Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (28 page)

With a quick prayer for Lord Lexford’s continued health, Mercy explored the base of the hill. She easily found where the viscount had made his ascent. Deep heel prints announced where Lord Lexford had stood. It would be natural to assume whoever His Lordship chased had used the same path. It was the easiest means to the top. But no footprints, other than Lord Lexford’s, showed in the damp earth.

Mercy braced her hand against the sharp rocks. She surveyed the path several times. “If the woman His Lordship chased did not climb the path to the top before him,” Mercy reasoned, “how did the lady reach the top and when did she arrive? Obviously, Lord Lexford did not push himself into the water.”

Mercy walked the outline of the small hill, checking for another means to the top, but only the one path provided a foothold for a weary traveler or a devious culprit. “Where?” she said over and over. Mercy had reasoned that if the woman had not led the way to the ledge, Lord Lexford’s attacker had hidden away and waited for the opportunity to strike.

“Where?” Mercy continued to think aloud. Her fingers traced the rough sandstone. When she reached the steady plop, plop, plop of the water moving through the cracks in the rocks, Mercy ducked behind the thin stream. Then she saw it: a rough zigzag opening in the rock’s surface. An opening large enough for a person to enter or exit the area if bent over. Mercy considered her alternatives: She could seek out Mr. Hill’s assistance or she could explore the area privately. What if the opening held answers to questions His Lordship had not thought to ask? There was really only one choice: she must protect Lord Lexford.

Ducking through the small opening, Mercy was surprised to find a lantern and flint on the ground and protected from the splash back of the water by a large boulder. Balancing the lantern on a flat surface, she struck the flint three times before a spark caught the piece of a twig she had found inside the opening. Using the twig, Mercy quickly lit the candle’s wick. She thought it odd the candle was not a cheap rush candle or tallow, but rather one made from wax. That fact meant whoever had placed the candle within had been a member of the gentry. The poor could not afford such candles.

Lifting the lantern higher, Mercy examined what appeared to be a cave in the hillside. “Who would have thought?” she said in awe. “Surely, Lord Lexford is aware of this place, but if so, how is it the viscount has not thought of the possibility previously?”

Curious, Mercy explored the open space. It was not large, but not so small as to feel cramped. The lantern’s light drifted upward where a gentle slope appeared to go straight to the summit. “The ghost’s path?” she questioned. Mercy would explore the possibility before she exited the cave.

On the left there was a narrow opening through which a person turned sideways could fit. Permitting the lantern to lead the way, Mercy squeezed through the opening to emerge into a long tunnel. “A person familiar with this passage could easily hide from someone who searched for him,” she thought aloud. “Even if that someone recognized the smaller opening to the cave.”

Mercy hesitated before venturing farther. She held no idea whether the tunnel might lead deeper into the side of the hill or whether it dipped into the earth. “Do I venture forth?” she asked the blackness, which lay ahead.

“I would not if I were you.” A dark-faced man stepped from behind a large boulder to block her way. At first, her foolish mind thought him the ghost of a copper miner, covered in mine dust. She had seen sketches of such apparitions in one of the few books remaining in Geoffrey’s library. The man had trapped her. She was too far from the narrow opening to run for safety. The shadows hid the man’s features, but Mercy did not underestimate him. He was tall and lean, but muscular, like the Black Dog of legend fame. “Put the lantern down on the rock beside you,” he said with a gesture of the gun he held. The man’s accent rolled with a heat over the hard English vowels. Mercy had heard his accent before. This man was one of her brother’s associates. Geoffrey had found her. She swallowed the groan of defeat filling her lungs.

“What are…what are you doing here?” she asked. Mercy had to know what Geoffrey meant to do with her.

The man chuckled. “I thought to call on my old friend Lord Lexford,” the man said baldly. “I always use this secret way when I make my social calls.” Did the man mean to make light of the power he held over her? He remained hidden by the semi-darkness as if he wished to keep his identity secret. Mercy wondered if he could see her better than she could him. Thinking thus, she edged away from the light. “Did the viscount send you to find me?” the man taunted.

