Verity said, “Now you think Rothgar might want revenge?”
“He’s not a man to let sleeping wrongs lie.”
Chastity said quietly but firmly, “I don’t believe it.” When Fort looked at her, she added, “I know you think I’m besotted with love, or lust, but Rothgar’s devotion to his family outweighs any other impulses he might have. To expose Father would only make my situation worse, and he won’t do that to Cyn.”
Fort’s frown lightened a little. “I pray you are right. But when this is over, he’ll still have that document, or at least the knowledge . . . I don’t trust him.”
Chastity laid a hand over her brother’s. “I’ll have Rothgar’s promise to return the document, and to keep silent. He’ll be true to his word.”
Fort shrugged her hand off. “I’ll not have you groveling to a Malloren for favors. I wonder,” he sneered, “what price he’ll ask.”
Verity’s shocked “Fort!” clashed with Chastity’s “Fool!”
Chastity stood and faced him. “For your information, the marquess is like a brother to me, and has been a better brother these past days than my real one has ever been!” She turned on her heels and slammed the door behind her.
Fort cursed. “That girl is out of hand. I’d like to beat her.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Verity said firmly.
He sighed. “I feel as if I’m in the maelstrom. Chastity’s letting these Mallorens twist her inside out. She believes everything they tell her.” He looked at Verity. “I’m glad you’re married to Frazer, but it’s another scandal in the making, especially when Vernham takes you both to court. And now there’s Father.”
“And you, I suppose, are pure as snow.”
“No,” he admitted ruefully, “but I’m beginning to look like it, the company I’m keeping.”
Verity smiled at him. “I trust Rothgar too. And so does Nathaniel.”
“You’re all mad,” said Fort.
Chapter 20
“You’re all mad,” said Fort, looking around the Tapestry Room later that afternoon. Only the non-Mallorens appeared to agree with him.
“I don’t think so,” said Rothgar. “There is an amount of rancor that needs to be vented. Cyn wants to kill you for the abandonment of your sister. You want to kill him to protect your sister. A duel is in order.”
“But I don’t want either of them killed!” Chastity protested.
“You are a woman,” said Rothgar dismissively, “and know nothing of these matters.” But she saw the teasing amusement behind it, which reassured her, except that Rothgar’s amusements were rarely harmless.
“Then you should not raise these matters before such ignorant woman, should you?” she asked pertly.
“Alas,” he said with a small bow. “I was maladroit, but would it not excite you, mignon, to know you are to be fought over?”
“No,” said Chastity, but something inside told her she was lying.
“Tell me, Lord Thornhill,” said Rothgar, “how good are you with a sword?”
“Very good,” snapped Fort. “But I don’t intend to kill Lord Cynric. I doubt it would endear me to my family.”
“It would endear you to your father,” Rothgar pointed out amiably. “But if you are very good, I think you and Cyn could fight an naturel with little chance of permanent damage.”
“With naked swords!” exclaimed Nathaniel in deep shock. “I will have no part of it.”
But Cyn was on his feet, a glint in his eyes. “I think it a wonderful idea. It is time Lord Thornhill bore some wounds of his own.”
Chastity leaped to her feet too. “He’s still bruised from defending me, Cyn. You’re not being fair.”
“He was slow to his duty.” He eyed Fort challengingly. “Weren’t you?”
“And you were rather precipitate to yours,” sneered Fort. “Weren’t you?”
They were already out the door.
Chastity turned on Rothgar. “If either of them is hurt, I’ll blame you.”
“I tremble,” he replied, and chucked her under the chin. “I thought of putting them to fisticuffs, but then they would end up bruised and bloody. They are both harboring resentments, my dear, and I want them clear-headed tomorrow when the fun begins.”
“What fun?” demanded Chastity, but he was already following his brother out of the room.
Chastity hissed between her teeth as she followed him.
She found the duel was to take place in the hall. Cyn and Fort were stripped to stocking-feet and shirts, testing light dueling rapiers. The weapons seemed almost fragile and had an eerie beauty, but they were deadly without anything to blunt the tips.
Chairs were being set out for the spectators, but Chastity went over to Rothgar. “Please, don’t do this! Accidents are possible . . .”
He looked down at her. “Was your brother boasting when he said he was very good?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Cyn is also very good, or possibly better. It will be a freak accident indeed that sends a blade where the user does not intend it to go. Accidents can happen anywhere, any time. Only clods avoid adventure for fear of them.”
Chastity muttered about men in general, and Mallorens in particular, and flounced off to sit by Elf. “Your whole family is mad,” she told her.
“So is yours,” said Elf, bright-eyed with excitement.
“Aren’t you the tiniest bit nervous?” Chastity demanded.
Elf looked at her in surprise. “Of course not. Cyn is really very good. I don’t think he’s ever been beaten, not even by Rothgar. Rothgar claims he’s hampered by old age, and could have bested him in his youth, but I don’t think he means it.”
Chastity looked at Cyn again, surprised. Why was she constantly surprised by him? She’d seen him fence when he’d rescued her in Maidenhead, seen him in effect play with his opponent. She’d known then he was good. But very good?
