Heart of Honor (28 page)

Three days after Krista’s return, her grandfather arrived at the town house. He had been staying in London, she discovered, worried about her and what terrible fate might have befallen her. She had always believed he loved her, and when he greeted her with tears in his pale old eyes, she could see it was true.

“My dearest girl. I am so relieved that you are home.”

“It is good to be back, Grandfather.”

He hugged her once, briefly, then set her away from him. “The man who abducted you—I shall have him found, I promise you. I’ll see him hang for what he has done!”

She only shook her head. “It wasn’t that way, Grandfather. He meant for us to wed. He knew I…I cared for him. He thought he was doing the right thing.”

The earl frowned, his bushy gray eyebrows drawing together. “If you care for him and he you, why do the two of you remain unmarried?”

She took a steadying breath, wishing she could avoid the painful subject. “The man lives in another country, a world far from England, and I can’t live there with him. Soon he’ll be returning and all contact will be over.”

The earl seemed to ponder that and she could tell he was disturbed. “You’ve been compromised, girl. Your reputation has suffered greatly in the time you’ve been gone. Surely you realize that something must be done.”

“I know you had plans for me, Grandfather. I am sorry I failed you.”

A shrewd look came into his eyes. “The filly may have fled the barn, but there is always a path for her return.”

Krista had no idea what his cryptic words meant, and she didn’t really care. Once Leif was gone, she would focus on her work. Her reputation might be ruined, but she had never cared much for society, and that hadn’t changed.

The earl left the house soon after their discussion, and Krista hadn’t seen him since.

On Thursday, the gazette went to press once more without an editorial and Krista resolved right then that she wasn’t going to let it happen again. She wasn’t going to let someone—some coward who made threats from behind a mask—stop her from doing the job she had come home to do. She was giving up too much, sacrificing a life with Leif for her beliefs, and she wasn’t going to do so for nothing.

When she informed Leif, her father and Coralee of her decision, her father and Corrie were worried. Leif was furious.

“I will not allow it!” he thundered. “I forbid you to put your life in danger!”

Krista only shook her head. “That might have worked on Draugr, Leif, but not here. Here I have a business to run. I have obligations and I won’t continue to ignore them. You of all people should understand that.”

“If I were your husband—”

“But you
aren’t
my husband,” she reminded him softly. And he never would be.

Leif turned away, stalking around the drawing room, one of his big hands tightening into a fist. In a burgundy coat and trousers, his snowy cravat perfectly tied, he looked magnificent—and every inch the gentlemen. But Krista wasn’t fooled. She knew the man that lay beneath that civilized facade.

She was in love with him.

Though she no longer let her feelings show.

Although it had never been discussed, little by little they had withdrawn from each other. They barely spoke and never about anything personal. It was as if they were merely acquaintances, as if they had never made love, never talked of marriage. Though Leif refused to leave until any threat to her and Coralee had been resolved, Krista rarely saw him. She had no idea what he did when they were apart. She thought that perhaps he was digging around, trying to discover who might be behind this latest threat. Even when he was there in the town house, he kept mostly to himself.

Now, standing across the drawing room, he turned to face her. “Can you not at least wait until you hear from your investigator, Mr. Peter-sen?”

“No. We don’t have any idea how long Mr. Petersen’s efforts will take. Right now, Parliament is discussing the possibility of new legislation to further improve working conditions in factories and mines. I want to push strongly in support.”

As, she had discovered, the
London Beacon
had been doing. They had rebuilt after the fire that had nearly destroyed them, and were pressing more strongly than ever for reform. A handful of other, smaller newspapers were also beginning to make their opinions known. Krista was determined that
Heart to Heart
would take an equally firm position.

She wrote the editorial and it came out in the Saturday edition of the paper. On Monday, Dolph Petersen arrived at the town house.

It was dark by the time the carriage had dropped Corrie off and arrived at Krista’s home. As they pulled up in front, Leif, silent as usual, spotted a smaller conveyance parked ahead of them.

