Beyond Love

by Glenda Diana

  Benny Taker was a wiry man with a thin, pockmarked face that looked as if it had been beaten to a pulp on several occasions. Red whiskers hid his jaw, and his short blunt nose had two bumps across the bridge indicating it had been broken at least twice. All of these unusual features gave Mr. Taker a rather comical look.

  But what Thorton noticed most were his hands and eyes. When his hand enveloped hers, she felt the hard calluses on his palm. His eyes, a beautiful shade of emerald green, were those of an intelligent man.

  Benny didn't appear to be the cleanest fellow, but she trusted him. He had already gathered a sufficient amount of information, and never asked why a lady wanted these things done. Instinctively and immediately, she liked him.

  “Listen, miss. I care not what the hob-snobs do with their time. But I'm thinking this sort of adventure is not for you.”

  Thorton smiled, truly touched by his unnecessary concern. For all his rough edges, the man had a sweet soul. But she couldn't let his concern be an obstacle. She had a past to put to rest and she couldn't do that as long as everyone kept interfering.

  When she'd arrived in Town a week earlier, Thorton had notified Mr. Taker. He'd sent a reply stating he would be in contact. She never thought he meant to come to the house in the wee hours of morning. And although Thorton assured him his timing was not an inconvenience, he continually explained why he chose the hour.

  “London has watchful eyes, heedful ears. It's best to meet when most of her sleeps. Life gets hectic, with so much comin’ and goin', people don't really know who they see.”

  “It's quite all right. I assure you, you did not wake me. I usually sleep during the afternoon. The brightness of the sun helps me sleep better. Besides, nighttime seems to agree with me. It's so quiet and peaceful...” She gave him a wisp of a smile.

  Benny returned it with a skeptical look, then shrugged. “I be thinking, maybe ya should be contacting the Baron. He's your husband, ain't he? And all this does have to do with him.”

  “No!” Thorton said, a little too quick and a little too loud. With nervous hands, she smoothed her skirts as she tried to calm her racing heart. Blake was the last person she wanted notified about this. Not that he would come to London anyway. It was up to her to handle it, and thus far, she had been doing fine on her own.

  “He ain't your husband?” Benny asked.

  “Of course he's my husband. How rude to suggest otherwise.” Thorton gave him a stern look, then patted his hand to soothe her comment.

  “Sorry.”

  “It's my fault. I fear I've simply overdone it, what with the journey here and all. Please forgive me.”

  Benny blushed. “'Tis nothing. I was just thinking, it would be best if we let the Baron handle this. ‘Tis the slums, ya know? It'll be no place for a woman of your-”

  Thorton held up her hand. “I know where the culprit is. You were most explicit. You also mentioned something about a house here in Town. Perhaps the two us could do a bit of spying. See what we can find out.”

  “Bloody hell,” he sputtered, jumping to his feet. “Ya can't be meaning to go with me? I don't allow the likes. I told ya, some of his comrades live in a room above the most notorious gamin’ hell. Only the worst sort goes there. I won't be takin’ ya with me.” Benny crossed his arms over his thin chest.

  Thorton nodded. “I guess that settles that. I wish to thank you for all your assistance. You've been most helpful and I appreciate it.”

  “You've got somethin’ workin’ in that head of yours. I can tell by the gleam in your eyes.”

  “Nonsense. I will contact you if I think of anything else.” Thorton stood to walk him to the door.

  Benny eyed her suspiciously. “Blast! Your going alone. No wonder your husband ain't around. Ya drove him off with your pigheaded ways.”

  Thorton laughed at his pitiful groan. “I truly do like you, Mr. Taker. You have a wonderful sense of humor.”

  Benny muttered several vile words. “I'll meet ya at midnight a week from tonight, at the garden gate out back.”

  “You'll accompany me, then?”

  “You'll surely get yourself killed if I don't.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Taker. I shall be ready.”

  “See that ya are,” Benny grumbled as exited through the garden doors.

