Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor (26 page)

“I assume you were part of Prince George’s party.”

Worthing presented a curt nod of affirmation. “Eleanor and I were late in arriving. Lady Worthing has not been herself of late, and I refused to leave her. If we had been on time, we should have been seated near Setcliffe and your baroness. As it was, we did not observe Satiné until Prince Henrí escorted her to the dance floor for a waltz. The
ton
was quite curious as to why Rintoul honored her for many of Prinny’s set did not recognize your wife.”

John turned blindly upon his friend. “Did Lady Swenton remain with Prince Henrí after their waltz?” It ripped open his chest to think upon Satiné seeking another man’s bed when she likely carried his child. Did his wife plan to claim his heir to be that of Prince Henrí?

Worthing appeared chagrined. “Eleanor wished to speak to her cousin to determine her purpose in attending the Prince’s gathering, and so I sought out your baroness among the party goers; however, Setcliffe assured me Lady Swenton had departed after her waltz. And if you wish to know if Rintoul accompanied her, the prince did not. He dutifully stood attendance upon Miss Callender and her parents. They set sail for France early the next morning.”

“What?” Lexford asked before John could form a thought. “Do you mean Prince Henrí honored Lady Swenton with a dance and then ignored her afterwards?”

John retrieved the vial. “Worthing’s retelling explains the why of the empty laudanum vial. Lady Swenton hides her heartache behind the opiate.”

“But not initially,” Lexford corrected. “The maid said your lady woke late and then rushed about to dress for an afternoon in Brighton’s shops. I think it likely Lady Swenton knew nothing of Prince Henrí’s speedy departure.”

Worthing inhaled what sounded a nervous breath. “Your assumption makes sense. When I questioned Setcliffe regarding whether Lady Swenton had been the viscount’s guest, His Lordship informed me of encountering the baroness outside the shops. It was Setcliffe who delivered the news to the baroness of Prince Henrí’s departure. Almost immediately, Lady Swenton excused herself and rushed away. I came to the Blue Fox because Satiné is my wife’s cousin, and I meant to insist she join us until I could contact you, but, moreover, because Setcliffe mentioned a man of dark skin, who had followed Lady Swenton until Setcliffe brought his cane down upon the man’s arm when the stranger attempted to stop the baroness’s progress.”

“Jamot?” Lexford whispered the word into the silent room. Heavy doubt double scored their enemy’s name. “Are we certain it is the Baloch?”

Worthing acknowledged, “Sir Carter had recently sent word of Jamot’s presence in Brighton. He knew I was to travel with Prince George and thought I should be made aware of Jamot’s possible presence in Brighton.”

With a soft huff of exasperation, John declared. “Jamot’s presence changes everything; his pattern is to place our loved ones in danger.”

“Is Satiné your loved one?” Worthing asked with empathy.

John’s scowl said it all. “I assisted you and Wellston in the search for the Aldridge twins long before I made Satiné my wife. The Realm does not shirk its duties. Now, I would be pleased if you both leave your criticisms behind and assist me in locating my baroness.”

Neither of his friends questioned him further, but John could read their thoughts: Satiné had made him a bigger fool than Lady Fiona had his father. The thoughts of his mother brought the realization of the obvious. “Worthing, did the baroness wear the diamond and emerald necklace I presented her as a wedding gift to Prinny’s party?” he could feel Lexford’s eyes upon him, but John did not turn his head to meet the viscount’s look of compassion.

“Yes. Lady Worthing commented on how well they appeared with the baroness’s gown. Why?”

John’s gaze returned to his wife’s trunks. Immediately, he searched for a false bottom. “When Lexford discovered my baroness had sold Lady Fiona’s brooch, Jamot somehow learned of the jewels.” His fingers ripped at the trunk’s lining. “When the Baloch broke into my house, he bargained with Satiné for the jewels. He meant to present Lady Fiona’s diamond and emerald set to Mir as being the Baloch warlord’s emerald broken into pieces to disguise it.” He tossed the filmy material to the side. “There is nothing here. We must determine if Lady Fiona’s jewels are missing as well.”

They each searched in earnest. “Here are the earrings.” Lexford held the jewels aloft. “They were under the pillow. Lady Swenton likely removed them when she slept and then either forgot about them or had no time to think upon them before her mid-nighttime exit.”

