“I know, I do too. Soon, Mary, soon we’ll have everything back to normal, you just wait and see,” she promised.
Mary bid her good night and left for her own room, leaving Sabrina sitting on the edge of her bed, a candle burning softly on the table beside it. She had been sitting there for several minutes staring into the flickering flame when she heard a sound, and looking up saw Lucien standing just inside the door.
“Casting spells, Sabrina?” he asked as he came forward into the room, the door partially opened behind him.
Sabrina jumped to her feet and faced him. “I didn’t invite you here, Lucien,” she told him, despite the quickening of her heartbeats.
“No?” he questioned doubtfully. “It seemed to me that you were issuing an invitation to all comers at dinner. Many men watched your little game of seduction this evening.” He spread his hands, drawing Sabrina’s attention to his dark red dressing gown tied at the waist. “I decided to accept the invitation so you would not be disappointed.”
Sabrina swallowed painfully. “Leave my room at once!” she ordered his approaching figure in a quivering voice.
“No,” he answered softly, coming to a halt not more than a foot from her.
“Lucien, please,” Sabrina told him in a soft voice, “don’t do this.”
Lucien grinned, unmoved by her plea. “Why, are you expecting some other nocturnal visitor? Our host, perchance?” he guessed, then reaching out caught a long curl and wrapped it around his hand as he had done once before. He pulled her unresisting body into his arms, hugging her close to him. He lowered his head and touched her lips with his, softly at first, enticing her mouth to part beneath his as his hands slid slowly over her body.
Sabrina breathed deeply of his scent, letting her fingers curl around the back of his neck as she pressed closer to him. All of her firm resolutions fled as she stood wrapped in his arms and held close against his heart. He wasn’t angry at her any longer, she thought in triumph as his lips clung to hers. He really must care for her. She would tell him that she loved him, too. Sabrina struggled from his deep kiss reluctantly, leaning away from him so she could look up into his eyes, her violet eyes glowing with love as she opened her mouth to speak.
“Lucien,” she said. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement and turning her head stared in amazement at the Duke of Granston, who stood watching the scene with a regretful look on his florid face.
“My pardon,” he said a trifle thickly, “I hadn’t known the lady was currently preoccupied with another.”
Lucien glanced at him without surprise, as though he had been expecting the duke to appear. He released Sabrina from his arms without a glance and turned to face him casually. “If you’ve a prior claim to the lady’s favors, then I quite understand and will take my leave,” Lucien offered graciously, ignoring Sabrina’s sudden indrawn breath.
“Certainly not, first come first served, I always say,” the Duke of Granston laughed. “Sorry to have intruded,” he apologized, making a wry face of regret. “Some other time, eh, Lady Sabrina?” he asked, winking broadly as he turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Sabrina stared at the closed door in stunned silence, then looked up at Lucien who was watching her with a satisfied look on his face. Sabrina swallowed back her tears as the truth dawned on her.
“It was all a trick, wasn’t it?” Sabrina whispered, her face a pale, frozen mask. “You knew the duke would come here this evening.”
Lucien smiled hatefully. “He intimated that he might pay a visit to the lovely Lady Sabrina, who had flirted outrageously with him all evening.”
Sabrina nodded her head numbly. “I see, so you thought you would play the lover first, and then allow the duke to discover you. Why?” Sabrina asked bluntly, her big violet eyes gazing at him directly, making him feel uncomfortable, but he shrugged it off contemptuously.
“I told you that you would pay for making me look the fool,” he reminded her. “You thought to catch the duke in marriage, well, I seriously doubt that he will ask for your hand, now. Even he has a little pride, and to think that I had his bride in his own home before he did, well, that is too much for even him to overlook. Of course, he may wish to form an alliance with you, but it won’t lead to his purse strings, my dear.”
Sabrina took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin proudly as she stared in contempt at Lucien. “Do you actually believe that I wanted to marry that drunken fool? Do you think that I would have gone into that marriage any more willingly than you are going into yours?” Sabrina asked him scornfully, her violet eyes searing him with her disgust.
“You may feel satisfied with your damned revenge, for you have succeeded far beyond your wildest expectations. Not only have you degraded me and ruined my reputation, you have also destroyed my family,” Sabrina told him shakily, then laughed hysterically. “Do you believe the marquis will be pleased, your grace? It was he who planned my marriage to the duke. He is the one in desperate need of money. And how do you imagine he persuaded me to follow his plans? Do ask me how, your grace, for I want you to know how he threatened to evict my aunt from her home, and how he plans to take my little brother from us. Oh, yes, do let me give your regards to my family, for they should know the man who has destroyed us.”
Lucien stared down at her ravaged face, his eyes narrowed, the expression masked by his heavy-lidded eyes as he listened to her. He put out his hand and placed it on her shoulder comfortingly and was startled by the strength of her hand as she knocked it away.
