Light to Valhalla

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  “If it’s not too much trouble, madam, I may need something more potent than coffee, perhaps brandy? I can’t seem to locate any in here.” Alex flashed Mrs. Roark a melting grin. Charley’s stomach fluttered, he never smiled at her that way. Not anymore.

  “It would help if you were ever home,” Regina railed. “You might actually have the chance to store a few personal items.”

  The housekeeper glanced between mother and son with poorly concealed interest.

  “The brandy?”

  “Of course, milord.” Mrs. Roark bobbed a harried curtsy. “I will fetch a decanter straight away.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Excuse me.” Hastings stepped through the doorway just as Mrs. Roark sped out. “Lady Coverstone’s carriage is waiting out front.”

  “Thank you, Hastings, but seeing as my husband has just arrived home I will not be attending Lady Carmichael’s dinner party. In a moment I will prepare a note to send my regrets.”

  The dowager snapped her head in Charley’s direction. “You cannot reject Lady Carmichael’s invitation for tonight, Charlotte. She will be deeply offended.”

  Charley met Regina’s chilly regard. “Surely the countess will understand given the circumstances.”

  “You already declined invitations to her birthday celebration and her daughter’s musicale. Refusing again is unacceptable.”

  Charley bristled, the continual lectures of ‘acceptable ladylike behavior’ beyond wearisome. Half the ton had begged off of Lady Marisol’s musicale—to include Regina. “Hastings, inform my driver that I will be staying in tonight.”

  Regina’s face turned positively green, the deep lines surrounding her mouth and eyes taut with rage. “How dare you defy me? I—”

  “No need to cancel plans on my account.” Alex intervened, casually raising a hand, drawing the dowager’s attention. “I am bound to be terrible company this evening. I plan to retire early anyway.”

  Charley swallowed, glancing between the dowager and marquis, contemplating her options. “My lord, I hardly think it appropriate seeing as you’ve just returned. I have no doubt—”

  “Go.” The cool glow of disdain resurfaced in his eyes. “I insist.”

  Charley’s heart plummeted. For just a moment, before Regina’s arrival, a spark of the old Alex had appeared. The Alex she’d created mischief with as a child. The Alex she’d dreamed of marrying. In that briefest of instants she’d hoped he’d finally found himself again. She gulped, throat thick with hurt and bitterness. Hurt and bitterness she’d sworn never to feel because of this man again. “Very well, my lord.” She dipped into a flawless curtsey, refusing to show the effect of his words on her, and left the room, head held high. The cruel sting of tears bit the back of her eyes and Charley slumped against the wall just outside the door to collect herself.

  “I say, Alex, how long are you home for this time?” Regina’s haughty voice drifted through the open portal. “Long enough for your wife to become pregnant?”

  Charley’s cheeks flamed. Must the dowager speak of so personal a subject? Any servant happening by might hear. As far as Charley was concerned the matter of children was between her, her husband, and a firmly closed door.

  “Must you continue to harp on this subject, Mother?”

  “Yes,” the dowager spat caustically. “If you’re killed before an heir is produced the title passes to your cousin Sidney. The man is positively odious!”

  “I‘m well aware of your feelings toward Peter and his side of the family, therefore could we please forgo the rehash of this subject? We’ve discussed Peter, Charlotte, my military career and the need to produce an heir every letter for the last three years. It is why I stopped writing, mother. Kindly give it a rest.”

  “Give it a rest? Give it a rest?” Regina’s voice shook with rage. “It is bad enough the next Marquis will have that woman for a mother. If I’d known how unsuitable she’d turn out to be I’d never have agreed to the betrothal with Richard. The girl is more out of control than when she was a child. Her uppity blue stocking ways smear the Coverstone name on a daily basis.”

  “Still climbing trees and riding astride?” Alex quipped wryly.

  “Worse! She’s acquired quite the penchant for charity work.”

  “Sponsoring charities? Scandalous, mother,” sarcasm dripped from the marquis’s words. “Positively evil.”

  “Charlotte does not just sponsor charities, Alex. She actually volunteers in the slums! Lord only knows what she’s really doing there.”