John drifted to the screened dressing area while Kerrington searched the bureau. Stepping behind the screen, he surveyed the silk gown in which his baroness had slept. At home, when he called upon her, Satiné wore only high-necked muslin gowns, but for Prince Henrí, his wife had chosen a satiny temptation. The realization was another sharp stab to his heart. Then his eyes fell upon the scattered sheets of foolscap upon the floor. He thought to stamp upon them–to grind his heel into the print to wipe it from the page, but instead John bent stiffly to retrieve the two smudged sheets, which contained his name.

“What have you discovered?” Worthing asked from where he looked on.

John closed his eyes to the pain of the truth. “My wife’s farewell to her foolhardy husband.”

Worthing disappeared with nary a word, and so John sat heavily upon the bench meant to assist a lady with her toilette. With a rasp of despair, he read of her misery and of Satiné’s plan to reunite with Prince Henrí. Never once did she beg for his forgiveness nor did Satiné acknowledge her weaknesses. In each line, he read of the injuries bestowed upon his wife’s head. His baroness spoke only of what she termed to be the injustices practiced upon her. “What have you inflicted upon me? Upon your family?” he growled before ripping the pages in two. “Damn you, Satiné!”

Both Worthing and Lexford appeared. For the first time in his life, John considered murder as a just revenge for the excruciating emotions coursing through him. “We must rescue my wife from whatever madness she has created. The lady carries my heir, a child I desire above all else. After Lady Swenton delivers a healthy birth, I will decide what to do with her.”

*

Jamot had retreated to the ruins a medieval monastery, one, which, ironically, sported a battlement reminiscent of those he had observed upon the Continent. He enjoyed the view from the height, looking out upon the town below and the farmlands above. Sheep grazed upon the sprouts of new grass, dotting the landscape with puffs of white against the gray chalky soil. He did not understand why anyone would choose the filth of London or the crowded streets of Brighton when he could look upon the green farmland of the South Down.

“Henrí.” His prisoner moaned again. Despite his dislike of all things ‘Realm,’ Jamot felt consideration for Lord Swenton. The baron’s wife called out for another man.

He turned to gaze upon her countenance once more. When he had brought Baroness Swenton to this place, he had bound her to the metal rings within the crumbling brick wall. The lady had not fought him; instead, the baroness had turned into his body and had begged him to make her his lover. Ironically, he had considered doing just that when he had entered her rooms at the inn. Jamot knew enough of the opiate to know those who imbibed regularly had dreams filled with ecstasy. Because violating the baron’s wife would be sweet revenge upon Jamot’s enemy, he was sorely tempted by her pleas. Moreover, Lady Swenton’s coal black hair reminded Jamot of Ashmita. In truth, he would enjoy the fantasy of finally knowing the woman he had once loved.

However, when he had placed Lady Swenton unceremoniously upon his makeshift bed, he had observed her small frame, made smaller by the lady’s obvious attempts to please a demanding man: Lord Swenton or the lady’s lover? Jamot had explored her body, running his hand up her twig-thin legs. He had opened Lady Swenton’s gown to view her chest: the lady’s breasts small and unappealing against the bony structure of her rib bones. “What have you done?” he had growled. “And why has Baron Swenton permitted you to torment yourself so? As much as I despise the baron, I cannot imagine His Lordship starving you as if you were his prisoner.” Appalled, Jamot had turned away from the lady, disgusted by her appearance.

When she called for her lover a second time, Jamot had not moved from his position by the window. The lady held no charm for him. If he were seriously to consider a woman, it would be someone of the caliber of Ashmita. He had failed her, but Ashmita had never failed him, and above all, Jamot required a woman’s loyalty, something of which Lady Swenton, obviously, held no knowledge. Jamot had longed for Ashmita for what felt an eternity, but those feelings had diminished over the four plus years he had spent in England searching for Mir’s emerald.

“I thought perhaps Lady Swenton’s jewelry held the key, but in the sunlight, even I can see the flaws in the stone. Mir described his gem as “green perfection.” I no longer believe Mir would accept Lord Swenton’s gift to his wife as a replacement of equal merit.” Jamot sighed in resignation. “Which means I cannot return to my homeland.”