“Do you know whose carriage that is?”

“I’m not sure.”

He walked her up the brick path to her door, determined to discover who was there.

“It is Mr. Petersen, miss,” Giles told them. “He is in the study with your father. They asked if you would join them there as soon as you arrived.”

She did so hurriedly, anxious to hear any news the detective might have unearthed, Leif following her progress down the hall. Mr. Peterson and her father stood as she entered the room; Petersen dark-haired and attractive in a rather brutal way, her father thin as always but looking a little less fragile than he had when she’d first returned home.

Krista sat down across from the men on the leather sofa in front of the hearth, and Leif took a seat a few feet away.

“Good evening, Mr. Petersen,” she said.

“Miss Hart. Mr. Draugr.”

“You are here with news?” she asked.

Petersen nodded. “As I was just telling your father, in the past few days I’ve managed to come up with several bits of interesting information.”

“I should very much like to hear them.”

Petersen turned all-business, sitting a little straighter in his chair. “To begin with, two weeks ago, Cutter Harding was found to be in breach of the Collieries Act and fined quite heavily. Rumor has it your articles set matters in motion, and Harding is quite furious about it.”

Krista just smiled. “Indeed. Then I must be doing my job and I cannot help but feel pleased.”

“The second matter concerns an old friend of yours, Lawrence Burton, the major shareholder of Consolidated Mining. If you recall, it was Mr. Burton’s overseer, Harley Jacobs, who went to prison for arranging the assault on you and Mr. Draugr.”

“I have hardly forgotten, Mr. Petersen.”

“I’m sure you haven’t. Now it seems Harley Jacobs has been running off at the mouth to some of his cellmates. He’s saying the attack that night was Burton’s doing, not his. He’s been bragging about how well he fared in the matter, how well he and his family are being taken care of.”

Krista leaned forward in her chair. “Are you saying that Harley Jacobs was merely a scapegoat who took the blame for Lawrence Burton in exchange for money?”

“I’m saying Burton, not his overseer, may have hired the men who attacked you and Draugr that night.”

“I see.”

“What about the threat Miss Whitmore received?” Leif asked.

“I haven’t uncovered anything in that regard yet. The description of Miss Whitmore’s assailant fits several different people. Until I’ve got more to go on, I’m not ready to make accusations.”

Krista wished that Petersen had made more progress, but it had only been a matter of days. He answered whatever questions they had, then left the town house. As soon as he was gone, Leif turned to Krista and her father.

“I will speak to my brother, tell him this latest news and ask him to keep an eye out for trouble when I am not here.” He paced away, his broad back rigid, then turned again, his gaze locked on her face. “Do you know how hard this is for me? Thinking you might be in danger but knowing that my presence here only makes this harder for us both?”

Her heart squeezed. “Leif…”

“Say you will be careful. Say you will not do anything foolish that might put you in even more danger.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said softly, unable to look away from those worried blue eyes.

She would be careful—as she promised—but already she was thinking of the ball Coralee had mentioned, a lavish affair being given by a man named Miles Stoddard, head of one of London’s most wealthy industrialist families. Gossip had it Stoddard was angling for a title for his eldest daughter and willing to spend any amount to secure one.

Corrie’s family had been invited, of course, and though her father, Viscount Selkirk, had declined, Corrie’s aunt, Lady Maybrook, had agreed to act as Corrie’s chaperone. It was reputed the ball would be an outrageously expensive affair, one of the most extravagant parties of the year, and Corrie planned to write a feature about it for the society page of the gazette.

There was no way to know if Cutter Harding would be in attendance, but every chance Lawrence Burton would be there. It was well known that his wife, Cecilia, was extremely society conscious, always pushing to climb higher on the ladder of influence. She was years younger than her husband, an attractive woman Lawrence Burton doted upon. She enjoyed lavish parties, and of course, there were her two marriageable daughters to consider.