Mercy nearly blurted out the fact His Lordship was elsewhere, but she kept her tongue in check. “Actually, it was Mr. Hill’s idea for me to explore the opening. He would not fit easily into the space.”

“I have never liked the man,” the stranger admitted with a touch of disdain. Mercy searched her memory for the man’s name. She had seen him but twice in her brother’s company. However, obviously, the man was memorable, especially when compared to the other riff-raff with whom her brother associated. His skin tone spoke of a man long from his home. Back in Lancashire, her first impression of her captor was “dangerous.” That feeling had not dissipated. “Is Mr. Hill waiting for you?” the stranger asked curiously.

“By the stream,” Mercy lied.

“I am sorry to hear it.” The man’s eyes traced lines up and down her body. It took all of Mercy’s willpower not to cover herself with her hands. “I thought we might learn something of each other,” he said seductively.

Mercy bit back her fear. “There is no time for niceties,” she said as bravely as she could. “I should be going.” She edged backward toward the narrow opening. If she could maneuver through before the man reacted, Mercy might be able to outrun the stranger.

“Your name, my pretty?” the man demanded.

Mercy slid her left foot closer to the opening. “Mary,” she said evenly. Mercy watched her captor closely, trying to anticipate his movements.

The man’s tone said he scowled. “Mary. Mary is something a man does. It is a perfectly plain English name, but it is not a proper name for such a beautiful woman. You require a name as distinctive as your countenance. You should be Anahita or Zam-Armtay. A name which distinguishes you among women.”

“Yet, Mary is my name,” she said a bit testily.

The man narrowed the distance between them, and Mercy’s fear rose quickly to close her throat. She swallowed hard. “We have a bit of a problem,” her captor’s tone changed from teasing to warning. “I do not wish to be the bearer of ill news, but I cannot permit you to return to Lord Lexford’s house to raise the alarm.”

Mercy’s heart slammed to a halt. Through trembling lips, she asked, “You mean to return me to my brother?”

The man’s countenance screwed up in confusion. He caught Mercy’s arm and dragged her toward the light. Mercy pulled hard in the opposite direction, but the stranger was too strong for her. Her leather boots slid easily over the damp smooth floor. “Who are you?” he demanded; his hand clamped her wrist tighter as he caught up the lantern in his other hand. He lifted it to look upon her countenance, and Mercy prepared herself for the worse.

When the light flooded her features, Mercy braced herself for the moment of recognition. She had erred: The man had not come for her. Instead, he was Lord Lexford’s enemy. Her mind searched for the memory of his name. “Talpur.” The stranger’s identity slipped across her tongue.

However, her recognition only deepened the man’s scowl. “Talpur died in the cellar of the Duke of Thornhill’s Cornish home. How do you know my countryman’s name?”

Mercy set her mouth in a tight line. She would say nothing more. She stubbornly stiffened and pulled in opposition, but it was in futility. The man was as strong as she had anticipated.

He jerked hard to pull her beside him. “Let me look upon your countenance.” He set the lantern on a flat shelf in the stone face. Then he grabbed Mercy’s chin to lift it where he might examine her features. “I have looked upon this countenance before, but from afar.” The man’s thumb rubbed roughly over Mercy’s lips. “Your brother believes you dead or employed in a brothel,” he declared baldly. Instantly, tears pricked at her lashes. It broke Mercy’s heart to know Geoffrey had made no effort to find her. She expected as much, but having the truth of her brother’s lack of responsibility to his family hurt more than she could ever speak. “I wonder what the knowledge of your hiding in Cheshire is worth?” Mercy wanted to beg the man not to betray her, but she remained silent. She would not give her captor the pleasure of hearing her pleas. “I imagine Sir Lesley would be most generous, but then perhaps not so much. I cannot think the baronet would desire Lord Lexford’s leavings.”

Mercy rose to the viscount’s defense. “His Lordship has treated me with nothing but respect.” Despite her earlier vow to keep her own counsel, Mercy turned her head to the left. “What do you plan to do with me?”

The man caught her roughly about the neck and returned Mercy’s chin to its former position. “I could make you my leavings instead,” he said sinisterly.