  Charley blanched, knowing she should flee but rooted to the spot.

  Alex’s groan rose above his mother’s shrill rant. “Where the bloody hell is my brandy?”

  “Men are constantly sniffing after your wife,” contempt dripped from the word. “She has more red hair than a French whore. I suggest you get the job done before another does it for you. The scandal that would arise. Do you wish to see the name of Coverstone drug through the muck and mire?”

  “The scandal, Mother? The scandal? Is that all you care about? For the love of Christ, there is a war on, men are dying. What is wrong with London that all anyone cares about is scandal and gossip?”

  “Alex, your duty to—”

  “Do not lecture me the stipulations of duty, Mother. You know nothing of the word.” Any hint of amusement fled as the marquis’s voice dropped to a rumbling growl. “I married Charlotte didn’t I? I did all that was right and honorable in the eyes of family and society. Be satisfied with that. For the moment it will have to be enough.”

  “Do you mean to tell me you intend for nothing more than a marriage of convenience with Charlotte? Give her your name and nothing more?”

  Charley stumbled away from the door. She already knew Alex’s answer. For years Regina had petitioned the crown to force Alex’s discharge from service. No doubt the call had been answered else Alex would never voluntarily leave his post wounded or otherwise. Unshed tears burned her eyes as she bolted for the front door, throwing her wrapper around her shoulders. Abruptly she turned to the waiting butler. “Hastings, I’ll be going away for a few days. Would you be good enough to look after Willy for me?”

  Soft gray eyes gazed back at her, filled with pity. “Of course, milady.”

  “Th-thank you, Hastings,” she mumbled, stepping through the open door, stumbling down the stone steps. A strangled sob escaped Charley’s throat as she fled to the carriage, desperate to escape the evolving nightmare of her life. Perpetually trapped in a house that was her own, but hardly a home. Duty… Honor… Marriage… The words swirled through her mind, giving way to the memory of her wedding night three years before…

  After a miserably tense ceremony and after party Charley had gone to her room to prepare for the wedding night. Terrified. Alex had exploded through her door, the scent of brandy so heavy her nose burned.

  “You unfaithful title seeking harlot. How could you stand before the altar of God and marry me three weeks after my brother’s death?” The memory of his cold angry eyes chilled her to the bone. “You were engaged to Richard for eighteen years. He actually loved you. I thought you were better than this Charlotte, but you’re no different than the other ton women out to snare the loftiest title.”

  “Alex, please,” she’d begged, willing the disdain from his eyes. “My mother left me no choice. Do you believe I am any happier about this than you?”

  “Just, shut up. Shut up! Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” At that moment, yanking angrily at his cravat, he’d ceased to be her age old friend and become a man she didn’t know… a man who obviously did not know her. “After tonight, if an heir is conceived, I hope never to see you again.”

  Tears dribbled miserably down her cheeks, she swiped them away before clasping the outstretched hand of her driver. So much for avoiding the servants’ gossip. “Thank you, Saunders.” She sniffed, meeting the driver’s gaze, and dragged the length of her blue skirts into the carriage. “To Grayson Hall, please.” Forge
t Lady Carmichael’s dinner party, Charley needed her mother, desperately. The ancestral home of her parents was just a couple hours away. Perhaps her mother would allow her to spend a few nights... or weeks. Resolve solidified. She’d been waiting on Alex for years, it was his time to come to her, and the next time they met it would be on her home soil.

  “Of course, milady.” The driver nodded without question and swung the door shut.

  Charley pulled the supple fur lap blanket across her legs burying cold hands in the folds. The tears proved insatiable. She rested her head against the window, willing away the oppressive stones of Coverstone House. Dusk cast long shadows, swallowing the road as they swept out of London. Perhaps she could disappear into oblivion, simply drown in the darkness, never to return. Trees whipped past, and with each mile behind her Charley could not decide if relief or longing caused the tears to come faster.