Such thoughts brought an image of the chocolate-haired Maria, a woman who had never turned up her nose at the color of skin. Nor had Maria denied their natural attraction. “You are an outsider,” she had said with that rolling of her vowels, a sound, which had not repulsed him, as had the hard enunciation of the English. “As am I. Yet, if we could manage a bit of courage and a bit more funds, we could claim a portion of the dream. Do you not wish a home, Murray, which was her special name for him, claiming
Murhad
was as foreign as her Roma name of
Maarah
?”

Little did the girl know he had accumulated a small fortune from his many clandestine dealings. He could well afford a place of his own, but Jamot had always thought doing so would announce his failure in fulfilling Mir’s mission. His pride would not permit him to grasp the fantasy Maria offered; yet, he wholeheartedly admitted the girl was tempting.

John froze when he heard the board creak outside the door to his wife’s inn room. He glanced to Lexford, who had reacted in a like manner. Satiné’s room was at the end of the passageway: Only a person with nefarious purposes would be lurking outside the baroness’s door. Silently, they positioned themselves on either side of the portal. “On three,” Lexford motioned. The viscount’s fingers rose one by one.

In concert, John jerked the door open as Lexford caught their intruder and plastered him to the wall. “What is your mission?” Lexford hissed, his forearm pressed against the man’s chest.

“What business have you with my baroness?” John cocked the gun he pressed the tip to the man’s temple. “And keep in mind my patience has been worn thin.”

“I…I.” The man swallowed hard. “I know where the baroness be.”

John stifled the growl of frustration crowding his throat. “I suspect you should tell me quickly. I am in no mood for dramatics.”

Lexford shoved the man into a nearby chair. “Do as my friend suggests if you wish to see another day.” The viscount pointedly sat across from the interloper, his gun pointed at the stranger’s heart.

John watched with satisfaction as the panic crossing the man’s countenance escalated. “I…I thinked to know…to find the baroness and…and make her pay…pay fer costin’ me me position in Prince George’s household.”

Lexford shot John a quick glance that said he would handle the questions, while John should assume a look of formidability. “How was Lady Swenton responsible for your dismissal?”

The stranger’s gaze reached John’s countenance, and John purposely scowled. “If you think me ruthless,” John warned, “you are not far from the truth.”

The man nodded his understanding. “The baroness be givin’ me ten pounds to permit her…her entrance…through the servants’ door. Ten pounds be a year’s wages for me pap, and so I’s took it, but one of the prince’s men sees and tells the prince.”

Lexford prompted, “And then?”

“I’s spent part of the money on nuff drink to provide me courage. Then one of me pals suggested if the baroness had ten pounds she likely had more, and I shud claim a larger share for me trouble.”

Every muscle in John’s body had primed and tensed for action. “Finish your tale,” he growled.

The man hesitated; his bought courage no longer lingered. “It didn’t’ take no talent to discover the lady’s whereabouts fer her coachman brags to those in the mews.” His eyes opened wider, and the panic had returned when Lexford shifted to hold the gun closer. The man’s face paled. “I came, and I’s watched, waitn’ fer the ret time, and I was hidin’ in the private room when a dark-skinned foreigner comes down them steps. “ He gestured toward the hallway. “The stranger be carryin’ a bundle over his shoulder, but it weren’t no ordinary baggage; it were Lady Swenton. I sees her face plain as day.”

Lexford’s steady gaze said he had given merit to the man’s story. It was reassuring for John not to have lost the measure by which he made sound judgments for he, too, thought the man spoke the truth. “Is there anything else we should know?” Menace remained in Lexford’s voice.

“Nothin’ exceptin’ I follows them…follows the man who be takin’ the baroness.”

“Did my lady fight her abductor?” John needed to know if Satiné had gone willingly.

“She didn’t move, Sir. The man walks with confidence.” If nothing else did, this description of Satiné’s captor spoke Jamot’s name.

Lexford asked, “Did no one else see the man remove Lady Swenton from the inn?”

“It be late. Only one man remained in the common room, and McClenton be distracted with him. The dark man hides in the shadows. No one sees but me, so I’s follow him. He walks from town and toward the monastery. I sees him carry your lady in, Sir, but I never sees him come out. I watch all night and most of the morning, but no one moves within. Then I’s begin to think the rumors of tunnels in the monastery be true. I’s hurry back to town to sees if’n the pair returned.”

