The Demon Count

by Anne Stuart

  I turned on him in a blind rage. "Don't ever let me hear you say such a thing again!" I shrieked. "Luc is no more a murderer than you are."

  A perplexed look crossed his face as he soothed me. "Of course not, dearest. You should know, of course. I have arranged for proper food and bedding to be provided for him until . . . that is . . ."

  "Until they murder him."

  "Until his sentence is carried out. Remember, he hasn't even been tried yet."

  "A mere technicality."

  "He did send a message, though." Eagerly I turned to him, hoping against hope for some word of love from the demon-count. A moment later my hopes were dashed. "He wants you to leave Venice immediately. With me or with­out me, he said. It's all the same to him. But leave Venice you must." There was no suspicion in his handsome, trust­ing face, only deep concern.

  "I can't. Not until I know . . ."

  "There is no doubt, Charlotte. I have arranged passage for us on the Devon Queen. The captain will marry us as soon as we leave port and reach the open seas. You must promise me you'll come."

  "I can't marry you," I said lifelessly. "I spent last night with Luc." I waited for the anger, the repudiation to cross Mark's face, but he merely nodded sadly.

  "I thought as much. It doesn't matter, my darling. I love you, and once you are free of his spell you will come to realize that you love me too. Maddelena has already packed your trunk. I'm taking it with me tonight, and to­morrow morning at ten o'clock we set sail. I'll come and fetch you."

  "I won't go with you," I cried. "I can't leave."

  "You'll go with me," he replied gently. "If for no one's sake but his." Once more he swept me into his arms, not kissing me, just holding me close against the warm strength of him, so that my resolve began to weaken. I was so tired, I wanted more than anything to give myself and my trouble up to his strong, comforting arms. I watched him leave in the early evening sunset, mixed feelings warring in my breast. So caught up was I that I failed to notice Maddelena's silent entry into the room.

  "You will go with him," she stated. "There is nothing you can do for the master. It is better that you go."

  I didn't bother to turn around and face her. "I am stay­ing."

  "Do not be a fool!" she flared. "If he has any chance at all of escaping do you think he wants to worry about whether or not you're safe?"

  "He wouldn't worry."

  "And if he cannot escape," she continued inexorably, "do you think he wants you there, watching, as he comes to a terrible, shameful end? If you think that, you are an even bigger fool than I thought you."

  It took me a while, but I knew when I was defeated. I finally turned around and met her sad, angry little currant eyes. "And what will you do?"

  "I have family in Genoa. I will go there, once I know there is nothing more that I can do for him. We must still have hope, signorina," she added in a kinder tone of voice.

  "Yes, we must still hope." I moved listlessly across the room, my black silk skirts trailing in the dust. I could be more grateful that Luc had chosen black for me. Mourning seemed to be a constant state for me. "Mister Ferland will come to fetch me tomorrow morning. Could you awaken me by seven?"

  Relief crossed her suet-pudding face. "But of course, si­gnorina. I will call you."

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I slept fitfully that night. Despite Maddelena's pro­tests I returned to Luc's rooms, determined to spend my last few hours in this decaying palazzo in Luc's bed. But the much-needed sleep eluded me—it was well after mid­night that I finally drifted off, after having several times considered asking Maddelena if she still retained any of the drug she had used so cheerfully on me when I first arrived in Venice. When sleep came at last it was deep, only to be cut short by what I thought was the sound of rats scrab­bling over in the area of the desk.

  The lump at my feet, obviously Patrick, was unmoving, so slowly, carefully I opened my sleep-glued eyelids. A small glow of candlelight split the gloom, and I lay there, still and silent, as an obviously male shadow moved through the room. He was bent over Luc's desk, rummag­ing through the papers with a surprising disregard of the room's occupant. And then I realized my intruder probably had no idea I was there.

  I contemplated screaming for help. But the only other person in the house was Maddelena, and she was three flights down in the bowels of the house, fast asleep in her basement quarters. She would never hear me.

  And Antonio, Luc's valet. I had seen him skulking around, surreptitiously keeping out of my way. Perhaps it was he searching through Luc's papers. I kept my tired muscles rigid, too terrified to move. For suddenly that dark, dank, hideous sense of evil was upon me, and I knew without a doubt that the ghoul of Venice, Rosetta's mur­derer, was in the room with me.

