Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace (23 page)

“Tell us,” Kerrington ordered.

“The opium trail took a divergent path. One straight to the door of Foresthill Hall in Lancashire. An estate owned by Baron Geoffrey Nelson.”

In case someone still trailed her, Grace had changed hackneys twice before arriving at her let rooms. She had informed Mrs. Gleeson she had developed a megrim and would be spending what remained of the day in her room. The dear lady sent up tea and dry toast, which made Grace feel guilty for lying to her hostess.

Carefully, she washed and bandaged the wound she had sustained while foiling a gunman’s attempt to kill Lord Godown. The bullet had ripped away a section of both the cloak she had worn and her best gown. “So much for my vanity,” she chastised as she cut a smooth piece from the cloak’s hem to patch the garment. “It just proves my impetuous nature brings disaster.”

Yet, in reality, Grace could not regret her journey into Mayfair. Although she had not spoken personally to His Lordship, her presence in the park likely saved Lord Godown’s life. “Would His Lordship have been in danger if he had not given pursuit after my call?” Grace wondered aloud. “It was no accident. The gunman had waited for Lord Godown. I suppose His Lordship walks there often,” she reasoned. “My presence only changed when the attack occurred, not if it would happen,” she told herself.

Leaving her mending to later, for several minutes, Grace looked out the room’s small window. From her vantage point, all she could see was the busy street traffic below. “What a contrast to the life Lord Godown knows,” she murmured as she watched a young boy wrestle with a donkey cart. “I am foolish ever to dream such a man could care for me.” With a shrug of defeat, she returned to the cloak. “Better to mend it while there is enough light to see the stitches,” she said as she stretched the material taut. Yet, her mind would not attend to the tear. All she could see was a pair of deep-set, muddy brown eyes and to feel the shallowness of her breathing when she thought of Lord Godown’s arms about her.

*

Gabriel felt the biggest fool to have ever walked the earth. “The opium trail?” he asked. He knew from Mr. Sanders’ foray into Lancashire Baron Geoffrey Nelson had inherited the title and estate some eight years prior, and the neighborhood had suffered under the young baron’s reign. He had seen some of the decay for himself. Likely, Baron Nelson was the man who shared features with Grace. “Miss Nelson’s brother,” he made the connection.

Lowery frowned deeply. Gabriel knew his friend prided himself on solving mysteries. “I am surprised none of us understood the familial relationship before now.”

Kerrington reasoned, “Why would we? Miss Nelson told Lady Worthing she had lived with the Averettes for five years. Likely, the lady has not seen her family during all that time.”

Gabriel’s mind raced to compute Grace’s age when she had left her home for Lord Averette’s strict household. He realized she could not have been much older than a girl straight from the schoolroom. How much she had had to face! Things no genteel woman should know! The woman was driving him insane. One moment he wanted to throttle her to within an inch of her life. The next, Gabriel wanted to pull her into his protective embrace and to promise he would make her life all of which she had ever dreamed.

“We should examine all the connections,” Shepherd said sagely. “Swenton, I will be sending you north again soon.”

The baron grumbled, “So much for celebrating Christmastide in York.”

Shepherd ignored the remark. Instead, he said, “I believe we have enough information for the time being. I will organize what I require each of you to do. You will receive written orders.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “I suppose I should speak my gratitude.”

Yardley cut off the apology. “You have answered our calls on multiple occasions. No words are necessary.”

“Yet, I wish to convey that I will not hear of your placing your families in danger on my behalf,” Gabriel insisted. He stood as the others rose to leave.

Lexford suggested, “Perhaps you should place your plans to marry on hold, Godown. If you are a target, you should not bring such danger to your future wife’s door.”

Gabriel’s hands clenched and unclenched at his side. He hated having to open himself up to others. He despised being the center of curiosity. Dejectedly, he said, “I cannot do that.” His friends all paused to hear his explanation. “I must marry before my next birthday or lose all my holdings to my cousin, Lord Isaacs.”

Thornhill reached for his gloves on a nearby table. “Even so. Why the rush? Surely you could see this matter settled prior to your nuptials.”

Gabriel took a deep breath to settle his knotted nerves. “The only way I keep the title and all my father strove to achieve in my name is to marry and produce a child before my eighth and twentieth birthday.”

