Jaxon-Chapter One

Jaxon-13 March 1816

The flickering flames of the Byrne’s majestic ballroom chandelier burned into my skin while the heat became stifling. I glanced over at my dance partner, a lovely brunette in a peach-colored gown wearing an elaborate feathered mask, appropriate for the single most sought-after masquerade of the season. If I peered closely, I could see two emerald eyes peeking out. What was her name again?

I tugged at my cravat, Elliot must have tied it particularly tight tonight, for it was cutting off my airway with effortless precision. Just then, I stumbled in the step and heard the sweet young miss squeak out a cry as I stepped hard on her toes.

“P—pardon me, Miss—”

“Lord Jaxon?” I turned to see Lord Byrne standing beside us wearing a long black domino cape and red mask. A row of dancers now stilled behind him. Wiping the perspiration from my forehead, I blinked. Why was he interrupting the dance?

“Pardon us, Miss Groves, but there is a gentleman who needs to speak with Lord Jaxon urgently.” He waved another gentleman over to us. “Lord Tremaine will finish the set with you. My sincerest apologies.”

I shook my head but knew better than to make a scene… well, any more of a scene than was already playing out. Many eyes had already fallen upon us, and I was certain the tongue wag had effectively begun. In the last two months, I had already caused the rumor mill to spin with more than enough fodder to last several seasons, landing myself in the society pages on the regular.

What in heaven’s name was Lord J.G. thinking last night at the musicale in the home of Lord and Lady N.?

Why did the D. of C. suffer his battle-worn son to such rigorous constraints of the season?

Despite Lord J.G.’s impeccable dress and handsome face, it is more than apparent he cannot endure the minimal obligations required of him in polite society. A shame, to be sure.

Even now at the peak of the season, it is most doubtful that Lord J.G. will secure a beneficial match. Despite the name and the well-oiled coffers, what young lady of sense would attach herself to such a marred simpleton?

Lord Byrne gestured for me to step off the dance floor and, once we reached just beyond a row of lovely young ladies fanning their fair complexions, he turned to face me. “I think you might benefit from a slight respite, Lord Jaxon.” He and my father were the best of friends, and I was certain that he feared the harm I could do to the reputation of my father, the Duke of Camberley, the longer I stayed in the public eye. With a kind look, he added, “Perhaps you have returned to society too soon, Son.”

I lifted the black mask that covered my eyes and wiped the moisture that had built there. I returned it to its proper place, but not before revealing my true identity to anyone within a stone’s throw. It didn’t matter. Because of my lack of creativity, the black mask hardly offered proper camouflage. I still wore a fitted black tailcoat, silver waistcoat, and snow-white cravat… nothing dynamic or daring. Anyone might know my distinctiveness simply by my dark waves, slight build, and, of course, if they stood close enough, my blue eyes.

Hunter, on the other hand, wore a full-fledged archer costume similar to Robin of Loxley and appeared at my side at that very moment. Touching my elbow with the barest amount of pressure, he led me to an alcove out of the sight of the prying eyes of the ton.

Running a hand down my face, I groaned. “What did I do this time, Hunter?”

“It wasn’t overly dreadful, Jaxon.” Hunter sighed. “You simply missed several steps, appeared confused, and tugged on your cravat incessantly.” He chuckled darkly, but we both knew it was nothing to joke about. “Well, that and most certainly caused injury to poor Miss Groves's small toes.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, frustrated.

“Maybe it is too soon, my friend,” Hunter’s tone softened. “Maybe you need to wait to rejoin society next year. Don’t be so hard on yourself, you were gone a significant amount of time.”

My mind disobediently went back to France and unleashed a flurry of images I had fought so hard to repress. Especially the recent recollections in which gentlemen’s names and faces transpired unintentionally. Untying the knot in my cravat, then ripping it off entirely, I clenched it between my fists. “What am I doing here?” I snapped. Despite my wishes, I adhered to the requests of my parents who believed all I needed to do to function as before was to spend more time in polite society.

I was wrong and they were wrong and neither one of us wanted to admit it.

“You should return to your wife, Hunter.” I scanned the elaborately decorated ballroom with its mystical and fantastical aura. “Maid Marion will be wondering where you’ve vanished to.”

“Gwendolyn is perfectly fine without me. Her dance card was full within moments of our arrival, I had to fight Lord Stewart to claim the waltz.” Hunter winked. He was jesting, of course, but his lovely wife of little over a year was most certainly an incomparable and was always in demand. But, in true Hunter fashion, he attempted to lift my spirits with a tease when so much seemed to be weighing me down. Yet, his attempts proved far more difficult since my return from France a year ago where our mutual mate, Zachary Collins, found me in a French infantry uniform fighting against the very men of my home country… and without a memory of my past. It was then that bits and pieces of my hollow memory began returning—specifically my final mission before Napoleon’s defeat—a dangerous pursuit, capture, torture, escape, head injury, and ending up near death. And only recently, certain detailed aspects of that missing time materialized… and terrified me.