  The horror I felt was so complete that it must have com­municated itself to the sleeping feline, for Patrick rose sud­denly, his back arched, and hissed at the creature by the desk. The intruder whirled around to face my cowering form.

  "What are you doing here?" My voice quavered as I at­tempted to question him with some degree of normal out­rage. He was not fooled.

  "Why, cherie," he protested with silky charm, "I would never have thought to find you here in Luc's bed. At least, not with Luc so tragically detained elsewhere. I thought I would have to search through this wretched pile of stones for you."

  "You wanted to see me?" I sat up slowly, very slowly, so as not to arouse his suspicions. "Could not it have waited until tomorrow?"

  "Ah, but it is you who wanted to see me," he replied smoothly. "Three desperate notes I received from your fair hand. I merely wanted to tell you that I am sadly unable to help poor Luc." He smiled then, displaying his small, pearl- like teeth, and something inside me snapped.

  "You betrayed him," I whispered.

  "But of course," Jean-Baptiste returned calmly. "It was necessary."

  "Why?"

  "Because Luc has proof that I am an Austrian spy. No one else in this damp, benighted city knows that, not even the noble Captain von Wolfram. If such news leaked out, my life would be worth nothing."

  "Your life is worth nothing already."

  He smiled again, that charming, terrifying smile. "A matter of opinion, ma cher. The French government still employs the guillotine, and I have no desire to follow my grandparents. But a man must make his fortune in this world, and one man's treason is another's patriotism."

  A small silence reigned. "All right," I said casually. "So you are a spy, and Luc knows it. Now that you have taken care of him why are you here?"

  "Various reasons." He waved one slim, small hand airily. "Proof still exists somewhere in this house of my so-called perfidy. And, of course, I had to finish with you." The smile on his face was ferocious, and I was suddenly very frightened. "You see, my dear, I have had to do all this without an appreciative audience, and I have this over­whelming need to confess to someone. You have been my choice."

  "Lucky me."

  "Lucky you, indeed. You will go to your death knowing the full scope of my genius. You alone will be able to ap­preciate my cunning."

  "I will go to my death?" I echoed.

  "But of course. Who do you think is the ghoul of Ven­ice? Not Luc, with his theatrical flair and his midnight prowls, although he was the one who inspired me."

  "You?" From the moment I had recognized that familiar sense of horror I had known, but couldn't quite believe it, "But why?"

  He leaned back against the wall, negligently, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate suit. "Well, I must confess that the first murder was none of my doing. Some lovers' quarrel, no doubt. But because of Luc's super­natural affectations, suspicion pointed his way, although it was, of course, impossible to prove anything. That gave me my inspiration. I took care of the other young ladies, care­fully leading all the evidence directly to Luc's door. But that damned Von Wolfram ignored it!" An expression of outrage came into his sulky voice. "Georges, of course, was the perfect victim.
I thought after that there would be no doubt."

  "You murdered Georges?"

  Again that hideous smile. "Indeed. I also enticed him into abducting you. I have been very busy the last few months, doing everything I could to destroy Del Zaglia be­fore he destroyed me." He stood upright and began moving across the room towards me. "Rosetta was simple enough, and if I had only been able to finish with you that night everything would have been so nicely resolved. I was very angry with you, ma cher."

  "I . . . I am sorry I was so unobliging," I stammered, moving my feet around to the side of the bed. It was very dark in the room. The first traces of dawn were coming through the slatted shutters and the single candle let out only a fitful glow.

  He shrugged. "Do not be frightened, cherie. Just think, you will be joining Luc. I won't hurt you very much." As if by magic a huge, glistening knife appeared in his hand as he continued to edge toward me. Suddenly he pounced.

  But he had failed to account for Patrick. With a savage yowl, the cat sprang, leaping onto Perrier's shoulders with claws fully extended.

  That moment was all I needed. I slipped past him, the knife grazing my shoulder, and ran, barefoot and scream­ing, out into the deserted hallway.

  The sluggish first light of dawn was fighting its way through the grimy windows of Edentide as I stumbled down the long, curving marble staircase, my pursuer close behind me. My mind was an unthinking mass of terror, and I headed blindly toward the cellars, toward Madde­lena, the only one I thought could help me in this deserted mansion. I heard the monster trip, fall heavily, and his curses gladdened my heart as I ran ever faster.

