Worlds Apart

by Stein Willard

  The last thing he saw was a large fist coming at his face.

  ***

  Tia almost dropped her cup at the screech that got louder the closer it came to the dining room. She surged to her feet, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. A number of frightening scenarios rushed through her mind. Burton! Did something happen to him? The servant girl ploughed through the door and almost toppled Tia as she came to a stop before her.

  “Milady, you need to see this.”

  Without hesitation, Tia followed the woman through the door, down the hallway, across the foyer and out the front door. Alcott House faced Hyde Park and on any given day, she could walk out of her house and enjoy the warm, natural tranquillity of the park. Today however, it was unusually busy. The girl had grabbed her hand and was pushing a pathway through the throng. They broke through the wall of onlookers, only for Tia to gasp loudly at the sight that greeted her.

  Naked, as a new born baby, was Lord Gifford– tied to a tree trunk. His eyes were wild in shock as he made fleeting eye contact with her before he lowered his gaze. A large placard hung around his neck, covering his chest. Murdering rapist, it read in bold letters. Next to Lord Gifford, tied together at the feet, were two severely bruised men. A placard identified them as witnesses to Lord Gifford’s crime. With one last look at Lord Gifford, Tia turned away and waded through the crowd, back to her house. A number of emotions pulled at her. On her doorstep, she stopped and looked back at the spectacle that she had woken up to this morning. After a few moments, a small smile pulled at her lips. It wasn’t entirely what she had planned for Lord Gifford, but it was out of her hands now.

  Justice has been served. Complete with living proof.

  She took a deep breath. She had waited until dawn for The Maverick to contact her. It was evident now that he had been quite busy last night. As she looked on, a carriage rolled up, expelling a group of police officers.

  “Milady,” a voice sounded near her. Surprised, she looked around to find a small boy holding out a note to her. “For you, milady.”

  He was gone before she could thank him. Without having read the note, she knew it was from him.

  You seem to be satisfied with the outcome. Shall we call this mission completed? M

  Her smile widened as she looked up from the note, scanning the milling crowd which was growing by the minute. She entered the house, her tread light and her mood even lighter.

  One down, so many more to go.

  III

  ‘The Good Samaritan’

  It was getting harder to ignore the pain, which meant that it was time for Anita to call the midwife. She looked up; the shop was relatively quiet today. All the dresses that were supposed to be collected for the day, had been delivered. With Mistress Johnson visiting with her ailing mother, Anita was sure that the other woman would understand if she were to lock up the shop for the afternoon. The baby was impatient to meet its parents.

  She shuffled to the door and peered out, looking for a boy to send to the midwife’s home. “Where are those little scoundrels when you need them,” she muttered to herself. An imposing carriage came down the street and Anita grimaced when it came to a stop right before the shop. She recognized the crest immediately and patted her hair to create a semblance of order.

  The doorman jumped down from his perch at the back of the carriage and opened the door. Lady Helen, the Marchioness of Gilmore stepped out, her fine nose wrinkling slightly at the overwhelming smell of the street. Her face lit up at the sight of Anita.

  “My dear Anita, you look about ready to pop. Mistress Johnson never struck me as a cruel woman who would make you work when you should be at home with your feet up.”

  Anita smiled. The Marchioness had a fierce reputation, but when she was in a good mood, she was quite entertaining. “Mistress Johnson is visiting with her mother for the afternoon. I was just about to close the shop and call for the midwife.”

  A strange look crossed the noblewoman’s face and panicking slightly, Anita wondered if she had offended the woman without her knowledge. The moment was fleeting, however, for Lady Helen suddenly smiled widely.

  “Nonsense. Let me drop you off at her home. Just give my driver the address.”

  Anita blinked in surprise. “I really don’t want to impose on you, milady.”

  “It’s no bother. Now lock up and let’s go. That baby looks ready to be born.”

