Valentin had made himself leave Mary after their enjoyment this morning, to return stealthily to his own chamber to bathe and dress. He felt buoyant and good, the memory of Mary beneath him imprinted firmly on his body. He both liked the feeling and knew it would distract him all day, until he could love her again.
The breakfast room was one of light and glass. The floor-to-ceiling windows facing the frozen pond let in weak winter sunlight, and a fire in the hearth added to the coziness. Not the best room to linger in, Valentin reflected as he gathered food from the sideboard, if one feared sharpshooters.
Mary had taken little on her plate, but Julia’s was piled high with eggs, sausages, ham, and toast, as was her father’s. Duchess Mina pushed the remains of her breakfast aside and sipped chocolate from a dainty cup.
“I still believe the shots were fired at me,” Sir John was saying as Valentin seated himself across the table from Mary.
Valentin couldn’t keep his gaze from Mary, but she only gave him a polite nod as though they were acquaintances, no more. The pretense made Valentin want to laugh. Mary was expert at deception.
“I make a great deal of money in the City,” Sir John droned on in his odd accent. “Perhaps someone wants to eliminate m’ wealth by eliminating me.” He chortled.
“Oh, Papa, do not laugh,” Julia cried. “It frightened me so.”
Ambassador Rudolfo cleared his throat. “I am not certain, Sir John. I heard the shots and pushed you down to the ice, because you were nearest to me. He must have been firing at me. Nvengarians are notorious for eliminating each other, as you say. Perhaps I have angered a rival.”
“It is safer these days in Nvengaria,” Duchess Mina pointed out after another sip of chocolate. “Perhaps you should resign your post, Rudolfo, and we will return home and have done with politics.”
Rudolfo gave her a fond look. “No, my dear, I will not run away because of a few bullets. All will be well.”
“There were two men,” Valentin broke in.
At this abrupt announcement, everyone jerked their attention to him as though they’d forgotten his presence. Julia and her father halted in mid-chew, and the duchess peered at him over the rim of her cup. Only Mary would not look directly at him.
“I investigated the area last night,” Valentin said, trying not to be unnerved by their stares. “Two men stood in the trees, on the rise there.” He pointed out the window to high ground beyond the pond’s icy sheet. “They were gone by then, but I found evidence of them. They drank whisky to keep warm and dropped the flask when it was empty. They were Englishmen, not Nvengarian.”
Sir John swallowed noisily. “Good Lord, how the devil d’ye know that?”
Valentin couldn’t very well tell him that his wolf had smelled that they were English, not Scottish, or Irish, or of any other people. The inhabitants of England had their own peculiar scent, as did Nvengarians.
“They wore English-made boots,” he improvised. “The prints are different.” That, at least, was true.
“That’s clever of you,” Sir John said in an admiring voice. “But how d’ye know they weren’t Nvengarians in English suits?”
The ambassador answered before Valentin could think of a plausible reason. “Nvengarians do not like to wear English clothes. And when Nvengarians assassinate, they stand up and do it—they don’t skulk behind trees and shoot when innocent people are about.”
“Good heavens, they might have hit me,” Julia said.
“Is that where you were all night, Valentin?” Duke Rudolfo asked. “Miss Lincolnbury thought you’d been devoured by wolves.” He chuckled, then winced as his shoulder moved with his laugh.
“I told her that was nonsense,” Mary said in a firm voice.
“I was investigating,” Valentin said. “I did not see a wolf.”
The ambassador gingerly touched his coat where the bandage bulged beneath it. “The butler told me another strange tale this morning. He swore he saw a monstrous creature prowling outside the house late in the night. It had the face of the devil, he said.”
Valentin didn’t change expression. “I saw nothing of that, either.”
He flicked his gaze at Mary, but she went on calmly eating, a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks.
The duchess clicked her cup to her saucer. “Do stop pushing at your wound, Rudolfo. You’ll open it again. Wolves and monsters notwithstanding, my English country Christmas must continue. We had to postpone the Yule log and the wassail yesterday, but today, we shall do all this.”
