Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy Read online

  A Touch of Mercy

  By Regina Jeffers

  White Soup Press

  Copyright 2013 by Regina Jeffers

  Cover Design by Sarah Callaham

  Interior Text Design by Sarah Callaham

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any manner (electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system) whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in case of a brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  White Soup Press

  ISBN: 9780615813820

  A Touch of Mercy

  (Book 5 of the Realm Series)

  White Soup Press

  Table of Contents

  Cast of Characters

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Book 6 of the Realm Series A Touch of Love

  Mercy had impatiently waited for Lord Lexford’s appearance. She had an inkling of the viscount’s appearance for she had seen two renderings of the man in the gallery. In the first, Aidan Kimbolt had been no more than five or six years of age. He had been the youngest of the three children, and Mercy suspected he had given his nurse a case of the vapors. An impish good nature played in his brownish-black eyes. Surely the portrait painter had erred in the color for she had never known one with such richness. The second portrait had been one of the viscount, his brother, and their father. Likely, the current Lord Lexford had been fifteen or sixteen at the time, while his brother would have been in his early twenties. Compared to his brother Andrew, Aidan Kimbolt had appeared lanky and boyish, while Lord Andrew had well defined shoulders and waist. All three men were exceedingly handsome, even the former viscount, whose age lines had only added to his well turned out appearance. Yet, Mercy had spent her time searching the countenance of the boy, the one not like the other two in his appearance. The one with the softer lines to his face and the more welcoming slant to his shoulders.

  The sound of approaching footsteps warned Mercy of the viscount’s arrival, and she stood to greet him. She had had second and third thoughts on Mr. Hill’s plan to present her as Lord Lexford’s relative, but it was too late to change her mind now. Mercy squared her shoulders and prepared to meet the man who would decide her fate. She found herself strangely unnerved by the possibility.

  He entered in obvious irritation, and Mercy’s heart leapt into her throat. The artist had not erred. The viscount’s eyes were mesmerizing. All she could say was they were more blackish brown. The color of the coffee beans she had seen on sale in the marketplace. Absurdly long lashes. A wide brow over which a sandy blond curl dropped. Chiseled cheekbones. And a mouth which had likely felled countless women. Her sister Grace had erred: Viscount Lexford must have been the most handsome man at the Prince Regent’s party.

  *

  Aidan had led the way to the study. He had wanted to be done with whatever foolishness Hill had concocted. Likely, the man wanted to plead for a return to Linton Park and to Hannah. If Aidan had not felt so vulnerable, he would have driven his friend from the estate with a stick. Unfortunately, he held no doubt Henry Hill would remain his salvation. However, after witnessing Mrs. Babcock’s display of showiness, Aidan wondered if he had made a mistake in returning to Lexington Arms to face his demons. “Now what is of such great importance?” he began before coming to a stumbling halt barely five feet inside the room.

  He gave his head a little shake as if to clear his vision, but the image remained: A fairy goddess in a forest green gown. Red golden locks framed her heart shaped face. A compelling vibrancy surrounded her, and Aidan half expected her to take flight. His blood heated when he gazed into her eyes: The color of melted chocolate. She was dangerous. This woman was a perfect sin, and Aidan had to remind himself to breathe. “Pardon…pardon me,” he said on a rasp. “I was unaware we had guests.” Without removing his eyes from the girl, he said, “Mr. Hill, would you be so kind as to make the proper introductions?”

  Aidan could hear the smile in Hill’s tone. “Lord Lexford, permit me to bring to your acquaintance, Miss Mary Purefoy.” His man paused for emphasis, and Aidan wondered what perfidy Hill practice. “Miss Purefoy is your sister, my Lord.”

