The Lodestone

by Charlene Keel

  Drake was there, blocking the way, Cleome at his side. “You’re too late,” he said evenly. “The explosion you heard was the signal that Garnett and Edwina are safely away from the island.”

  “You lying, miserable cur!” Paolo roared. “You will not be permitted to kidnap my wife. My men will take you down and I will make you wish you were dead!”

  “Your men are—shall we say—indisposed,” Drake responded. “The few who haven’t rushed down to the winery to try and put out the fire are either unconscious or restrained. By the time you release them, we’ll be well away from here. It’s finished.”

  Paolo rushed to the display of swords crossed over a shield bearing the Paresi family crest and grabbed one of the weapons. Unsheathing it, he exclaimed, “You’re not going anywhere, Stoneham. I’m going to kill you—after I cut you to ribbons. But before you die, I will allow you to watch me torture your lady.”

  He made a lunge at Drake but the gambler quickly sidestepped, putting an arm out to keep Cleome behind him. Before Paolo could recover his stance, Drake reached into his boot and drew out his knife. Cleome knew that without a sword, Drake would have to let Paolo get closer to him or the dagger would be useless. As Paolo lunged again towards Drake, she slipped around him. Drake drew back his hand to throw the knife at the count but distracted by Cleome’s sudden move, his aim was off and the knife missed its mark. Targeted at Paolo’s heart, it struck him instead just below the ribs. The count jerked the blade out of his side and it went clattering to the floor as Paolo thrust again, and his sword pierced Drake’s shoulder.

  Cleome grabbed the other sword off the wall and when she turned to toss it to Drake, she saw the blood staining his shirt. She wondered if he knew he’d been wounded, for he nimbly caught the weapon and then closed in on Paolo. Righteous rage lighting his eyes and giving him strength, he renewed his assault. Blade rang against blade as the furious battle took them back into the bedroom where Paolo had tormented Edwina for months, and where Drake had held Cleome close to him. Then suddenly, with one quick lunge, Drake had Paolo backed against the chaise. With another quick whip of his sword, he sliced into the count’s hand, adroitly disarming him. Paolo stumbled over the couch and fell to the floor. Still seething, Drake pressed his sword to the man’s throat but instead of begging for mercy, Paolo looked up at him with contempt.

  “Go on,” Paolo said calmly. “Do it.”

  “Oh, indeed I will—but I want you to know why,” Drake growled. “It’s not just for what you’ve done to Edwina, though that is sin enough. Do you remember a young girl you took from a brothel in Manchester? One you held captive for three years, while you subjected her to the most vile usage?”

  “A friend of yours, I presume,” Paolo replied disdainfully.

  “My sister.” Drake’s voice was low and deadly as he pressed the blade against Paolo’s throat. Although Cleome knew the count deserved the retribution Drake was ready to dispense, she couldn’t bear to see him reduced to Paolo’s level.

  “Drake!” she cried. “Don’t! You are better than he. Let him live his ruined life, for it’s all he will have.”

  For what seemed an eternity, Drake struggled with his emotions. When Cleome thought he would surely drive the weapon home, he suddenly withdrew his sword.

  “Yes,” he agreed, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Without his wealth, he’ll have a sorry existence, indeed; especially when everyone learns how he tried to keep it. I’ll get more pleasure out of seeing his shame than killing him.” Drake pulled Cleome to his side once more but did not relinquish the sword.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, concerned.

  “Not badly.” He grabbed up her petticoat, folded it and stuffed it inside his shirt to stay the bleeding. He retrieved his jacked from beside the bed and pulled it on, and then he took Cleome’s hand and they headed for the door. Paolo got unsteadily to his feet and grabbed the candelabra, which was still lit. With a frenzied scream, he flung it at them. It hit the tapestry that partially concealed the opening in the wall through which he had often viewed unsuspecting lovers. The aged cloth caught and burned quickly, setting the room to flame. By the time Cleome and Drake were out the front door, making their way down the cobbled drive, the house was engulfed in fire. They looked back to see Paolo in front of the house, staring back at it as the flames spread, adding their glow to a night already illuminated with the blaze at the winery. One hand was pressed to the wound in his side and blood seeped between his fingers.