  ***

  Burton looked up from the book he was reading when Tia walked into the library. “You’re still glowing from your victory over the unscrupulous Lord Gifford.”

  Tia smiled. “You’re exaggerating. That was two weeks ago.”

  “I know.”

  Tia gracefully lowered herself onto a chair next to Burton. “I must say that it was with great satisfaction that I heard Lord Gifford hightailed it out of London. His wife stayed to pack up their townhouse before they move to the countryside.”

  Burton nodded. “And that’s the extent of his punishment. I feel sorry for the village girls having that monster amongst them.”

  Tia shrugged. “I doubt The Maverick would’ve neglected to warn him about what would happen should he fall back into his old habits.” She smiled. “The Maverick brought his side. I believe we can make this work.” She walked over to the bookshelves and lightly touched the spines of several books in her search for the one book that would tide her over until the next case. “I’m sure he must feel quite chuffed with our accomplishment. I can assume that at this very moment, he must already be working on another case for us.”

  ***

  Lady Rocheline loved the finer things in life.

  The rarer, the better.

  It was in her search for the rarest, most exquisite of finds that she stumbled upon this gorgeous brute. She gasped as large hands angled her hips, allowing for deeper, studier thrusts. A slow moan escaped from her lips as she tightened her hold on the bedpost. She found that she particularly loved her brute’s brand of lovemaking. It was intense and tempestuous.

  Strong arms wedged around her narrow waist and she spread her legs wider for a deeper fit. He pulled her down towards him as his thrusts deepened, producing loud sounds of flesh slapping flesh. Wildly aroused by the slapping sound and the soft grunts coming from her lover, she desperately clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the soft squeaks, lest one of the servants decided to investigate the noises.

  It was over too soon and her lover moved away. Lady Rocheline still clutched the wooden frame of the bed tightly, knowing that her legs would not be able to support her, were she to move now. She heard the faint sounds of clothing being straightened and sighed. He never asked her to stay over. Not once in the two months since she had come to his bed. She carefully pushed away from the bed and righted her own clothing. When she turned to face her lover, a seductive smile playing on her lips, it was to find him already standing at the door. His darkly handsome face was expressionless. No one would say that this was the same man who had ravished her so expertly only a few minutes ago. She sashayed over to him and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

  “You should know that I would not be missed, if I were to stay over one night.”

  A thin smile played over his lips. “It’s best we not put that to the test and bring the wrath of your esteemed father down on us, milady.” He held the door open. “Thomas will see you home safely.”

  With a small pout, she stared at him, but to no avail. It aggravated her greatly that her wiles worked so well on other men, her father included, but not on this man. As exciting as he was, he was twice as reserved. Even his touch was distant. He rarely touched her naked skin, always preferring to take her from behind, his hands clutching her hips where her skirts were bundled up.

  “Will I see you at Lord Fry’s soiree tomorrow in London? His eldest son recently returned from the West Indies and brought the most delectable fruits and nuts with him.”

  “I’m not sure how long my dealings with my servants will take, but if I’m d
one before noon, I might just make the trip to London.” The dark eyes were cool as they looked at her. “Otherwise, I will remain and only return to London in a fortnight’s time.”

  She sighed inwardly, even as she smiled at him. She would not see him at the soiree. He was a recluse, who shunned the social scene. Everyone knew that. Since his return to England from the Colonies six years ago, he had kept to himself. Not that it deterred the ladies of the ton in the least to keep plying him with invitations. The man was exquisite. He stood out amongst other men being well over six foot, evenly muscled and with a smooth sun-kissed skin, which added to his already swarthy features and intense jet-black eyes.

  As far as she knew, she was his only lover and she wanted to keep it that way. Thus, she will wait until she was home, before she gave voice to her frustrations. If he didn’t want to be seen in public, it was fine with her. As long as she remained in his favour, she stood a change of one day becoming the esteemed wife of Lord Pope, the fifth Marquess of Trenton.

