Dark Ruby (Ransomed Jewels)

by Laura Landon

  Isobel laughed. “I can picture you when you were young. I imagine you were your mother’s worst nightmare. How many times did she catch you opening gifts under the Christmas tree because you could not wait until Christmas morning?”

  He laughed. “Perhaps once or twice. But Mother was a fast learner. She would put Claire and Barnaby’s presents under the tree, but there would be none for me.”

  “Your mother was indeed wise. Were you ever successful in finding out where your mother hid your presents?”

  The marquess leaned a muscled hip against the corner of the table and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Never. And I searched the house from top to bottom. It wasn’t until I spied Father sneaking out of Reverend Cushman’s home on Christmas morning after services with packages in his arms that I realized where my Mother had hidden my presents. All my searching had been for naught. It was a low blow, indeed.”

  Isobel clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “You know what they say about curiosity?”

  “Yes, but when you’re only twelve, you don’t think that applies to you.”

  “Of course not,” she said, feigning agreement.

  “Now, are you ready to see what surprises Claire has sent?”

  “Oh yes. I have been imagining all the possibilities.”

  He graced her with another heart-stopping smile, then reached into the box and lifted out a book. “The Count of Monte Cristo,” he said, holding the book in front of her.

  The book was immense. As thick as the Linscott family Bible. Linscott was the Marquess of Halverston’s family name. She’d seen it in the front of the Bible when she’d visited the library early on. The same day she’d seen His Lordship’s Christian name, Alexander Edward Andrew Linscott. It was a beautiful name. A strong name. A name that was equal to the man who owned it.

  Her breath locked as she let her gaze peruse the rich leather-bound tome. Bold letters scripted in gold formed the title, with the author’s name beneath.

  Isobel lifted her hand and reverently traced the letters. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  “I can’t wait to begin reading it,” Lord Halverston answered.

  The excitement in his voice was contagious. She experienced that same anticipation.

  “A taste, your lordship? Just one tiny taste?”

  Alex looked at her in astonishment. His startled expression revealed his misunderstanding when she saw that his wide eyes focused on her lips.

  “Of the book! Just one line, please. Open the book at random and just read. One line. Then we’ll get on with our work, I promise.”

  He cleared his throat with a sheepish smile.

  “Ah yes. One line.”

  He ran his thumb across the pages and let the book fall open in his hands. With his eyes closed he struck a dramatic stance and grandly pointed his finger at a line in the middle of the page.

  “You read it,” he said.

  Isobel moved closer, endeavoring not to lean her breast across his extended arm in an effort to get close enough to read, then gave up and moved in swiftly.

  “Oh! Oh my! What a great random choice!”

  “That’s what it says? ‘Oh my what a great random choice’? That doesn’t really sound like Dumas.”

  She laughed and drew away, flushed. “Now you’re being silly. It’s. . .it’s just such a rich line.” She had to move close again to remind herself of the exact words. He held his arm still as she read. “Listen to this. He says, ‘On what slender threads do life and fortune hang.’”

  She looked at Alex and he returned her gaze, the moment suspended in poignant silence between them.

  “What slender threads, indeed,” he said quietly.

  Isobel withdrew a half step, regretting the small space that separated her from his supporting arm.

  She cleared her throat and he simultaneously straightened his posture, then clapped the book closed with false joviality.

  “Shall we see what else there is?” he said, carefully placing the book on the table.

  She seated herself on a side chair near the open box and watched Lord Halverston reach into the box and remove one tome after another. For some reason her pulse remained maddeningly aflutter at her wrists. There was, as he’d suspected, one of the romances he told her his sister would include, more as a jest than a serious contribution to his library.

  He laughed when he looked at it, exclaiming that he intended to read it, and wouldn’t his sister be surprised when he questioned her about it.

  There were autobiographies on military heroes and volumes on modern farming practices, a book of the poetry of Lord Byron and one by Keats, and in the bottom of the box, several copies of newspapers that were barely a week old, as well as several scandal sheets. His Lordship handed them to her with a wry smile on his face.

  “I’m sure you are more anxious to pore over these than I am, Mrs. Moore, so I’ll let you have them first.”

  “Thank you, my lord. That is most kind. In turn, I shall refuse your offer to allow me to read The Count of Monte Cristo first . . . should you feel inclined to make such an offer.”

  The booming laughter that echoed in the room affected her unlike anything she expected. The sound was deep and rich, and filled with humor. It cleared the room of any lingering awkwardness, although a rather electric congeniality took its place.

  “Oh, that was masterful,” he answered. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty for wanting to read my new book first?”

  Isobel tried to feign a look of innocence. “Never, my lord. I wouldn’t think of doing such an underhanded thing.”

  “You are indeed remarkable, Mrs. Moore.” He stepped away from the table. “Allow me,” he said, holding out his hand to escort her to the chair in front of his desk.

  Isobel placed her hand in his and tried to move, but her feet wouldn’t cooperate. They refused to go forward.

