Authors: Mary Jo Putney
Feeling a tingle of anticipation, he rang for the butler. When Hawking appeared, he asked, "Do you know where Lady Maxwell is? I thought she might be interested in going for a ride."
Hawking's brows rose. "Her ladyship didn't find you? She had the same thought and was looking for you here earlier."
"Really? I haven't seen her this morning." A horrifying thought occurred to Kyle. If she'd sought him in the study, she might have approached during his argument with Wrexham. If she'd overheard some of the things that had been said…
Alarmed, he swiftly ascended to Troth's room, hoping he wouldn't find her there weeping. The knowledge that Kyle's father despised her mixed blood would be crushing.
When he knocked on her door, there was no response. After a second knock went unanswered, he cautiously turned the knob.
What he found was worse than tears. The bedroom had been ransacked, with drawers and wardrobe gaping, garments tossed across the bed and left crumpled on the floor. It was hard to believe that meticulous Troth lived here. In fact, she didn't—the condition of the room was an open declaration that she'd left. He crossed the room and rang for her maid. Perhaps the girl
—Bessy?—would know where her mistress had gone.
As he waited, he saw a note propped on the mantel. Girding himself, he unfolded the paper and read,
Lord Maxwell
—
you and your family wish to be
rid of me. Your wish is granted
.
As he crushed the note in his hand, the young maid entered and curtsied nervously. "My lord."
"Do you know where Lady Maxwell has gone?" He was amazed how steady his voice sounded.
"I'm not sure, sir, but she asked me to call a carriage for her."
"The travel coach, or one of the smaller carriages?"
"A smaller one."
Rapidly he considered the possibilities. Knowing she couldn't set off on a long journey without the coachman questioning her order, she'd probably gone to the nearby market town of Northampton, where she could catch a coach that would take her to London. No, not London—she'd go to Scotland. He'd meant to take her there, but as with everything else, he hadn't had the energy to follow through on his intentions.
Well, he'd better find some energy now. He strode to his room and swiftly changed to riding clothes. Downstairs he came across his father.
"You're in luck," he said acidly. "Troth overheard part of our conversation and has left. I hope to persuade her to come back, but I wouldn't blame her if she refuses."
"Damnation. I didn't want that." Wrexham frowned. "She may be more willing to return if I leave. Parliament is in session and I should be in London. I can't go until after the reception in your honor tomorrow night, but I'll be off the next morning. Give you and the girl time to work things out, if you're ever going to."
Kyle blinked, startled at his father's offer. "I don't know if that will help, but it's very thoughtful. Thank you."
Wrexham smiled satirically. "I suppose part-Chinese grandchildren are better than none at all." Turning, he marched down the hall, bellowing for his secretary.
In the stable Kyle saddled a dark bay that reminded him of Pegasus. The head groom, Malloy, who'd taught the twins to ride more than thirty years earlier, emerged as Kyle was tightening the cinches. "In the mood for a rare handful of horse, my lord?"
That didn't sound promising. "Does this one have homicidal traits?" The groom chuckled. "Nay, lad, just high spirits. You'll like Nelson fine." Malloy was right about the high spirits. When Kyle mounted, Nelson burst into a series of bucks that sent Kyle flying across the yard to land with bruising force. As a stableboy caught Nelson, Malloy rushed up, alarmed.
"Are you hurt, my lord?"
Swearing under his breath, Kyle waved the groom away. "I'm fine." He brushed himself off, then approached Nelson with steely determination. Stupid of him to forget that it had been over a year since he'd been on horseback. Sheng didn't count. With a spirited beast like Nelson, it was essential to prove who was in charge from the beginning. For most of his life authority had been second nature, but in China he'd lost the habit. Standing and moving like a man who knew he was the master, he collected the reins and spent a couple of minutes petting the horse, not allowing it to push him back. When he thought he'd made his point, he mounted again. This time he was prepared for Nelson's tests and managed to counter every challenge.
When Kyle brought Nelson to a well-behaved standstill, Malloy said, "I see you haven't lost your touch."
"Rusty, but not wholly incompetent.'' Kyle trotted out of the yard, then released the horse into an exhilarating gallop across the hills toward Northampton.
He didn't doubt that he could find Troth—but then what?
Kyle's pleasure in the ride was grayed from exhaustion by the time he entered Northampton. Malaria had undermined his strength and stamina as badly as the prison in Feng-tang had battered his emotions and spirit. Since he'd come cross-country, Troth's carriage couldn't have arrived here much before he had. With luck he'd find her at a coaching inn. If she'd already left—well, her distinctive appearance would make her easy to follow.
But what the devil should he say when he found her? Just as he'd tried to avoid talking with his father, he had avoided Troth for the same reason. He'd known that any discussion would be harrowing, and he hadn't felt equal to that. Inevitably, delay had made the situation worse. From the state of Troth's bedroom, he guessed that she'd left Dornleigh in a fury, and surely deeply hurt as well.
The hell of it was that she
should
leave so she could begin the life she'd dreamed of. Loyalty and courtesy were what had kept her at Dornleigh even though she obviously disliked the place. Yet he couldn't bear for them to part like this, in pain and anger.
Praying she was here, he rode into the coaching yard of the George, turned Nelson over to an ostler, and went inside to find the innkeeper. When the man appeared, Kyle said, "I'm Maxwell. Has a tall, beautiful, foreign-looking woman come in recently?"
"Aye," the innkeeper said, professionally cautious but responding to Kyle's air of authority. "Would you be having business with her, sir?"
"I'm her husband."
