“It makes one wish for the simplicity of that,” d’Argento said pensively. He crossed one silver-grey–clad leg over the other. “One could almost envy him.”
“One could,” Stretton said. There was that melancholy again. Strange in a man who was supposed to epitomize orgies and dissipation. Not so strange in a man who could induce madness. Although he wasn’t in her mind, Stretton seemed to understand what Faith was thinking, where her thoughts were taking her. “I have seen your father. I’ve arranged to have him taken to a more comfortable residence. He is no longer a threat to anyone. I’m very sorry about that, Faith. It seemed the only way.” Another pause, and a chink when d’Argento picked up his tea-dish. “And I lost my temper. Perhaps I should have made it temporary. Would you have preferred that?”
Slowly Faith shook her head. “I don’t think so. My father wouldn’t have given up. He wanted me, and he wanted George under his control. He was obsessed, perhaps half mad already.”
Stretton lifted his head to stare at the ceiling, as though he found enlightenment there, glittering amongst the drops of the chandelier. “There are degrees of madness. Some of them are considered extreme sanity.” He stood. “We must say nothing out of this room, nothing that anyone can overhear. Now close your mind, barricade it as best you might. We will discuss this aloud, if you please.” He concentrated on Faith, and aware of his concern, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. “You know what Boscobel plans. If Gerard goes ahead and impregnates Juno, that will be his death warrant, as surely as if Boscobel’s plan earlier in the year had come to pass. Boscobel will kill Gerard, probably at the moment of the birth of his son, so that the child will inherit his attributes.”
“If he’s a boy,” d’Argento said.
“I imagine Boscobel will take care of that.”
“He can do that?” Faith said, dazed.
Stretton nodded, his gaze not wavering from Faith’s face. “We do not allow it, but it can be done. It involves taking certain herbs, but it can be very dangerous to the mother. I don’t suppose he will tell Deborah that.”
“You think he means her to die?” Faith realized she had not yet plumbed the depths of her fatherin-law’s depravity.
“If necessary, although she is his creature. He wants that child, and he will do what he needs to get it. A grandson is no threat to him. With any luck he won’t have to do that. He’ll be able to tell the child’s sex within a few months of conception easily enough.”
Faith fought to keep, to regain control over her reeling senses. Now was not the time for vapours. In her experience, there had never been a good time. Boscobel meant to kill Gerard. It made sense. He felt his son was a threat, so he would use him and destroy him.
It would not happen. Faith would give anything to prevent it. Even her own life.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gerard woke in a bed empty except for himself, miserable with the knowledge of what he’d promised. He had hoped—so much—to persuade Faith to stay, but he understood why she had to leave. Perhaps it was for the best. When this was over they could put the experience behind them.
When he tried to think about his agreement with his father, something came in his mind, like a barrier, blocking whatever lay behind it and one of those damned headaches lowered its boom over his brow. He’d tried to get around it, concentrated on dissolving it, but he didn’t succeed. It seemed impossible, and with every effort his strength sapped until it didn’t seem to matter anymore.
With a heavy heart he got up and rang for his valet.
Gerard gave none of the servants any indication of why Faith wasn’t here, or why her maid had entered the house to pack some of her belongings. He took comfort from the knowledge that she hadn’t taken everything. Perhaps that meant she intended to come back. When he managed a quiet word with Baker, on the pretext of fetching something for her, he learned that Faith had taken her brother to Stretton’s house, to nurse George through the smallpox. He smiled grimly. No, he hadn’t contracted the disease.
His father was in good spirits when he entered the breakfast parlour. Rubbing his hands together when he saw the hot food on the buffet, he declared himself ravenous. “A shame Faith couldn’t fall in with our plans,” he said casually. “However, perhaps it’s as well. She’ll be back, my son, never doubt it.”