As soon as the bout started, she knew it to be true. She’d witnessed fencing before, and knew some of the science of it, some of the art. She could appreciate the light spring in the men’s legs, the suppleness of their bodies, the strength in their agile wrists.
She saw more here. Fort fenced well, always balanced, and very strong. Being some inches taller than Cyn, he had a reach advantage. It didn’t do him much good.
Cyn’s quicksilver blade tapped and slid against Fort’s with an ease that seemed effortless. No matter what thrust Fort tried, Cyn’s blade met it smoothly, making the engagement appear to be a dance, sweetly choreographed for harmony, rather than a perilous contest.
Chastity saw from the growing frown of concentration on Fort’s face that the dance was not of his making. He broke the pattern and moved in a sharper, less graceful, but much more threatening way—straight for Cyn’s heart. Chastity gasped, but Cyn parried and controlled exactly as he had before.
Fort grinned and stepped back, dropping his sword. “Damme, but you’re good.”
Cyn lowered his sword too. “You are skilled too.”
Fort laughed derisively, but didn’t seem put out. “You could disarm me, couldn’t you?”
“Perhaps,” said Cyn, his lashes guarding his eyes.
“Show me.” Fort took up the stance.
Cyn hesitated.
“Show me,” said Fort, “and I’ll support your marriage to my sister.”
Cyn smiled, and raised his blade in salute.
They met again, with a slither of steel on steel. “You deserve a wound,” said Cyn, and quite casually touched Fort on the jaw with his tip, so a line of crimson beads sprang forth.
Fort cursed and faltered.
There was no immediate disarm. Cyn waited until Fort settled again, then almost lazily, in three moves that Chastity saw Fort recognize and try to circumvent, sent his opponent’s sword spinning neatly out of his grasp.
“Sweet heaven,” said Fort. “Where did you learn?”
“Here and there,” said Cyn, “but mostly from Rothgar. He’s a ste
rner master than most hired ones. He nicked me often to teach me to keep my guard up, and I was only a boy then.”
“I have never had any intention,” said Rothgar with chilly precision, “of losing a brother carelessly to a braggadocian sword.” He shrugged out of his coat. “Little brother, I want to test my mettle. Perhaps I can mark you again.”
He swooped up the fallen sword and faced Cyn.
“Perhaps I can mark you,” said Cyn, a glint in his eyes.
Rothgar laughed, actually laughed. “Try it.”
The swords tapped together again, but this time one could see the similarity of styles. One could also see that Cyn was having to extend himself completely, but so was Rothgar. Wounds were frequently only a hairsbreadth away. Once Rothgar’s sword slid toward Cyn’s face, and was only just deflected. Chastity found she had her hands pressed over her mouth.
A moment later Rothgar’s point went for Cyn’s face again, as if he really intended to put out his eye. This time it was easily controlled.
“Glad you’ve finally remembered that one, Cyn.” Then the marquess gasped as Cyn’s blade nicked his shirt over his heart and withdrew. Rothgar stepped back, smiling, and saluted with the blade. “I forget my own lessons. Never take time to gloat.”
The brothers embraced, Brand and Bryght came over to comment, and soon even Fort and Nathaniel were part of a happy male coterie set upon rehashing the moves, and learning new passes.
Elf, Chastity, and Verity shared a look and went off to discuss at length the insanity of the male of the species.
The marquess’ plan appeared to have worked, however. Fort was still suspicious, but he was willing to work with the Mallorens. He had also pledged his support for Chastity’s marriage to Cyn.
It was only later that he said to Chastity, “I won’t oppose your marriage, but I’m still not sure of Rothgar. It’s not so much his honor I question, as his motives. His plan may not be completely to our advantage. Keep your wits about you, my dear. When the lines are drawn, I expect you to be on the side of the Wares.”
The day of the ball dawned clear and sunny, if cold. Good traveling weather, and the moon almost full so people could return home in safety.
Chastity knew that Rothgar expected her father to come to the ball, but didn’t know how he could predict that. The earl would have to be suspicious. For her part, she hoped her father wouldn’t come. She didn’t want to face him again. Surely it would be enough to tell him that they held the evidence that would ruin him.
She was nervous enough about this first social event since her disaster, without adding other terrors. Certainly, there was some safety in the fact that this would be a masqued ball, but Chastity shivered at the thought of moving among people who would cut her dead if they recognized her.
She also knew the ball would be a turning point. She didn’t know exactly what Rothgar had planned, but her peaceful interlude was over. After tonight she would either be restored to grace—unlikely as that seemed—or forced to decide what to do with the rest of her ruined life.
She had been avoiding Cyn. He seemed to mean his vow not to take her to bed, but that just made his nearness more of a torment. The sight of him, the lightest brush of his clothing against her, could leave her breathless with longing. But reason told her they must soon part. She must prepare for that.
She hated it.
She had submerged her desire in the preparations for the ball and everything was now ready. Bright paper lanterns had come from London to give light to the ballroom while maintaining the exotic air. A cleverly illuminated pagoda had been erected there, around which clockwork Mandarins walked.
