Obsession Wears Opals (17 page)

Honor dictated that she suffer in silence, and she’d tried to bear all of it, to find the path of behavior that would appease him and satisfy her duties.

How far did I slide down that dark, cold hole until I had no will of my own?

Until Samson intervened that day . . .

Isabel got up from the floor, leaving the manuscript pages on the carpet, and crossed over to the window to look out at the dark. Her reflection greeted her and Isabel studied the woman there for a moment.

Pale as always, with hair so blond it was nearly white, here was a familiar ghost. But this phantom’s eyes sparkled with defiance. This woman’s cheeks were fuller and touched with a faint swath of pink. Her dress was plain but pretty, and there was an air of self-possession to her.

It’s Darius’s Helen. I changed when I wasn’t looking.

She turned back to survey the room and a new revelation struck her with the force of truth.
I have my own will to enjoy, and even if the law would override it, it is something that Richard can never take away from me. Never again.

Isabel pressed a palm against her chest, amazed at the pulse of her own heart beating wildly. “I did nothing wrong. I am . . . entitled to my own will. And . . . I am free to love again if I choose.”

She eyed the books lining the walls.
It couldn’t all be pain and fear. Mrs. McFadden was right. Who speaks of such things? Who would write of them? Who would dedicate endless volumes in praise of anything as vile as Richard’s actions, and how in the world would you coordinate such a vast conspiracy to create an untruth?

So it must exist.

Mustn’t it?

The hour had grown late so she carried her dinner tray back to the empty kitchen and left it, praying Mrs. McFadden wouldn’t mind the trespass. She lit a candle and climbed the stairs, pleased to find that she might be tired enough to sleep.

In her room, she changed quickly and pulled the warm stone from the small hearth where the housekeeper had left it for her, wrapped it in linen, and tucked it into her bed. She was about to climb in when a light outside her window caught her eye.

Isabel moved cautiously to pull the curtains back only to see Mrs. McFadden crossing the yard with a lantern. The clock in the downstairs hall chimed midnight and Isabel marveled at the strange sight of the housekeeper entering the stables at such an unlikely hour. In shock, she watched as the light moved up the stairs and then illuminated Mr. MacQueen’s private apartment long enough to show a silhouette of the pair embracing passionately before the light was extinguished.

Darius said they were a match but—I thought he exaggerated or . . .

She suddenly couldn’t stop smiling.

For there it was.

Love and desire, as real as the rain and the earth.

As intoxicating as any wine. One kiss and she’d accepted it that there might be more in a man’s touch than pain. But fear had kept her from embracing a greater new truth—that love might also be within reach.

If ever she’d have consigned it to fairy tales and dreams, apparently even a sweet dragon like Mrs. McFadden knew better.

Common sense trumped Isabel’s past experience.

Mrs. McFadden said that she’d held heaven in her hands. And when Darius kissed me, I began to understand what she meant. What would it be like to have such a man and be his completely? To be protected instead of punished?

Every woman in her acquaintance spent nearly all their efforts in achieving marriage. What woman would seek out pain if that’s all there was to be had? If it were always as it had been with Richard, then no woman as strong as Mrs. McFadden would cross a dark, muddy yard to attain it.

Isabel stepped back from the window and climbed into the soft refuge of her bed, burying herself under the covers. It was not a convenient development or an easy admission to make to herself, acknowledging just how far she’d gone in her obsession.

But there it was.

She had fallen in love with Darius Thorne. Not as a victim, but as a free woman, and now she would have to decide what to do.

The pieces are all on the board and it will be up to me to either forfeit my chance or try to win the Black King’s heart and prove that I’m strong enough for the game.

Chapter

13

“You cannot leave! As your physician, I forbid it.” Rowan stepped in front of him, attempting to block Darius from the door. “You need two weeks in bed before you travel, Darius.”

“I
can
leave. Don’t be a bully, West. It doesn’t suit you.” Darius held out the folded pages he’d drafted. “Here.”

“What is that?” Rowan didn’t reach for it.

“All I’ve learned to date. I wanted to compile my thoughts and make sure that someone else had the record.”

Just in case you’re right, Rowan, and my lungs fold in on me.

“And,” he forced himself to slow down, unwilling to risk a demonstration of just how weak he was by running out of air, “as you said, the Jackal is off licking his wounds. There’s lots of time.”

“But . . . with everything that’s happened—surely your place is here!”

Darius shook his head. “No. I need to . . . take care of something in Scotland. I’ll return to London as soon as it’s feasible.”

“Your lungs are damaged, Darius. You’re at risk for pneumonia—you’re already on the edge of exhaustion, and two days of rest aren’t enough to allow you to recover for me to let you go.”

“I’ll sleep for a fortnight when I get back but I cannot stay here.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you. I need you to trust me, Rowan, and then advocate on my behalf to Ashe. He won’t understand and I don’t want to add to his worries. He has Caroline to fear for. He doesn’t need to add my concerns to the pile. None of you do.” Darius pulled on his coat. “At least, not yet.”