  I had forgotten, in my terror, that I had no idea exactly where Maddelena's apartments were. I found myself in the long, dark, water-drenched basements with a myriad of doors around me, trapped in the middle of the long stone walkway that led the length of the house to a small door­way onto the canal. On either side of the path was green, slimy ooze, ahead of me the canal, and behind me the ghoul of Venice. Beady eyes of rats that had so far escaped Patrick's vigilance winked in the fetid darkness, and, shud­dering, I stumbled to a halt. I had no place to turn. I started to run back, but my path was blocked.

  "You shouldn't run, ma cher." He smiled sweetly. "I will always catch you. You merely make it more painful for yourself. I was disposed to be merciful, but now you have made me very angry. Very angry indeed. I am afraid I will have to make you pay for it."

  The knife glistened in his hands as he moved toward me on his absurdly small, neat feet, clad in highly glossed boots. I was mesmerized by the evil in his face, the glim­mer of the knife, the faint glow from behind him that was growing steadily brighter.

  He had almost reached me. "There is someone behind you," I said calmly.

  "Don't be absurd," he scoffed. "It won't help . . . you cannot fool me." The knife glistened. "I will tell you some­thing that might aid your departure. Your lover has es­caped. Late last night, I believe. By this time he will be out of the city, out of the country. There is no help for you."

  "He escaped?" I echoed, joy ringing in my voice.

  "He will be free to mourn you," Jean-Baptiste mocked, his arm raised to slash me. I shut my eyes and prepared for death.

  It all happened at once. A voice I had thought never to hear again cried out, "Get down, Carlotta!"

  Two screams broke the damp stillness, a deathscream from Jean-Baptiste as a battle-ax cleaved his skull and a cry of horror from me as I hid my eyes from the bloody sight. A moment later I was enfolded in Luc's arms, my face hidden against his shoulders as he held my shaking, sobbing body.

  It was a long while before he spoke, and when he did his voice was harsh. "I am sorry, little one. I should have warned you about Jean-Baptiste, but there wasn't time. I could only pray I would get back here before it was too late."

  "You shouldn't be here," I managed to blurt out against the muffling folds of his cape. "You should have escaped while you had the chance."

  He moved my head up to face him, keeping my face firmly averted from the bloody sight to our left. "And then you'd be dead, mi a Carlotta. I had no choice." He leaned down and kissed me lightly on the lips.

  I allowed myself a moment to enjoy the taste of his mouth on mine before reality took control once more. "You must leave immediately," I said, breaking away. "Be­fore Holger comes here."

  He shrugged. "It is too late. I'm afraid they followed me. Giorgio is waiting in the side canal, but I doubt we'll make it. I worry about you, poveretta. You are leaving with Fer­land?"

  My eyes met his, and I could read nothing but a cool concern in them. I had no choice but to nod.

  "Good. Go upstairs and stay with Maddelena until it is over. Either I will escape or I won't. There is nothing more you can do." He pulled me back into his arms, kissing me hungrily. And then he turned me around, swatted me on the bottom, and said, "Go."

  I ran back along the passageway, determined not to look back. I had no intention of hiding with Maddelena, even if I could have found her room. I was going to distract Hol­ger until Luc got away.

  I barely had time to make it to the drawing room before a furious, red-faced Holger appeared, accompanied by what seemed to my terrified eyes to be at least fifty soldiers.

  "Your lover, fraulein, has escaped!" he thundered.

  I smiled politely, trying to act as if I normally enter­tained the Imperial Army at six in the morning dressed in my thin nightgown, with bare feet and a knife scratch on my shoulder. "Really?" I murmured innocently. "How inef­ficient of you, Captain."

  "We have followed him to this house, fraulein!" he an­nounced, his face mottled with rage.

  "Really?" I said again. "Well, I haven't seen him. Do you intend to search the house?"

  "We do indeed!"

  "Well, then, I suggest you start in the cellars," I sug­gested affably, knowing the masculine mind well enough to be sure he would do the opposite, giving Luc a few more precious minutes.

  Immediately Holger ordered his soldiers to begin search­ing the attics, meanwhile casting a triumphant look in my direction, and I relaxed a bit. I started for the door, only to be brought up short by Holger's ham-handed fist. "You will stay here with me, fraulein. I will not have you warn­ing him.

  "I have no intention of warning anyone, Holger," I said with some asperity. "I merely wanted to find some more suitable clothing."