  Cast of Characters

  Members of the Realm and Their Ladies

  James Daniel Kerrington, Viscount Worthing (Future Earl of Linworth) – the group’s “unofficial” leader (resides at Linton Park in Derbyshire)

  Lady Eleanor Agatha (Fowler) Kerrington, Viscountess Worthing – Kerrington’s wife; Brantley Fowler’s sister

  Brantley William Fowler, the Duke of Thornhill (resides at Thorn Hall in Kent)

  Velvet Elaine (Aldridge) Fowler, the Duchess of Thornhill – Brantley’s wife and cousin

  Marcus Alexander Wellston, the Earl of Berwick (Lord Yardley) (resides at Tweed Hall in Northumberland)

  Cashémere (Aldridge) Wellston, the Countess of Berwick (Lady Yardley) – Velvet’s younger sister; twin to Miss Satiné Aldridge

  Gabriel Luis Crowden, the Marquis of Godown (resides in Staffordshire)

  Grace Anne (Nelson) Crowden, the Marquise of Godown – Crowden’s wife; a former governess

  Aidan Colin Kimbolt, Viscount Lexford (resides at Lexington Arms in Cheshire)

  Mercy Elizabeth Nelson – Grace’s younger sister

  Johnathan Swenton – a baron (resides in York)

  Sir Carter Stephan Lowery – a baronet (resides in London and Kent)

  Other Characters Important to the Story Line

  Aristotle Pennington – the Realm’s leader; the group refers to him as “Shepherd”

  Murhad Jamot – a Baloch warrior who has been sent to England by the tribal leader, Shaheed Mir, to recover a missing emerald, which Mir claims the Realm has stolen from him

  Rhamut Talpur – Jamot’s partner

  Sonali Fowler – Brantley Fowler’s daughter by his first wife, Ashmita

  Henry “Lucifer” Hill – Aidan Kimbolt’s “man of all means”; Hannah’s love interest; was rescued by Kimbolt during the war and pledged himself for 10 years of service to the viscount

  Hannah Tolliver – Lady Eleanor’s long time maid; Lucifer Hill’s love interest

  Baron Charles Ashton – the maternal uncle to the Aldridge daughters; Satiné Aldridge’s guardian (resides at Chesterfield Manor outside of Manchester)

  Satiné Aldridge – Cashémere Aldridge’s twin sister

  Lachlan Charters – a Scotsman who kidnapped Miss Satiné, thinking her to be Cashémere; struck Aidan Kimbolt a mighty blow, causing the viscount to lose his memory

  Richard Breeson – Marcus Wellston’s former batman; Ashton’s steward

  Baron Geoffrey Nelson – Grace and Mercy’s wastrel brother

  Sir Lesley Trent – a baronet and widower, who wishes to
marry Mercy Nelson

  Mathias Trent – the baronet’s oldest son and heir

  Squire Holton – Aidan Kimbolt’s neighbor and the local squire

  Prologue

  “Nothing can make injustice just but mercy.”

  - Robert Frost

  “You are a fool,” he groused under his breath. Aidan Kimbolt shuffled the cards again, but his mind was far from the game of Patience he had spread out upon a low table. His thoughts remained on the letter he had received from his father. In fact, the letter’s contents had haunted both his waking and sleeping hours for the past week. From the moment Kerrington had placed the viscount’s closely written message into Aidan’s hands, he had regretted receiving it. Not as if your refusal to read it would have changed the facts, he silently chastised his foolish heart. Susan means to have Andrew and a title.

  Aidan flipped the cards with more vigor than he intended. Instinctively, he glanced to where James Kerrington watched him. Very little escaped the man Aidan’s small group of seven called, “The Captain.” He offered his friend an unobtrusive nod to allow the future Earl of Linworth the freedom of no censure.

  According to Shepherd’s orders, Aidan’s particular unit of the British covert operations, known as the Realm, was to infiltrate Shaheed Mir’s stronghold. The British government sought Mir’s cooperation in protecting the English supply routes into this part of Persia, but in Aidan’s opinion, Mir strained funds for protection from both the British government and the mountain bandits, who plagued English outposts in the mountainous terrain.

