Obsession Wears Opals

by Renee Bernard

  Darius nodded. “What was the girl’s complaint? Did you hear?”

  “No, but it was clear that the madam of the house took the girl’s side of it without hesitation. Apparently, he—marked her in some way.”

  “Damn.”

  “In the carriage, he said that a little rough play was nothing. He said that the rules of common men didn’t apply to him. He rattled off a few clubs or houses that catered to it in London and I—I just agreed with him as if I had any idea of what he was talking about.”

  Darius pulled a notebook from his inside pocket. “Write them down. Any reference he made.”

  Pughes froze. “I . . .”

  “Here, I’ll make it easy for you.” Darius located a pen and ink and set them down on the desk. “The Velvet House. And then you said he rattled off a few clubs or houses that catered to him in London. Write, Harold. Restore my faith in you.”

  Harold took up the pen with a growl and then bent over the paper. His scrawl was measured by his temper but Darius counted each line a triumph.

  There’s the trail. Somewhere in that list, I’ll find another madam who’s had enough of him and secure proof of his depravity so strong that Netherton will do anything to keep it hidden. Hell, he may have done her a favor by spreading a few lies about his wife preferring the countryside. If an annulment is possible, it might make it easier if Lady Netherton is beyond the reach of the gossips’ claws for their next feast.

  Pughes finished and set the pen down in disgust.

  Darius grabbed up the paper quickly, unwilling to wrestle the man for it if he changed his mind. He folded it and put it in inside his vest without looking at it. “Thank you, Harold. I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t linger for your delightful company.”

  “Wait! You said you would tell me the truth of your circumstances! If you’ve a path to wealth, you promised to share it!”

  Darius shook his head. “I said I would let you ask. I never said I’d answer. But trust me on this, since I’ve proven that of all men in your acquaintance, I always keep my word—breathe one word of this, Harold, and I’ll make sure Netherton knows what a slick squirrel you are and how quickly you betrayed him on the slight promise of a bit of gossip and a show of coin.”

  “You heartless bastard!” Pughes hissed. “You’re not going to get the better of me. I’ll say nothing to Netherton but that won’t keep me from reminding anyone I know with any influence at the university that you have the breeding of a chimney sweep. Let’s see how far you rise, Thorne! Let’s see who secures a teaching post at a prestigious college or earns honors for their research! For I’ll be damned if you’ll get beyond tutoring village idiots in the Highlands if I have anything to say about it!”

  Darius took a step back. “Do what your conscience dictates, Mr. Pughes.” He bowed formally to the sputtering red-faced man. “And I’ll follow the dictates of mine.”

  Darius left without looking back and let out a long breath.

  He’s a blowhard but I think I might have just traded in my academic future if he makes good on his threats.

  Oh well. A hollow sacrifice since there wasn’t much of a chance in any case. . . .

  And she is worth any sacrifice.

  ***

  The rest of his outing went quickly. He stopped at Craig & Cavendish to sell three more of his stones to finance his plans and pick up a few things. Once again, he marveled at the value and remarkable returns he was able to easily secure for the gems.

  Let’s pray my luck holds as well in London.

  The ride back to the village closest to his home was relatively smooth, although they had to stop twice to clear the mud from the wheels, and by the time they reached the constable, Darius feared he looked a bit more rustic than usual, with mud on his coat and even in his hair.

  “Mr. Thorne!” The constable greeted him as the carriage pulled up outside the man’s offices. “I was off to home, but if you needed anything . . .”

  “Just a word, Mr. Pritchard. I won’t keep you long from your dinner table,” Darius said, climbing down to converse with the man.

  “No trouble, I hope! We see you rarely enough but my wife is always pleased to hear of you, sir.” The constable patted his broad middle, his smile genuinely warm. “She’s certain you’ll expire so isolated out there and has announced a grand plan to turn matchmaker on your behalf!”