If Krista went with Corrie, perhaps she would have a chance to speak to Mr. Burton, get some clue as to whether he might be the man behind the threats being made against
Heart to Heart.

“Krista…” She felt Leif’s hands on her shoulders, forcing her attention back to him. “I do not like that look on your face.”

Krista merely smiled. “Do not worry. I said I would be careful.”

“Aye…that is what you
said.
”

But Krista knew him well enough to know he wasn’t convinced.

L
ight shone through every window of Miles Stoddard’s huge stone mansion in the Shrewhaven district of London. It was one of the more recently developed areas, the houses here mostly owned by the newer wealthy elite. There were no dukes or earls in residence, and yet each of the brick or stone mansions was palatial, a testament, Krista thought angrily, to the money the owners earned off the backs of the poor working classes.

The thought was a bit unfair, she conceded. Over the centuries, there had always been misuses of power. That had only begun to change very recently, with the efforts at working class reform. Aside from that, many of the people who lived in Shrewhaven treated their employees no less fairly than anyone else.

Walking next to Corrie and her aunt, Lady Maybrook, Krista made her way up the wide stone steps to the ornately carved double front doors. She had waited until Leif went out for the evening, then dressed and left the house, leaving a brief note for her father, who was working with Thor in his study.

She shouldn’t have come, she knew. Gossip about her had been rampant since the day she had disappeared, and now that she was returned, the rumors had grown tenfold. Even though her father, grandfather and Aunt Abby had all used their influence to put the matter to rest, she was fairly certain her reception tonight would not be golden.

Clamping down on a sudden bout of nerves, she pasted a smile on her face, lifted her chin and walked through the door, passing a pair of liveried footman along the way. In a gown of sapphire silk with an overskirt of silver-shot tulle, she couldn’t help thinking of the simple gowns she had worn on Draugr Island. Tonight, above the sweeping neckline of the gown, the tops of her breasts were exposed, drawing the occasional glance of a well-dressed gentlemen, plus a few stray glances from gossipy matrons who, no doubt, wondered which of the tales about her were true.

Krista steeled herself. She had known what would happen when she came here tonight, but she was determined to seek out her adversary, should she be lucky enough to find him. She was back in London, gowned once more in a tight-fitting corset and petticoats, and she had a job to do.

As they walked across the majestic entry beneath a massive stained-glass dome, Corrie leaned closer. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Krista?”

“It is a dreadful idea. The gossips are having a field day speculating as to where I have been these past weeks, and as the publisher of
Heart to Heart,
I am already highly unpopular with a number of the guests.”

“Well, we cannot leave now or it will only make matters worse.” Corrie glanced around, seeing, as Krista did, a number of people staring in their direction.

“I have no intention of leaving,” Krista said firmly, though her legs felt shaky beneath her skirt.

“What should I say if I am asked about your return?”

“Father and Grandfather are telling people I was staying with my aunt in the country. Aunt Abby fell ill, you see, but is now, thanks to my selfless efforts, back on her feet.”

“That sounds credible.”

“Perhaps. I think mostly no one wishes to incur the Earl of Hampton’s wrath—or Aunt Abby’s.”

Corrie stifled a laugh. “She is a rather formidable creature, your aunt.”

“As is yours,” Krista said, casting a look at the regal, silver-haired matron. Lady Maybrook, not the least intimidated by people she referred to as “working class,” led the girls into the ballroom and headed straight for the punch bowl. But instead of punch, both Krista and Corrie picked up glasses of champagne.

“To steady my nerves,” Krista explained.

“Indeed,” Corrie agreed, taking a rather large sip.

The ballroom had been decorated even more lavishly than the rest of the house, with thousands of candles in gilt candelabrum and huge sprays of fresh camellias and gardenias. An eight-piece orchestra liveried in bright blue satin played on a curtained stage at the end of the ballroom.