  When his strong fingers wrapped around hers, bolts of something she’d never experienced shot through her. The force that rocked her was so intense her first thought was to pull her fingers from his grasp.

  From the expression on Lord Halverston’s face, Isobel thought perhaps she wouldn’t have to. It was obvious that His Lordship was as shocked by the explosive reaction of their flesh touching as she was. She feared that he would be the one to drop her hand. But he didn’t.

  For several long seconds, their flesh touched, their hands were connected, their fingers entwined. And the earth shifted beneath her.

  She dropped her gaze lest he realize how earth shattering she found his touch.

  After several momentous seconds, she felt a gentle tug to her hand.

  She was unable to lift her gaze to meet his. She could only fasten her stare to the place where their two hands touched. Nor could she find any words to fill the gaping silence. There were no words that were adequate. No thoughts to explain what might have happened between them.

  She slowly walked with him to the chair facing his desk, then slipped her hand from his grasp.

  The second their flesh separated, the air seemed to chill. The heat was sucked from the room as if the windows had been opened in the dead of winter.

  She was certain he felt it, too. The surprise and confusion on his face told her as much.

  “What . . . uh . . . method do you use to catalogue your library?” she asked, trying to cover for the unease stirring within her.

  “I don’t have a very complicated system,” he said, turning from her. He stepped behind the oak desk that was situated out of the way from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He sat in the padded leather chair and opened a drawer on the right side and took out a ledger. “This is where the books are catalogued.”

  He didn’t hand her the ledger, but sat pointing at its open pages. There was nothing for it but to go around the desk and stand at his side. To get close to him again. To risk his magnetic allure for the third time in less than an hour.

&nb
sp; Isobel rose from her chair and stepped behind the desk to look over his shoulder. The calm control he displayed helped to quiet her thundering heart, and she found herself able to focus on the catalogue. The front page of the ledger contained a detailed map of the library.

  “Books of poetry will go here,” he said, pointing to the shelves on the south wall. “The classics, such as The Count of Monte Cristo and the Thomas Hardy novel and the Charles Dickens, will go here. Any military topics, autobiographies, and books of law and parliament will go here,” he said, pointing to a large space on the west wall. “Farming practices and books that pertain to estate management will go on shelves behind my desk. And the romance novels you and my sister seem so fond of will go here.” He pointed to a section of shelves on the north wall.

  Isobel moved her gaze around the room, noticing the massive amount of books already on the shelves. “Remarkable,” she whispered, surprising herself when she realized she’d spoken out loud.

  “The room?” he asked.

  She lowered her gaze and found him staring at her. The expression on his face was difficult to describe. “You have such a fondness for the written word.”

  He smiled. “I know it’s not considered a pastime enjoyed by most members of the ton, but I’ve never considered it sporting to kill innocent animals.” His expression turned serious. “Do you find that less manly of me, Mrs. Moore?”

  Isobel stepped where she could face him squarely. “No, my lord. If anything, I admire you more because you enjoy what I consider one of the true treasures in life.”

  “What a unique way to phrase it,” he said.

  “God grants gifts to each and every human. But no gift is as special as the written word. Except perhaps music. Both affect the human heart in ways that are impossible to understand.”

  “You are quite rare, Mrs. Moore.”

  “I doubt that, my lord.”

  “No, most females with your background would only concern themselves with the latest styles and fashions, or with the latest gossip and rumors. But you . . .” he paused. “Well, you realize there is something more to life. You are to be commended.”

  A rush of embarrassment washed over her. She didn’t mean to reveal so much about herself. She’d always known she was more serious than other girls her age. So much different than Vanessa that it was difficult to imagine that they were sisters.

  She focused again on the boxes of books and changed the subject. “Do you arrange the books alphabetically by title then, my lord? Or by author? I’ll place the books on the shelves after you add them to the ledger,” Isobel said, but His Lordship rose from his chair behind the desk and stepped to the side.

  “Some of the books are quite heavy,” he argued, “and might go on a shelf higher than you can reach. I’ll let you add them to the ledger, and I’ll place them on the shelves.”

  Isobel nodded her agreement, then sat in the chair he’d vacated.

  The Marquess of Halverston went to the stack of books and brought several back with him, then placed them on the corner of the desk.

  Isobel entered the first book into the ledger while the marquess watched over her shoulder. His nearness caused a reaction she couldn’t explain. It was almost as if a wave of molten comfort had pooled around her heart and shifted each time he stepped closer.

  She tried not to let him affect her like he did. Feeling anything for him was futile. She wouldn’t be here that long. She would read the papers and scandal sheets Lady Claire sent, and the ones that His Lordship had delivered. As soon as there was a post that her sister Vanessa was betrothed to Lord Partmoore, Isobel would flee as far from here as she could manage. Most likely to Scotland. Perhaps across the ocean to America.

  Someplace where her father could never find her. Someplace where she would be safe from the Duke of Balsam.

  Someplace where the Marquess of Halverston would not be touched by her father’s evil schemes.