  Darius allowed his horror at the notion to play on his features, eliciting a laugh from his good acquaintance. “God, no! Tell her my health is sound but I’ll move to Iceland before I’d play along. Now is—not a good time, Mr. Pritchard.”

  “It never is,” Mr. Pritchard agreed, shaking his head. “I’ll do my best to deter her, sir. But it’s like asking the tide not to come in! They do have their schemes! But what was it you wished to speak to me about?”

  “I just wanted to mention that if anyone has lost a horse, I’ve just come on one in my garden. A dark-colored thing but apparently happy to be warm in our stables. He’s terribly lame and no good for riding, I fear.”

  “Shall I come to fetch him for you?”

  “No,” Darius said, keeping his tone casual. “Hamish is working on his recovery and I’m putting out notices to find the owner. Probably just someone’s lost pet the way he eats, but if someone asked, you’d know where to inquire.”

  “You’re a good man to take him in! Winter oats aren’t cheap!” Pritchard said.

  “It’s the least I could do.” Darius leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Hamish is falling in love with the beast, I fear. So if you would, do me the favor of making it clear that I’d be willing to buy the stallion if the owner comes forward and might be interested. MacQueen’s got a soft heart for all his noise and I’d love to gift him with the animal.”

  Mr. Pritchard shook his head in amazement. “You’re too kind!”

  Darius shrugged. “If it spares the creature a painful long walk back to where he came from, saves his owner the cost of his appetite, and makes my driver growl a bit less, I can’t see that it’s not an easy choice to make.” Darius held out a folded slip of paper. “Here’s a copy of my consent to allow Hamish to negotiate a cash price on my behalf if it comes up.”

  “That’s well and proper, sir.” Mr. Pritchard took the document. “But wouldn’t you rather handle the matter yourself and limit the expense?”

  “I’m to London on business and I just didn’t want to leave any loose ends.”

  “You are a wise man, Mr. Thorne. No worries. If anyone reports a horse missing, we’ll see if your man has him. And in the meantime, I’ll just keep this on file.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pritchard.” Darius held out his hand and shook the constable’s hand to end the matter. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  “And you yours,” the constable said with a wave, stepping back as Darius climbed up into his carriage. “Ah, the quiet of a bachelor’s life!”

  “Good day,” Darius hailed him before closing the door and signaling Hamish to pull away.

  It was risky to bring Samson into it, but riskier to leave without covering his tracks. With Isabel safely hiding in the house, there was no need to keep anyone from his doorstep if they inquired after the stallion. Lying would draw only more attention. This way, if one of Netherton’s agents did show up to ask, Darius would have seen to it that there’d be no grounds for accusations of thievery or demands to search further. He imagined that they would ask questions as to whether anyone had seen Isabel but would have no valid excuse to physically search the property, and English law would prevent the trespass. And now there was even a remote chance of buying the horse to secure him for Isabel’s happiness.

  He decided to say nothing of the matter to Isabel, for fear of reminding her just how close a pursuit could be. One glance at Harold’s list had been enough to send his own fears careening.

  It was a short list.

  Five names of obscure establishments in London with no addresses.

  Ridiculous.

 
; Impossible.

  Her future rests on what I can uncover behind these five doors.

  Hell, that’s if I can find them. . . .

  Darius closed his eyes, summoning the strength he would need for yet another headlong journey to London. He’d just begun to feel like himself again, and the lure of simply staying in Isabel’s arms and shutting the world out was no fleeting temptation.

  ***

  “Were you successful?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Your husband has returned to London. Unfortunately, that’s where the trail leads if I’m to get any proof of his misconduct. I was able to get a few leads, Isabel, but I don’t want you to lose heart. I’m going to dedicate every waking minute to figuring out a way to prove his depravity and cruelty. If I’m successful, the last thing he’ll want is a public divorce, and he’ll consent to a quiet annulment to avoid the scandal.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Isabel, you are—”

  “Darius, before you say no”—she touched his sleeve—“hear me out.”

