THE SENSE OF HONOR

by Ashley Kath-Bilsky

  I love him, her soul rejoiced.

  “Are you quite through with your inspection?” Not moving his pose even a hair, Devlin opened his sea gray eyes and looked at her.

  “You beast,”—she slapped his arm playfully—“I thought you truly asleep this time. You were not doing that awful snore.”

  “I am a man of many talents,”—he grinned with seductive promise—“and I never give the same performance twice.”

  She eyed him with feigned puzzlement. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

  With a deep rumble of laughter, he stood. Then, like a bold, mischievous knight, he yanked her into his arms and soundly kissed her mouth. “What are you doing in my room, wench?”

  “We were to have supper tonight, sir.”

  “Yes, but as a rule, I take my meals in the dining room.”

  “I have another destination in mind.” Pulling away from his arms, she returned to the still open secret panel. “Come with me.”

  He soon stood at her side and studied the gaping hole of darkness with an almost comical expression. “I know you are not happy about my leaving for London in the morning, but do you not think slapping me in irons is a bit much?”

  With a soft laugh, she entered the opening to the passageway, crooking her finger for him to follow. “Come see the Shadow Walk.”

  The invitation proved irresistible.

  Much to Devlin’s surprise, torches in ancient iron sconces lighted their way—though distanced a bit too far apart for his liking. Still, not wanting Christiana to see his discomfort at being in confined places, he followed. Every so often she paused, pointing out different marks carved into the walls above other secret doors into the abbey.

  “Rather ingenious,” he murmured, paying particular attention to a crescent-shaped symbol indicating her new bedchamber.

  After they had walked for a time in a steady descent, she stopped. The flickering flame of a nearby torch cast a golden aura about her face. Standing before him in a new white gown by Mrs. Harris, Christiana resembled an earthbound angel.

  “Can you hear the sound of water?” she asked.

  Remembering what Godolphin had said about a lake running beneath the abbey, he bit back a knowing grin. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  With an excited smile, she touched his forearm. “There is a lake beneath the abbey.”

  “A lake?” he replied with mock disbelief. “Was that not clever of the monks?”

  The sound of her enchanting laughter warmed his heart.

  Beneath their feet, the stone path became increasingly slick, prompting a slower pace. And the steep, winding descent made it seem as if they were entering the very bowels of hell. The sound of water dripping grew louder, each droplet echoing into the darkness. When next they passed another torch light, he saw moisture glistening on the walls.

  “Were you not afraid to come down here as a child? Without light from the torches, it must have been terrifying.”

  “By the time I discovered the Shadow Walk, I was no longer afraid of the dark.”

  He stopped short. “You were afraid of the dark?”

  She looked at him and nodded. “It started when I was four years old, just after my father died. I often had nightmares and woke up screaming. Yet, even awake, the fear remained. In truth, I was afraid to walk about the abbey alone, and held fast to Reliance’s skirts.”

  With a delicate shrug of her shoulders, she continued walking. “That was when the new Earl Bellewyck decided sweeping chimneys would rid me of my fear. He summoned Mr. Hartwell and that was that.”

  “Did no one try to make him see reason?”

  “Reliance tried. He told her if she contradicted his orders, she would be discharged. Odd, but I remember that day clearly. Reliance stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders—and they were shaking. She told Tom afterwards she knew his lordship wanted me dead. She had seen it in his eyes.”

  “She must have been a remarkable woman.”

  “Oh, she was wonderful. I loved her very much. She had the gentlest smile, and the prettiest warm, brown eyes. Such a tiny thing, too—much shorter than me but she had a spirit and strength that seemed larger than life. When Reliance put her mind to something, no one could stop her. Jasper says I take after her in that respect, which is—in his opinion—not always a good thing.”

  Coming to a split in the path, they paused again. “If ever you come here without me, always take the left path. Remember, the right way is the wrong way.”

  “And what, pray tell, waits down the right path?”