Kerrington questioned, “How is that possible? There must be some mistake.”

Gabriel’s mouth set in a tight line. “There is no mistake. With Templeton’s accusations having previously sentenced me to the Continent and imminent danger, my father moved to secure the title. Lord Isaacs turns forty within a week of my next birthday. Fearing the title might sink into oblivion if I failed to return, my father placed special obligations upon my succession. I require a wife and an heir within the next eleven months.”

*

Bel waited in the small drawing room for Gabriel’s associates to disperse. Finally, she spotted him, and as she had expected, he was alone. Upon his approach, she opened the door fully. “I was waiting for you.” The warmth in his eyes when he saw her went a long way to prove she had been correct about how the man felt about her.

He smiled easily. “I am blessed among men.”

She reached for his hand. “Come,” she tugged him into the darkened room. “It has been too long.” She locked the door behind him. The man known to the others as “Shepherd” had a completely different identity to Rosabel Crowden Damon. As soon as the lock clicked into place, she slipped into his embrace. Bel sighed deeply. “Aris.”

Aristotle Pennington chuckled lightly. “Only you call me ‘Aris.’ I like that about you.” He laced his hands behind her back and pulled her closer.

Bel breathed in his essence: cigar smoke and sandalwood, and a familiar calm she only experience in his arms. This man had been her first love. The man she had once thought to marry. But a marquis’ eldest daughter does not marry a plain “mister”–a man whose future lay in governmental service. Whose potential might prove to be nothing more than an underpaid clerk. No, she was to marry Granville, and although she and Lord Damon had gotten on better than she had expected in a marriage of convenience, their union was still could not replace the memory of this man, who sent her heart at a gallop.

It was to this man she had turned when Gabriel had withstood the pressure of Society and a deceitful Gardenia Templeton. And as he had always done, Aristotle had come to her rescue. He had arranged a “trade” that would mold Gabriel into the kind of man who could easily assume the Godown title and that would expunge the boy’s reputation.

Now, “the boy” needed Aris’ assistance again, and Bel would assure he did right by her nephew. Aris stroked her back. “To what do I owe all this attention,” he said huskily in her ear.

His closeness warmed Bel’s core. It had been nearly eight years since Granville’s passing. Years when she had missed her husband’s tenderness. And she had never known her Aris. “I thought it time. That is if you still desire to know me.”

A growl of passion slipped from his lips as Aris claimed her mouth. “Desire to know you,” he hissed. “I have thought of little else since I came into my majority.” Slowly, he lowered his mouth to possess hers, and Bel found herself clinging to him as if she were a young woman once again.

An hour later, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms. “I suppose I should return to the running of Fugol Hall,” she said lazily. “The staff must wonder what has become of me.”

Aris nibbled on her neck. “And I was just thinking I needed to refresh my memory of your finer qualities,” he whispered into her ear.

“My finer qualities have gone the way of my youth,” she said as she turned in his arms so his warmth might cup her back and buttocks.

Aris stroked the hair from her face. “Believe me, Rosabel, in my eyes, there is none more beautiful than you.”

His words stroked her as tenderly as did his fingers. “I was foolish not to defy my father’s wishes,” she said honestly.

Aris’ lips found her ear lobe. “It is done, Bel. We cannot turn back time’s march, but we could still claim a future. You would no longer be a duchess, but I promise you will want for nothing. I have accumulated a substantial fortune.”

Bel turned where she might look upon his countenance. “Is that a marriage proposal, Aris?”

“You know it is, Bell. Do not play coy. It does not suit you.”

Bel leaned forward to kiss him with all the love she had held in her heart for a lifetime. “I was not being coy, Aristotle.”

“Then will you consider making me the happiest of men?” He cupped her breast and flicked the nipple with his thumb.

“Which do you desire, Aris? Me in your bed or me as your wife?” Bel teased as she draped a leg over his hip.

“Both, Vixen.” He groaned as Bel stroked his hipbone.