  The coach screamed around a corner, tilting on two wheels. Charley threw an arm out to brace herself, nearly tumbling from the seat. She sniffed, momentarily pulled from the pool of self-pity, and paid more attention to the passing scenery. Odd Saunders should be driving so fast. The weather hardly called for it, and the road was packed with mud and snow. A niggling of unease tickled her belly. Was it just her imagination or did the coach seem to be gaining speed? And… Gracious! Charley nearly toppled from her perch. The carriage was traveling on the wrong road. Even in the dark she’d bet her life on it.

  “Saunders!” she called, reflexively moving to the opposite bench, reaching for the small wooden door behind the driver’s bench. “What is going on?”

  “Shut that window and get down, milady!”

  Shocked, Charley jerked back. Something was very, very wrong.

  Thundering hooves echoed outside the carriage. “Pull over ol’ man!” A shabbily garbed rider swept past her window a pistol cradled lethally in his right hand. “Stop or I’ll shoot ye!”

  Charley dropped to the floor of the carriage, grasping the seat until her knuckles hurt.

  The coach careened around another corner. A gunshot exploded outside the window. Charley screamed, clasping both hands over her ears. The carriage tilted precariously throwing her against the door. Panic welled in her throat as the vehicle continued to tip.

  Crack!

  Shattering wood split the night air accompanied by hysterical whinnying. The carriage buckled, crashing onto its side. Pain exploded in Charley’s head, a million twinkling lights flashing and weaving before her eyes. “Oh.” She moaned, pressing a palm to her forehead, willing the world around her to still. She pulled her hand away sticky with blood.

  Abruptly the door at the top of the overturned carriage opened. Slowly her hazy vision focused on the grungy face of a man. Long, filthy hair hung in dark clumps around his face, and his eyes shown a menacing black in the eerie darkness. For a moment she feared staring up at the devil himself.

  “Is she dead?” another man’s voice called outside the coach.

  “No, but it don’t matter. We get paid either way.”

  The devil indeed.

  A hand reached down, snatching her upper arm, yanking her bodily out of the carriage. He clutched her against his chest, foul breath raking across her cheek.

  Reflexively she jerked against the brigand’s hold. “Unhand me,” she commanded.

  “As ye wish.” The man dumped her onto the ice packed road. Charley landed hard on her backside. “Now, keep yer mouth shut, if’n ye know what’s good for ye.” He sneered down at her, exposing a mouth full of rotten teeth. Charley wanted to gag. A second man in equally shabby clothing steered a horse up behind her, tossing a burlap sack and length of rope to the first man.

  A chill which had nothing to do with the November air slithered down her spine. She glanced cautiously between her attackers. “Wh-who are you?”

  “Why, milady, we’re the men hired to kill ye.”

  Two

  Beyond exhaustion, Alex collapsed in the chair behind his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. His mother continued to rant on and on about an heir, his cousin Sidney, Charlotte, and a slew of other downfalls—his perceived downfalls. Every grating word intensified the throb behind his eyes. Little did she know the barrage she dumped at his feet sat at the bottom of his long list of worries. Grave worries. He lifted the brimming brandy sniffer and threw a brooding side glance toward the broken cabinet. His father’s prized whiskey was hidden in that secret compartment… if only he could remember how to open it.

  “You still haven’t answered my question, Alex.”

  Heavily he sighed. Was it too much to ask for a moment or two of solace? “I’m sorry, mother, what question was that?”

  “How long will you be home? A day? A week? An hour?” Regina’s shrill voice drilled through his head, and he knew the real question lurking behind her words… had he been discharged from service?

  His gaze lifted, meeting her icy blue stare. For a moment Alex contemplated telling her the truth, she would discover it sooner or later—at which point she’d really have a scandal to bluster about—but in the end he decided to let her stew on the subject. A small, mischievous smirk quirked his lips. “The time frame is yet to be decided.”

  Her reaction was everything he could have hoped for. Heat flushed her jaunty cheekbones, her hands clenched into claw-like fists and her lips pursed in a taut white line. The woman bore such resemblance to a witch he half expected the graying hair wrapped in a tight chignon to spring loose and stand straight on end. “Why must you persist in pursuing this military career? Your negligence to the family and your title is reprehensible. I should have put my foot down when your father sponsored funds for your commission years ago.”

