Dark Ruby (Ransomed Jewels)

by Laura Landon

  “And what about you?”

  “I will, too.” Isobel stopped. She didn’t want to have such a serious conversation. Not today. Not at the end of such a perfect respite. She lifted her teacup and took a sip, then looked at him and smiled. “What about you? Did you enjoy your day? Did you get a letter written to your sister? Or should I be expecting a visit from her to check on your condition?”

  He smiled. “Yes. I wrote my letter. It will go in the post tomorrow, and she’ll have it by the end of the week. Hopefully, that will ease her mind, and she’ll cease her motherly worrying.”

  Isobel returned to the food on her plate, then served the dessert Cook had left for them. She and Lord Halverston ate in companionable silence. When they finished, Isobel rose to clear the table.

  She carried the food back to the wooden counter where Cook had left it, then turned.

  Lord Halverston stood behind her with dishes in his hands.

  His nearness startled her. His close proximity warmed her from her head to her toes. But most of the heat radiated inside her, from her chest to low in her belly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she took the plates from him.

  She placed the dishes on the polished wooden counter behind her, but he hadn’t stepped away when she turned back. He stood there. Close. His eyes focused on hers. His questioning expression studying her.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t say anything, or give her any indication that he expected anything from her. He only looked at her. As if he wasn’t sure he understood what was happening to him.

  Then he moved. Slowly, as if taking care not to startle her.

  He lifted his hands and placed them around her. He gently urged her toward him. And she went.

  When his head lowered, she was afraid he would kiss her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready. But he didn’t. He only touched his forehead against hers, softly. Gently. As if the connection could ease his burden. As if he was searching for a resting place, and he’d found it.

  Isobel loved the feel of his body against hers, and yet . . . somehow, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted to be closer.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  She let her hands travel up the front of his jacket, then clasped her fingers over his shoulders. It allowed her to be close enough that she felt his warmth. That she experienced a current that ran through him and passed to her. A strength. A force that pulled her toward him.

  He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers.

  The kiss was slow, tender. There was nothing demanding in his kiss. Nothing intrusive. Only the gentle pressure of his lips. Only the melding of two people. Then, he tipped his head to the side and deepened his kiss.

  Isobel answered his request, not because he demanded she did, but because she needed what he offered as much as she was sure he did.

  She answered his kiss and took from him what he offered.

  Her heart sped in her breast. Her pulse beat more rapidly. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps. And they were the most scintillating emotions she’d ever experienced.

  Then he lifted his head and leaned away slightly, studying her.

  Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer to him, holding her. Nestling her against him. Silently cradling her against his body. And she heard it. The rapid thundering of his heart beating beneath her ear.

  They stood, locked in each other’s arms for several wonderful moments. Neither moved. Neither spoke. They only stood in silence, as if they needed to come to terms with what had happened.

  Isobel wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard the sound of the first of the staff returning from the fair.

  He separated himself from her. “I’ll go up the butler’s stairs. You stay here.” And he turned and left.

  Isobel tried to act busy. She tried to appear normal when Cook and Holmes entered the kitchen. But there was nothing normal about the way she felt. Nothing normal about what had happened between her and the Marquess of Halverston. Nothing normal about it at all.

  It seemed to exist in an impossible world of its own. Not the world she inhabited. Not the world where her father might even now be stalking closer and closer.

  Isobel was suddenly filled with a fear that was greater than her fear of what her father might do to her. Greater than the fear that he might find her and force her hand. She knew her father better than anyone. She would find a way to thwart him.

  No, it was another fear that kept her hands trembling against her skirts even as her smile greeted the returning staff.

  And it was the greatest fear she’d ever faced. Because she knew without a doubt that her very involvement with the Marquess of Halverston could destroy him.

  Chapter 13

  Isobel lay in her bed, struggling with sleep again. It had been more than a week since the fair. More than a week since he’d received anything in the post from London. But Lord Halverston had received another paper today and gave it to her even before he read it himself. He knew how anxious she was for any news concerning her sister.

  There was nothing in it. Not even a mention of Vanessa and Lord Partmoore.

  Isobel was desperate for word, and even considered contacting someone anonymously. But there wasn’t anyone she felt she could trust enough, especially one of her friends. She knew her father would pressure all of her acquaintances first for any word from her.

  No, she had no choice but to wait a while longer. Until she reached her twenty-first year. Until she was safe from her father forcing a marriage between herself and the Duke of Balsam.

  She pulled the covers up beneath her chin and closed her eyes in another attempt to fall asleep. That’s when she heard it.

  At first the moaning sounds were soft and seemed to be far away. Then they grew louder.

  She knew what they were, of course. Knew from where . . . from whom they came. Lord Halverston was having another nightmare.

  It had been more than a week. He’d appeared so calm and controlled during that time she’d hoped the episodes were lessening. But from the sounds coming from his bedroom, he was in the midst of a terrible nightmare.