  A shift in Kerrington’s shoulders warned Aidan something had changed. They had learned to read one another quite well over the three years they had served together. With downcast eyes, Aidan surreptitiously watched as their leader whispered something private to Gabriel Crowden, the future Marquis of Godown, before having a brief word with Brantley Fowler. Fowler was infamous among the Realm for his foolish need to battle the image his father, the Duke of Thornhill, held among the ton. The current duke possessed a lusty reputation for debauchery, and Fowler often made it his business to save damsels, fair or not. It was an obsession, which usually resulted in their group having to extricate themselves from an altercation, and it appeared Fowler meant to play the role of dashing knight once more.

  For eight and forty hours, Fowler had stewed over a bit of tribal law. Shaheed Mir had declared one of the women a quean. Had actually claimed the girl, who could be no more than fifteen or sixteen, worth no more than a rupee. As a result, the Baloch warriors had taken their turns with her in a tent in which she was being held prisoner. In the three days the Realm had courted the Baloch leader, the girl’s cries had regularly split the air. Each time she called out, Fowler’s fists had clenched and unclenched in anger.

  “Damn,” Aidan grumbled as Fowler suddenly stood. He quickly gathered the cards to stuff them in an inside pocket before rolling to his knees to stand.

  “I believe I will take a walk. Stretch my legs,” Fowler announced as he moved toward the tent’s opening. Without a doubt, Thornhill’s heir meant to breech the girl’s quarters and to silence her current anguish.

  When a Baloch guard motioned Fowler away, Crowden stepped before the future duke to dissuade him, but Aidan knew Fowler’s stubborn singularity would prevail over Crowden’s warning. A quick glance about the tent announced the cautious preparedness with which his companions anticipated the upcoming confrontation. With a flick of his wrist, Crowden motioned Aidan to flank Fowler’s right, and Aidan nodded his understanding. John Swenton and Marcus Wellston had assumed an alert slant to their stances, while Carter Lowery palmed a double-edged knife, as he swung his legs over a low-slung chaise.

  Raising his hands in an act of submission, Fowler smiled largely and casually turned in place. Obviously, the future duke inspected his troops. Only a raised eyebrow warned them what would follow. “Forgive me,” Fowler mumbled as if he meant to back away, but, instead, his friend wound up to strike the guard with an upper cut, sending the Baloch reeling with a broken nose.

  A heartbeat later, a complete melee broke loose. Nearby, Wellston shot one of the charging Balochs in the knee, filling the tent with gray smoke, while Aidan fought off two of the tribesmen. He elbowed one in the throat to send the Baloch gasping for air. With a knife he had retrieved from a small pouch at his side, Aidan sliced the air before the charging mountain warrior. The cut left a deep red trail across his enemy’s chest and took a nick from the man’s chin.

  However, before Aidan could turn to meet the next attack, one of Mir’s warriors, literally, jumped upon his back. With an arm across Aidan’s throat, the Baloch bent him backward, stretching Aidan as if he were a bowstring. He fought for breath, clutching at the guard’s meaty hand. Then, just as suddenly, he was free. Gabriel Crowden had dislodged the man before delivering a perfectly placed dagger in the Baloch’s throat.

  Aidan rubbed his neck, but managed a raspy “Many thanks” before rejoining the fight. He used a large pitcher across an attacker’s head to waylay another assailant, who had Carter Lowery pinned under a broken table.

  “Now!” Kerrington’s voice rose above the battle’s clamor, and Aidan knew without looking Fowler had rescued the girl. Along with his friends, he landed several strategically placed blows to quiet the last of those in the tent, but the sound of running feet announced the arrival of reinforcements. He followed Lowery and Wellston to the waiting horses.

  Kerrington motioned Lowery to accompany Crowden before he and Swenton headed off in the opposite direction. Aidan understood without being told he was responsible for providing Fowler and the girl protection in their escape. The others would draw the Balochs away from the trail the extra weight on Fowler’s horse would leave behind. Aidan, as the group’s best horseman, automatically crisscrossed the line in the sand, which led to the mountain pass.