"Ah. Then she's not Miss Montgomery, but Mrs. Maxwell. The lady is in a private parlor, waiting for the northbound coach. This way, sir." Grateful to have found her so easily, Kyle followed the innkeeper. The private parlor contained a dining table and a half dozen worn but comfortable chairs. Troth sat at the table, picking at a platter of bread, cheese, and onions. When Kyle entered she glanced up, the color draining from her face.
"I gather that you overheard my father being his most pigheaded self this morning," Kyle said bluntly. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry!" Eyes glittering with rage, she jumped to her feet. "Your father despises me, while you regard me as an unfortunate obligation, like an old hound that has outlived its usefulness. Surely I should apologize to the Renbournes for contaminating the pure English air of Dornleigh." He winced. "My father said a lot of ghastly things, but eventually he and I did reach a better understanding."
Before he could say more, she spat out, " 'A better understanding.' You both agreed our so-called marriage was invalid—the only question was the best way to dispose of my inconvenient person. Well, I've solved that. After today, I shall never trouble you again." Her eyes showed terrifying depths of anger and pain.
"Troth, no!" He stepped toward her, unable to bear the sight of her anguish. "The marriage was real to me, and I thought it was to you. Please
—come home so we can work out what's to be done together."
"I'll never go back to that horrible place!" She snatched a sharp cheese knife from the table. "I'd rather die!"
Kyle stopped in his tracks. "Surely the situation isn't that dire." Her face twisted with blazing rage. "You understand
nothing.
But if you want dire, you shall have it." She pressed the tip of the cheese knife to her throat, then threw herself forward so that the blade would be driven straight into her body.
Horrified, Kyle dived across the room, catching her wrist and ripping the knife away as they crashed to the worn carpeting. While Troth struggled to break free, he pushed her hand back toward the floor so the blade would endanger neither of them. She fought him furiously, kicking and clawing as she tried to regain control of the knife. "Damn you!" she gasped. "
Damn
the whole lot of you."
"Dear God, Troth, don't do this! Don't." She was lithe and incredibly strong, capable of thwarting an assault by half a dozen dangerous men, yet he didn't dare use any of the filthy fighting tricks he'd learned in unsavory places for fear of injuring her. With his own strength far below normal, he had to pin her down by sheer body weight.
As he sprawled on top of her, immobilizing her limbs and the lethal knife, he said desperately, "How have we come to this, when there was so much kindness between us? "
She stopped struggling, her breathing harsh. "B-because you're sorry you ever met me." She began to weep with utter desolation.
"It's you who have reason to curse meeting me." She didn't resist when he pulled the knife from her hand and tossed it aside, then sat up and drew her across his lap, rocking her against him. "Swear that you'll never try that again, Troth. Killing yourself isn't the answer no matter how bad things are."
"What's the point of living in a world where I belong nowhere?" she said through tormented sobs. "At least in Canton I had a place, even if it was one I didn't like."
Guilt gnawed at him like a prison rat. "If I'd had the means of killing myself in Feng-tang, I would have done it—and that would have been a mistake. The last months haven't been good, but they've been better than Wu Chong's dungeon, and God willing, in time things will be better yet. They will improve for you, too."
"But you belong here. I don't. I never will."
He stroked her silky hair, where auburn highlights glowed against the darkness. "I don't blame you for wanting to leave Dornleigh—it's dismal at best, and I've been worse than useless. I'm sorry. It was my place to provide for you, and I've failed."
"Your place!" She sat up, eyes snapping again. "We owe each other nothing, Lord Maxwell. I took you to Hoshan, you brought me to England. We have each done what we promised and are free to go our separate paths."
"Surely there was more than obligation between us on the journey to Hoshan." Aching, he studied her beautiful, exotic face, the long eyes swollen by tears. "But I was a fool to think that becoming lovers could ever be as simple as it seemed then."
Her gaze dropped. "Being lovers
was
simple—marriage never occurred to me. Yet after that ceremony, I… I began to think of you as my husband. But it was never real, was it? You were right—no one had a reason to challenge the marriage when you were thought dead. Now you're alive, and I was never your wife."
"The ceremony was as real to me as it was to you. At the time, it seemed like a wonderful idea." He touched her cheek, then dropped his hand when she flinched away. "Come back to Dornleigh, if only for a little while. I can't bear for us to separate in anger."
Her eyes closed, tears seeping out again. "No. I tried so hard, but nothing I do will ever be good enough. I'll never be an English lady because I'm a Chinese whore."
"Don't call yourself such an ugly name! It's vile and horribly untrue."
"Not to your father."
"He's wrong."
"But still your father."
That was inarguable. "Why the devil do you want to be an English lady?
I haven't asked it of you, and I doubt that Dominic and Meriel did."
"I've spent too much of my life being despised for being different," she whispered. "I thought that in Britain I could blend in better. But I'm just as foreign here as I was in China."
He took her hand between both of his. "Some people hate anyone who is different from them. Others are charmed and fascinated by such differences. Which people would you prefer to have as your friends?"
She gave a surprised little hiccup. "I… I never thought of it that way."
"Understandable, given that you've spent much of your life feeling like an outsider. I won't lie to you, Troth. Anywhere you go in Britain, you'll attract attention because you look different. But given a chance, most Britons are fairly tolerant. Wherever you choose to live, you can cultivate a circle of friends who will love you for the rare and appealing woman that you are."
"You make it sound easy."
"Not easy, perhaps, but not impossible, either." His hand tightened around hers. "Return to Dornleigh and we'll find a way for you to gain your freedom without ruining your reputation."
Her mouth curled. "Dornleigh was designed by the devil to oppress spirits."
"Then change it. You told me about… feng shui, was it? The art of harmonious placement. You have my permission to make Dornleigh into a happier place. In fact, I'll be delighted at any improvements you make, since I'm facing a life sentence there."
"I doubt that Lord Wrexham would approve of my altering his home."