  Thorton sat and sipped at her tea as she watched the night give way to dawn. Tension ran through her in anticipation of her forthcoming confrontation with the deceiver. Thorton wasn't sure if she was more angry or hurt. But she had to give herself silent applause for being somewhat brilliant. She had accurately guessed the culprit's identity.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Blake slammed his glass against the wall, watching as shards cascaded like tiny diamonds to the floor. His head, feeling ten times heavier than normal, fell against the back of the chair.

  “Deep in your cups already?” Roger sneered as he entered the library. “'Tis awful early.”

  “'Tis awful late. I'm still going from last evening.” Blake moaned as he tried raising his head.

  Roger wrinkled his nose at the strong smell emanating through the room. He wanted to shake his senseless son until he got some sense, or beat the hell out of him. The second choice held more merit as far as Roger was concerned, and would relieve his own anxiety.

  He and Griggs had joined forces against his unyielding son. They had talked until words failed to fall from their tired lips. They watched as Blake drank himself into forgetfulness, mumbling incoherently, mostly repeating one word over and over ... Thorton. The same name Blake had forbidden to be mentioned at Stonecrest.

  “What a waste,” Roger grumbled, gazing at his son.

  “I have plenty of glasses,” Blake stated, trying to decide which of the figures standing before him was his father and which was his imagination. They both swirled and quivered in odd directions. He shook his head, concluding they were both forms of his inventiveness.

  Actually, Blake thought himself a genius. And how could he not, when he had found one of the greatest discoveries to mankind ... it would most likely make him quite famous. All the scientific minds had dwelled on this concept for years. And he, the Beast of Stonecrest, had found the answer to time-travel. ‘Twas so simple it almost boggled the mind. The only thing time-travel required was thought ... and a decanter or two of brandy.

  “I wasn't talking about the bloody glass,” Roger gritted out. “I was referring to you. Have you attended any of the business matters that have piled up over the last few months? Checked on the tenants? The crops? The cattle? Have you done anything besides getting good and foxed?” Roger slammed his fist on the desk, letting the muddle-minded fool know he wanted answers.

  Blake scowled at the wavering faces before him. Then he grinned as the faces began fading. At last, he thought with relief. None of his imaginary images lasted long and he certainly would be glad to see these fade, for they was overly loud.

  “Blake,” Roger growled.

  Blake shook his head. This image wasn't going to give him any peace. “For your information, I've been making some useful discoveries. Such as, brandy does not mix well early in the morning.” Blake gave a lopsided smile. “You did not know that, did you? Now you do. After doing extensive research, I've come to the conclusion that if one continues to drink straight through the night, one has no problem with it. Very scientific, no? You never knew how brilliant I was.”

  “Brilliant, are you?”

  “Don't let it depress you. I've only just realized it myself. I was quite surprised by my findings. I never knew this scientific stuff could be so easy.”

  “I'll try my hand at this scientific notion of yours,” Roger said, coming around the desk. He poured himself a glass of brandy.

  “That's the sport. Bottoms up, old man.”

  The thud wasn't nearly as bad as Roger had thought it would be. He looked at his unconscious son and shook his head in disgust. A movement caught his eye. Roger raised his head to find Griggs standing in the doorway
.

  “Blake was just telling me how brilliant he was,” he stammered.

  Griggs’ brows lifted. “So you clouted him?”

  “He was explaining his research, how brandy does not mix properly in the mornings. I fear, he was quite right.”

  “He'll have a lump the size of a goose egg.”

  “Serves him right. I've had enough of him and his blue devils. Besides, he was going to have a headache anyway.” Roger removed the empty glass from Blake's hand.

  “You are, of course, wrong, sir. Blake would only have had a headache if he actually got sober. I don't recall the last time that was.” Griggs rang for some help in moving the unconscious man to his chamber.

  “What do you mean, ‘of course'?”

  Griggs turned to face Roger, looking for all the world like an innocent babe. “Did I say that?”

  “You damn well did!”

  “How thoughtless of me.”

  Roger gritted his teeth. The old buzzard was enough to make a sane man insane. “Remove all strong drink from Stonecrest, especially the brandy.

