Obsession Wears Opals

by Renee Bernard

  “No, Mrs. Clay. No getting around you. I swear it.”

  “Lovely! The common room’s fairly deserted at this hour, so no worries coming through to the west stairs. I’ll ring Maggie to show you both up, and let me get a boy to help you with your things.” Mrs. Clay retrieved her tray. “And may I say, it’s a pleasure to have you as a guest, Mr. Thorne!”

  “You’re too kind.” He gave her a half bow and made his way back out to Isabel and the waiting carriage.

  He hailed the driver just as one of Mrs. Clay’s burly male employees came out for the luggage. “If you’ll give him a hand with our things, sir.”

  The driver touched his hat brim and climbed down as Darius opened the carriage door. Even at such a moment, she was a sight of delicate beauty that made his chest ache. “Mrs. Clay has a room for each of us and will see to your privacy, dearest. If you’ll pull up your hood and use that sheer scarf, we’ll make the most of it and get you safely upstairs.”

  Isabel complied, giving him a saucy smile. “The landlady must think me a scandalous guest!”

  “Mrs. Clay thinks only that I’m to respect the sanctity of your rooms so that she can mother and spoil you, from what I can gather.” He held out his hand to help her down. The gloved hand that slid into his was trembling but Darius did his best to pretend not to notice.

  “I don’t want to be alone, Darius.”

  “I know. Let me see what I can do.” He guided her up the walk, and as promised, a young woman was coming down the stairs to meet them.

  “I’m Maggie Beecham and I’m to welcome you to the Grove,” she said, then added an awkward curtsy. Her dress was modest and pressed, her bright eyes spoiling her efforts to appear serious. “If you’ll follow me.”

  She led them through the main dining room and common area and then up the west stairs to the first floor. “Mrs. Clay wanted me to tell you that anything you need, you just ring the bell. Good and hard so that Tally can mind it as well. He’s deaf and mute but a lamb really.”

  They reached a door near the end of the hall, a good quiet distance from the stairwell. “Here we are,” she announced and opened the door with a key before standing aside. “I hope it meets with your approval. I’ll send Tally up with coal for the fireplaces and that will cozy it up for you.”

  Isabel stepped inside, a mysterious woman with her face concealed by the sheer scarf and the cowl of her cape. “It’s lovely.”

  It was a good-size room, with dark green drapes and bedding that might have seen better days, but it smelled of sunshine and beeswax and every surface gleamed with the care of its landlady’s hands.

  Maggie set the key down on a side table. “It gets good light considering it’s February, and there’s a lovely sitting area.”

  “And my room?” Darius asked.

  Maggie nodded. “This way, sir.”

  He gave Isabel an encouraging smile before he followed the young miss out, anxious to map the route to his room so that he could retrace his steps back to Isabel at the first opportunity. So when they only went ten steps, Darius nearly ran over Miss Beecham. “Here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Maggie pushed the door open and Darius immediately realized he was looking at the room directly next to Isabel’s, with drapes and bedding the color of pomegranates. “There’s a window seat, and as I said, I’ll have Tally cozy it up for you. And there’s . . . that.”

  “That?” Darius asked, following her gaze to the paneled wall.

  Maggie blushed. “I’m to say again how respectable the Grove is and how proud Mrs. Clay is of her reputation.” The girl moved to the wall and, even as she spoke, demonstrated how the hidden door between the rooms worked. “And well I know it! She took me in from the streets and has given me a chance to truly make something of myself, sir. This is a good place. So,” Maggie said firmly, “I’m to give the lady the key that locks the other side. So it’s all square.”

  “Understood. Thank you, Miss Beecham.”

  “Would you like something from the kitchens sent up, sir? If you’ve only just arrived in London, you must be famished and ready to set for a while.”

  “You’re an angel, yes, thank you.”

  Maggie blushed again. “I? I’m many things, but an angel is not one of my claims. But I do aspire to better things and I am lucky in my friendships of late. Well, Daniel will be up with your bags and will help you get sorted. I’ll see what Cook has for you.” She curtsied and scurried off before he could thank her again.