Mercy’s fear roared to life again. There would be no one to save her; if she were to survive this encounter, it would be of her own design. “I was on the road for six weeks. Perhaps I have no honor to steal.” She infused as much bitterness into her words as she could.

“Unlike your fine English gentlemen, men of my country care not for such trivialities,” her captor insisted.

“Fah!” Mercy declared. “There are few men on this earth who would treat a woman thusly. The male pride is too ingrained to allow a woman forgiveness.”

The man barked out a laugh. “You are wise beyond your years.” He frowned deeply. “Talpur once took such liberties with the woman I had hoped to make my wife. I am pleased the one known as James Kerrington took the bastard’s life.”

It was Mercy’s turn to frown. “Yet, you freely use your countryman’s name.”

Her capture
r smiled deprecatingly. “As you cannot be Mary, I would never be able to call myself Benjamin or Martin. My countenance would betray my foreign beginnings.” He said wryly, “I suppose I could have chosen
Shahryār. Thornhill’s duchess likened herself to Scheherazade.”

The man’s true name arrived on a note of clarity. “Then you are the one known as Jamot?” she accused.

“And you are Miss Nelson?” he countered.

From outside the enclosure another called her name. “Miss Purefoy!” Mercy stiffened. It was Mr. Hil
l.

The man said, “You spoke the truth. Mr. Hill awaited you.”

Mercy shifted her shoulders to a defiant slant. “You cannot take me with you for Mr. Hill will follow. Your only opportunity for escape is to permit me to return to His Lordship’s home.”

“Miss Purefoy!” The sound was closer.

The man glanced anxiously toward the opening. “I could lie in wait and kill Lord Lexford’s man.”

“How do you know Mr. Hill is alone? Two grooms accompanied him earlier,” Mercy challenged. A bond of dread had knotted her stomach.

The sound of someone moving overhead reverberated in the enclosure. As Mercy suspected, anyone in the cave would know the movement of someone above. The man tightened his hold about her neck. “If I release you,” he bargained hastily, “will you keep my secret? How will I know you will not betray me the moment you step outside this tunnel?”

“I do not wish to return to Lancashire,” Mercy admitted. “I shall keep your secret if you do not tell my brother or Sir Lesley of my whereabouts,” she bargained.

“Miss Purefoy!” Mr. Hill’s voice called more urgently.

Her captor’s expression took on a dark warning. “If you betray me, I will find you and kill you.” Mercy thought she would rather die than to return to her brother’s care.

“You must trust me,” Mercy encouraged. “We must each walk away and never look back.”

The man smiled as he loosened his hold. “As if we were once lovers.”

Mercy swallowed hard and resisted the urge to rub the burning sensation upon the side of her neck. “When I am through the opening, douse the lantern.” Boldly, she stepped away from him. Setting her feet in action, she walked briskly away. Without turning her head, Mercy squeezed through the opening to reenter the cave. She peered into the muted daylight. Mr. Hill was nowhere in sight, and so she slipped through the space. Mercy would like to look back, to assure herself the man did not follow–did not have his gun pointed at her back. Instead, she clung to the wall so Mr. Hill would not see her until she was in the open. Finally moving past the falling water, Mercy stepped into the winter sunlight. “Mr. Hill. Down here!” She pulled her cloak closer to hide her struggle with the stranger, half afraid of what Mr. Hill would do if he discovered the Baloch on Lexford property.

Hill’s expression twisted as he peered over the edge of the rock shelf. “I have looked everywhere for you. You should never have sent your maid back.”

Mercy glanced anxiously toward the cave. She thought she could see the man watching her. With a lift of her chin, she called to Mr. Hill. “Come down, Sir. I could use a strong arm on which to lean. I have need of your strength, Mr. Hill. I am most anxious to return to the safety of Lexington Arms.”