Gerard tried not to care. He failed. His father sat in his usual place, and it all appeared as it had a month or two ago. Every morning had seemed the same until Faith entered his life and gave him hope. Gerard had grown used to ignoring certain unpleasant facts, making life possible for him. Now she had opened so much he couldn’t ignore them anymore.
“I will get her back, Father, but I want her to return to me willingly. I don’t want to coerce her.” He reluctantly ate some of the rapidly cooling bacon on his plate. “To that end, I promised her I would do nothing until Saturday.”
To his surprise, his father shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It will give you and Deborah time to relax into the idea.”
Gerard was pleased. He didn’t enjoy being forced into actions not of his own choosing, and this was no exception.
…where had that odd thought come from? He had chosen this path for himself and was happy with his choice. A small sacrifice, his father had said, in return for his solemn promise he would leave Faith and Gerard alone for the rest of their lives. It was worth it, he assured himself.
“Faith is putting it about that she is nursing George through an illness. She has left the house because I have not yet had smallpox.”
His father put his knife down. “Clever,” he remarked indifferently.
“I wish you would like her, Father. She is my wife and likely to remain so as long as she lives.”
“Indeed.”
The conversation was effectively over. Gerard knew from the tone of his father’s voice that he would get no more out of him. “I thought I’d go out to my club this morning and reinforce Faith’s story.”
“As you wish. There is a ball tonight, at Lady Mumford’s. You might want to take Deborah.”
“I would be delighted.” What he really wanted to do was visit Faith at Stretton’s house. Perhaps he could do that later. Perhaps she would love him again. While he had every intention of winning her back, Gerard feared the worst. Her decision had sounded final, and after Saturday the most he could hope for was to win her back over a long course of time.
Gerard got up from the table, tired of moping over something he couldn’t change.
Entering the familiar portals of his club came as a relief after the fraught atmosphere at home. Gerard looked forward to a few hours of peace, with perhaps a lively political discussion later on, if he could find anyone, but his heart sank when he saw d’Argento holding sway over a group of young admirers.
The Italian was accomplished, witty and, perhaps most importantly, new. He showed none of the boredom he might understandably feel to be surrounded by so many sprigs of fashion, none of whom possessed his style or presence.
Gerard hoped to pass unnoticed, but when he tried to pass the small group to go through to a quieter room he heard d’Argento call his name. “Ellesmere, how pleasant to see you again.”
He was forced to make his bow and join the group. He entered warily, but d’Argento showed no inclination to make contact with him other than a smiling bow. Gerard watched d’Argento’s activity.
He had a pack of cards, which he manipulated with the greatest dexterity. Gerard watched, amused, while d’Argento shuffled, using a variety of fancy shuffles, none of which was allowed in the high-playing clubs. At one point a card fell, seemingly by accident, and Gerard picked it. D’Argento smiled. “The king of hearts.” he declared.
Realizing what was expected of him, Gerard turned the card so everyone could see what it was. The king of hearts.
A smattering of applause broke out, and d’Argento exchanged a look with Gerard. Shall we play with them? It is for a good cause.
How can it be? Gerard replied
irritably.
Watch, my friend.
It was as though Faith didn’t exist. Gerard caught no shading in d’Argento’s tone, none of the condemnation he expected. How is my wife?
I have no idea. She demonstrated some distress yesterday, but she assured us she could cope. Stretton is staying with me. Faith and her brother have his house to themselves.
That was all? Gerard longed to know more. How distressed? Perversely he wanted her very distressed, but at the same time his heart ached to comfort her, to assure her all would be well. Eventually.
D’Argento ventured no more, but turned his attention to the cards in his hands. He performed a few simple tricks and then changed to more complicated efforts. In the course of one of them, Gerard found himself in possession of two cards, which he handed to the youths on either side of him. They were pitifully young. One he recognized as the eldest son of one of England’s premier peers, a pimply youth, not yet out of the gangly stage.
“Surely you should be at Oxford, Rumsworth?” he inquired, and was amused to see the youth blush.
