hand stroked Mercy’s shoulder before giving it a gentle shake. “Mary,” he coaxed. “Mary, wake up.”

Mercy reluctantly opened her eyes. It was her recurring dream: She would awake to find Lord Lexford only inches from her. The viscount’s eyes would relay his desire, and he would kiss her most thoroughly before declaring his love. She often gave her imagination free will, and just for a moment, considered her dream real. Mercy gave herself a mental shake, but the image of the man remained before her, and, yes, desire was evident in his expression. “Is something amiss, my Lord?” She attempted to make her voice sound groggy from sleep.

He caressed her cheek and slid a lock of hair behind her ear. Mercy resisted the urge to turn her cheek into his large palm. “No, my Dear,” he said gently. “I have decided to travel to Liverpool at first light, and I did not want you to think I purposely avoided you after…”

Mercy swallowed hard. “After what happened in the kitchen?” she asked through trembling lips. It had not occurred to her earlier: Perhaps His Lordship would send her away. Her forwardness was a deplorable habit. Mercy had always thought she would name the day of her departure, but the viscount could find her impertinent and decide to rid himself of her company.

Lord Lexford’s lips twitched in what appeared to be amusement, and Mercy’s misery deepened. “Yes,” he said with what sounded of a tease. “Yes, what happened between us below stairs.”

“I apologize,” Mercy rushed to say. Above all else, she must save face. She must prove herself indifferent so she might remain with Lord Lexford. “I had worried over your return, and in my joy, I…I acted…acted foolishly.”

His Lordship scowled fiercely. “Then you did not mean to kiss me?”

Mercy shook her head in the negative. “No more so than you after my riding accident,” she declared falsely. Mercy shoved herself higher in the bed. “We have become great friends, you and I. So you see. I only meant to comfort you. To warm you. To express my gratitude for your kindness.”

Lord Lexford straightened. “I see.” He gave a sharp nod, but he did not look too pleased by the news. He jammed his fingers into his hair. “Then it is I who should apologize. I have drawn you from your sleep for no reason.” The regret in his voice touched her heart.

Mercy schooled her expression. “I would always wish to know of your whereabouts, my Lord. I thank you for your consideration. If I had gone down to breakfast only to find you gone, my earlier anxiety would have returned.” She took a slow, steadying breath and attempted to smile.

“And what earlier anxiety would that have been?” the viscount suspiciously demanded.

Mercy forced her breathing to normal. “My initial anxiety regarding your late return from Squire Holton’s entertainment. Then witnessing your condition, and finally my self censure for the folly of my actions.” Mercy could not look upon His Lordship’s countenance. Since coming to Lexington Arms, she had become quite the practiced liar, and Mercy found she did not approve of the change.

The viscount widened the space between them. He said stiffly, “I will be away but a few days. A week at most. Mr. Hill will see to your needs in my absence.”

“I mean to begin the guest quarters for your house party,” she said lamely. Anguish filled her soul. Mercy felt more than the physical space between them increase. Her words had changed Lord Lexford’s ease with her. She supposed it the correct thing to do, but somehow the thought of distancing herself from the viscount brought tears to her eyes.

Lord Lexford offered the proper bow. “That would be delightful,” he said without emotion. “I will anticipate your efforts on my behalf. Now, if you will excuse me, I must seek my bed. It is not many hours before I intend to depart.”

Mercy wished to throw her arms about his neck to share a moment of intimate splendor, but she said, “Safe journey, my Lord. I shall keep you in my prayers.”

*

As expected, Lucifer had seen him off. “You should spend some time in your own pleasures,” Hill stated baldly.

Aidan shot a quick glance at the house. Although he could not see her windows, just knowing Miss Purefoy rested within played havoc with Aidan’s emotions. He had slept very little. At least, his lack of sleep had come from the remembrance of the kiss he had shared with the lady rather than the nightmare associated with Lexington Arms. He said defensively, “And you think burying myself in some nameless woman will resolve what ails me?”

Hill’s expression did not change when he pronounced, “There be only one thing, which will offer you salvation, my Lord; yet, perhaps a few hours of mindless pleasure will provide you the opportunity to clear your mind of what bothers you.”

Aidan could think of only one woman for whom his body called out; and so, he said, “I will consider your counsel, but of late, such trivial connections have lost their glory.”

Hill stepped away as Aidan mounted. “As you wish, my Lord.”

“Protect the lady and my nephew,” Aidan said needlessly. He knew, like him, Mr. Hill would lay out his life for Miss Purefoy and Aaron.

*

Many hours later, Aidan dismounted before The Golden Apple. He had taken his time, giving Valí ample rest. He could have changed horses at one of the inns, boarding Valí until his return journey, but Aidan preferred the stallion to all others in his stable. Since returning to England, he had made several shrewd purchases from Tattersall's: He hoped to build a line of championship horses for racing and breeding. He had learned much of thoroughbreds when he was in the East. It was another way in which he differed from his father and brother, who had held with the old ways. Strangely, over the years, Aidan had come to despise his lack of tradition–even to have kept his ideas secreted away so no one could criticize; yet, of late, he was more comfortable talking on his dream. Squire Holton and Mr. Verity had both commented on how much they would wish to view his stables in hopes of setting some of their mares to stud.