  “Already done, sir.” Griggs hoisted up Blake.

  Roger stopped lifting to look at the servant. “You'd already thought of it?”

  Griggs almost smiled. “The bottle you clobbered him with was the last. Rather wasteful, Milord.”

  “I saved a full glass.” Roger laughed. “I also have a bottle hidden away. How's that for brilliant?”

  “You are most resourceful, sir.”

  Roger smiled.

  It took Roger, Griggs, Gordon, and two footmen to get Blake's unconscious form to his bedchamber. Griggs gave a sigh of relief when they laid down their heavy burden. Vaguely, he listened as Roger bragged to Gordon about his craftiness. The old man seemed to be in a fine frame of mind, Griggs thought with a smile. He checked the knot on Blake's head.

  Yes, Roger was crowing like a strutting cock and it was going to be Griggs’ pleasure to turn his crow into a croak. Little things like this were what made life exciting. “Excuse me, Milord. Apparently, what with the clouting of the Baron and all, I forgot to mention I took the liberty of setting back a case of brandy.”

  Roger's laughter died. His blue eyes burned with anger as he fought the urge to throttle the arrogant servant. First, he said there was no more brandy, now he was saying he had hidden a case. The baffling buffoon needed to make up his mind. Griggs was trying to irritate him. If given ample time, Roger knew he, too, would have thought of setting back a case, but on such short notice he didn't do too badly.

  “Where the devil did you stash it?”

  Griggs put Blake's shoes on the floor and pulled the covers over him, all the while hiding his smile. By the time he turned, he had his usual bored expression in place. “In my room, sir. I thought it the safest place.”

  Roger's anger drained away as he laughed. It was hard to be angry at someone who had done him such a deed. If it weren't for Griggs, Blake would have undoubtedly drunk it.

  “I try my best to stay one step ahead, Milord,” Griggs announced, giving his jacket a single tug.

  “Hear that, Gordon? He says, he tries.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gordon murmured.

  “See? He heard you,” Roger practically crowed.

  Gordon smiled. His eye met those of the two footmen and he gave a slight tilt of his head toward the door. The servants understood and immediately started out the doorway. Quietly, Gordon shut the door as the two old men continued to hiss at each other.

  “So you were being resourceful, were you?”

  “Yes, Milord,” Griggs stated with a nod.

  “Resourceful, my arse.”

  “If you say so, Milord.”

  He wasn't quite sure, but Roger thought he might have been insulted. It was hard to tell, what with Griggs wearing the same infernal expression. Now wasn't the time for bickering; they had more important things to do. They had to get Blake sober and thinking straight.

  “Retrieve us a bottle and join me in the dining hall. Mayhap between the two of us we can figure out what to do with this boy.” Roger waited until Griggs had left before standing beside the bed. Gently, he smoothed Blake's black hair from his brow. How it tore at his heart to watch his son sink deeper into misery, never accepting any help.

  He had failed as a father. He knew if his Ann could see the damage he had done with his hate and stupidity, she would probably despise him. If she had lived he would not have turned to drink to ease the unbearable grief. Then he would not have lost everything in a game of chance. Then their son would not be in this mess. But then Blake would not have met Thorton.

  Roger believed God had chosen a life-mate for each soul. Though Thorton had been born a Lynwood, she was Blake's fated mate, just as Ann had been his. He traced the scar on Blake's right cheek. This man was the only proof of his and Ann's love. No matter what, he would protect his son, even from Blake's own self.

  * * * *

  Before entering his room, Griggs looked to his left, his right, then he carefully opened the door and stuck in his head ... the room was empty. Giving a sigh of relief, he entered. Lately it was getting to where a man wasn't safe in his own rooms. Every time he turned around he found Sarah behind him. He had conflicting emotions where the woman was concerned. It inflated his ego to have a young woman show interest in him, but still there was a nagging doubt about her. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

  On several occasions, he had heard tidbits about the maid. Since Thorton had left, Sarah's moods shifted from one emotion to another. At times the servants thought she was depressed over Thorton's leaving. Then there was talk that Sarah had a vicious temper. But rumors were always plentiful in a household as big as Stonecrest.