  “We cannot leave him here,” Cleome said. “He’ll bleed to death.”

  “And what do you suggest we do with him?” Drake asked.

  “Bandage him up, put him in chains and take him to Rome. The church will know best how to punish him.”

  Drake stared at her a moment with disbelief. Then, exasperated, he said, “Oh, very well.” But as he started back toward the count, Paolo calmly walked into the house. Through the open door, Drake and Cleome could see him moving deeper into the smoke and flames. The structure collapsed inward and they saw him no more.

  **

  Mr. Cartwright was waiting on the beach with a lifeboat and a handful of men. As they rowed away, Cleome turned to see what was left of Paolo’s estate. Two blazes were roaring—the house, and further behind it, the winery. Cartwright told Drake that a flare had gone up from the fishing boat, confirming that Garnett and Edwina made it safely there. As it turned out, he correctly surmised when they were again aboard Drake’s ship, they needn’t worry about being pursued.

  “Signal the men in the fishing boat that all is well,” Drake ordered. “And now, Mr. Cartwright, let’s be away from here. As soon as we’re under full sail, break open that cask of Paresi wine. In truth, this time. Richard may have one glass.”

  “Thank ’e, sir,” Cartwright responded with a broad grin. Cleome realized that Drake was still leaning heavily on her and remembering his injury, she put up a hand to stop the mercenary.

  “A moment, please, Mr. Cartwright,” she said. “Mr. Stoneham has been hurt. His wound needs tending.”

  “It’s but a scratch,” Drake protested. “You may go, Manny. Lady Cleome and I have something to discuss.” And with that, he passed out cold.

  Drake didn’t regain consciousness until the next day, and Cleome was consumed with worry. Cartwright examined the wound and told her it wasn’t serious, even though Drake had lost a lot of blood. “And out like he is, milady, he won’t feel it when I stitch him up. He might run a fever, but cool cloths will keep it down.” Seeing her misgiving, he added, “Never fear, milady. He’s as strong as they come.”

  Cleome acted as surgeon’s assistant, and when Mr. Cartwright was finished, she sat by Drake’s bed, tending him throughout the night. She bathed his face with cool water, she changed his bandages and she learned something that terrified her. As much as she had loved her granda, her mother and now dear Edwina, it was nothing compared to what she felt for this man lying unconscious before her. He moaned as his fever spiked and she sponged his chest and arms with cool water. She didn’t know what she would do if anything happened to him. If he died, she would go mad. She didn’t want to love anyone that much.

  **

  Drake had several disturbing dreams as he slept; and in all of them, Paolo killed Cleome, stabbing her in her heart, or slashing her throat with the knife he wrested from Drake’s hands. And in all of the dreams, Paolo tortured her before he ended her life. When Drake awoke at last and saw her standing beside the bunk, wringing water out of a cloth, he felt a relief he could not name. He knew then what he wanted from her and it wasn’t just to take, in one night of exquisite ecstasy, his winnings from that blasted cribbage game; nor was it to make her his mistress. He wanted her to be his wife and the mother of his children. She was everything he’d never thought to find in a woman—brave, strong, patient, resilient, spirited and determined. She was magnificent and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and no one else.

  She smiled down at him
, and as the hand holding the cloth went to his brow, he caught it in his own. “Thank God, you’re safe and here with me,” he whispered. “Cleome, I must speak with you.”

  “I know. We have unfinished business. I have not forgotten, sir.”

  “No, not that. I mean—yes, that. But so much more.”

  “Drake, you must rest. We’ll be docking in Monte Carlo soon and when you’ve quite recovered, you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I want to tell you now,” he insisted, weak but determined. “You must marry me, Cleome. I want you to be absolutely mine, nicely settled in my house with a babe upon each knee. Forever mine. Completely mine. Irrevocably mine. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” she answered softly, with a little frown. “Sleep now.”