He had stayed at Chesterfield Manor for three days, but Aidan’s heart had remained tied to his home in the adjoining shire. He missed the tinkling laughter Miss Purefoy used to pepper her speech, and Aidan longed for a hug from his nephew. He would readily admit to indifference to the boy in the beginning, but now he was quite smitten with both the child and the lady. Wellston and Lady Yardley’s love had filled the baron’s household, and although Aidan held few hopes for the intimacies his friend had found with Miss Cashémere, he had finally possessed the resemblance of a family, and he was anxious to return to his estate.

He and Wellston had spent exhaustive hours bringing Baron Ashton up to snuff on the activities of those involved in the opium ring. They had also assisted the baron in identifying agents to include in his set of contacts. Aidan had lost some of the details of his earlier participation in the investigation, but the other Realm members had summarized what he had reported to Pennington. Like so much of the prior years, he could not lay claim to specifics; therefore, Aidan spent his time with Ashton by bringing the baron up to strength on changes in Realm procedures since the time Ashton had served his country.

Now, as Aidan turned Valí into Lexington Arms’ main gate, he looked up in anticipation. It was the end of February. Soon, his tenants would be in the fields, and spring would bring new life to the land. For the first time since his youth, Aidan meant to spend time working beside his people. Perhaps then, he could erase any memory of his father’s reign as viscount. Although Arlen Kimbolt had served the estate well as a financial steward, Aidan knew his father’s obsession with securing the Kimbolt line had draped the title in rumors and innuendos. Andrew’s duel. Susan’s early widowhood. His speedy courtship of his brother’s wife. All had been a result of his father’s manipulations. It was time for Aidan to rule his estate as he chose, not as Arlen Kimbolt would have it done.

“You have made judicious changes within the house,” he told himself. “For once since waking with a black void in my memory, I have begun to think my lack of recall a blessing. I have fewer restrictions on my conscience.” The thought brought an ironic chuckle to his lips. Reining in Valí before the main entrance, Aidan was barely from the saddle before the door opened to reveal Miss Purefoy with Aaron in her arms. It was a scene of pure bliss, and Aidan could not hide his smile of approval.

“Wunkle Waden!” the boy called and squirmed to be free of the lady’s embrace. Finally, Miss Purefoy placed the boy on his feet, and the child scrambled to reach him. Aidan scooped the boy up and tossed him gently in the air; delightful squeals followed.

Aidan caught the child close to him and held Aaron tightly. “Have you minded Miss Hanson in my absence?” The child nodded readily, and Aidan’s smile grew wider. “I am very proud of you, Lad.” He ruffled the child’s hair.

“Welcome home, my Lord,” Miss Purefoy said sweetly. “You were sorely missed, Lord Lexford,” she whispered as she slid her hands about Aidan’s proffered arm. Instinctively, Aidan flexed his muscle so the lady might know something of his strength.

“I am pleased to return to Lexington Arms’ warmth,” he said for the benefit of the staff lingering nearby. When he had departed less than a week prior, Aidan had not been satisfied with the lady’s explanation for the kiss they had shared. Now, Miss Purefoy’s genuine expression of happiness at seeing him brought him a feeling of giddiness. No one but his mother had ever shown such joy with his appearance. In that moment, he wished his staff to oblivion so he might catch the woman to him and bury himself in Miss Purefoy’s sweetness. Somehow, he thought the woman might actually welcome him.

He handed the boy to one of the footmen. “After your nap, I will show you the new pony,” he told Aaron.

“Pomise?” the boy said with excitement.

“Only if you take a proper nap. I will ask Miss Hanson for a report,” he warned as sternly as his good humor would allow. “Now, off with you.” For a second time, he fluffed the boy’s hair. Only a few short weeks prior, the child’s resemblance to Andrew would have pricked Aidan’s pride. But with the boy’s return to Lexington Arms, all he saw was Aaron, not his brother’s betrayal. Aidan knew those changes were a direct result of Miss Purefoy’s presence under his roof.

“I should leave you to your business,” the lady said softly from beside him.

Aidan caught her hand. “I insist you join me for tea,” he said to deflect any criticism of her earlier boldness. “I have spent my time with Lord and Lady Yardley, the barons Swenton and Ashton, and Sir Carter Lowery. We should add Baron Ashton to the guest list for my house party.” Aidan was certain he had never seen a more enchanting sight as the flush of color kissing her cheeks.