  He allowed a small leer to escape his stern face. "I find your apparel eminently suitable, fraulein. And when we have recaptured your lover and executed him I will under­take to show you just how suitable such raiment is."

  "How dare you!" I said frostily.

  "Oh, I dare a great deal. You are an enemy of the Austrian empire. It is my duty to teach such enemies a lesson. You will not leave Venice, fraulein, until I give you permission to do so."

  "And if I complain to the British consul?"

  "We will be most apologetic. But adamant. You are needed for questioning." He smirked.

  His plans worried me not one bit—it was mere bluster to frighten me. The more minutes passed the calmer I felt. Surely he had long enough to escape by now. He must be safe.

  A sudden shouting dashed my hopes. Holger thrust me aside and rushed to the window. "There he is!" he mut­tered grimly, drawing his pistol. I ran to his side, fighting for the weapon, shrieking at him. But to no avail. Throw­ing me against the marble doorway, he carefully aimed the pistol at the swiftly moving gondola. Wisps of fog moved in and out, obscuring his vision. He swore, and I watched, stunned, praying for the mist to thicken. At that moment they moved into a clear spot, and Holger fired.

  Luc's tall, strong body recoiled, and without warning slipped from the gondola and sank beneath the murky sur­face of the canal.

  A screaming and wailing came from the doorway, and Maddelena rushed into the room, her apron thrown over her face as she howled in grief. Numbly I stared out into the mist-shrouded canal, watched hopelessly as Giorgio cir­cled round and round, searching for some
trace of his com­patriot. Minutes passed, minutes that seemed like hours, and finally he gave up and began rowing slowly away through the fog. Holger once more raised his pistol, but I knocked it away.

  "Murderer! Haven't you killed enough for one morn­ing?" I spat at him.

  His cold blue eyes never leaving my face, he reholstered his gun. "My men will call for you this afternoon, fraulein. Be ready." And he strode out of the room issuing orders in a stentorian bellow that I would barely hear above Maddelena's weeping and wailing. I waited until they had left the palazzo, thankfully having never reached the cellars and their grisly occupant, and then I moved slowly to her side, feeling like an old, old woman.

  "You will come to England with me, Maddelena. There is nothing for you here." Grief-stricken, she nodded, raising her head to look at me out of tear-streaming eyes.

  "He loved you, signorina," she said slowly. "Yes, I will come with you."

  Chapter Twenty-five

  September was a beautiful month in Somerset. The leaves were turning a lovely golden brown, the earth was warm and the sun shone surprisingly often. During the long, miserable months of June, July, and August it had rained and rained. The gloom of the weather had matched Maddelena's and my mood, but as the September sun ap­peared more and more frequently our spirits lifted in spite of ourselves.

  As I strolled carefully along the well-trod path behind my little cottage, with the ever-faithful Patrick stalking placidly behind me, I thought back oyer the last four and a half months and hoped devoutly that I would never have to suffer through such a time again. But then, how could I? The one man I would ever love had died; I couldn't imag­ine caring that much for anyone again, unless it was the child growing steadily within me. And I had vowed to my­self to protect that little one with every breath I had in me. Nothing would ever come to harm him, and I had Madde­lena's devoted assistance in that resolve. Mark's also, should I ever accept it. So far I hadn't.

  I seldom met people during my long, solitary walks through the northern corner of Lord Bateman's lands. My little cottage was part of his property, rented to me in honor of my valiant efforts in the cause of Italian freedom and unity. Lord Batemen, an attractive old reprobate of some fifty-odd years, had always been a revolutionary, ever ready to support insurgents in any country but his own. During the last fifteen years he had concentrated his ener­gies and considerable financial resources in the cause of Italy. It was he who had sent Mark to Italy and indirectly assisted in some of Luc's expeditions, and when I had first made inquiries about housing in Somerset, his lordship had quickly offered me his cottage at a nominal fee. Not that the fee had mattered. I had discovered, upon arriving back in England, that not only was my substantial fortune un­touched by Luc's hands, but his own surprisingly healthy inheritance was mine also. For the first month I had done nothing but mourn with no company but Maddelena and the ever-serene Patrick. Neither had cared for the trip to England, crammed as they were in my stuffy stateroom, Maddelena suffering dreadfully from seasickness and Pat­rick from a hatred of confinement. Indeed, with two such miserable roommates I could scarcely wait for the journey to end.