Lexford’s voice held his suspicions. “You meant to report the lady’s disappearance to the proper authorities?”

The man shrugged as if his confession was nothing of significance. “I’d told meself if’n the lady be gone, I’d help meself to something to holds me over before I tells the magistrate.”

The interloper’s reasoning was so logical even John recognized the necessity of the man’s desperation, but the fact the stranger possessed no principle ate at John’s sensibility. Their captor would have permitted Jamot to violate Satiné while he searched the baroness’s room for money. “So you meant to become a thief before doing the honest thing?” John’s voice foretold his disdain.

The man’s upper lip curled in a snarl of defiance. “Your lady owes me. She’s no ret to get in her fine carriage and ride away. She destroyed me life.”

John stormed toward the man, meaning to use his fists upon the interloper. “When will anyone take responsibility for his actions? It was you choice to accept the baroness’s bribe!”

Lexford stepped between him and their captive. The viscount instructed, “Our ‘guest’ will agree to lead us to this monastery, and you will present him with an appropriate reward. Understood,” he emphasized the last word.

“Understood.” Grudgingly, John unfisted his hands. “But let us be about it. I want this matter finished.”

Lexford whispered, “Should we wait for Lord Worthing’s return?” Their friend had returned to the Pavilion to assure Prince George that John would take control of his wayward baroness. Evidently, the Prince had thought Satiné’s actions as an affront. Only John’s past service had proved the difference. Secondly, Worthing meant to call in on his viscountess. Although Kerrington had kept his own counsel, John suspected Lady Worthing’s impending lying in was the source of the lady’s discomfort. The possibility increased John’s despondency for he feared never to know such happiness. Finally, Worthing meant to retrieve the latest express from Sir Carter regarding Jamot’s movements in the area. As a trio, they had thought the baronet’s report might shed some light upon the Baloch’s whereabouts. No need for Sir Carter’s intelligence was required, for he and Viscount Lexford possessed the answer: Jamot was hiding in a deserted monastery.

“We will leave Worthing a note to follow us. I fear my child is in real danger if we do not find Lady Swenton soon.” He no longer cared for Satiné’s safety beyond her being the mother of his unborn child. She had betrayed him for the last time.

Lexford’s gaze clung to his. “As always, I am your servant, Swenton.”

*

At the last minute, instead of insisting the man accompany them to the monastery, Lexford had suggested they send the rascal with the message for Worthing. “The note explains to Viscount Worthing where we will be and what we require of our friend,” Lexford had explained to the wastrel. “It also instructs Lord Worthing to present you with a generous reward.”

John had not been so “kind” in his instructions. “If you fail to do as Lord Lexford requests, I will find you, and you will know my ire.”

The ruins had not been difficult to locate. A premonstratensian monastery near one of the tributaries of the River Adur, the ruins was situated within a valley. Towers topped by crenellations marked the corners of the defensive walls, which were likely used during the Hundred Years’ War. The structure was a reflection of several centuries of English history.

“I did not anticipate the monastery being so intact,” Lexford observed.

John studied the remains. “It appears at one time a church had been built in the center of the open area. We have several configurations to examine.”

Lexford checked his gun. “Best if we separate. I will take the towers on the left. You search those on the right. We will meet in the church.”

John nodded his agreement and waked away, but Lexford’s final instructions stayed him. “Today will define your future, Swenton. This is your turning point. Be certain whatever action you choose it is something with which you can live forever.”

*

John had searched the first of the battlements, systematically climbing the stairs and examining each of the rooms thoroughly, discovering only the crumbling walls of the battlement and a magnificent view of the valley and the hills leading to South Down. He looked across to where Lexford climbed a like structure. Other than his friend and a few sheep upon the hillside, nothing moved. John wondered if the Prince’s former servant had deceived them. “It would be appropriate,” he grumbled as he descended the bricked steps to the ground level. “Of late, I suspect my clothes are monogrammed with the word ‘rustic.’”