  “Please, mother,” Alex scoffed. “Nine years ago you could not have cared less if I joined the military. In fact I believe you were in favor of it. Thought I’d look dashing in uniform, yes?”

  “Well, nine years ago you were not in line to inherit!”

  “And who would have anticipated a fourth son to become heir?” Alex crumbled, head sagging in his hands. Miserable memories assailed him. The day he’d arrived home from the continent to discover that all three of his elder brothers had met an untimely demise swam nauseatingly through his mind. Instantaneously life had changed. Alex had gone from the youngest son, free to quite literally wish his father to hell, and make his own way in life, to the next Marquis Coverstone, and responsible for all the title entailed.

  Alex’s gaze drifted to the oversize family portrait hanging above the hearth. Four familiar sets of blue eyes gazed back at him. Memories, mostly bitter, lurked in every shadowed corner of the manse, right down to the ding in the left corner of his father’s wooden desk. Today, passing through the front door, he’d half expected three surly older brothers and an overbearing father to greet him. Devastation plagued his soul. Good terms or bad, family was family, and he’d lost every chance to prove himself in his own right or make amends.

  “It matters not what we anticipated.” Regina snapped a manicured finger through the air. “The fact remains you are the marquis and you are responsible for all of the duties and stipulations as such.”

  Irritation flared into full blown anger. “Mother—” Alex began to rise, a slew of arguments on the tip of his tongue, but settled back in his chair. Near ten years in the army had taught him to leash a famous temper and pick his battles. “I am well aware of my duties, and… you’re right. About everything. Now, would you be so kind as to allow me a few minutes to relax? It’s been a long day, and I’d like to get settled.”

  Regina tilted her chin regally. “Very well. But don’t for a minute think I’m fool enough to believe you’ve conceded this argument.” She swept to the door, tossing a last cool glare over her shoulder. “I will win, Alex. I always win.”

  The door clicked shut. “Bloody hell.” Alex slammed his fists against the wooden desktop, the inkwell teetered and tipped onto its side. “Damn.” Reflexively he snatched
the crystal well off the desk, but it proved too late. Dark liquid trickled down his hand and oozed across the polished surface.

  What more could go wrong today?

  His homecoming reception had descended into total dysfunction even more quickly than he’d anticipated. No welcome home, son from his mother, and Charlotte… By the powers he could still see her standing in the study door, more beautiful even than his vision of her on the battlefield. Since that fateful day when his life had been miraculously spared he’d seen her in an entirely new way… as a goddess… an angel… his savior… the key to his peace and happiness. Today the mere sight of her swathed in a simple blue gauzy gown, soft strawberry tresses dripping from her upsweep, had left him undone. He’d wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman in his life, burned for her. He burned for her still.

  Of course this evening the goddess he’d built up in his mind hadn’t come running into his arms. Her smile hadn’t washed the filth of sins from his soul. In truth she hadn’t even smiled. Instead, she’d stood before him, eyes wide with such terror and sadness one would think Alex the devil himself. Not that he could blame her after their wedding night.

  If one could call that a wedding night.

  He couldn’t even remember having performed the act, which, really was too bad. The consummation of one’s marriage should be a memorable experience, especially with a woman like Charlotte. She was a fine little thing, the perfect combination of petite and curvy, with a mischievous personality to top it off. Since childhood she’d reminded him of a mischievous fairy sprite.

  Alex sighed, setting the inkwell upright, and searching for something to stop the mess from spreading. He missed the days when Charley had looked to him with the moon in her eyes. Why hadn’t he realized sooner that love and family were the only things truly important in life? Convincing his wife he was a changed man would take time, and unfortunately time was the one thing in which he was sorely lacking.

  A river of ink ran across the desk toward the stack of calling cards labeled Alexander Rawlings, Marquis Coverstone. He stopped short as the dark liquid trickled across the cards, blotting out his name… his title. If only blocking the cursed thing was so easy in real life.