  She rose from her bed and donned slippers and a robe, then left her room. Boswick had warned her to stay away from His Lordship when he was suffering one of his incidents, but how could she? Especially after the kiss they’d shared the week before? Especially after she’d come to know him so much better?

  Isobel felt a bond with His Lordship she couldn’t explain, nor did she attempt to. What she felt was like drifting in a boat as the waves gently rolled to and from shore. If she lay on her back and stared up at the sky, it was possible for the boat in which she was rocking to gradually wander far from the shore. Even possible for her to lose all sight of land and not know where she was.

  That’s how Isobel felt. That where the Marquess of Halverston was concerned, she’d traveled so far from shore, she’d lost her bearings. She had lost sight of her plan.

  She walked down the hall at a steady pace, almost determined in her need to reach him.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d find but was certain it wouldn’t be different than the last times she’d gone to him. She was correct. He lay on the bed, the torment clear.

  Boswick was already there. The valet struggled to hold Lord Halverston down while at the same time waken him. Calm him.

  His efforts did no good.

  His Lordship was deep in the throes of a torturous nightmare.

  Isobel hurried into the room, stopping when she reached the bed.

  “Stay back, Mrs. Moore,” the valet warned. “His Lordship is having a bad night.”

  Isobel wanted to heed Boswick’s warning, but how could she? How could she remain at a distance when it was so obvious that the Marquess of Halverston needed her? She rushed to the opposite side of the bed and knelt beside him.

  “My lord,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Lord Halverston. You’re safe now
. No one can hurt you.”

  “No,” he groaned, thrashing his head from side to side.

  Her words were ineffective. As if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Alexander,” she said more forcefully. “You’re safe. It’s over now.”

  She reached for his hand that flailed at his side and clasped it between both of hers. She held it tightly, then brought his clenched fist toward her and nestled it to her breasts.

  “No!” He thrashed more violently.

  His tight grasp hurt her fingers, squeezing them until she lost feeling, but she didn’t release him. Nor did she loosen her grip. She continued to hold him. Continued to speak to him. Continued to comfort him.

  At first she wasn’t sure her words would reach him. Wasn’t sure she’d be able to break through the defensive shield he’d erected to protect himself. But with Boswick holding him, and Isobel comforting him, he changed.

  He wasn’t awake. Like the last time, he didn’t wake, not completely. It was as if his body refused to allow him to become fully cognizant of the events he was reliving. As if, when he did, he wouldn’t be able to survive recreating what had happened to him.

  “You’re safe now, my lord. No one will hurt you again. They’re gone now. You’re safe.”

  He stopped thrashing. Every muscle in his body stiffened. But instead of waking, he reached out as if he needed his actions to reflect her words.

  He wrapped his arm around Isobel’s back and pulled her from the floor.

  Before she could prevent him from lifting her, he brought her against him and held onto her as if she were the lifeline to save him. The only lifeline he’d been offered.

  “Hold me,” he demanded in a husky, needy whisper. “I need you.”

  She couldn’t answer. How could she? Nor could she move away from him. How could she?

  “You’re safe now,” she whispered, shifting her body to a more comfortable position next to him.

  She brushed her fingers over his furrowed forehead, sweeping back the light hair that had fallen forward. She cupped her palm to his cheek, then splayed her fingers across his scalp, gently massaging his head.

  She touched him as she had no right to touch him. Comforted him as she had no right to comfort him. Even though she wanted to have that right.

  He relaxed in small increments. His hold loosened, but he didn’t release her. He held on to her as if breaking contact would destroy the thin barrier that protected him.

  “Mrs. Moore?” Boswick said.

  She knew what the valet was asking. She knew how horrific this looked to him. Knew he wanted to know what she wanted him to do to free her from this impossible situation. But there was nothing. How could she think of releasing the Marquess of Halverston when he needed her so desperately?

  Isobel lay where she was for several long minutes. Eventually, after what seemed like an hour—maybe more—His Lordship relaxed, then fell into a deep sleep.

  When she was able, she eased herself from his grasp and shifted from the bed.

  Her action took several attempts. He was reluctant to let her go. She was reluctant to leave him. But she couldn’t allow him to wake and realize she’d been there. Realize what she’d done. What she’d seen.

  When she successfully slipped from the bed, she stood at his side for several seconds and watched him. She wondered what had happened to him. Knew that his night terrors would refuse to recede until he could master control of them. Yet, she knew with a certainty that he could never master them—not alone.

  She turned and left him. Except she didn’t really leave him. How could she when she knew that from this moment on he would always be a part of her?

  . . .

  The day started out like every other day, except Alex knew that something was different. He was sure he must have had another nightmare. His body felt like it. His head ached as it did after every event. There was a gnawing deep in his gut that refused to go away. And yet . . .

  He saw no other signs that he had. Boswick seemed well. He sported no red marks or bruises from Alex’s harsh treatment. And yet . . .

  His loyal valet avoided looking directly at him, refused even to face him, as if Alex would be able to read from his expression what had happened and it was too embarrassing, or horrendous, or unbelievable to be exposed.