Lord Byrne approached us with my father directly behind him.

“Your Grace,” both Hunter and I said simultaneously as we bowed stiffly in Lord Camberley’s direction.

My father scrutinized me with narrow eyes. He was a just and fair man but could not comprehend how my experience in France could alter my mind so greatly. And from his current expression, it seemed that he had finally relented. “Thank you, Byrne.” He excused his friend.

Hunter then bowed his departure as well, but Father gestured for him to remain. “I believe it is time for us to speak plainly on a subject we have circumvented far too long. You are not doing your mother and sisters any benefit with the attention that has unwittingly befallen us.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I naively believed that your societal cues and comportment would be restored in due time, but I fear I have overvalued that hope.” His voice rose with each syllable. Father did not know how to whisper.

In a sidelong glance, I noticed several shadows from behind columns and corners, though I did not see who they belonged to or how long they had been lurking. I shifted my weight to my other boot, uncomfortable with the many sets of eyes focused in our direction.

Meeting his grim expression, I pleaded, “Please, do not in any way believe that any humiliation caused on my account is willful, Father. I cannot force my mind to remember the steps of a dance or the perfect order of propriety.”

He rubbed his chin as Hunter and I shared glances.

“I fear I have been left with no other choice.” Father stood at near attention. “I believe it is time you take your leave from London, Son.” My mind spun and I closed my eyes to the whispered gasps around us. “You may return to Hartley House if you must, even to Gottling Hall with Hunter.” He shot a glance at Hunter who nodded. “Or any other location that is not in proximity to us at the moment. The further away the better.”

The truth of that statement did not hurt any less. With a recent break-in at our home in Mayfair and letters received from both France and Hartley House, our country estate, it had become clear that someone was watching, studying, possibly stalking me, and putting my family and friends at risk. With this latest rash of recollections, I had a fair idea who might be behind the threat and the danger that accompanied that knowledge.

“How long do you wish me to remain away from the family?” I questioned.

“As long as it takes, Jaxon.” And before he nodded his head to leave, I saw a brief flicker of concern in his eyes. This was his way of showing how much he cared. It had always been his way, as he was not a demonstrative man, but even that minute measure brought me comfort.

Once he vanished and left me and Hunter in a stupor with a handful of heads leaning in our direction to get the best angle for gossip’s sake, my fisted hand pounded softly against my dratted head. “If only I could remember,” I mumbled.

“Do not do this, Jaxon” Hunter consoled. “To be certain, remembering such horror from the war is not pleasant.”

I peered back over to the previously shadowed spaces to see the tiled floor now illuminated with light. Those who occupied those hiding places were now gone. It certainly could have been any elderly bitty in attendance, they all swooped down like a hawk chasing a field mouse when tidbits of interesting chin wag surfaced.

“Come, let us get some fresh air,” Hunter suggested.

The two of us stepped outside to the balcony. The moment we passed the beveled doors and the chilled air reached my lungs, I felt an instant reprieve. Stepping across the empty veranda to the edge, I leaned over the balustrade and looked out across the lowly lit gardens which, if I wasn’t so consumed with my thoughts, I would find appreciation in the dreamlike ambiance with its frosty leaves and finely layered dusting of snow.

Hunter stood beside me, resting his back against the stone wall and crossed his arms over his chest in the most relaxed position I had seen since we arrived at the ball two hours ago. He sighed. “You were dreadfully convincing, mate.” Then he chuckled. “I’m certain the whole of London will be discussing your churlish manners and banishment by sunrise.”

I took a deep inhale, allowing the crisp air to infiltrate my lungs and dry the perspiration across my forehead and now exposed neck. “Apparently, I am remarkably gifted in duplicity,” I said with little pride. “Presumably one of the reasons I was chosen for the arduous task in the first place.”

“I wasn’t sure how much longer you were going to have to carry on with such foolishness,” Hunter said.

“Fortunately, Father had finally reached his threshold.” I sighed. “I do not relish in such deception on intimate levels, however, my family’s safety is paramount.”

“Will you write to Zachary?”

“Yes, tomorrow,” I confirmed.

“You are certain he will come?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Make sure to include a reference to St. Pancras Old Church, April 7th and a clue that hints at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and I will be there as planned to meet him. We will thwart this threat, Jaxon.” He turned around and leaned over the balustrade beside me. “You did the right thing, mate. You must disappear.”

I shook my head. “Let’s just hope our efforts are enough.” I stood up straight with a new resolve. “And I particularly hope that my absence will free my family from the ill effects of my ignorance and plight.”

“One day they will thank you for your sacrifice.”

“I only hope I live to see that day.”

Hunter patted my shoulder. “Your mates will make certain you do.”