“We’re not going to abandon you, Darius. No matter what kind of trouble you’re in.”

Darius smiled. “I’m counting on the loyalty of my friends, Dr. West. I’ll call on the Jaded for help soon. I have no illusions of my self-reliance when it comes to—I’ll send word as soon as I can.”

Rowan crossed his arms. “I could physically haul you back to bed myself.”

“And then what? Sit on me? Post a guard?” Darius began to button his coat. “Rowan. Please. I wouldn’t insist on going if it weren’t . . . I have a promise to keep and I won’t be able to breathe, if you’ll pardon the metaphor, until I’ve seen to matters at home.”

Rowan gave him a searching look. “Matters at home.”

Darius squared his shoulders. “Matters. At. Home.”

Rowan’s stance slowly relaxed. “Well, when you put it
that
way . . .”

“I’ll take what precautions I can,
Dr.
West, and just for you, I will live to be a hundred.” Darius did his best not to smile at the audacious lie and failed.

“I’ll tell my wife you declared yourself immortal and see how that strikes her,” Rowan conceded reluctantly. “I hope you appreciate the sacrifice of domestic bliss I am making here.”

Darius gave him one nod before heading out the door.

He’d feared for his friends, but the minute he’d left Helen behind, he’d been a man torn and divided.

If only I could be in two places at once.

Before he’d reached the outskirts of London, Darius realized that Rowan hadn’t been too far wrong.

His return was even more grueling than his headlong rush to reach London. The urgency to see Helen again ground against his soul and robbed him of his peace of mind. Darius battled a physical need to assure himself that she was safe and that none of the nightmarish visions of potential tragedy had befallen her in his absence. It was as serious a spur to speed as any.

He was so exhausted by nightfall, he almost gave up and conceded defeat, but the idea that Helen could be facing her husband undefended or simply afraid in the night without anyone there to comfort her—it was unacceptable.

Just get there, Thorne.

Prove to the woman that not all men fail to keep their word and that you’re a true gentleman—and pray that she isn’t regretting those kisses.

***

“My God, you look horrible!”

“I’m sending for Dr. Abernethy!” Mrs. McFadden announced, her lips pressed together so tightly they nearly disappeared.

“You’re not,” Darius countered firmly. “There was a fire in London and I . . . took in a bit of smoke. I need rest. I’m fine. I hurried back because I didn’t want you to worry but—I’ll admit that wasn’t the soundest decision I’ve ever made.”

“Ye coulda sent a note!” Mrs. McFadden screeched. “Why are men as dense as boards when it comes to—”

“Mrs. McFadden.” Helen stepped forward, taking his arm. “Hot mint tea, please. I’ll help Mr. Thorne upstairs. Get Hamish to carry up the tub and then draw a hot bath, and we’ll get him settled as quickly as possible.”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened in astonishment as the meekest of houseguests suddenly took charge with the calm authority of a true lady. “Y-yes, madam.”

Darius smiled at the change and allowed Isabel to help him up the stairs.

Within minutes, the house was bustling at her command and the copper tub had been set up in the dressing room off his bedroom, awaiting the buckets of steaming-hot water that Hamish would bring up later. Darius tried to catch his breath, sitting in a chair by his bedroom window, and watched Helen confidently move about the room, pulling back the bedding and unpacking his things.

“You’re enjoying this.”

She blushed. “Perhaps. I’ve—never been one to give out orders and it was—thrilling to be obeyed so sweetly.”

“I don’t believe . . . you’ve
never
done it.”

“Well, then, let us say I was out of practice,” she amended, adjusting some cushions behind him. “The fire. Does that mean you didn’t reach your friends in time? Did they give up the object without realizing it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing exchanged hands. But the fire . . . I have to believe it was an agent of the prophecy . . . seeking to stop us from making that mistake.” His speech was halting as he fought off a coughing fit that would alarm her. He’d been spitting up gray bile for the last two days of his trip and feared he might never take a deep breath again.

“Thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “Well, we can talk of it later. I tried to study all that I could on the questions we’d uncovered before you left and—there is time enough for all of it when you’re better.”

He leaned back against the cushions and his relief at finally being home and in her presence again washed over him like a warm wall of fatigue, and then something on the table beside his bed caught his eye. She’d set out a single chess piece.

The black king.

She continued softly, “When you feel up to it, the rest of the board awaits you. I can bring it up if you’d like. . . .”

The idea of sitting across from the White Queen on his bed and attempting to keep his mind on the strategic frames and gambits of chess transformed into thoughts of a far more physical contest, where Helen ruled the game—and him.

“I would like that very much.” He closed his eyes for a moment, intending to compose a better answer, but instead drifted off to sleep without another word.

***

Isabel smiled and quietly walked to the dressing room door to wave to Hamish. “He’s fallen asleep so we’ll delay the bath for a time, if you don’t mind, Mr. MacQueen.”

Hamish ducked his head after dropping the linens that the housekeeper had ordered him to bring up and left through the opposite door into the hallway, leaving Isabel to attend to him as best she could.