  After several attempts to get Boswick to reveal anything about the night before, Alex gave up. He left the room and went down to begin his day.

  Lady Isobel was already at the table. She’d prepared her plate but hadn’t eaten any of the small amount of food on it. She cradled a hot cup of tea in her hands and took a sip of the liquid, then lowered it.

  “Good morning,” he said, entering the room.

  After he’d filled his plate he took it to the table and sat. That’s when he took his first close look at her.

  She was pale, as if she hadn’t slept well, or perhaps not at all. Or as if she wasn’t feeling well.

  Perhaps worry over her sister bothered her more than she let on. Perhaps fear that she’d be discovered before she reached her majority was finally more than she could bear.

  “Are you well?” he asked. That was his first concern.

  She attempted a smile, but she failed. “Yes, my lord. Just a little tired.”

  She lifted her face, but her eyes didn’t meet his. In fact, she avoided looking at him. Just like Boswick had.

  “Another paper should arrive by the end of the week,” he offered. “Perhaps there will be news then.”

  “Yes, perhaps.”

  But Alex knew she didn’t hold out much hope. And he wondered what her next move would be. He wondered if there was anything he could do to assist her. He suddenly had an idea of something that might work.

  “I have something I’d like to mention to you. Please, hear me out before you give an answer to my suggestion.”

  The expression on her face turned curious.

  “As you know, my sister is in London enjoying the Season. Although Claire and her husband don’t attend all of the functions and events that go on, they do have a circle of friends that are quite involved in Society affairs.”

  He lifted his coffee cup to his lips and set it back on its saucer. “I’m sure if I wrote her, Claire could make a few discrete inquiries concerning your sister and any rumors mentioning a forthcoming betrothal announcement.”

  Lady Isobel shook her head, but not with the force of someone determined to reject his offer out of hand.

  “You, of course, could help me phrase the wording in a letter so as not to draw any untoward attention to my curiosity. Perhaps . . .”

  He waited, giving her time to consider. “Perhaps the news is not as dire as you fear. You can then put your mind to rest.”

  “And if it is?” Her eyes filled with a woebegone look he had never seen from her before.

  “If it is, then you will decide how best to face it. With me at your side.”

  The shake of her head was more pronounced. “I cannot allow you to become involved, my lord. You don’t know my father. You don’t know what he is capable of.”

  There was real fear on her face when she spoke. Real concern. For the first time, Alex thought perhaps he didn’t know Lord Gilchrist as well as he thought he did. Perhaps there was something more that Lady Isobel had not revealed about her father.

  “All I’m asking is that you consider my offer, my lady. You can give me an answer whenever you decide.”

  She looked relieved. As if the worry weighing on her had taken her to a point where she couldn’t go on the way she’d been. As if she knew she had to do something.

  “Thank you, my lord. I will consider your offer. Knowing might be better in the end.”

  “I think it might,” he answered.

  She pushed her plate aside. “Now if you will excuse me,” she said, “I have much to do.” She rose from her chair and turned from her uneaten breakfast.

  “Mrs. Moore,” he said, stopping her before she exited the room. He also use
d the name associated with her position in his household. He needed to distance himself from her. Not physically. But . . . emotionally.

  “Yes, my lord.” She turned and took a step closer to him.

  “I have a question I should like to ask, and I would appreciate an honest answer.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Bloody hell, but this was difficult. “Occasionally, I have difficulty sleeping, and sometimes . . . well, sometimes my sleep is . . . disturbed. Since your room is—not next to, of course, but somewhat close to mine, I just wondered if I ever . . . woke you?”

  Her gaze lowered. “I . . . uh, I am not . . . such a . . . light sleeper, my lord. It would take quite a disturbing outbreak to wake me.”

  “I just wondered, you see. I thought perhaps last night I might have disturbed you, but when I asked Boswick how I’d slept, he assured me I didn’t have a fitful night.”

  “Then I’m sure you mustn’t have, my lord. Boswick is of exemplary character and would no doubt be terribly concerned if you weren’t resting.”

  “Yes, no doubt.”

  “Is that all, my lord?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Moore. I just wanted reassurance that I hadn’t disturbed you.”

  “No, my lord. You didn’t disturb me.”

  Except she’d refused to look at him directly when she’d answered. Just like Boswick had. And her hand reached out to grip the nearest chair. As if she needed its strength. And her complexion, although ashen before, turned even paler.

  And Alex had his answer.

  Chapter 14

  Isobel sat in the chair that faced Lord Halverston’s desk with her back rigidly straight and her hands clenched in her lap. She wasn’t sure how long she hadn’t moved, had barely breathed, but she couldn’t force herself to relax.

  The marquess had written a letter to his sister earlier in the day and had asked to see her before she retired for the evening to look it over.

  He’d already made several changes—at her request. His patience was admirable. His willingness to get the wording exactly right was endearing. She appreciated everything he was doing to help her. So why did she feel as if sending a letter into the unknown was the same as walking into the lion’s den? As if exposing an interest in her sister might be the worst possible move she could make?