Sticking to the tale that her father and grandfather had created, Krista replied to inquiries about her recent sojourn to the country.

“It was completely unexpected,” she said to Mrs. Clivesdale, the rotund mother of a wealthy railroad entrepreneur. “My aunt is usually quite robust.”

“Is she here?” the woman asked, lifting her quizzing glass to peer down the length of her short, broad nose.

“I’m afraid not. Aunt Abby is still recovering, you see.”

“Of course, I understand.”

The woman understood nothing at all, which suited Krista perfectly.

The evening progressed, not quite as painfully as she had imagined, since several friends of her grandfather’s were also in attendance. She recognized Lord and Lady Paisley, as well as the Earl and Countess of Elgin, all of whom were extremely loyal to her grandfather. Matthew Carlton’s father, the Earl of Lisemore, was there, standing next to his son Phillip, Baron Argyll. Then she spotted Matthew.

With his light-brown hair and refined features, he was as attractive as ever, and she thought that her life would have been so much easier, so much less painful, if she could have fallen in love with him instead of Leif. He saw her in that moment and his head came up. Long strides carried him in her direction.

“Krista, you are home. Your grandfather told me. For a time, I did not think to see you again.”

“Did you not? I have merely been away in the country. Aunt Abby became ill and I went to tend her.”

“Yes…that is what the earl said.”

“But you do not believe him.”

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you are returned.” There was something in his expression, a familiar interest she had thought long dead. He took her gloved hand and brought it to his lips. “I am hoping that in time, now that you are home, we will be able to renew our…friendship.”

Surely he held no hope he might resume his courtship? He had known her feelings for Leif. Surely he had guessed that she had been with him these past weeks.

Before she had time to respond, Corrie returned from her brief conversation with a friend. “Good evening, Matthew.”

“Miss Whitmore.”

There was something in Corrie’s face that put Krista on alert.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Corrie said, casting her an urgent glance. “But I need to speak to Krista on a matter of some importance.”

Krista turned to him. “I’m sorry, Matthew. If you will excuse us…”

He made a slight bow. “Of course.”

Corrie tugged Krista a few feet away, over to the side of the ballroom. “We need to hurry!”

“Good heavens, Coralee, what on earth is going on?”

“I saw him, Krista! The man who waylaid my carriage, the one who threatened me!”

“Are you certain?”

“I saw him, I tell you. He is right here in the ballroom.”

“How can you be sure it is he? You said he was wearing a mask.”

“Not a mask, a handkerchief tied over his nose and mouth. I recognized his eyes. They are very distinct, you see. A hard, dark-brown, nearly black, and there is a ruthless quality in them that is impossible to mistake.”

“That is all? You think you know his eyes?”

“There is also the matter of his build. The man is large, with very thick shoulders, just like the man I saw. But more important, I recognized his ring.”

Krista frowned. “You never mentioned a ring.”

“I didn’t think of it, not at the time. Not until I saw it again tonight. It was a bloodred garnet inset with a pair of crossed sabers. It was very unique. I don’t know how I could have forgotten.”

“Where is this man now?”

Corrie took Krista’s hand and led her toward the rear of the ballroom. “There, that man talking to Mr. Stoddard.”

He was the man hosting the ball.

“Stoddard is as rich as Croesus!” Krista hissed. “Surely he wouldn’t be hanging about with the sort of ruffian you describe.”

“I tell you it is he!” She looked completely convinced, her green eyes wide, her small, finely formed features taut.

“All right, if you are that certain, we need to find out his name.”

“Why don’t we ask Matthew? He knows a lot of people. He’ll probably know who it is.”

Matthew stood not far away, in conversation with Diana Cormack and her husband, Viscount Wimby. Though Krista was reluctant to speak to Matthew again, if she asked Lady Maybrook it might arouse the woman’s suspicions, and she didn’t want that. Which left her no other choice.

They waited impatiently for Lord and Lady Wimby to walk away, then made their way toward Matthew.