  She studied him a long moment, clearly debating whether or not to answer. Then, with a rather telling sigh, replied, “The grotto.”

  Devlin folded his arms across his chest. “Grotto—as in the grotto you took me to the night I followed you to The Mermaid Inn?”

  With a crestfallen expression, she looked down. “Yes, and I am sorry that I did not tell you.”

  “Do not be sad, sweetheart.” Placing a finger under her chin, he prompted her to look at him. “I already knew about your little trick. Godolphin told me about the lake and the grotto where you first met Blackjack.”

  “And they say women have loose tongues.”

  “Speaking of tongues...” He kissed her soft lips, anticipating the delicious moment when she’d melt into his arms. It took no longer than a heartbeat. On a breathless sigh, their mouths merged, their tongues entwined—slowly, tenderly. Building with deep seductive spirals and accompanied by increasingly heavy breathing, the kiss ignited what could easily turn into uncontrollable passion.

  Devlin broke the kiss. Breathing hard and fast, he held her until he’d gained control of his wits—not to mention an impudent, burgeoning arousal. Once capable of moving again, he stepped back. In the flickering light, he saw Christiana’s passion-swollen lips. Raising his gaze from temptation, he stared into eyes shining like brilliant amethysts in the intimate lighting of the passageway.

  “I love you, Devlin Randolph.”

  His body tensed. If she’d just said she loved him, he might have responded in kind. Not that he’d ever said those words. But he wanted to say them to her. Unfortunately, she’d attached his blasted fictitious identity to her declaration. Each time she innocently, often breathlessly, called him Devlin Randolph only reminded him of his deceptive, wretched masquerade and the bloody wager.

  “Devlin, is something wrong?”

  “No, nothing is wrong.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes,” he responded inanely. Uncomfortable with the ensuing awkward silence and the sudden wariness in her expression, he gruffly cleared his throat. “Christiana, have you given any more thought to meeting Pemberton?”

  “I have, but only because you said we could not have a future until I was brave enough to step forward and admit who I am. I want us to have a future, Devlin. I just hope you are not mistaken about the duke, and that he will not keep us apart.”

  “Mark my words, Pemberton will insist upon marriage.” Belatedly, Devlin realized his sardonic tone had been misconstrued by Christiana. Offering his best gentleman’s bow, he smiled. “I beg your pardon, Miss Petrovsky. But I am exceedingly hungry. I daresay, if we delay any longer, I shall not be held accountable for my boorish behavior.”

  “Ahh,”—she smiled—“so you are hungry…for food?”

  “You must understand, my sweet.” Gently taking hold of a still healing hand, he steered her toward the path she’d just indicated—the left one. “As a rule, men think of two things—sex and food. In that order, I might add. And since I have taken a vow of celibacy until your relationship with Pemberton has been addressed, my comfort must be found in food.’’

  Continuing downward at an increasingly steep angle, the path grew quite slippery. Had he not been holding Christiana’s hand, she would have fallen on two occasions. He glanced down at her new silk slippers. “It might have been better had you worn those old black half-boots.”

  “Boys’ half-
boots with this gown? Heaven forbid.”

  “Yes, well, I prefer the wrong shoes to you breaking your neck.”

  The sound of water lapping against stone magnified. They turned a rather sharp corner, and he saw the reason why. Illuminated by an abundance of glowing torch lights, they’d come to a vast cave and the mysterious lake far beneath the abbey.

  Devlin stopped walking, amazed at wondrous formations emerging from the floor of the cave, and spearing down from its ceiling. “My God, this is beautiful…like a forest of stone.”

  Here and there he noted small, calm pools of water mirroring the cave’s formations with startling clarity. He neared the lake, but she prompted him to walk away from it. They continued around a sharp turn, and then another, until they came to a secret room. Although a bit chilly, it also glowed with candlelight.

  “I thought candles expensive and the abbey frugal,” he teased.

