Page 51 of The Baron Takes a Wife

“You ought to thank me as well.” Irene turned her gaze back to the keys, a mischievous smile upon her lips.

“You?”

“I’ve been your Joshua with the walls of Jericho.”

“My Joshua?” David looked at her as if she was speaking in tongues. “Whatever can you mean?”

Irene looked at her hands as she played the melody of their mother’s song using bass notes. She seemed satisfied by the outcome of that afternoon’s conversations as she appeared relaxed and playful now that she had made her announcement.

“All those walls Elena has around her heart? I’ve been knocking them down for years, so now you only have a few remaining. You’re welcome, Brother.”

Irene shut the keyboard and gave a cryptic smile as she walked out of the room, leaving him in stunned silence.

Chapter Fifteen

When he found his wife in the library to tell her about his conversation with Irene, she gave him that same radiant look that nearly knocked his knees out from under him, and he again gave thanks that he had a cane. As they sat together the rest of the afternoon, Elena, rather adorably reading in her spectacles and him looking over several business notes Sophie had given him, David could not keep the warmth out of his chest. Goliath was resting on a rug, though David was sure the beast had one eye open as if constantly on the lookout for danger. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint who. Even with Goliath’s wariness, the scene was so cozy and idyllic that he sighed in spite of himself, knowing full well that both Michael and Henry would be sick at his domestic bliss. It was as if he had found a piece of himself he never knew he had been missing, but now that it belonged to him, he would treasure it forever.

“What are you reading there?” he asked Elena, who seemed like she hadn’t turned a page in almost an hour.

She held up a large book for him to see. It was old and a little decrepit like the binding might give way any second. “Le Morte d’Arthur.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to understand more about this Round Table before we attend Lord Gaius’s dinner, but I cannot make much sense of this.”

David didn’t even know his library had a copy of that particular work. He was touched that she was trying to understand a story he had told her, one that had bound them when they first met, but also terribly amused at her choice of text.

“Elena, I don’t know how to tell you, but depending on the edition you are reading, it is likely in Middle English. If you are interested in the Round Table, you might want to try Wordsworth or Tennyson. Or even Morris.”

“There’s a Middle English?” she asked, the look on her face saying quite clearly that she was fed up with the entire language.

His lips quirked up as he thought about how to explain it. “Well, it’s an earlier version of the language.”

“So we are speaking Late English?”

He had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling. They never had a dull day. “I don’t really know. I ought to ask Michael or Lord Gaius.”

Her dimples were showing, which he knew meant she was trying not to laugh. “I did think something looked different about the writing.”

They stared at each other in a silent and mutual competition to maintain a serious composure, which was interrupted when Fields entered with the afternoon post. Mostly business, though David was intrigued by a letter crudely addressed to “The Baroness” and nothing more.

He handed it to his wife, who raised an eyebrow and opened it slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her read the letter over twice, hands shaking as she removed her spectacles.

“Elena?”

He took the letter as it fell out of her hands. He hated breaking her confidence by reading it but picked it up and glanced it over. Of course, he could make neither heads nor tails of what it said, as it appeared to be written in Russian.

Elena looked as if she had seen a ghost. He grabbed her shaking hands and began to massage them in his own. Goliath had risen and laid his head in her lap.

“It…it is from Anatole. He says he has information about my family. He says I need to meet with him to obtain it.” She was breathing in deep gasps and put a hand to her chest as if to steel herself. She straightened suddenly and stood. “It says tonight. This letter must have taken some time to get here. I must go.”

David tightened his grip on her hands, which he was still holding. “Elena, stop. Think. Why did he write to you?”

Her eyes looked unfocused, and she shook her head as if in a trance. “I don’t know. Perhaps he felt guilty for separating me from them. I don’t…”

“Well, then I’ll go with you.”

“No!” she exclaimed, then drew a long breath before she spoke again, and her words sent a chill through him. “He said to come alone.” Her eyes seemed to refocus, and he noticed her pupils were dilated. David knew this look. He had seen it on his men when they were on a singular mission. Usually, one that led to death…