She dropped her eyes before saying, “As you wish, my Lord.”

Aidan did not like the lady in a subservient pose; he preferred Miss Purefoy with a spark of devilment in her eyes. “Exactly. And I wish your company.” He tightened his grip upon her hand and tugged the woman along behind him toward the yellow drawing room. Once inside, Aidan closed the door behind him before turning to her. Lifting Miss Purefoy’s chin, he spoke earnestly. “You must never again act the role of my underling. Not before my staff. Never before my neighbors or friends. Until I choose to take a wife, you are the mistress of this house.” Miss Purefoy’s eyes searched his countenance. “Do you understand my wishes?”

The lady nodded weakly. Aidan would have preferred a more definitive response, but he would not insist too strongly. If she were to claim Lexington Arms as her home, it must be on Miss Purefoy’s own terms. Aidan’s thumb stroked her cheek. He thought to kiss her again–to know her warmth, but he knew the folly of acting upon impulse. A letter from Pennington had found him in Manchester. It was a simple message: Realm agents had discovered a Mary Purefoy working as a maid in an inn in Derbyshire, a place near where Lucifer had reportedly come across “Miss Purefoy.” When Aidan had first read the carefully worded note, he had felt the instant emptiness of loss. If Pennington’s words were accurate, and Aidan held no doubt they were, Miss Purefoy had lied to him.

At first, he was angry. Angry at the charade, but he knew this woman, perhaps better than he had known any female in his life. Miss Purefoy had lied to become a member of his household. The question to her motives remained unanswered. In the meantime, she had offered him honest work to repay his kindness.

On the day of the letter, he had vowed to discover the truth of her ruse, as well as what had driven Miss Purefoy from her home. In addition, he meant to uncover how the lady had persuaded Mr. Hill to join in her deceit. The deciding factor regarding the woman had been the realization that if Miss Purefoy was not his sister, then the feelings, which had kept his emotions a kilter since the day she had walked into his life, were not taboo, after all. That particular knowledge had sped Aidan’s journey home. He meant to see whether the lady felt the same or whether her few flirtations were part of an act. He would confide his suspicions to no one, not even Lucifer Hill.

He tilted her chin up for a closer inspection. His fingers trailed a line down her neck. “As long as we understand each other, Mary, we will write our own rules.”

*

Mercy had not known what to expect with Lord Lexford’s return, and the viscount had certainly surprised her. She had fretted all evening and most of the night regarding her encounter with a man she knew to be an enemy to Lord Lexford and his associates. That fact ate away at her conscience. To think she protected a man, who given the opportunity would easily take His Lordship’s life, increased her anxiety. How could she live with herself if her silence brought disaster to Lord Lexford’s door?

“What am I to do?” She stared out the window at the rolling lawns, still brown from winter’s touch, but with blades of green peppering the groomed areas with the promise of spring. Her finger traced a figure of a man and a woman in the moist mist covering the pane. In her mind, she imagined the happy couple caught in a waltz, like the caricatures she had once seen on a flyer for a grand assembly hall she had held no hope of attending. “Set the work to order,” Mercy said with a catch in her voice. “Set the work and then leave. Your presence in this house places Lord Lexford in danger.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as the moist droplets ruined the crude picture she had created. “Set the work to right; gather your belongings, and leave behind the only man you will ever love.”

*

“What say we go into the village later?” His Lordship asked as he seated her at his breakfast table. She had missed this simple act during his time in Manchester. “I must speak to my solicitor regarding funds for Aaron’s education and care. Mr. Taylor has contracted with others to draw up the proper papers. I thought you might wish to call in at Mr. Chadwick’s to choose more samples. We might have tea at the inn if you have a care.”

Yesterday, Mercy had had a good cry. Today, she planned to enjoy every moment remaining of her time at Lexington Arms. “That would be most delightful, my Lord. Perhaps before we go, I might show you the completed work and discuss what I have planned for the other suites. I wish your approval for the renovations.”