  “This is a special occasion.” She led him by the hand to a table set for two, complete with linen, crystal, and a silver epergne. Then, with graceful gestures, she revealed the menu for their dinner.

  Given the temperature of the room, a cold repast had been prepared, including roast duck, ham, and lobster. He spied other dishes as well, including asparagus, seed cake, and a mouth-watering apricot tart. She even had several bottles of wine for his enjoyment. The planning that went into the impressive, romantic display did not go unnoticed. The only thing he found missing were musicians situated behind a screen in the corner.

  Pulling her back against his chest, he whispered into her ear, “Your strategy for seduction is most impressive, my sweet. Bring a half-starved man to an intimate cave, serve up a delicious feast, and ply him with wine. Is that it?”

  She turned about in his arms. “You think I have seduction in mind?” He crooked a brow in mute reply. “Oh, very well, ‘tis partly true.”

  At his resounding laughter, she playfully pushed him away. “I also had another reason for bringing you down here. Look about you, Devlin. Look at the table—the silver, the dishes, the crystal. These are important clues.”

  He picked up a plate, noticing the design. “The Bellewyck crest.”

  She smiled. “I brought many pieces down here for safekeeping years ago. I was not able to save much of the silver. My dear half-brother took that first. He believed I broke the dishes in a fit of rage.” She picked up one of the plates. “Are they not beautiful? You can see your face in them.”

  Before he could respond, she all but danced about the room, pointing to a few fine pieces of furniture, some exceptional tapestries, and other miscellaneous items. Not only did she convey their history and where they’d been originally placed in the abbey, but who helped bring them down to the Shadow Walk.

  “You never cease to amaze me, my sweet.”

  “I intended to put them back when his lordship died, but that Mr. Higginbotham showed up so soon afterwards I had no time. He was such a nosy man—much worse than you.”

  Devlin’s steeled his gaze at her.

  “Well,”—she spoke in a demure manner—“you were rather nosy when you came here.”

  Despite pursing his lips together, Devlin could not suppress a grin.

  “In any event,” she continued. “I could hardly bring all these things up whilst he conducted an inventory of the estate. He would have told Pemberton we were thieves.”

  Devlin erupted in laughter, recalling Higginbotham’s remarks about the abbey servants. “Yes, I can well imagine how it might have looked to him.” He rested his hands low on his hips and crooked a brow at his lady love. “So, is it now your intent to use me as brute labor to carry these treasures back up to the abbey?”

  “No, I only wanted to show you my treasure room so there will be no more secrets between us. I feel so ashamed for the way I treated you when you first came to the abbey. But you have won my heart and my trust.” She paused, smiling through shimmering eyes. “You leave tomorrow and—although I know you said you would return…”

  He approached her. “I will return.”

  She smiled, but tears gathered more quickly in her eyes.

  By God, how could she still have doubts?

  “I am coming back, Christiana.”

  “Well, when you do, these things will be in the abbey where they belong.”

  She walked away from him, and he hardly knew what to say or do. She hugged her waist and stood in profile, nibbling on her bottom lip as she was wont to do when upset or nervous.

  “There are just two things I shan’t return to the abbey.”

  Glancing about the room, he couldn’t fathom what items she might desire.

  She moved toward the corner of the room and revealed two portraits. He immediately saw her resemblance to the woman. “Your parents?”

  “This is William Bertram, my father.” She touched the heavy frame of the large portrait. “I have some mist-like memories of him—bits and pieces really. The smaller portrait is my mother, Anna. ‘Tis all I have of her.”

  She stepped back a little and studied her mother’s face. “I was named after her. Christi is because I was born on Christmas Day. The Anna part is for her.”

  “Christiana.”

  She looked at him then, copious tears glistening on her porcelain cheeks. “He was going to burn it, but…”

  “But you saved her, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

  Her shuddering breath and attempt to not cry proved more than he could bear. He went to her, needing to hold her within his empty arms.