  As he watched Fowler’s retreat from a proper distance to guard against another attack, he noted how the girl clung to the future duke’s waist. The gesture reminded him of Susan. He and Susan Rhodes had been childhood friends, and, eventually, young lovers. She would often catch him about his back or neck, after Aidan had teased her unmercifully, and then her arms would come about his waist, and Susan’s chin would rest upon his chest. He would gently kiss the top of her head and plan their life together.

  “Can you hear my heart?” he would say in that special way of those who hold a strong affection. “It speaks of my love.”

  Aidan shook his head in anger. In his distraction, he had slowed his pace. Kicking the horse’s flanks, he doubled his efforts to catch the disappearing Brantley Fowler.

  “No more,” he growled as he leaned across the horse’s neck to make himself a smaller target. “My heart has forgotten its rhythm,” Aidan had said the words aloud to harden his resolve. “Susan Rhodes means to have Andrew.” Andrew Kimbolt, the future Viscount Lexford, my brother. The thought sent bile to the base of his throat. He might as well have hitched his hopes to the sun rising in the east. They could not sizzle any more quickly into nothingness. “It is why my father bought my commission and sent me to fight Britain’s wars. Not to make me a man. Nor was it as he promised as a means to earn my fortune. Nothing more than a ploy to remove me from Lexington Arms, leaving an open door for Andrew to claim the woman I love.”

  Chapter 1

  “It had been a mistake coming to Linton Park for the Festive Days,” he silently told his image as he looked out upon the celebratory markings of the upcoming Christmastide. Aidan had been gone from his home for months: Since early October when he had thought to court Cashémere Aldridge and finally claim a bride, who would bring life, rather than death to Lexington Arms.

  Death had haunted his manor for more years than he cared to recall. When he was but ten, Aidan’s mother and his sister Aylene had succumbed to consumption after being caught in an icy storm. He and Andrew had been away at school at the time and had missed the worst of the disease, as well as his mother’s funeral
. Aidan had always carried the shame of not having said a proper farewell.

  While he was away in service to his country, Andrew had died in a duel over his mistress, and a second letter had arrived in Bombay to announce Aidan was Lexford’s new heir; and so he had asked Shepherd to be released from his duties, and Aidan had made his way home. He had not been in attendance for Andrew’s funeral either. That had been some three years prior. Aidan had arrived on Lexington Arms’ threshold to find a devastated father, a grieving household, a pregnant widow, and a devious plan for him to marry Lady Susan Kimbolt. But Death had not been finished with him.

  “Word has come from the gatehouse that Godown’s carriage approaches.” Aidan turned his gaze from the window to his friend James Kerrington, Viscount Worthing.

  “Godown? On Advent Sunday? The marquis would not travel on the Sabbath unless something of import had occurred.” Aidan abandoned his self-possessed misery and automatically followed Kerrington toward the main foyer.

  Lord Worthing’s pace quickened as he led the way through Linton Park’s halls. “I pray there has been no other attempt on the marquis’s life.”

  Aidan lengthened his stride to keep apace of Worthing. He had last seen Gabriel Crowden, the Marquis of Godown, less than a month prior in London. Aidan had escaped the “care” of the Duke and Duchess of Thornhill and had joined most of the Realm, including Godown, for London’s Short Season.

  In October, Aidan had sustained a crippling blow to the back of his head during that whole kidnapping debacle of the wrong Aldridge twin. He had thought he was wooing Miss Cashémere, but the lady and her sister, Miss Satiné, had switched places. He should have known sprightly Cashémere Aldridge required a heavier hand than was his customary nature, but before he could discover the truth, a crazy Scot had ruthlessly attacked Aidan. In retrospect, he had convinced himself t if Lachlan Charters had not delivered the near fatal blow that had rendered him incapable of remembering major events from the past few years, he would have sniffed out the deception. Even if his personal life remained in shambles, Aidan would like to think himself capable of efficient detective work.