She retrieved a knitted blanket from the bed and draped it over his shoulders and then added a piece of wood to the small fire in the corner fireplace. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the scene and found herself simply admiring the sight of him.

She agreed with Mrs. McFadden. His eyes had gray smudges of illness beneath them and he’d lost weight. His voice had been roughened by the smoke of a fire, and Isabel bit her lower lip to fight off the tears that accompanied the rush of terror that swept through her at the idea of her beloved Darius facing flames.

But he is here and whole and we’ll make him well! And as soon as he is himself again, I’m going to kneel next to his bed and beg him to let me tell him how much I love him!

It was a romantic and foolish notion that banished tears.

I’m a giddy schoolgirl again, mooning over him and sighing at the sound of his breathing.

She turned on her heels and headed downstairs to the kitchens to find Mrs. McFadden and her nemesis sharing a cup of tea.

“He is resting,” Isabel announced as she came in to sit next to Hamish. “Poor thing!”

Hamish shook his head. “He must’ve flown on the heels of the devil from London! At best, I didn’t expect him for another three or four days!”

“I fear he’s made himself ill in his rush to return to—us.” Isabel caught herself almost saying
to me
but knew from Mrs. McFadden’s look that the woman hadn’t missed it.

“Poor lamb!” Mrs. McFadden brushed her hands off on her apron. “I’m tempted to send for the doctor in any case.”

“Ye’ll do no such thing,” Hamish said. “The man told ye no and he’ll not thank you for interfering, woman.”

“He’d be alive to argue the matter and I’d say that’s better than—”

Isabel cleared her throat. “We must respect Mr. Thorne’s wishes in this matter. We cannot overrule him unless he is truly deathly ill.”

“He looks wretched,” Mrs. McFadden said, her lips pressed into a tight line.

“He looks
tired
,” Isabel amended. “And sleep is exactly what he needs.”

“And the mint tea?” the housekeeper asked archly.

“I’ll take it in the library, Mrs. McFadden,” Isabel said, then lost her battle not to smile. “I’m so . . . relieved he’s home!”

The housekeeper beamed back at her. “And so quickly!”

“He didn’t race back with a lungful of soot for a hot bath, that’s for certain!” Hamish growled as he stood to stretch his back. “Man’s daft for her, but if you think he’s killed himself to hurry back for another go at chess, ye’re both mad!”

“Hamish MacQueen!” Mrs. McFadden squealed. “You’ve not a brain in your head, you bull of a man! Get out of my kitchen!”

He smiled, apparently used to being tossed from the house. “I’m going, woman. I, for one, am just glad not to be hauling buckets up those stairs!”

“What a coldhearted beast!” The housekeeper threw a wooden spoon at him, but Hamish caught it out of the air without a blink and set it on the table before he retreated with a wink.

Once the door closed behind him, Mrs. McFadden sighed and turned back to Isabel. “Rude creature, isn’t he? He’s just lucky I didn’t have a skillet handy or he’d have suffered a real clouting this time.”

Isabel hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. She thought of the white chess piece tied to a ribbon lying against her heart and the king she’d set by his bed. It was a bold move, but if she’d learned anything from his lessons, it was to play with honesty.

***

The first few days and nights were rough, and Darius’s hopes of hiding the worst of his infirmity from the women of the house ended quickly. He slept endlessly and lost hours until he finally awoke in the dark, unsure of how much time he’d lost. Every muscle ached from too many days of travel on cushionless benches and drafty compartments that did nothing to shield him from every rut and rock in the road, and Darius’s ribs burned from the effort of drawing breath, but the pneumonia that he’d feared had never materialized.

He could hear the clock in the downstairs hall chime three and lay still, letting the quiet of the house soothe his soul.

Home.

I bought a house without seeing it, outside the city because I’d always secretly dreamt of a quiet living.

I’m such a simple man with my papers and books. Didn’t Ashe laugh when I once told him that I was sure that the smell of a leather binding and fresh parchment was far more potent than any woman’s perfume?

His opinions had changed. So much had changed with Helen’s arrival in his life.

His academic ambitions seemed paltry now next to his need to see her safe.

In fevered dreams and the agony of his journey back to Scotland, Darius had clung to a new revelation about what a simple man was capable of doing when it came to love.
True love doesn’t look for balance; it doesn’t ask for rewards or happy endings. I can love her without hope. I can save her if I can keep my own selfish desires out of it.

He tried to sit up, swallowing a groan.

As soon as his strength returned, he planned on telling her the truth about himself, certain that Helen would withhold her kisses and retreat from his affection.

And then he could act without distraction and dedicate himself to extracting her from her violent marriage and see to her financial and physical future, independent of any man’s control.

And when we’ve waved her off in a carriage or delivered her to her new home, then I can return here and indulge in sitting in mud puddles and weep for as long as I like.

But I’ll have earned my misery and there’s a strange consolation in that.

For I’ll have done the honorable thing and been honest with her.