“Rusticated,” he said gruffly. “Caught with a wench in my chambers.”
Gerard chuckled. “Go to her residence next time.”
“Surprised to see you here, Ellesmere,” the other said. This young man wasn’t quite as young as Rumsworth, but he wasn’t much older. He’d been on the town a couple of years and used all the advantages of his superior experience to speak on equal terms with Gerard. “Heard your wife was ill, near death.”
Gerard’s smile grew forced. “No, her brother has the smallpox. He’s not likely to die, it’s only a mild attack, but neither I nor my sister has had it, so my wife took him away to nurse him.”
Enlightenment dawned on the youth’s face. “She’s had it, then?”
“As a child.”
The youth nudged him. “Bet you’re missing her, what?”
“It can’t be helped.” Gerard tried to behave in a dignified manner, but he couldn’t entirely suppress the pang that shot through him at the reminder. Someone noticed his melancholy expression before he covered it with a society mask.
“Bad show, old man. Not married long and already parted.”
“It will make the reconciliation sweeter,” some wag remarked, and the men laughed.
Gerard remained on his dignity. “It won’t be long before she’s restored to me.”
Cards? The mental nudge reminded Gerard of his duties.
Five of hearts and knave of spades.
Appropriate, came the response, but out loud all he said was, “By the power of my mind alone, I know which cards Ellesmere holds. The five of hearts and the knave of spades, is that not right, my friend?”
Gerard showed the cards, his face picturing astonishment. “How did you know that, d’Argento?”
“I told you, my lord, the power of my mind.”
Gerard was amused by the man’s effrontery and decided to play on. Do you play?
No, not with such an advantage. Sometimes, so as not to draw attention to myself, but I never win much and I allow myself to be bested on occasion.
Gerard wondered how many cardsharps belonged to the Ancients, or had some characteristics of the race he now knew he belonged to. A few, came the careless reply.
D’Argento’s tricks became more outrageous. He “discovered” a card in Gerard’s coat pocket and showed considerable sleight of hand in “discovering” more cards behind ears, under snuffboxes in pockets. “Why, you mistook your profession, d’Argento,” someone cried in delight. “You must be the best pickpocket in London.”
“Why, certainly,” d’Argento replied, giving the youth a droll look. “It is how I gained my fortune.” I had plenty of time to practice.
Gerard grinned, in amity with d’Argento, who, unlike Stretton, had the sense not to broach delicate subjects.
He obligingly informed d’Argento of the whereabouts and identity of a few more cards, but d’Argento decided to call a halt. His last trick involved finding a number of cards in several pockets, naming them before he touched them. Gerard opened his mind to study his technique. It was delicate, probing gently and withdrawing swiftly, before the person became aware of something different.
Gerard admired the skill, and the quicksilver shocks of pleasure d’Argento gave the participants as a way of thanking them. He thought the performance delightful. He allowed d’Argento access to his mind, to extract the identities of various cards, and laughed with the others when d’Argento delved into the deep outside pocket in his coat, retrieving three cards and triumphantly displaying them to his audience.
Gerard turned away quickly to hide the aching pang that tore through him. He wanted Faith. He doubted he could manage without seeing her within the next hour. Now. He wanted to see her now. The sudden desire took him by surprise, but he would see her, now he knew where she was.
Bowing to the company he left hurriedly, not caring who saw his need.
D’Argento watched him leave.
I’ve done my part. He’s on his way.
Gerard strode to Stretton’s house, not stopping for anyone, hardly hearing the curses of the chairmen as he forced them to dump their burdens on the roadway. He took little notice, only mentally remarking the colourful language as he passed. He couldn’t wait to get there. All his intentions of taking things as they came, giving them a breathing space dissipated like smoke in the air on a windy day. He wanted, he needed to see Faith, to hold her and see beyond all doubt that she was well. Nothing else mattered now.