  Darius walked over to the secret door, testing the latch hidden in the carved panel and admiring the workmanship. He was tempted to try it but knew better than to startle Isabel when her nerves were already on edge. Instead he went back to her open doorway and leaned against the frame, hoping to elicit a smile.

  “So much for my worries about creeping long hallways in the dark,” he said.

  “Your room is there, isn’t it?” Isabel pointed at the wall they shared.

  “Closer than you know,” he added. “Apparently, there’s a secret door. Maggie was to give you the key so that I couldn’t take advantage.”

  “Ah!” Isabel unfolded one gloved hand to reveal a large, ornate key. “I was wondering what this was. She just darted in to hand it to me and then rushed off without a word.”

  “It’s there. If only to make you feel better that you can reach me if you need to,” he said, then crossed his arms. “It is London. I would understand if you chose to leave it latched—”

  “No! Are you insinuating that I loved you only when it was remote and easy, that my feelings for you might have changed because we’re in the city and the danger of discovery is greater?” She laid the key on the mantel. “Or that here the rules of society apply differently?”

  “I suppose not.” He had to swallow the lump that rose in his throat. I’m as guilty of trespassing here as I was there—but somehow with the weight of it all pressing in and the trust she’s put in me by coming here—please God, don’t let me fail her. “Mrs. Clay is too astute to have fooled for long, so I’m pleased to think that the White Queen can summon me when she wishes.”

  The sound of the man bringing up their trunks ended the exchange, and Isabel nervously pulled her veil back into place to shield her unique coloring from view.

  Darius helped them sort out the boxes and then paid the footman for his aid. “Please tell the driver I’ll be back down and in need of his services for a while longer.”

  “Will do, sir.” The man ducked his head and hurried back down the hall to the stairs.

  “You’ll need the carriage?” Isabel asked.

  “I’m going to Rowan’s to meet with the others.”

  ***

  Isabel nervously unpacked her trunk. It only took a few minutes to hang up the dresses she possessed and to put away her things.

  She’d abandoned dozens and dozens of gorgeous gowns, a life of luxury that so many would have envied; the life that she had been raised to expect.

  The life I would still have but for Richard. . . .

  I would still be that spoiled and pampered pet if the man holding the leash hadn’t turned out to be a demon in disguise.

  It was like recalling someone else when she thought of Miss Isabel Penleigh.

  I like being Helen Stewart.

  Her eyes trailed around the room again, surveying every detail and fighting off the melancholy that nibbled at the edges of her mood. Because in her quest for freedom from her marriage, she’d become more and more confined. It was temporary, Darius had tried to reassure her, but it was harder to appear brave as she faced the reality of her return to London.

  She would be unable to leave these rooms. Not even to walk down to the common room unless she wore her cloak and veil for fear that some guest would recognize her or notice her coloring to make a comment to the wrong person.

  One whisper, one breath of gossip or speculation about the mysterious woman staying at the Grove and Richard could be standing on her doorstep and all would be lost.
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  I am a prisoner, just like Helen of Troy. I’m with the man I love but I’m trapped, too. God help me.

  She pulled out the wooden box he’d set on the bed and lifted the lid.

  It was the chess set.

  Tears filled her eyes at the sight of it. All the love and patience he’d shown her was manifested in the neat rows of black and white carved figurines lying atop the red velvet, awaiting their next battle.

  “I am the most powerful piece in the game,” she said softly.

  She pulled out the board from the hidden drawer underneath and slowly set out the elements on the table by the window, her nerves soothed by the ritual and the promise of Darius’s return.

  Chapter

  20

  The men of the Jaded met in Rowan’s study, all of them present at Darius’s request except for one.

  “Has Josiah come up for air yet?” Ashe asked wryly.

  “Don’t make light of it!” Rowan jumped in defensively. “He’s entitled to settle in to his life with Eleanor. I’m to send word to him of any news and he’s as anxious as any of us for an end to this business, but his eyes are giving him trouble and I reassured him that attendance wasn’t required.”

