A Dark and Stormy Knight

by Byrne, Kerrigan

  Pru put her fingers to her aching temples, suddenly overcome by exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Mother, what were you saying?”

  Pursing her lips, Lady Goode clutched a dazzling shawl around her diminutive shoulders and shivered. “I was wondering at the dark fireplace, dear. One would worry if your new husband can afford to warm the house.”

  Considering the sum Morley had paid for her freedom without blinking, Pru very much doubted the man had trouble keeping the household. Though, there did seem to be an alarming lack of staff for such a grand, sizeable home.

  “It’s still warm, Mother,” she said with a droll breath, doing her best not to roll her eyes.

  “He likely didn’t want us overheating, Mama,” Felicity defended from where she perched on a delicate couch overlooking the lovely cobbled street. Even in the dim gaslights of the late evening, her coiffure glinted like spun gold.

  Mercy, never one to sit still for long, handed her mother a glass. “Drink this sherry, it’ll warm you.”

  The Baroness took the drink, her shrewd dark eyes touched everything from the golden sconces to the muted sage and cream furniture of the sparsely decorated parlor. “You’ll have to engage my decorator, of course. You can’t be expected to live in such barren conditions. The house is nearly empty and old enough to be decrepit. I mean, look at the panes in the windows, they’re positively melting. And only three courses for your wedding meal? It’s as if—”

  “It’s as if I were released from prison for murder only this morning to be saved by a man who would give me the protection of his position,” Prudence said sharply, her voice elevating in octaves and decibels with each word. “It’s as if he had scant hours to plot the entire affair and endless things to consider, the least of which are the courses of a farcical celebration.”

  Her mother gave an indignant gasp. “I thought we all agreed not to mention—”

  “Oh, don’t let’s antagonize her, Mama.” Mercy moved to Pru’s side at once and sank next to her. She gathered up both her hands and kissed them. “Poor Pru, it’s been an upsetting couple of days.”

  Prudence attempted to summon a wan smile for her younger sister and wasn’t up to the task. Her nerves felt like they’d been stretched on the rack and were screaming for release.

  Upsetting… the word couldn’t touch a description for the last forty-eight hours.

  “I rather like Sir Morley,” Felicity remarked, daring a glass of sherry of her own. “He’s so…well he’s such a…” Her wide eyes narrowed as she searched for the right word, tapping her chin with a burgundy-gloved finger. “Well so many men are either elegant, or handsome, or extremely masculine, but the Chief Inspector somehow manages all three.”

  Pru blinked at her sister. Leave it to ever-romantic Felicity to describe her husband perfectly.

  It was what had attracted her to him that night. He’d been a savage in a bespoke suit. A beast burdened by sartorial elegance. The dichotomy never ceased to fascinate her.

  Mercy patted her hand. “And your new home is lovely, Pru. Everything is so fine and well-preserved.”

  “Indeed, our rooms in town look like closets in comparison,” Felicity added encouragingly.

  Mercy nodded. “People are paying large sums on the market for these spacious grand old places. I’ll bet that chandelier is imported and at least a hundred years old.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to discuss money in public, Mercy?” their mother lamented. “And our rooms in town might not be so large, but they’ve a fashionable address.”

  “This is Mayfair, Mama, every address is fashionable,” Felicity said with a droll sigh.

  The twins shared a wince with Pru, who returned Mercy’s fond squeeze.

  She’d always admired young Mercy’s enterprising wit and busy mind. It was as though her trains of thought were numerous and confounding as those running through Trafalgar station, and branched in just as many directions.

  Whereas Felicity’s notions were a bit less weighty and more idealistic, their mode of transport a hot-air balloon drifting upon the whims of a strong wind.

  Either way, they were each darling girls dressed in gem-bright silks and forever the fair counterparts to Prudence and Honoria’s dark looks and darker deeds.

  Before she could reply, footsteps clomped down the hall before the parlor door burst open containing the storm cloud that was her father. The dark blue eyes they’d all inherited from him glinted with displeasure from his mottled features.