  She sobbed as if sharing for the first time the loss she’d kept private far too long. How many years had she mourned her parents in silence? Perhaps not wanting to burden others? Devlin looked at the portrait of her mother—hidden for years in the mausoleum Christiana called the Shadow Walk.

  Just thinking of all Christiana had bravely endured for so many years felt like a dagger piercing his heart. Raw, burning emotion surged from the depths of his soul and closed his throat. Unable to summon his voice, he kissed the top of her head and gently stroked her back. Hoping his embrace would convey the words of comfort he longed to say.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “He knows not when to be silent,

  who knows not when to speak.”

  ~ Publilius Syrus (1st C. BC)

  Pemberton House,

  Mayfair ~ London

  Seated at the desk in his London library, Devlin contemplated the contents of the small book in his hands. Like a disembodied spirit haunting the corridors of his mind, Christiana’s diary had become both a godsend and a curse.

  The words, at times painful to read, spoke more vividly about her shadowed world than any conversation they’d ever had. Not a silly, frivolous journal, Christiana’s diary documented in sharp contrast the love and guidance she’d received from the good servants of the abbey, as well as the depth of Lord Bellewyck’s malevolence and cruelty toward his half-sister.

  For their faithful service and devotion to Christiana, the servants and villagers would be rewarded. Yet the disquiet in his soul would never be silenced until just punishment had been exacted upon those who sought to harm her in any way. Nothing could be done about Lord Bellewyck—may he roast in hell.

  But one person still lived, as much a part of the earl’s sins as Bellewyck himself.

  To that end, a virtual treasure trove of information from Christiana’s diary ensured his trip to London would result in more than just her identity and inheritance being restored. Her detailed written testimony enabled him to find unscrupulous men in London, blackguards of ill repute with whom Bellewyck had conducted business.

  Even more telling, she’d written about one man in particular—someone who’d worked hand-in-hand with Lord Bellewyck in every villainous acts. Apart from acting as emissary for the earl, the fiend had taken particular delight in tormenting Christiana as a child. Glancing down at the open page, Devlin again saw the villain identified by name.

  Malcolm Vickers.

  He entered
the tasteful residence on a quiet, tree-lined street in Westminster as the clock chimed the early morning hour of three o’clock. After removing a tiered greatcoat and beaver hat, the former servant of Lord Bellewyck entered the drawing room and lit a lamp. The first thing he saw was a well-dressed stranger sitting in a chair staring at him. The second thing he noticed—a pistol aimed at his chest.

  “Good evening.”

  “Who the devil are you?”

  “First things first,” Devlin replied. “Shall I call you Vickers or Smythe?”

  When the valet paled and turned to leave, Nash entered the room, effectively blocking his exit.

  Shaking his head, Devlin studied the reprobate with deadly calm. “Your hasty departure from Bath after the death of your former employer was both unexpected and suspicious, Mr. Vickers. Then again, I suppose you had your reasons.”

  “I know not what you are talking about,” Vickers replied. “What former employer?”

  Devlin made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Allow me to refresh your memory. For the past fifteen years you were employed as valet to the Earl of Bellewyck.

  “Never heard of him,” Vickers sneered.

  Devlin glanced at the longcase clock in the corner of the drawing room, a quiet rage building in his belly. “An intriguing clock you have there.”

  “Is it?” the former valet asked.

  “I particularly like the family crest.” Devlin feigned interest in his pistol. “Tell me Vickers, do you know the definition of an entailed estate?”

  Vickers did not reply.

  Standing slowly, Devlin pocketed his weapon and approached the valet. “What about the penalty for theft and murder?”

  “Who are you?”

  Devlin stared hard into the dark eyes of the man who’d helped torment Christiana. “I am the Duke of Pemberton, heir to your former employer. And since that particular clock belongs to the Bellewyck estate, I should very much like to know how it came to be in your possession.”