  **

  As Drake closed his eyes, Cleome realized that he had not yet said he loved her, only that he wanted to possess her. Any man would want to marry a woman who had inherited a fortune that would be under his control when she was his wife. As she would be under his control. That thought terrified her. She could not marry unless her husband loved her enough to let her govern her own life.

  Surely Drake would do that, her heart argued. He had a fortune of his own. He’d said more than once that he didn’t need hers. What was wrong with her? She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything—except to be in charge of her own destiny. Before she could give him her answer, she had to speak with Oliver. If Drake truly loved her, he would sign whatever document her solicitor prepared that would enable her to manage her own estate. But why hadn’t he said that he loved her?

  **

  “You are mistaken, Edwina,” Garnett argued, once they were safe in Monte Carlo and waiting for Cleome and Drake to join them. “Please, listen to me.”

  “No, my friend.” Edwina was adamant. “I’ll always be grateful but there’s no need to chain yourself to a woman you do not love. Uncle Oliver has assured me that Paolo will be forced to provide for me, unless he wants his secret known. After all, I am carrying his heir.”

  “Not his. Mine.”

  “Well, no one will ever hear it from me,” she promised. “I know what an embarrassment that would be to you. Your reputation, and mine, will remain intact. My baby and I will be well provided for, and no trouble to you at all.”

  “But—Edwina, I do love you,” he protested, surprising himself with the truth of it. “I never realized it until this moment, but that doesn’t make it any less sincere.”

  “It is admirable that you want to do the honorable thing, Garnett—but it isn’t necessary. I have no intention of spending my life with a man who feels under an obligation to—how did Mr. Stoneham put it—to stand by me.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you that, for now you’ll never believe I’m asking you to be my wife—begging you—because of what I feel, not because of anything Drake said.”

  “I wouldn’t believe it, in any case,” she told him. “And I won’t see you ruin your life because of some misplaced sense of duty, even if Paolo would agree to divorce me. Uncle and I are taking a coach back to Le Havre tomorrow and then a boat across to England. Soon, I’ll be home.” She laid her palm gently against his cheek and he had never thought her more beautiful. “Goodbye, my darling,” she said tenderly.

  **

  “Hurry, lad,” Drake commanded and Richard did his best to comply. They had docked in Monte Carlo and the boy was helping him dress as his wound made it difficult for him, although it was mending nicely. Cleome was already on deck, eager for the sight of Edwina and Garnett, who she hoped would be there to greet them. Drake had slept off and on during the short voyage but even when awake, he’d seen little of Cleome since he’d asked her to marry him. Richard brought his food and Cartwright changed his bandage. When Cleome was in his cabin, she insisted he not tax himself by talking. She had not responded to his proposal and he could wait no longer for her answer.

  **

  On deck, Cleome paced and fretted. As had been arranged before they set out on their adventure, the harbormaster in Monte Carlo sent a message to Drake’s townhouse as soon as his ship was within signaling distance. She knew that when Oliver, Edwina and Garnett received word, they would hasten to the docks. Squinting in the bright sun, she caught sight of Garnett hurrying up the gangplank.

  As he caught her hands in his own and kissed her cheek, she asked, “Where is Edwina? Is Oliver with you? Are they waiting in Drake’s flat?”

  “No,” he said sadly. “They have gone.”

  “Gone?” She was stunned. “Gone where? Why didn’t they wait for us?”

  As he told her how Edwina had rejected him, she took his hand. “And the fact is,” he finished, “I really do love her, Cleome. I cannot go on without her. What I felt for you—well, I will always care for you but this is—this—”

  “I know,” she replied. “There’s no need to explain.”

  “And the baby,” he continued, tears filling his eyes. “I cannot bear the thought of not knowing my child.”

  She put her arms around him, offering him what comfort she could. Grateful, he hugged her close and rested his cheek against the top of her head. It was at that moment Drake came up on deck from below.