  “We’re going,” he stated shortly.

  They all stood.

  “Is everything all right?” her mother queried anxiously.

  The Baron pinned Prudence with a scathing look as he announced through his teeth, “Everything is settled.”

  Morley stood in the door looking both resolute and enigmatic. He watched the tableau with a vague disinterest. Removed from it all.

  Remote.

  Would she ever be able to reach him?

  Felicity and Mercy embraced, kissed, and congratulated Pru, each wearing identical looks of pity and concern.

  “We’ve left a trunk of your things for you from your wedding trousseau,” Felicity said. “Come around for the rest when you can.”

  Her mother curtsied to Morley and her father shook his hand, each of them maintaining the barest façade of civility.

  Her husband’s manners remained impeccable and his expression impenetrable. His spine straight and tall as he looked each of them right in the eye.

  They left with barely a word for Prudence.

  She swallowed as a lump of hurt lodged above that of the ever-present dread aching in her throat.

  Would it ever be comfortable to breathe again?

  Morley stood between her and the door, his wide back expanding with deep breaths, as if he were bracing himself for something unpleasant.

  Like turning to inspect his unwanted wife.

  The short-cropped hair at his nape did little to hide a red flush on his neck and a trickle of sweat that ran into the collar of his evening suit. It was the only indication that he even suffered an emotion or two.

  When she could no longer stand it, Pru asked, “What happened between you and Father? How on earth did you get him to agree—?”

  He finally turned, and it was all she could do not to take a step back, so abrupt was the movement. Military in its precision.

  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “This is my future, of course I must worry about it.”

  Rather than look at her, his stare remained fixed on a distant point down the hall. “It’s settled to both of our satisfactions…or neither. Now, follow me,” he said as he swept past her.

  What about her satisfaction? she wanted to ask. Didn’t that matter at all anymore?

  The old Pru would have said something. But fear lurked in the Prudence who’d spent the night in a jail cell. One that feared that if she displeased this new husband of hers, he’d toss her right back in the cuffs.

  She trailed him as he led her through a long hall with stunning antique scroll paneling but devoid of portraiture or art.

  “I’m glad you both agreed, I’m just bewildered is all,” she rambled. “My father is a stubborn man…not easily convinced of anything. And the very fact that he suffered through dinner without making a scene is nothing less than miraculous.”

  “Suffered?” Morley’s disdainful sniff echoed in the empty hall. “I’m certain it causes him no end of suffering that his newest son-in-law is beneath him socially. Sitting at my lowly table must have been a torment for you all. I commend you for containing your disappointment.”

  “No! Not at all,” she rushed, before ceding the falsehood. Her father, and especially her mother, were devastated more by the loss of Sutherland’s earldom than the man, himself. And to have him replaced with a man of the working class, even a knight, was little compensation. “What I mean to say is that we’re attempting something highly irregular. It’ll take a miracle f
or society not to discover that I married two days after my wedding to poor George was interrupted by his murder and that I gave birth not six or so months after—”

  He paused, and she nearly ran into the back of him.

  “I would take it as a kindness if we mentioned the former Earl of Sutherland as little as possible in this house.” His chin touched his shoulder, but he didn’t exactly look back at her. A chill had been added to his endlessly civil tenor. “If ever.”

  “Surely that’s impossible while I’m still under suspicion.” She stepped closer to him. Close enough to put her hand on his back if she wanted. “Is that how you convinced my father to be agreeable? By offering to protect me from—”

  “Your father is being investigated by the Yard for smuggling illicit substances into the country through his many shipping companies. He is aware of your pregnancy, and he concedes that marriage to me is the thing that could very well save your life and his reputation. If you want the honest truth, I resorted to little better than blackmail to gain his word and his silence.” He paused. “Let’s not pretend I have his blessing.” He turned the corner at the end of the hall and began to conquer the stairway up to the second floor.