  Chapter 10

  It had been two weeks since His Lordship’s books had arrived, along with the London papers and the so-called scandal sheets containing the latest Society news―now several weeks old. She’d hoped there’d be news of Vanessa’s betrothal, but there hadn’t been. She’d hoped that it would finally be safe for her to leave England and go someplace far enough away that her father could never reach her. Far enough that the Duke of Balsam was no longer a threat. And . . .

  . . . far enough from the Marquess of Halverston that she could forget the emotions that threatened to connect the two of them.

  The more she was with him, the closer she felt to him. It was a closeness she didn’t understand and found hard to fight. To make matters more difficult, he’d asked that she join him for breakfast so they could discuss matters concerning the running of the house.

  Seeing him each morning was something she anticipated with every fiber of her being. Something that caused the emotions she couldn’t control to rage with fevered intensity.

  It wasn’t unusual for the master of the house to want to be informed of issues pertaining to the household. This was a normal occurrence. But in most circumstances, this responsibility fell to the woman of the house. Except Temple Hall had no woman in charge. Only the marquess. So it was only natural that he would keep abreast of what was going on. And the person most qualified to tell him what he needed to know was his housekeeper.

  As Isobel neared the breakfast room, she prepared herself for the sight of His Lordship. Tried to prepare herself for the flurry of butterflies when she first looked at him. But no matter how many times she entered a room that he was in, and no matter how often she looked at him, her reaction was the same.

  She took a deep breath and told herself that this time she would react differently. This time her heart wouldn’t shift in her breast.

  But she failed.

  The moment she saw him it happened. Isobel paused a brief heartbeat in the doorway, hoping the internal flutter would abate. It did not. Instead, a liquid warmth swirled inside her breast. Her breath caught.

  It wasn’t fair for anyone to be so handsome. It wasn’t fair for one man to be so perfect. It wasn’t fair that the one man she should take care to avoid was the one man placed in her path each and every day.

  Today, the Marquess of Halverston sat at the table with a full plate of ham, sausage, eggs, and toasted bread in front of him. To see him already there wasn’t unusual, in light of the fact that Isobel always had her first cup of tea with the staff in the servants’ hall so she could hear any concerns anyone might have that needed to be addressed. But knowing she’d be in such close proximity with him caused a familiar rush of joy.

  Today there weren’t any concerns. Only excitement about the fair taking place in the village tomorrow. Even Cook was as giddy as a young maid. Isobel didn’t know if the staff was more excited at having the opportunity to spend the afternoon and evening with the lass or lad they were sweet on, or at the idea of being able to have almost an entire day away from their manor duties.

  And the staff didn’t even know about the shilling each of them would receive. Isobel hadn’t told them. She couldn’t wait to see their faces when they were given such a grand amount.

  She smiled. She knew exactly how she was going to present the coins. But first she needed the coins, which was a matter she would need to take up with Lord Halverston.

  She entered the room.

  When he heard her, he rose from his chair.

  “Mrs. Moore, good morning.”

  “Good morning, my lord.”

  Isobel filled her plate and sat in the chair he held for her.

  “Have you come from visiting with the staff?”

  She couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. “Yes.”

  “Were there any concerns that need looking into?”

  She shook her head. “Not today, but then there seldom are. Your staff is very content, my lord.”

  “That’s good to hear.” He picked up his fork and stabbed a bite
of sausage.

  “Actually, they are too excited about the fair tomorrow to think of anything so minor as a shortage of wood for the hearths, or the possibility of the walls of Temple Hall crumbling down around them. They aren’t concerned, as long as a tragedy doesn’t strike to prevent them from enjoying the fair.”

  He laughed. The sound was deep and rich and caused yet another flurry inside her. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap in an effort to keep him from noticing how his laughter affected her. When she lifted her gaze, she found him watching her.

  “What is it, Mrs. Moore? You look as though something is wrong.”

  “No . . . no. Nothing is wrong. I was just wondering . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Um . . . . You mentioned once that you intended to give each employee a shilling for the fair. I just wondered if that was still your plan.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Oh yes. Thank you for reminding me. I’d forgotten. I’ll have Holmes give you enough shillings that each of the staff receives one.” He paused, then continued. “Do you intend to spend your day at the fair?”

  His question caught her off guard. “No, my lord. Although it’s unlikely that my father has sent men in this direction, I don’t want to chance being recognized.”

  “You believe your father is still searching for you?”

  “I have no doubt. And the closer I come to reaching my twenty-first year, the more desperate he will be to find me.”

  “You think he will expand his search northward?”

  “When he can’t find me in London,” she answered, struggling to hide the fear she felt. Two months remained until she reached her majority. Each night she marked the calendar she kept that counted the days until she would be safe from the Duke of Balsam’s evil clutches.

  “Have you left Temple Hall once since you arrived?”

  Isobel pretended interest in the food on her plate, although just thinking about how quickly her life could change stole her appetite. “I am content to stay here.”

  He didn’t say anything for several moments. “Then tomorrow will be your special day, the same as the staff. You will have the day off, to do whatever you wish.”