A team of boys was responsible for rewinding the automaton, but Chastity could almost believe it to be magic. There was something fey about the Abbey tonight, as if miracles could really happen. Or perhaps the coming event was just a mechanical toy, with Rothgar as the clockmaker.
Torn by fears and hopes, Chastity wrapped a fur cape about herself and escaped the last-minute preparations to walk on the West Terrace and watch the setting sun gild the Abbey. Then Cyn came to stand by her side. She should have left and sought the safety of company, but she found she could not flee him now, so close to the end. She shivered, not with cold. “I feel something building.”
“The excitement of the ball.” His voice alone was enough to melt her.
“No,” she said. “Everyone’s wound tight.” Then she thought of clockmakers and wanted, with shattering intensity, to be safe in her beloved’s arms. She turned to him. “Do you think my father will come, Cyn?”
“If Rothgar sent the correct message.” His eyes told her his desires matched hers. Exceeded them.
“What message could that be?”
“I don’t know, but Rothgar will have found it.” He smiled suddenly at her. “What will you be wearing tonight?”
“A domino and mask.”
“As will everyone. Give me a hint.”
She made herself stay silent.
“No matter,” he said softly. “If I don’t find you, Chloe, I don’t deserve you.” He took her hand, and that use of their private name dissolved her ability to resist.
As they strolled along the terrace, Chastity’s heart and soul became focused on the contact with his elegant swordsman’s hand. She twined her fingers with his. “Why didn’t you tell me you fenced so well?”
He slid her a glance, his fingers responding to her play. “It’s hardly the sort of thing one drops into conversation. ‘By the way, I happen to have a gift for duello.” ’
“Happen to have?” she echoed. “A great deal of work goes into a skill such as yours.”
His thumb caressed her hand. “I enjoy it. I often have trouble finding an opponent who will test me, but in Canada I took a French prisoner who was my equal. He honed my skills.”
She stopped and faced him. “You dueled with a prisoner?”
He raised her hand between them, still twined with his, and kissed it lingeringly. “For practice only, my heart.”
Chastity shivered under the sensual power this man had over her. How could she survive without him?
“It’s rapidly becoming an ornamental art, anyway,” he said quite calmly, though his eyes were not calm at all. “It’s true, as Rothgar said, that it’s useful to be skilled, so some bully-boy can’t steal your life over nothing, but if death is required, a pistol is more certain.”
Death. No, please don’t talk of death.
He rubbed her knuckles softly against his lips.
Chastity swayed with the need to be protected, and to protect him from all hurt. “Why do men always end up fighting?” she protested faintly.
His teeth rasped against her skin, the rough edge of danger sending a jolt of hot desire through her. “Men sometimes do other things,” he reminded her softly.
“Cyn, don’t,” she whispered, but weakly. If he wanted her here, now, on the cold stones, she was his.
He caught his breath and collected himself. “Perhaps I should teach you swordplay,” he said lightly, “in case you go masquerading again.”
“I pray I never again have the need.”
“Did you find no pleasure in it at all?” There seemed to be meaning behind the question.
“A little,” she confessed. “I enjoyed the excitement, but not the deceptions. And certainly not the shame . . .” She turned her hands so she held his. “I enjoyed having a friend, though, a friend called Cyn.”
Like shifting clouds, his expression changed from the darkness of leashed desire to the heavy darkness of regret. “Until I spoiled it by seducing you.”
Chastity blushed. “I wouldn’t call it spoiling . . .”
“Wouldn’t you?”
She closed her eyes. Why did he always push for truth? “Things change, Cyn. It would be perfect if only we could marry . . .”
“We will marry,” he said roughly. “I take back my word. I will never surrender you to any other man.” His hands slid beneath her cloak to hold he
r tight against him. “I can’t live without you, Chastity. These last few days have taught me that. But it’s not your body I need most. If you wish, we will live as brother and sister all our days.”
“Why on earth would I wish that . . . ?” she asked, her hips moving against his with a will of their own. But then a sound alerted her and brought back reality and all her fears. “I hear a coach!”
She pulled away, but his hold did not slacken. “Peace, love. It could be anyone.”
She shook her head. “It won’t be a guest, not this early, Cyn. It could be Father.” Pure fear had every nerve trembling.
He took her hands in a firm grip. “You are free of him. He will never hurt you again.” As she steadied, he kept one of her hands and led her toward the house. “Come along, love. If it is the devil himself, let us face him bravely.”
They entered the marble hall to hear Henry Vernham’s drawling voice demanding his ward.
Cyn hissed between his teeth and surged forward. Chastity chased after him to stop him killing the man who had ruined her, but Rothgar was there before him.
“Ah, Vernham. Your ward?” he said, placing himself effortlessly between Cyn and his target. “You mean young Sir William. You doubtless want to assure yourself of his safety, but you would hardly wish to remove him from his mother’s care when he is still at the breast.”
Vernham glared around uneasily at a gathering of Mallorens. Brand and Elf had followed Rothgar into the hall, and now Bryght emerged from the library. No doubt Vernham sensed malice, but he would be unaware that they knew anything of him other than that he was the baby’s guardian.
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