“I am certain whatever you have chosen is tastefully done, but I would enjoy a tour of the rooms. Let us have our breakfast and then plan our day.”

*

Aidan could not recall a more pleasant time. Although Miss Purefoy had refused his offer of placing a desk for her in his study, he had managed to convince the lady to spread her samples upon a table near the large windows in the room. As he assisted her in bringing the samples from her small sitting room to his private study, all Aidan could think upon was Wellston’s description of Lady Yardley. He wondered if Miss Purefoy possessed any mannerisms, which would entrance him in the same means as Wellston had described.

Now, he followed her into the rose toned guest rooms. “My Goodness!” he exclaimed. “I cannot envision this space being the same chambers as before.”

“Have I displeased you, my Lord?” Miss Purefoy asked tentatively.

Aidan caught her hand and brought the back of it to his lips. Brushing a kiss across the lady’s knuckles, he said, “On the contrary, I find it as exquisite as I do you.” Aidan purposely lingered before releasing her hand, and she rewarded him with a quick intake of air. It was very satisfying to know what he had suspected about their connection had proved true.

Something deep flashed in her eyes, but her tone spoke of censure. “You should not speak thusly, my Lord.” The color rose to her cheeks.

Aidan lifted her chin with his fingertips. “I speak the truth.” He traced a line from her chin to the base of Miss Purefoy’s neck.

She asked through trembling lips, “What brought on these changes, my Lord?”

“No changes,” Aidan insisted. He closely surveyed her delicate features. “I simply spent the past several days observing my best friend and the woman I had once thought to claim as my own, working at making a life together. I have returned to Lexington Arms with a renewal of my resolve to do the same.”

Miss Purefoy said uncertainly, “Yet you have no wife.” Again, the lady blushed, and Aidan understood to where her thoughts had traveled. Her words made him bolder. He peered deeply into her wide, chocolate colored eyes.

Aidan smiled easily. “I have no wife. `Tis true. But I have family. You and Aaron. You have said so yourself. I can grab a bit of happiness, can I not?” He paused for emphasis. “You mean to remain by my side, do you not? Tell me you hold no plans to leave Lexington Arms.”

The fact Miss Purefoy hesitated worked negatively upon Aidan’s confidence. “We have known since my arrival, I would one day take my leave of your kindness.” Again, the lady’s lips trembled.

“Why?” Aidan asked honestly. “Why must you leave me?”

“Because one day you will choose a wife. You said as much only moments ago. You shall know the tenderness of a wife and the joy of a family.” Her gaze met his. “Please promise me when you welcome your own children, you will not neglect Aaron. The young master holds a great capacity for love.”

Aidan studied the lady’s sincerity. He could not understand the contrasts. From Pennington’s message, Aidan held no doubt Miss Purefoy practiced some form of deceit, but when she spoke of his nephew, Aidan knew the lady spoke without artifice. “Of course Aaron will feel my affection. Until I produce an heir, my nephew is my second; and even after I have a son, Aaron remains in the line of inheritance. Today, I mean legally to remove all claims the Rhodeses may have to the boy, as well as to dictate funds for Aaron’s care if something would happen to me.” He led her farther into the room. “Do you not wish to know the joy of family also?”

Miss Purefoy looked off, but tears teased her eyes. Her lips twisted with what appeared to be long-suppressed emotions. “Every woman wishes for a husband and children. In our society, family defines a woman’s worth; yet, I am likely to spin my years in isolation. I hold no hope of knowing a husband.”

Her words bothered Aidan more than he would admit. He could not imagine her as a spinster. He desired the woman, but Aidan was not prepared to make her a marriage offer. A twinge of guilt shot through him. Perhaps he should rethink a possible seduction. If the lady could not trust him enough to confide in him, especially after all this time and all they had seen together, Aidan would never know peace. Susan had led him to believe she would wait for him to earn his fortune; instead, she had accepted Andrew’s overtures. And the Aldridge twins had schemed against him, as well. Aidan would not have another woman who manipulated the truth. The corundum remained. What should he do with the fictional Mary Purefoy? “Explain your vision for this room,” he said to redirect the conversation.