  “Well, isn’t this a cozy picture?” he asked with quiet contempt.

  **

  The sight of Cleome in another man’s arms hit Drake in the gut like a cannon ball, sweeping away both his reason and his tender regard for her. He wanted to lash out at her, to punish her, to see her experience half the pain that was ripping him apart.

  “Drake!” she exclaimed as she whirled around—guiltily, he thought.

  “I say, Drake,” Garnett began. “Cleome was offering me comfort because—”

  “That much was clear to me,” Drake broke in, grim, as he brushed past them and headed for the gangplank. He hated himself for the words he’d spoken to Cleome in the cabin below, and for admitting to her that he wanted to marry her, of all things—words he’d never spoken to any other woman and had often sworn he never would. But how unreasonable is the human heart. Seeing Garnett’s arms about her made him want her more than ever. Drake’s voice like ice, he continued to Cleome, “I risked my life for your little friend, and you repay the favor by betraying me with this . . . this . . . son of a lord, all the while acting as if I aroused some feeling in you. Obviously, you were pretending. Well, that was the point of our charade, wasn’t it? Once again, milady, it appears I must excuse your debt.”

  He could see the wave of fury sweep over her and it gave him a bitter satisfaction. “So that is the opinion you have of me!” she fumed. “How dare you charge me with lies and betrayal. You have no right to impeach me so! We are not yet betrothed.”

  “Betrothed?” he mocked. “Oh, yes . . . well, you must not take to heart the ravings of a man overcome with fever.”

  “I didn’t!” she exclaimed, shaking with rage. “And I would not marry you, sir, if you were the last man on earth!”

  “Have a safe journey back to London,” Drake said as he bowed, refusing to look at her lest she see the agony reflected in his eyes. “Or wherever you choose to take your young man. I trust you can find your way from here, especially with so handsome an escort.” He started down the gangplank but turned back once more to address Garnett. “By the way, Easton—if you haven’t already figured it out—you are hereby discharged from my employ.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Garnett was devastated. He’d told Cleome that Edwina’s rejection had left him feeling empty and lost. Cleome was simply angry—too angry to feel the heartache that would soon overtake her. If that’s what Drake Stoneham thought of her, she told herself, then she was better off without him. She was naïve, she was inexperienced, she was unsophisticated—but she was not, nor had she ever been, dishonest or insincere. And as for his proposal, he had never asked her to marry him; he had simply told her she must. He had decided her future as if she had no say in the matter, and she considered he
rself well away from a man so bent on controlling her.

  She sent a messenger ahead to London to inform Oliver and Edwina that Paolo had died in the fire; and after resting one night in a fine Monte Carlo hotel, she and Garnett followed their example and took a coach and then a ferry back to England. Upon their arrival, she insisted Garnett stay on at Houghton Hall. They were certainly well chaperoned there, if that worried him, she argued. And together, they would think of a way to bring Edwina to her senses.

  When Cleome went to see how her friend fared after her terrible ordeal, a cheerful Oliver greeted her at the door. He answered her inquiry with, “You’ll see for yourself how radiant she is. I think the dear girl has kissed every lamp and bedpost in the old place. She misses her piano, of course.”

  “What happened to your old upright?”

  “Oh. I gave it to the orphanage when she went to Italy,” he said. “It was too painful a reminder. But we have purchased another. It will be delivered at any moment.”

  As Oliver ushered her into the little parlor, Edwina ran down the stairs and threw her arms around Cleome. Hannah was gone to market, so Oliver took himself off to the kitchen to make their tea.

  “Are you really all right, Eddy?” Cleome wanted to know.

  “I am better than all right,” Edwina assured her. “It’s so marvelous to be here. But what of you and Drake? What a splendid couple you make. Have you mended things with him?”

  “No,” she replied, refusing to give way to tears as she told Edwina how they had parted. “How could I love such a man?” she asked. “He wants only to control me—and what hell that would be, considering the low opinion he has of me.”