“Perhaps we should not ride about with the wassail bowl,” Mary said. “We will have to travel on open roads, and the men with the guns might try again.”
The duchess waved that away. “We will go in a large party with guards and be perfectly well. Rudolfo will stay home, watched by his own bodyguards, of course.”
Mary at last let her gaze meet Valentin’s, her exasperation evident. Valentin gave her a little smile, and his heartbeat quickened when she gave him a hint of smile in return.
Her smallest gesture stirred his blood. Valentin wanted to finish with this business quickly so he could return his attention to convincing Mary to come home with him. His body heated as he remembered the warmth of her skin against his, her sweet cries as he loved her.
Valentin wanted to hold her in the night for the rest of his life. His smile turned determined, and Mary flushed and hurriedly looked away.
* * *
“I am pleased Baron Valentin stayed behind today,” Duchess Mina said as she rode next to Mary in the stuffy traveling coach.
Another carriage bearing Julia and her father and two English servants with the wassail bowl followed. Four Nvengarian bodyguards rode nearby, but for some reason Mary did not feel protected. Valentin and two more bodyguards had remained at the house with Duke Rudolfo while Duchess Mina resolutely went on with her wassailing party.
Mary could not agree it was good that Valentin had stayed behind. She wanted Valentin beside her, needed him next to her every moment.
She’d told him she did not want to not leave for Nvengaria with him, but her heart knew the lie. Mary craved to be with him day and night forever. Her entire body was loose from their loving this morning, and a warm core burned inside her.
As the carriages wound through the countryside under clear, white-blue skies, Mary sensed eyes watching them. The eerie feeling made her shiver, and the cold wind buffeting the carriage did not help.
Duchess Mina leaned to Mary, her exotic perfume cloying. “I did not like to say so in front of the others, my dear, but I believe it was Valentin himself who fired those shots at my husband.”
Mary opened her mouth to explain that Valentin couldn’t have—she’d been talking to him when they’d heard the pistol, when she remembered that no, she’d been standing in Valentin’s arms, kissing him. Her face burned.
She closed her mouth again and contrived to look surprised. “Good heavens, why would you think so?”
“I can not blame him,” Duchess Mina went on sadly. “Poor Valentin has had a difficult life, and he’s never forgiven Rudolfo.”
Mary stopped, now truly puzzled. “The ambassador? Forgiven him for what?”
“He did not tell you this?” Mina looked astonished and also distressed. “Rudolfo was there, my dear. On the day the Imperial Prince called on poor Sophie.”
Mary’s breath quickened—the ambassador had known? Hadn’t done anything to stop it? Anger built inside her. “Good heavens,” was all she could trust herself to say.
“Yes.” Mina nodded, unhappy. “Rudolfo was in the hunting party when it fetched up at Valentin’s estate. Everything was in great disrepair, Rudolfo told me, because years before that, Valentin’s father had done something to offend the Imperial Prince. I’ve never discovered what—probably he’d done nothing at all, and the prince invented the tale in order to take his money. Valentin’s father lost all his wealth and died a broken man.” The duchess shook her head as she looked out at the bare, de
ad trees that lined the fields.
She obviously did not plan to continue, so Mary seized her hands. “Please tell me what happened, Mina. I need to know.”
Mina turned back to her, the pain in her eyes deep. “It is so a sad story, Mrs. Cameron. When the hunters arrived at the house and the Imperial Prince ascertained that Sophie was alone, he sent his men off to pen up the servants and do what they liked with them. Then the Imperial Prince took Sophie into a bedchamber and locked the door. He made Rudolfo stand guard outside. Rudolfo did not know what to do. He was sick at heart.”
Mary’s own heart flooded with rage. “Well, he ought to have done something. Do you mean to say he kicked his heels in the corridor while his prince ravished Valentin’s sister in the next room?”
The duchess furrowed her brow. “Kicked his heels? I do not understand.”
“An English expression meaning waiting or wasting time. You are avoiding the question. Why did your husband do nothing?”