  “Then I pray you manage your dealings before noon, milord.” She curtsied and left the room, not caring at that moment if there were eyes seeing her leaving the Marquess’ bedroom. The more people talk and gossip, the greater the chance of it reaching her father’s ears. Her father was influential enough to demand a marriage proposal.

  ***

  The clock above the door announced a new arrival, after a short while, the desk bell sounded. From where she was sitting behind the sewing machine, Anita slowly came to her feet. It took all her effort to work up a smile for the client. Marion was a good woman, friendly and charming. It would not be fair to taint the woman’s day with her own burdens.

  “Anita, it good to see you back on your feet. By the looks of you, the baby must be keeping you up all night,” Marion said with a huge smile. Anita swallowed to stop the constant stream of tears that threatened to overwhelm her since she woke a few days ago and found her womb flat and empty. She quickly turned on her heel and ran to the backroom. Maybe she shouldn’t be here. She was of no help to anyone. She couldn’t even help herself. The doorbell sounded again and she could hear voices in the front room. Mistress Johnson would be disappointed in her, but Anita couldn’t for the life of her get herself to the leave the security of the backroom. Footsteps came closer and she stiffened. Why couldn’t they not just leave and come back later? A cloud of citrus filled the room as a vision in white came to kneel before her. Anita looked up and nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight of the Duchess of Camphor.

  “Your Grace,” she shouted as she surged to her feet, but strong hands pulled her down into the chair. “Oh, milady, your dress. You can’t kneel in the…”

  “Hush, Anita. The dress can be treated later. It’s you I’m most worried about right now.” The woman’s beautiful face was filled with concern. “What ails you, my friend? Is it the baby?”

  Anita looked away. “The baby is gone.”

  “Oh, Anita, I’m so sorry.” The duchess pulled her into a tight embrace. “I can’t begin to imagine your pain.” Anita sobbed softly. At least, someone who didn’t try to diminish her pain. Most everyone in her neighbourhood was quick to share their experiences and telling her that time would heal all wounds. That was not what she wanted to hear. She wanted to grieve for her child. “I’ll leave Marion here to inform the clients that you’ll be indisposed for the day and then I’m taking you home.”

  Anita looked up into the face the woman. Such a powerful woman and so kind. She had never met anyone like the duchess before. Her servants were full of praise for their gentle mistress and it was made clear everyday why they adored her so. Even she, a lowly seamstress’ assistant, had been a recipient of the woman’s generous spirit on many occasions. Be it a beautiful bonnet or a provisions package for her family over the holidays, Lady Tia was a living saint.

  “Now come, you need a cup of tea and your loved ones around you,” Lady Tia said as she gently helped her to her feet.

  ***

  Tia was distracted as she stood in the circle, having tuned out the gossip of the other women. She hated these shindigs, but Lord and Lady Fry had recently returned from India and they were eager to share their experiences with their friends. Tia would admit that she was fascinated by the Orient and wouldn’t mind going there herself one day. But for now, that would have to remain her dream until she had managed to raise the consciousness about the poor and downtrodden amongst her peers. A sharp squeal brought her from her musings to the present.

  “…most dashing and handsome man ever. And he’s coming this way.” Dashing and handsome, Tia realised, usually meant foppish in this day and age. There were very few real men around. She felt her friends’ eyes on her as she lifted the cup of punch to her lips. She didn’t say that out loud, now did she? The hairs on her nape prickled and she turned slowly. She blinked.

  He was tall. Taller than most men in the room. Her eyes trailed up from his chest to his face and she swallowed when she encountered deep wide-set onyx eyes in a darkly handsome face. He was incredibly attractive. She allowed her gaze to touch on his broad shoulders and his shorn raven locks. A real man. It was a relief to know that they were still around. Far and few, but still around. She pulled the cup away from her lips and smiled at him as she curtsied.

  “Milord.”