  Griggs had been meaning to investigate the rumors, but in the last few months he had been remiss. It was a great urgency that the rift between Blake and Thorton be mended. The bullheaded young man had yet to realize Thorton was his salvation.

  Kneeling beside his bed, Griggs removed a couple of loose planks from the floor and pulled out a bottle.

  “That's not for his Lordship, I hope.”

  Griggs jumped up and spun around.

  Sarah made her way to him and offered him a sweet smile. Her large blue eyes went over him from head to toe.

  Griggs groaned. Sarah had turned out to be his personal torment. He was only human. He had just about reached his limit of patience. Knowing it was hopeless, he still tried to step around her.

  “Why do you run from me?” she whispered seductively. “All I want is to taste you. And yet you deny me and yourself the pleasure that awaits.”

  Before Griggs could move away, he found the buxom woman plastered against him. Her lips sealed to his, her arms wound around his neck, her large breasts pushed against his chest. Yes, he was only human, he thought, as he found himself pulling her closer. And like all humans, he could be brought down with the power of his carnal desire. But it wasn't a desire he wanted, nor one he wanted to explore further.

  Somehow, through the haze of lust Sarah was creating and spinning around them, Griggs heard Roger's stern voice, breaking the spell.

  Forcefully, he set her away, then scowled at the sight of her passion-bright eyes. He was not a recluse as everyone assumed. He'd always had a large appetite when it came to sex; he was energetic and lustful. In the last twenty years he had never lacked having a willing partner.

  “Woman, you are trying my patience.”

  “You've tried mine since the day I first set eyes on you. You have to be the most obstinate man I've ever met.” Sarah stormed from the room.

  A slow smile spread across his face. He might be obstinate, but he wasn't as abstinent as the dear girl thought. No matter how much she tempted him, he just could not bring himself to take what she so willingly offered. Instead he turned to the one woman who always fed his fire, the one woman who had, from day one, disliked the angelic looking Sarah ... Cook.

  Cook had said time and again how much she
didn't trust Sarah. At first, Griggs thought it was jealousy, but in the last six months he had noticed things that did not seem right. Perhaps it was time he took a thorough look into the matter.

  * * * *

  Roger was pacing by the time Griggs came through the dining hall doors. He scowled, but kept silent as Griggs poured two glasses. His son was falling apart and he was at a loss as to what to do. Slumping in the nearest chair, Roger took the glass Griggs handed him.

  “You seem to have all the answers, what do you suggest?” he asked with a sigh.

  “The solution is simple, sir.”

  “Maybe for you, not so simple for me.”

  “We simply get his wife back.”

  “We've tried that method. He won't listen.”

  Lifting the glass, Roger closed his eyes and took a large swallow of the smooth liquid. Patiently, he waited for the warmth of the brandy to spread through him.

  He recalled the way Blake had stormed for weeks after Thorton left, ranting about her betrayal. The facts were there for any blind man to see, Blake had said. She wanted revenge. But Roger hadn't been sure what to believe. Had he actually been right from the start? Was she like her sire? First he had fumed right alongside his son.

  Then he remembered how Thorton had administered to him when he was sick. The way she'd defended Blake at the Hillerman's and, for that matter, to everyone. The way she'd always tried to comfort Roger when she thought his feelings had been bruised. The hours she'd spent teaching him the art of chess.

  A confusing situation, to be sure, but Roger was most sure on one point. Thorton had not done the things Blake had said she had. She was innocent; he would stake his life on it.

  “The first thing we must do is get his mind unmuddled,” he stated.

  “We could put him in the dungeon, Milord.”

  “We ain't got one or I would. Cease your attempt at humor and help me think.”

  “Yes, Milord,” Griggs replied, taking a sip of brandy.

  “We could lock him in his room, but he'd likely rip down the door with his bare hands.”

  “Perhaps a few more goose knots on his head will bring him around.”