“Because of me.” Duchess Mina sighed. “Rudolfo feared that if he interfered with the prince’s wishes it would endanger me and our daughter, who was a debutante at the time. We could not know if the Imperial Prince would mete out the same sentence on our family that he did to Valentin’s. He likely would have, unfortunately. It was no idle worry.”
Mary balled her gloved fists. “Then Duke Rudolfo ought to have finished off the Imperial Prince then and there. It would not be unusual for Nvengarians—I am told they run each other through on far less provocation. Had I been there, I certainly would have taken up a pistol and shot the bloody prince dead.”
Duchess Mina smiled suddenly. “Do you know, my dear, I believe you would have. You are a woman of great courage. Luckily Grand Duke Alexander saved us all from the Imperial Prince not long later.”
“You believe Alexander poisoned the Imperial Prince?” Mary asked distractedly. “Does anyone know that for certain?”
“Of course not, but we all know, if you understand me.” Duchess Mina gave her a wise nod. “In any case, Alexander helped drive the prince completely mad, and the man died.”
Mary shivered, but she couldn’t help feeling some satisfaction at Alexander’s methods. Her wild Highlander blood wished she could turn back the clock and rush to Sophie’s rescue that day. She’d have told the Imperial Prince what she thought of men like him before she fired her shot.
“But Valentin was not content with the Imperial Prince’s death,” Duchess Mina continued. “He is obsessed with vengeance. Valentin tried to kill Prince Damien, you know, though he was thwarted from that. He no doubt came with us to England for a chance to punish Rudolfo. Valentin wants revenge on all who were with the Imperial Prince that day.”
Mary’s head began to ache. She remembered what Valentin had told her at the ball in London—that he’d traveled here at the request of Alexander to spy on Duke Rudolfo. She was certain that some of the ambassador’s bodyguards and servants were spying on Valentin and the duke both. Spies on the spies, in the mad confusion of Nvengarian politics.
Mary could clear up some confusion at least. “Valentin did not shoot your husband, Your Grace,” she said in a brisk tone. “When the shots were fired, Valentin was with me. We were talking together, screened from view by the trees.”
The duchess looked disbelieving. “Why did he not come out with you then? You rushed to us right away to see what was the matter, but Valentin disappeared.”
“He ran off in the other direction to find the source of the shots.” Which was true. There, that should satisfy all the questions.
Duchess Mina smiled archly. “Leaving his clothes behind?”
Mary flushed. “He … ”
The duchess patted Mary’s knee. “My dear, do not bother to explain. I know you are his lover. I know he stayed in your room last night. Oh, yes, I am not as slow-witted as I seem. I know when a woman loves a man. But please be careful, Mrs. Cameron. Baron Valentin might not have shot the pistol himself, but he could have hired others to do so, you know.”
Mary began to argue that in that case, anyone could have hired them, but Duchess Mina firmly changed the subject. Mary found herself woodenly answering questions about the differences between English and Scottish Christmas and New Year’s customs while they continued to the house of the nearest neighbor.
As they wended down the country lane between cheerful villages, Mary swore she glimpsed a black wolf trailing them, keeping to the fringes of the woods. She watched without drawing attention to the fact, but the wolf never approached and disappeared altogether when they finally returned to the ambassador’s house late in the winter-dark evening.
Chapter 8
Valentin scraped the skin off his hands while helping the footmen position the Yule log in the drawing room’s huge fireplace that night. The duchess, Julia, and Mary tied ribbons to the branches, and Julia explained they each had to sit on the log at least once, to ensure they’d have luck in the coming year.
Traditionally, the Yule log was to be lit with a branch from the previous year’s, but the prior inhabitants of the house apparently hadn’t burned one. The duchess made do with a freshly cut sliver from the woodpile, and soon she had everyone coaxing the log to burn.
As soon as it caught, Mary said in her efficient voice that Valentin needed his hands looked after. She bade him go the dining room across the hall, where she joined him after fetching her bag of remedies.
Valentin didn’t mind Mary standing close to him, never noticed the sting on his palms as she dabbed them with a damp cloth scented with calendula and beeswax. The odor of the salve filled his nostrils, and Mary’s warm body against to his did dangerous things to his heart.