  He nodded, doing his best not to compose his argument against it beforehand. “I will listen as impartially as I can.”

  “Whether I am confined here or there, there is little difference. I can stay out of sight, Darius, and no one need know that I am in London. I’ll stay in whatever lodgings we secure and never see the light of day if need be, but I am more likely to be able to stay hidden in the labyrinth of Town, am I not? And if I am with you, then it is one less distraction of worry, is it not? You need not fear the not knowing if Mrs. McFadden’s niece has let it slip that she has seen me in the garden—”

  “She’s seen you in the garden?” he asked in alarm.

  “No, but who is to say she wouldn’t?” she countered solemnly.

  “You’re making my heart race, woman.”

  “Hush. What say you to my logic so far?” she asked.

  “It’s terrifyingly solid.”

  “Then may I add one more thing?”

  “You may.” He sat down slowly, in awe of the turns of her mind.

  “Well, I will avoid using the obvious emotional ploy of bringing up how precarious our time is together and how I should hate to forfeit a single second that I did not have to—should the worst ever come to pass. . . .”

  “That’s very kind of you,” he noted, completely bemused.

  “And instead I will tell you that I can be packed and ready to go within minutes.” She crossed her arms, as resolute as a judge. “And that if you don’t take me with you, I’ll . . .”

  Her words trailed off as she obviously reached the end of her prepared remarks.

  “You’ll . . . ?” he prompted.

  “Resign as your secretary? Throw a temper tantrum? Walk to London on my own?” she said, then sat next to him with a sigh. “I am not one for threats. I will beg you on my knees not to leave me again in this house without you. It’s too quiet and too empty, Darius. Before—I didn’t even know you as I do now. How could I face it after what’s passed between us?”

  Darius looked into her eyes and acknowledged that he felt the same way. Leaving her before had been hard enough, but now . . . it was an impossibility.

  “Come to London with me, Helen.”

  The joy that flooded her eyes was an instant reward, and he knew there was no turning back. He would bring her and make the best of it.

  And ask Michael and the others in the Jaded to understand.

  ***

  Isabel made good on her promise to pack quickly, once again appreciative of her small wardrobe and few personal possessions. Mrs. McFadden loaned her a valise and a small trunk, and within minutes, all was tucked away for the journey. The housekeeper was openly miserable at their departure but masked it by fussing in the kitchen and packing a hamper of food for the journey.

  While Darius rushed through his own more chaotic preparations in the library to organize a few of his papers, Isabel slipped out to the stables one last time.

  Samson’s head lifted the moment her feet crossed the threshold, and his loud neighing summoned her to his side. She hugged his neck and then leaned back to look into his soulful dark brown eyes. Isabel did her best not to cry, but it was as if he sensed her purpose, nuzzling her neck and hair and snuffling his soft nose against her skin.

  “I know, dearest. But you cannot carry me any farther. Not today.” Isabel reached up to ever so gently cup his ears and stroke the firm lines of his neck. “Hamish will take good care of you, and as soon as I can, I will send for you! Or I’ll be back. Would you like that, my warrior? Shall we live here forever and replant the garden? Ride the Scottish countryside and see what the villagers make of us?”

  She smiled. It was a sweet daydream to think of a simple life with Darius, playing secretary and drying flowers or doing whatever was required of a country wife. She had no real grasp of it, but even the vague promise of just being with Darius each day and sharing his bed each night seemed too good to hope for.

  “We have to defeat the dragon, Samson, before I can have my prince.”

  He whinnied again, jostling her as if to remind her that he was ever ready to fight on her behalf, dragon or no.

  Chapter

  19

  The journey was unorthodox as he “smuggled” her back to London without a single soul seeing her. Trains were too public, so they’d secured a post chaise and Darius had paid for all the seats to make sure that they had the cramped interior of the carriage all to themselves. Even so, Isabel wore a veil over her bonnet, her hair tightly braided and tucked up whenever they stopped for fresh horses and meals. Darius addressed her as Helen Stewart if there was anyone within hearing and made a point of leaving no trace of their identities behind them.