Entering the house, he received several doubtful looks from the only footman present, who nevertheless took his hat and gloves and peered doubtfully at the small sword which formed part of Gerard’s day wear. Gerard ignored the man and took the stairs two at a time. Since this was one house in a terrace, Gerard was familiar with the layout and didn’t hesitate, heading for the large salon on the first floor.
There was no one to open the door for him. Gerard hardly noticed. He flung the door wide and walked through.
“Good morning, Ellesmere,” said Stretton. “I thought you might visit today.”
By now overwhelmed by panic, Gerard hardly recalled his presence, then his awareness brought it sharply into focus. “What are you doing here?” His hand went to his sword.
Stretton saw the gesture, but instead of rising to his feet and meeting the challenge, he grinned. “Tea? Or would you prefer a glass of wine?”
“Nothing, thank you,” Gerard growled. “What are you doing here? Where’s Faith?”
Stretton got to his feet and sauntered over to the table where the decanters were stored, completely at his ease. “She’ll be down directly. She’s with her brother.”
“How is he?” With a start Gerard realized he hadn’t spared a thought for Fordhouse. That was so unlike him. He always thought of others, it had been a part of him for as long as he could remember. Anyone with as large an estate as he would possess, with influence as wide as his, should always think of his people. His prosperity depended on them, and theirs on him.
“He’s well, much better than he should be.”
Stretton turned back, decanter in hand. Gerard shook his head, so Stretton poured himself a generous portion. Glass in hand, he strolled back and stood regarding Gerard thoughtfully, a small crease between his brows.
“What made you decide to throw in your lot with Kronos, Gerard?” He swirled the wine around his glass, concentrating on the ruby trails as though that, and not Gerard’s answer, meant the most to him.
“It seemed for the best,” Gerard said. Not to be outdone, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “This way he will leave us alone. You will have plenty of time to think of a counter to his actions. I want nothing more than an ordinary life with my chosen wife. You may play as many games as you wish. I want nothing to do with it.”
“Games?” Stretton’s words came hissed through his teeth. “You call it games to want ultimate control, to take away people’s f
reedom of action?”
The door opened and d’Argento entered the room. He’d lived up to his attributes, arriving so quickly. He must have heard the last words, because he spoke Stretton’s name as though it was a warning. “Bacchus!”
Stretton’s head went up and he frowned. “You’re right.” He drained his glass, turning away to pour himself another.
D’Argento stood just inside the room. Gerard suddenly felt trapped but dismissed it as foolish. These were sophisticated men of the world, hardly likely to attempt such a thing. “Are you here for long?” d’Argento asked.
“I came to see Faith,” Gerard informed him, reminded of his impatience to see his wife. “I trust a servant has been sent to find her?”
Stretton, his flash of anger back under his control, shrugged indolent shoulders. “In a way. She knows you are here.”
Gerard felt a shock of alarm when he realized Stretton had communicated with his wife mentally and Gerard was unable to reach her. He got to his feet. “What’s happening here? In case you were in any doubt, Faith is my wife. If anyone touches her, they will answer to me.”
D’Argento watched him, his face expressionless. “Don’t you think she might feel the same way?”
A pang shot through Gerard when he recognized the justice of the remark. He felt helpless. “I know she’s hurt. I wanted to assure her that nothing will change my feelings for her. I’m doing this for her, ensuring that my father leaves us alone.”
D’Argento moved, pressing his back against the door. “He won’t leave you alone, you must be aware of that.”
Gerard frowned. The sensation of being trapped strengthened. He was a strong man, but against two Ancients, in full possession of their powers… He wondered if he could escape by the window.
Stretton continued d’Argento’s thought. “He will kill you at the moment of your child’s birth. He wants your attributes, but he doesn’t want you.”
The realization knifed through Gerard and at the same time he felt an intrusion, someone forcing their way into his mind. “Where is Faith?” he managed thickly. “I want Faith.”
Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1 Page 27