  Michael crossed his arms but said nothing.

  Ashe turned his attention to Darius. “We are here, D. I, for one, am glad to see you back in London, but from the look on your face, I’m wondering if I should be more worried. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m in a bit of an . . .” Darius’s voice trailed off and he instantly regretted that he hadn’t thought about the best way of telling his friends about Isabel. “There is a personal matter that I’m striving to address.”

  Ashe sat up straighter in his chair. “Is this the same personal matter that was keeping you in Edinburgh?”

  Darius nodded.

  “Is it a woman?” Ashe asked.

  “Of course it isn’t a woman!” Michael spoke before Darius could react. “This is Thorne we’re dealing with. He’s far too levelheaded for that business now! It’s not as if . . .” Michael’s speech faltered as he caught sight of Darius’s expression. “It’s a woman?”

  “If we’re oversimplifying things, yes. It’s a woman,” Darius said and calmly watched his friends’ varied reactions. The married and matched men in the room appeared instantly supportive and welcoming to the announcement, but Rutherford’s expression was disgruntled disappointment.

  “Congratulations!” Ashe was on his feet and warmly shaking his best friend’s hand. “Damn it! I knew you’d find happiness, despite all that show about being too smart for it! Or did she find you?” His eyes widened. “We aren’t talking about that housekeeper you wrote me about, are we? Because she sounded . . . a little long in the tooth, Thorne. Not that older women don’t have an appeal but—”

  “Blackwell!” Rowan said, slapping Ashe on the shoulder. “The turns of your mind confound reason!”

  “No! I am not in the company of my housekeeper Mrs. McFadden, who, by the way, I believe I can hear screeching in protest at the notion even from here.” Darius rolled his eyes. “I should have braced myself better for this.”

  “Something’s wrong,” Galen said softly, the dark timbre of his voice quieting the room. “He’d have led with the news if it were good. And this wasn’t an announcement of joy but a reluctant request for our help with something.”

  “He’s right. Let’s have it, Darius. You know we’ll stand with you,” Michael Rutherford vowed, and every man nodded in quick agreement.

  Darius closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them to take the plunge. “In the midst of a winter storm, a rider stumbled into my garden and collapsed off of her horse. I took her in and quickly realized that she was in real trouble. She was attempting to escape a violent marriage and I—I have vowed to help her. I’ve brought her to London.”

  “Shit.” Ashe blurted it out and sat as if his knees had given out.

  “Her husband? Do you know him?” Michael asked.

  “I’ve met him. He is a villain by any measure but he’s also titled, and with his new wife’s wealth, a man of influence. I am”—Darius took a deep breath—“facing a bit of a challenge.”

  “Darius,” Rowan said as he sat back down, gesturing for his friend to join him. “It’s a delicate matter, but if she’d be more comfortable, I can send Gayle to examine her if there are injuries.”

  “Thank you, Rowan.” Darius took the seat. “She has recovered remarkably well and is now in perfect health. At this moment, it’s her future safety that makes me wary.”

  “I hate him already but who is he?” Blackwell asked.

  “Lord Richard Netherton.”

  “Lady Isabel Netherton?” Galen winced, drawing air through gritted teeth. “I’m not one to soak up the society pages, but I swear they had a duke or two at that wedding, Thorne. Her father is a marquis. I remember it only because Haley was mad for the wedding dress details last spring and raved about the woman’s unique beauty. They’ll boil you in oil if you’re caught in this thing.”

  “Where are you staying?” Ashe asked.

  “I’ve rented rooms at the Grove and—”

  “You’ll bring her to my house.” Ashe stopped him. “I’ve got footmen the size of bears now and Rutherford had me hire night guards to walk the grounds after sunset.”

  “I don’t want to implicate you or Caroline directly if a scandal erupts, Blackwell.”

  “Nonsense! I’m impervious to scandal and Rutherford’s about to have an apoplectic fit over there if you don’t agree to it. We’ll smuggle her in and the incomparable Mrs. Blackwell”—Ashe paused as the very mention of his wife made his countenance soften—“will shower me with kisses for bringing her a friend to talk to and sparing her my incessant hovering.”