  The pace was not as dreadful as his previous journey’s, and Isabel’s company made it all bearable. He liked the intimacy of their private meals and shared hardships, and strove to make things as comfortable for her as possible.

  As the city loomed closer and closer, Darius pushed away the growing feeling that he was leading her like a lamb into the slaughterhouse.

  God, if her husband finds us now, there’ll be no escape.

  As they transferred to a hackney, he signaled a runner and handed off the note he’d already prepared to send word to the Jaded that he was back in London and needed to see them at Rowan’s right away. He included no explanations but knew his friends would trust the summons and come without question.

  The questions will come later, no doubt.

  I just pray they won’t mind the answers.

  After long days, the Grove was a welcome sight, and Darius paid the driver to wait with Isabel hidden inside the carriage while he went in to see about rooms.

  He took off his hat as the landlady approached. “I’m not sure if you remember me, Mrs. Clay, but I am a friend of Mr. Rutherford’s and—”

  “Mr. Thorne!” Mrs. Clay interrupted him cheerfully, setting down a large tray of pewter cups. “Of course I remember you! You have been here once or twice, and from Mr. Hastings’s account of that dreadful night at the Thistle, why you must be one of my favorite persons!”

  He shook his head. “Josiah is prone to exaggeration but I thank you for that.”

  “Have you come for Mr. Rutherford? He’s out today and I’ve got Tally up there pulling linens and doing all he can to clean the room. It’s a good chance to see to matters without bothering my dear giant!” Mrs. Clay beamed. “Will you stop for a bit of tea?”

  Darius struggled not to laugh. Mrs. Clay’s enthusiastic and friendly manners were legendary in their small circle, but he marveled at how much a woman could convey in so short a time. “I was wondering if the apartment that Miss Beckett had occupied is available?”

  “Oh no!” Mrs. Clay sighed, then instantly cheered. “I’ve brought a young girl in, an acquaintance of Miss Beckett’s—I mean, the new Mrs. Hastings, as you know. She introduced me to her young friend by the name of Margaret Beecham, and the girl has been a go
dsend. Maggie’s such a sweet thing and so eager to please and learn the business. I needed another pair of hands, and in exchange for her place, I’m giving her room and board along with a modest wage.” She smoothed her hands over her apron. “It’s tough times and a young woman without family . . . I just couldn’t allow it. There’s a pure little bird who just needed a warm nest and a mother’s care. And I don’t allow any grabbing or nonsense in my common room so she’s safe as churches here. Although, I fear Tally’s losing his heart again!”

  Darius tried again. “Then another pair of rooms perhaps? I have a friend looking for discreet accommodations. I know she would be safe here, under your good care. And I need a place to set down my luggage.”

  “Of course! I pride myself on maintaining a respectable inn and allow no rough trade here.” Mrs. Clay stepped forward, lowering her voice. “Discreet, you say?”

  “You are someone I trust entirely, Mrs. Clay. She is a respectable lady, and I would never willingly bring trouble to your doorstep, but I cannot leave her in just any public house, and a hotel . . .” Darius took a deep breath. “A hotel would expose her to too many eyes.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Clay exclaimed softly, nodding as if she were instantly aware of all. “I’ve a good room for her and another to suit you. But I don’t allow—” Mrs. Clay pressed her lips together. “If you’re calling on her, you can use the private first-floor parlor for meals and conversation, but I don’t allow a gentleman into a lady’s room for social visits. Even men of good character, so no getting around me, Mr. Thorne!”

  It made perfect sense, but it ground against him to be parted from her. Even so, he knew he had no other choice. They were exhausted from traveling and Isabel needed a haven. The Grove was perfect, and with Michael on hand for security and Mrs. Clay’s protective wings, Darius couldn’t imagine a better choice.