“Sorry to bother you, Matthew,” Corrie said, “but we were wondering if you might be able to help us. Do you happen to know who that rather large gentleman is? The one standing near the doors leading out to the terrace.”

Tall as he was, Matthew could see over the heads of most of the people in the ballroom. “Standing beside the door, you say?”

“Yes.”

“That man is Porter Burton. Why do you ask?”

Krista’s eyes widened. “Is he related to Lawrence Burton of Consolidated Mining?”

“He’s Burton’s eldest son.”

“Are you sure? He seems too old. Lawrence Burton has daughters half that man’s age.”

“Porter is Burton’s son by his first wife, Maryann. She died in childbirth, and it was some years later before he remarried. You seem unduly interested. Why do you ask?”

Krista managed a smile. “No particular reason…just…Corrie is writing about the party and she is trying to catalog a few of the guests in attendance.”

Corrie smiled brightly. “For my article—Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Matthew, ever so much.”

They left him standing there staring after them, Krista tugging Corrie through the crowd, eager to speak to Porter Burton.

“It was Burton’s own son who threatened me!” Corrie practically hissed. “Of all the nerve!”

“Harley Jacobs said Burton was the man actually responsible for the assault on me and Leif. It seems it wasn’t the father, but the son who paid the overseer to take the blame.”

Corrie stopped in her tracks, jerking Krista to a halt. “You don’t think he is also the man responsible for the fire at
Heart to Heart?
”

“I am thinking that he probably is. And perhaps he ordered the
London Beacon
destroyed, as well.” Krista tugged her friend forward. “Come on. I want to talk to him.”

Corrie dug in her heels. “That is what you are planning? Are you insane?”

“There are four hundred guests at this ball. I am perfectly safe and I want to hear what the man has to say.” Krista ignored whatever reply Corrie made and simply kept walking. She had almost reached her destination when Porter Burton strode out through the French doors and disappeared onto the terrace.

“You can’t go out there,” Corrie whispered. “Your reputation is already hanging by a thread, and besides, it might not be safe.”

“The man is hardly going to attack me in front of all these people!”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll slip out another door so no one will see me.”

Krista took a steadying breath and stepped into the crush of people, emerging a few minutes later out on the terrace. She spotted Burton immediately, leaning against the wall, his features partly in shadow, partly lit by the flickering light of the lanterns burning along the balustrade. He was elegantly dressed, his clothes perfectly fitted to his large-boned frame, and yet somehow he did, indeed, look like the ruffian Coralee believed him to be. He was smoking a cigar, the tip glowing in the darkness. He tossed it away as she walked toward him.

“Good evening, Mr. Burton. My name is—”

“I know your name.” He came away from the wall, his eyes hidden in the darkness, and yet she could feel them burning into her. “You’re Krista Hart. I heard you’d left London. I’d hoped we’d seen the last of you.”

“You and your father would like that, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately, I am returned and your threats and bullying won’t keep us from printing the truth.”

“The truth? Or your opinion of the truth?”

“It doesn’t matter. It is our right to print what we believe.”

Far bigger than she, he took a step toward her. It surprised her to feel a moment of trepidation, even here among so many people.

“I don’t care what you believe,” he said, “you and the rest of the bleeding hearts. You’re going to stop printing all of your drivel or suffer the consequences.” His mouth curved in a ruthless smile. “The
Beacon
is barely hanging on. One more problem and they’ll be out of business. Unless you want the same to happen to your little magazine, you had better stop meddling.”

“I’ll go to the authorities. They’ll have you arrested, just like Harley Jacobs.”

He straightened, no longer amused. “Try it and you’ll only look like a fool. You can spout your accusations, but you haven’t got a shred of proof. Jacobs won’t talk and neither will anyone else. It’s only a matter of time until all of this nonsense comes to an end, and once it does, we’ll still be running our business.” He took another step toward her, forcing her to move back until a big potted cypress blocked her way.