With resignation, he began a slow and calculated climb of the second tower. As with the first, each of the rooms had proved empty until he reached one of those closest to the crenellation. He opened the door cautiously to peer inside. At first, only shadows claimed his attention, but then a moan and the outline of a bed announced he had found her. John rushed to release Satiné. “My God! What has Jamot done to you?” Placing his gun down where he could retrieve it if necessary, John tore at the bindings, which stretched his wife’s arms painfully over her head. “Speak to me, Satiné,” he coaxed, as he released the first of her hands and massaged it to restore the blood flow. “I am grieved you have suffered so,” he whispered with regret. Despite his earlier thoughts of leaving his wife to her own devices, when he observed her degradation, John’s honor had returned.

He jerked the second leather strap free of the metal ring and bent to rub her arms briskly. “Wake for me, Satiné. Tell me where I might find Jamot. We are not safe until I eliminate the Baloch.”

“I fear your baroness has not opened her eyes since before I found her at the inn.” John had recognized Jamot’s voice immediately. He looked up to see the Baloch sporting a single-shot volley pointed at John’s chest. “In fact, her only words have been the calling of her lover’s name and her begging Prince Henrí for completion. It appears Lady Swenton prefers the Prince of Rintoul to you.” A smirk of bemusement crossed the Baloch’s countenance.

John tasted the vile invectives, which rushed to his tongue. Despite Prince Henrí’s continued rejection, Satiné still yearned for the man. He stood slowly to face his enemy. Foolishly, he had left his gun on the bed beside Satiné; he would require his wits to outmaneuver the Baloch. “My wife is ill: Baroness Swenton is easily confused.” With a bold lie, John added, “I am not offended by her musings.”

Jamot scoffed. “Then you must be a god rather than a man for a man wishes for nothing more than to hear his name upon the lips of the woman he affects.” When John did not respond, the Baloch added, “You do hold a
tendre
for Lady Swenton, do you not, my Lord?”

“My feelings for my wife are none of your concern.” He thought to draw the Baloch’s attentions from Satiné while John discovered a means to save her. It would still be some time before Lexford realized John required his assistance. “What have you done with my wife’s jewels?”

The Baloch stepped closer, the flare of fury in his eyes. “Instead, perhaps you would care to tell me where I might find Mir’s emerald.”

Behind him, Satiné stirred, and John knew the time for talk had ended. With the chaos of the previous week supplying the dark ferocity of his ire, he approached Jamot, prepared for the confrontation.

“You will fight for a woman who does not love you?” the Baloch sneered.

John did not answer. He slowly cross-stepped to the right. He must remove the Baloch if he was to rescue Satiné. Without preamble, Jamot fired the gun he held, but John had anticipated the coward’s action; he dove for the floor and rolled to his feet before he lunged at Mir’s man.

They clutched each other, blows raining down upon their heads. The sound of bone against bone filled the small room. Grunts. Gasps. A hissing whistle. A Curse. Yet, the struggle never slackened. John fought not only for his life and that of Satiné, but also for the loss of his hopes. For the despair of his dreams.

Jamot flipped John to his back, a rush of air escaping John’s lungs, but he pulled his knees to his chest, just in time to meet the Baloch’s next assault. He kicked Jamot’s chin, striking his enemy a jaw-snapping blow. Before the Baloch could recover, John was on his feet and delivering first a straight jab to Jamot’s cheekbone and then a left cross to his enemy’s nose. All went silent following the thud of the Baloch’s body crashing to the floor.

John swayed in place. He was certain his eye would be swollen shut by morning, but there was no time to dwell upon his enemy. First, he toed Jamot’s body to assure the Baloch was truly unconscious; then he returned to Satiné’s side. This time John wasted no energy in coaxing his wife; instead, he caught her arms and hoisted his wife to her feet. John experienced the pain as he inhaled. Likely, he possessed several broken ribs, making maneuvering Satiné’s limp body more difficult. When his baroness crumpled into his arms, he managed to catch her with his forearm instead of hauling her to him.

“Come, Satiné,” he growled in a stiff gasp. “You must assist me in your rescue.” He bolstered her higher and slapped her cheeks soundly to clear her vision.

“Henrí?” she murmured as she reached for him.

“Damn it, Satiné!” John caught her shoulders and shook her more violently than he intended. “I am not your bloody Henrí! Your precious prince has abandoned you. I am John Swenton, your husband,” he snarled with disgust. Without thinking of the consequences, he shook her harder. “Do not say Rintoul’s name ever again,” he warned. “I will tolerate your manipulations no longer.” His anger consumed him as John pulled his baroness into his embrace and kissed her roughly.