“I saw you following us,” Mary said in a low voice as she worked. “I thought you were to stay with the ambassador while we paraded about the countryside.” She bent to study his palm, her hair tickling his nose. “I don’t believe any of the others marked that you were near.”
Valentin realized that her hair touched his face because he’d instinctively leaned to her. He spoke into her ear. “I followed because I believe Sir John is correct that he was the intended victim.”
Mary jerked her head up, nearly colliding with him. “Truly? Why?”
Valentin liked having her face an inch from his. “Perhaps he knows something he should not. Perhaps he is a go-between someone fears, a go-between who needs to be removed.”
“Removed?” Mary’s brows rose. “You mean killed, don’t you? Good grief, Sir John was married to my dearest friend. I can’t let him be removed. What would become of Julia?”
“This is why I followed you today, to keep Sir John safe. Happily I saw no one to put him or you in danger on your outing.”
“Thank heavens for that.” Mary resumed wiping his palms. Her ministration was unnecessary—as a logosh, Valentin healed quickly. But he enjoyed how tenderly she nursed him, the lightness of her fingers on his skin.
Mary turned to her remedy box, but Valentin caught her arm. He’d yearned for her all day, could barely contain his patience for the household to go to bed. When things grew quiet tonight, he’d slip into Mary’s room, run his hands across her body, and ease every bit of her worry with his kisses.
Mary stepped from his grasp. “The others might come in,” she said softly.
“We have the excuse of mistletoe.” Valentin pointed at a gray-green ball hanging from a chandelier.
Mary didn’t laugh. Her stance, her tension, began to worry him.
“What is it?” he asked, his amusement dying.
She stood silently a moment, her look unhappy. “The duchess told me Duke Rudolfo accompanied the Imperial Prince to your house that day.”
Valentin stifled a growl. Damn Duchess Mina’s gossiping tongue. Why the woman wished Mary to know these things Valentin couldn’t understand.
Mary watched Valentin, willing him to be truthful with her, no matter how much it hurt.
“She is correct,” Valentin said, drawing a breath. “
Duke Rudolfo was with the prince.”
“Why did you not tell me?” Mary asked, brows drawn down.
Valentin closed his fingers on Mary’s arm but kept his touch light. “Because I hate to think of that time, that most horrible day of my life. I know Duke Rudolfo could have done nothing to save Sophie. The Imperial Prince would have killed Rudolfo’s family in retaliation if he had interfered. I know this. The Imperial Prince was a monster.”
Mary’s gaze didn’t waver. “Duchess Mina fears that you have come here to kill her husband.”
Valentin gave a reluctant nod. “And I must, if he proves to be working against Prince Damien.”
“Is Duchess Mina right then?” Mary asked. “That you live for vengeance? Is this why you so eagerly agreed to Grand Duke Alexander’s assignment?”
Valentin’s grip tightened. “I told you why I so eagerly agreed to come.”
“But you had no idea I’d be in here,” Mary said in bewilderment. “It was chance that we were in London at the same time, dragged to the same ball.”
“That was simply good fortune.” Valentin shook his head. “I agreed to Alexander’s task because it took me to England. I had been saving the money to make the journey myself, but I snatched this opportunity. I planned to make my way to Scotland and Castle MacDonald when this business with the ambassador was finished, for good or for ill.”
“Oh.” Mary looked startled.
Valentin clasped her hands between his, not caring that his palms still stung. “You belong with me, my Mary. I knew it the first time I looked at you. I need you.”
Again she stared, needing to understand. “But do I need you?” she asked softly.
She stood so close that her breath touched his skin. She smelled good, warm with perspiration and the salve, and Valentin wanted to drink her in. “I hope that you do.”
“Even if you have no wish to marry me?” Her words were barely a breath.
Valentin gripped her hands tighter. “If marriage is what you want, I will work to make it so. My estate is recovering under Prince Damien’s rule. It will take time to make it yield enough for you to not be ashamed to be my wife, but I will work hard to bring this about.”
The Longest Night Page 7