  Pru stood there for a stunned moment. “Smuggling?” She roused herself and trotted after him, lifting her skirts to climb after him. “Are you the one conducting the investigation against him?”

  “I cannot discuss it.”

  “Not even with me?”

  At the top of the stairs he finally looked back to level a droll look down his sharp nose. His eyes were like two silver ingots glowing from the shadows covering the rest of his features.

  “Especially with you.”

  He disappeared from the stairwell and Pru crested the steps to turn and chase him down the corridor.

  “The green parlor downstairs is for your particular use.” He both spoke and walked in short clips. “But I will leave the running of the house to you. Decorate and arrange it how you like. I’ve a cook, a maid of all work, and a footman, but I’m certain you’ll require additional staff. Hire them at your leisure.”

  A naturally curious person, Prudence ached to open each of the doors they passed, but she didn’t dare. “Surely you don’t have my dowry yet,” she remarked.

  He stopped, having come to the end of the hall. “Surely you don’t think I need it,” he threw a perturbed glance over his shoulder. “I’ve quite enough to keep a wife. Even a high-born one. I should think that’s evidenced by my estate.”

  She’d offended him. She hadn’t meant to, but despite his very fine house in an expensive part of town, and the sum he’d forfeited for surety, she hadn’t any true ideas what his finances were like. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

  “You needn’t worry. Your dowry is yours to do with as you wish. I don’t require it and I won’t touch it.” He said this like her money was diseased, before he swept open an arched door. “Your room.”

  Pru had to brush past him to step inside, and she hesitated to appreciate the scent of cedarwood and soap wafting from his warm, virile body. She prolonged a blink as she remembered that scent. Remembered burrowing her face into his neck and gasping in great lungs full of it.

  Even now, it provoked her exhausted body into a state of unnatural awareness.

  When she opened her eyes, she marveled.

  This wasn’t a simple chamber, but a veritable suite. She’d a wardrobe at home smaller than the gilded fireplace, and everything else was to scale.

  Like the rest of the house, the room was devoid of extraneous furnishings. However, the bed was half again as big as anything she’d slept in and angled toward windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor.

  Unlike the antique, leaded panes of downstairs, these had been installed recently, and the whole of the vast city spread out beyond in a tableau of dazzling light and spires.

  “Your trunks are at the foot of the bed,” he informed her. “Until a lady’s maid has been procured for you, Lucy, the maid of all work, will tend to your needs. Unfortunately, she is with her ailing uncle until tomorrow afternoon. So you might need to call upon—”

  “It’s all right. I’ll manage.” She turned around, clasping her hands in front of her, doing her best not to look at the bed.

  He seemed to be avoiding it as well.

  Lord, how different this interaction was from the last night they’d spent together. Would they ever find that sort of warmth again? Would he ever look at her with that all-consuming heat threatening to turn her into a pile of ash and need?

  She watched him stride around the outskirts of her room, inspecting the view as if he’d never seen it before. Avoiding her as if she carried the plague rather than his child.

  Perhaps he needed his mask.

  “If you pull on these cords, the heavy drapes will fall and block out the sunlight if you are prone to sleeping late.” He demonstrated by tugging on a tasseled cord releasing one of the cobalt velvet panels. “This one next to it secures the drape back in place without needing to tie.”

  “How clever,” she murmured.

  “I thought so.” His hands clasped behind his back in a regimental pose and they stood like that, staring at each other for longer than was comfortable.

  It struck her in that moment how little she knew this man. How little she understood him.

  He stood like a soldier, but wore white-tie finery. Just today he’d been a blackmailer and a bridegroom. He was a Chief Inspector. A vigilante. A knight. Her lover. A husband.

  Her husband. One who had certain rights. One to which she had certain marital duties.

  Despite herself. Despite everything, a little flutter of excitement spread through her belly.

  “Well.” Morley cleared his throat and skirted nearly the entire room to avoid her in a controlled dash for the door. “Good evening to you.”

  “Good evening?” She parroted his words back to him as a question. Wasn’t this their wedding night? “Where are you going? That is…are you…coming back?”