  Rowan rolled his eyes. “As if an army of houseguests will stop you from smothering that woman!”

  “I cannot intrude to—” Darius began.

  “Stop talking, Thorne!” Ashe crossed his arms. “You’re bringing her. I’ll give you a floor of the house to yourselves, and no one will say a word if I’ve asked my best friend to keep me distracted while my wife is ‘in a delicate condition.’”

  “That’s one thing settled,” Galen said before taking a sip of lemon barley water. “Where is Netherton in this?”

  “He’s in London.” Darius leaned back in his chair, a man relieved to be defeated by his friends’ generosity.

  “Then why aren’t you still in Edinburgh?” Michael asked. “You need to keep out of his path and keep her as far from him as you can.”

  Darius waved him off and stood to make his case. “No! If I’m to find a way out of the marriage for her, then I need to uncover his weaknesses and see if there isn’t something I can use against him if it comes to the courts. I have to find a way and free her from a life of fear.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “The law . . .”

  “I know the law, Michael.”

  They all knew the law. The wife held no rights of property or person, and so long as her husband wasn’t guilty of incest, bigamy, cruelty, or desertion, divorce wasn’t allowed. The definition of cruelty was elusive and nonsensical, and more than one woman had lost her life without meeting the law’s standards. Even if her husband were insufferable, few women of rank would consider the destruction and humiliation of a public trial to prove the worst only to be rewarded with the life of a social pariah plagued with blacklists and judgmental gossip.

  “What is your plan?” Ashe asked calmly.

  “I want to find proof of his true nature. From what I’ve learned of him so far, he’s prone to enjoying the edges of a moral degradation that would make Ashe nauseated. It’s all rumor, but if I can actually prove it, I may have the lever I need to move this mountain. I have a few leads on some of the private houses he enjoys that cater to men with exotic sexual tastes.”

  “Blackmail.” Galen shook his head. “Thorne, you are an unlikely villain to take this on.”
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  “D’s no villain!” Ashe protested.

  “No, he isn’t,” Galen agreed, “which should make this all the more challenging for him. Darius”—he turned back to watch Darius pace across the floor—“are you sure you have the stomach for this?”

  Darius nodded. “I have no choice. I could give her most of my fortunes and encourage her to head for the Continent, but what life is that? Living in exile and fear?” He stopped the restless turns about the room and planted his feet firmly. “No. Helen deserves to be happy, and so long as that animal has power over her, I cannot turn away. I’ll find some scandalous secret he’s harboring and drive him into the sea.”

  For a few moments, the men sat in stunned silence at the transformation of their quiet and scholarly friend into a man of determined action.

  “Helen?”

  “Don’t ask!” Darius folded his arms. “It’s . . . complicated.”

  “I take it back.” Galen smiled. “I think Thorne has this one.”

  “If you’re out sniffing after that man’s trail, here.” Ashe held out a small stack of his cards. “I’m not saying I was ever that far off into the dark woods, but . . . at least I once had a reputation for being a bit of a scoundrel. It might help you gain entrance somewhere. You can even lie and say you’re scouting a bit on my behalf now that I’m imprisoned by marriage. I don’t care what you say if it helps you bring that bully down.”

  Galen’s emerald eyes flashed with venom. “Hell, throw out the bait of my title and see if that does it! I’m with Blackwell. I despise any man who strikes a woman because he thinks to make more of himself. Should we try to go with you?”

  “No. This is where I draw the line, gentlemen.” Darius kept his voice level. “It’s one thing to offer us shelter, which I appreciate. But trust me, friends, not even the Jaded are jaded enough for the places I’ll have to go. I’m not dragging your names into it. Keep your cards, Ashe, and for God’s sake, keep your good name, Galen. I for one will be fighting to protect my own if I can.”

  Darius crossed the room to pour himself another drink. “I’ll call on you if I need help, but for now, do me a favor and keep a close watch for the Jackal. I need some breathing room to attend to this matter and I don’t think I can fight a war on two fronts.”