  “Your Grace.” He held out his hand for hers and Tia shivered as his lips brushed her knuckles. “Lord Benedict Pope, the fifth Marquess of Trenton, at your service.” He smiled and his sunburned cheeks dimpled. Tia heard the soft sighs coming from her friends and turned to them.

  “Lord Pope, let me introduce you.” She watched him throughout the introductions. He made strong eye contact, his manner crisp and respectful as he greeted the other ladies. He turned back to her and studied her with his dark, hypnotic gaze.

  “If it’s not too much of an indisposition for you, Your Grace, I would be honoured if you would accompany me on a ride through Hyde Park tomorrow morning.”

  Brave. Handsome, polite and brave, Tia thought. Her rank and her powerful allies usually scared off suitors. But Lord Pope seemed sure of his looks and thus, his chances with her. He smiled at her as if he could read her thoughts. She hid behind the cup for a few moments openly appraising him and noticed that he was doing the same. Men didn’t interest her. They had lost their appeal when she was still very young and she found that she could do almost everything they could and do it even better. As she grew older, they symbolized marital bondage and she was too much of a free spirit to allow that. Her father, bless his soul, knew that too. But Lord Pope fascinated her. Maybe taking a closer look would not be such a bad idea after all.

  “I would love to, milord.”

  A collective sigh sounded from where her friends stood, having eavesdropped blatantly.

  “Then I’ll pick you up at your residence at ten o’clock, milady.” He turned to her friends. “I wish you a wonderful evening, ladies.” The Marquess bowed and walked away. Tia blushed when she found herself staring at his tight gluteus. Well, she did say she was going to do a close inspection of the man.

  “Oh my,” Lady Millicent exclaimed. “He’s even more attractive up close than I’ve heard and so charming.”

  “Yes,” Lady Penelope muttered. “Now all you have to do is steer clear of Lady Rocheline.”

  “Lady Rocheline? Why?” Tia had met the woman once and disliked her on the spot. She was pretty, with her blond corkscrew curls and big blue eyes, but everything about the young woman was fake. Her father was an overindulgent fool who left the reins slack where his only daughter was concerned. The girl had earned quite the reputation as a home wrecker and her daft father was wont to say that he had never heard any of the rumours swirling around. She shook her head. What would the fake girl and the handsome marquess have in common? She blushed. Except of course for the obvious? Lord Pope didn’t look like a fool. Or was he?

  “She has claimed him as hers.” She pointedly looked over at the punch bowl, where the pints
ized Lady Rocheline was smiling up at a stoic-looking Lord Pope. “But it seems like he wasn’t informed of the change in ownership.”

  Tia watched the interaction between Lady Rocheline and Lord Pope with a sinking heart. There was definitely something there. Stupid man! She turned to her friends. “Well, it was quite a day and I was hoping to turn in early.”

  They all mumbled their own intentions to leave. Lady Millicent held up her hand. “Will I see you all tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? Why?” Tia asked.

  “Lady Helen has a ladies’ soiree to present her new baby.” Lady Millicent blinked at them. “Didn’t you get the invitation? They were delivered early this morning.”

  Tia frowned. “Lady Helen, the Marchioness of Gilmore?”

  “If you ask me, I didn’t even know she was pregnant. She’s as skinny as a crow and it should’ve shown.” Lady Penelope drained her cup and looked longingly at the table that held the punch bowl.

  They said their goodbyes and Tia hastily made for the exit. She needed to get to Burton. He was a great sounding board. As she waited for her coach to be brought around, she felt a presence next to her. She caught a whiff of sandalwood and frowned. It was a common scent used by the men, but after her first meeting with The Maverick, she found that she associated the scent solely with him now.

  “Leaving so early, Your Grace?” Lord Pope stood next to her, his strong body humming with power and vitality. She looked up at him and sighed. Stupid man, indeed.

  “I was hasty to accept your…”

  He quickly interrupted. “It’s too late to cancel now, milady.”