  He stopped in the doorframe, his wide shoulders heaving with a long breath before he slowly made an about-face to regard her with a strange and vigilant wariness. “Only a base creature would expect you submit to the marriage bed after such a traumatizing few days.” His expression turned hesitant. “You don’t know me very well, but I assure you, I am not a man who is prone to—the kind of behavior I demonstrated upon the night we met.”

  The realization that he was being considerate warmed Pru a little. “It seems that night was out of character for us both.”

  His eyes skittered away. “Yes. A hard-won lesson of our mutual folly.”

  Something about that statement tempted her to argue but she could find no words. “I appreciate your consideration, and you’re correct. I don’t know you at all…” Pru fiddled with her wedding ring as she took a tentative step forward, latching on to an idea. “Perhaps you could stay for a while. We could talk. We could…become acquainted. I don’t relish the idea of being alo—”

  He retreated a step to hers, shaking his head decisively. “I’ve work to do.”

  Pru frowned. “Work? You mean… as the Knight of Shadows?”

  “Among other things.” His features locked down and everything about him became as hard as granite, including his voice. “You do realize if you utter a word about the so-called Knight of Shadows, the house of cards I’ve managed to build around you will collapse entirely. Any notions of ruining me will only lead to your own damnation.”

  Perhaps this was why he’d been so cold. So distant. He thought she might reveal his secrets to the world, thereby ruining his life. He hadn’t cause to know otherwise, it wasn’t as though they’d a relationship built on trust.

  “I’d never,” Pru vowed. “You have my word.”

  She tried not to let it hurt her feelings that her word didn’t seem to allay him in the slightest. “Very good.” He gave her a stiff nod that might have been a bow, and his weight shifted to take a ste
p away.

  “Wait!” she called, evoking the brackets of a deepening frown.

  “What else is it, Miss Goode? I did not lie when I said I had duties to attend.”

  The irritation in his voice stung her sinuses with the threat of overwhelming emotion. She turned from him, grateful to have a reason. He’d called her Miss Goode, as if he’d forgotten that she’d taken his name.

  “My buttons,” she croaked huskily. “They’re in the back and if I haven’t a lady’s maid… I can’t reach them.”

  She waited in the silence with bated breath until, finally, the creak of the floorboards announced his approach.

  Prudence tightened her fists in her skirts and forced herself to be still as his fingers found the top button of her plaid, high-necked gown and released it. Gooseflesh poured over her and a little tremor spilled down her spine as he was unable to avoid brushing the upswept hair at the nape of her neck.

  She closed her eyes again, swamped with an overwhelming longing. Gods, she wanted him to hold her.

  No, not exactly. Not him. Not this wary creature of starchy reticence and wary silence. But him. The Knight of Shadows. She’d never felt as safe and marvelous as she had in his arms. Clutched to him. Pinned beneath him. Clenched around him.

  Was he gone from her forever?

  Had he ever truly existed at all?

  She listened for his breath, and realized he held it.

  The buttons gave way beneath his deft motions and she couldn’t seem to summon words until he’d made it below her shoulder blade. Then everything she was thinking burst out of her like a sneeze.

  “It’s only that I have so many questions and so many fears that I feel I will die if I don’t know something. Can’t you understand how that feels? Is my life in London over? My reputation ruined? Does everyone think me capable of murder? What about George’s funeral, I’ll be expected to attend, won’t I? Unless everyone thinks I killed him, then… Oh God. And what about you? Everyone will think—”

  “People will think what I tell them to think,” he said in a voice only a fraction less even and measured than his hands upon her buttons. “Only a trusted few know of your arrest last night and even fewer your release. The reverend has been silenced. Honoria and William have been sent away. Your fiancé had blessed little in the way of family, and his earldom is passed to some distant Scottish cousin who is happy not to ask too many questions. As for my part, I’m investigating the matter thoroughly, though Argent is officially handling the murder inquest for the sake of records, and a more secretive man you’ve never met.”