She adored the power she had over this man. It was a heady situation for a woman in her latter years. Their joining had been nothing like her times with Granville. Unlike her late husband, Aristotle Pennington claimed all of her while permitting her the freedom to enjoy his body. She had lost a great love when she had refused his first proposal, but she still had the opportunity to know love before she died. Her son would not approve, but Bel rarely saw her only child. It was Gabriel who had always brought out her maternal instincts.

“I would consider your proposal, Aris, but first I must see Gabriel well settled. I promised Renard on his death bed.”

Aris cupped her chin. “You would turn to me? At last, I would know the pleasure of having you on my arm?”

Bel pressed, “After this business is settled with Godown.” She rolled to her back and pulled him to her. “I do not know how best to proceed, Aris. If he is to retain the title and the entailed properties, Gabriel must have a wife before his next birthday. We have thought to find him a wife who could present Godown a child so he might maintain the title and all he would inherit from his father.” Mindlessly, she caressed the muscles of his chest. “Yet, although the boy will marry in hopes of a child, I do not think it possible.” Bel turned to meet his steady gaze. “If Godown cannot manage to save the title with an heir, I would wish him to know happiness. You and I are a testament to those who continue to seek love throughout their lives.”

He wrapped a lock of her hair about his finger. “One of the Society ladies you shove in Godown’s path may bear his name, but not his heart. Your nephew would deny it, but he has given himself to another.”

Bel’s heart skipped a beat. This–not the proposal–had been the reason for her seduction. At least, that is what she had told herself. However, now she had known the heat Aristotle Pennington created in her, she would have a difficult time returning to an empty bed. She purposely kissed his neck before saying, “Do you mean the girl who saved our Gabriel in Scotland?” While she held her breath, Bel waited for his response.

Aris’ mind had long left Gabriel’s dilemma behind. Bel knew this to be an absolute. The Realm’s leader would never divulge any facts to another, but he assumed as Godown’s aunt she already knew the girl’s identity. The girl, who Aris assured her had stolen her nephew’s heart, became a reality. “Yes, Miss Grace Nelson has left Godown in an abyss. He believes her somehow involved in these recent attacks.”

*

Despite recent turmoil, Gabriel dutifully called upon Lady Anthony. He had thought to take his mind from the mystery behind the attacks on his life and the responsibility he owed to his title. However, when he arrived at the lady’s townhouse, he met Adam Lawrence, the future Earl of Greenwall, leaving. Although Sir Carter had recently given the viscount a glowing review of Lord Stafford’s involvement in protecting Arabella Tilney’s reputation when Lowery’s brother Lawrence was, literally, discovered in the lady’s bedchamber, Gabriel had never cared for the man.

“Why do you tolerate Lord Stafford’s company?” Gabriel had asked when he and Christina were alone.

Lady Anthony smiled easily. She wore a sheer gown that hid little of the lady’s charms. “Oh, please tell me you speak through the eyes of the green-eyed monster. It would do so much for my fragile ego.”

As much as he adored Christina’s company, jealousy was never an emotion Gabriel permitted in any relationship. “First, of all the women I know, you are the least among them when it comes to a fragile ego. And secondly, jealousy is not part of our acquaintance. I simply believe you deserve better than the viscount.”

She stretched catlike so Gabriel might enjoy the length of her leg. “I am much more fragile than you realize, Godown. If not, I would not care Lord Anthony returns on Monday to bring me under his thumb. And as for the viscount, I enjoy Lord Stafford’s quick wit and his cynical nature. In fact, the future earl reminds me of you.”

Gabriel spewed his drink in reaction. “In what way, may I ask, do you believe Lord Stafford and I are similar? In my opinion, the man is a pompous arse.”

“May I make the point many in the ton would say the same of you?” she countered. “Moreover, like most people, my tastes take a particular slant: For me, it is sandy blonde hair, broad shoulders, and tall–a man with a testing intellect and broad opinions.”

Gabriel frowned deeply. “I would not say I choose the same type of woman each time,” he said distractedly.

“Au contraire, my Lord,” Christina said sweetly. “Your tastes are quite pronounced. The women have different physical features, but they have very distinct similarities. Mainly, they are discreet, except maybe that flamboyant opera dancer to whom you have shown a preference of late.” Gabriel thought of the “drama” associated with his parting from Margaret Early, and he involuntarily nodded his agreement.