“Leave me alone,” Sabrina told him in little more than a whisper. “I hope I never see that scarred face of yours again, Lucien. It’s scarred your soul as well,” she told him, and turning from him ran from the room and down the hall to Mary’s room, bursting into her bedchamber and throwing herself into a startled Mary’s arms.
Sabrina cried until she was drained of emotion and lay docile and silent in Mary’s comforting arms. Finally she felt Sabrina’s breathing become steady, although still ragged from her crying, as she fell into a troubled sleep. Mary had to comfort her several times in the night as her sleep was broken by terrible nightmares that left her trembling and sweating in fear. Sabrina hadn’t told her anything, but she had the feeling that it concerned the Duke of Camareigh. He had some kind of hold over Sabrina that she couldn’t seem to resist, for Mary had seen the look in her eyes as she stared at his scarred face. It was a warm and loving look that had never softened her eyes in that way before. Now, when she had mentioned his name to Sabrina, her eyes had filled with hate. When he had driven his sword into Sabrina’s shoulder he had not hurt her more than he had now by whatever he had done. He might as well have driven it through her heart, for he had killed something in Sabrina this night.
The next morning Sabrina had gained control of herself and presented a normal, if subdued, face to the assembled guests. Lucien had left early, and with both Mary and Sabrina unusually quiet and reserved, and the Duke of Granston’s attentions directed elsewhere and noticeably cool when speaking with Sabrina, the marquis became quite annoyed. The night before everything had seemed to be moving along nicely, but now it seemed as though the duke regretted having issued his invitation for the weekend. The last day seemed to drag on forever, until finally they made their departure the following morning. Sabrina huddled in her corner of the coach silently staring out of the window, oblivious to the smoldering looks the marquis sent her every few minutes. Mary sat next to her, her face calm but her hands nervously fiddling with her gloves as she prepared to act as a shield should the marquis decide to confront Sabrina with the disappointing outcome of their weekend. But the marquis maintained a brooding silence the whole journey, only occasionally saying something in Italian to the contessa, who wore a worried expression on her usually tranquil features as she glanced between the occupants of the coach.
When they ar
rived in London Sabrina and Mary quickly fled the coach and made for their bedchamber, but the marquis had other plans, for he followed after their retreating figures.
“Sabrina! I want a word with you, girl.” He pushed his way into their bedchamber, his violet eyes flashing with anger that he could no longer control. He stood facing them, his hands clenched in frustration as he stared at the small, defiant face so like his own.
“I know now why the duke suddenly cooled towards you. What a fool you were to let him find you with Camareigh. You’ve ruined everything, even any other chances we might have had to wed you to some other rich suitor,” he spat. “The contessa heard the gossip from everyone there. It is now common knowledge that you are Camareigh’s mistress. Didn’t I tell you not to look in his direction? Was his lovemaking worth it? You could’ve been a duchess, but no, you can’t resist a night in bed with Camareigh, and that is all you’ll get from him.”
Mary’s mouth dropped open in astonishment at the marquis’ accusations, and turning to look at Sabrina, felt her heart stop as she saw her sister’s anguished expression.
The marquis was breathing heavily, his face ruddy with anger. “Well, aren’t you going to deny it? Claim your innocence? By God, I’m going to teach you a lesson I should have long ago,” he threatened as he saw a riding crop on a nearby table and picking it up, raised the whip above his head and brought it down on Sabrina’s unprotected shoulder.
***
Lucien stared at the woman sitting nervously before him. Her auburn hair was sprinkled with gray, and there was a marked resemblance between Henrietta Delande and her daughter.
“What are you trying to tell me, Lady Staddon?” Lucien inquired softly, holding a tight rein on his growing anger. “Blanche has disappeared?”
Lady Staddon ran her tongue across her lips nervously, moistening their dryness while she tried to find the right words to tell the Duke of Camareigh that she didn’t know where Blanche was. “She never came back from the Harriers’ ball, your grace.”
Lucien frowned. “But that was at least four days ago. Why in the world didn’t you come to me sooner, madam?” he demanded impatiently.
Lady Staddon twisted her handkerchief until Lucien felt like grabbing it from her. She looked up finally, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I thought she might have been with you.”
Lucien shook his head. “I received a note from her that evening informing me that she had the migraine and wished to leave early. By the time I received it she had already hired a conveyance to take her home. I certainly would have driven her home in my carriage had I known sooner,” Lucien explained, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the distraught woman. “And you say she never reached home?”
Lady Delande nodded, pulling at her bonnet ribbons as though they were too tight.
“You must have known she wasn’t with me. Why didn’t you get in contact with me earlier?” Lucien demanded.
Lady Staddon coughed and looked around the room at the blue and gold satin-upholstered chairs and settee, the mahogany sofa table and bureau-bookcase. In a large, carved gilt mirror she saw her own reflection and was startled by her own face.
“Why?” Lucien repeated.
“When I realized that she was not with you, I had seen you the next day in the park, if you remember, and you inquired after her health. Well, I knew she must have lied to you, and was not with you,” she admitted, then looking up at him bravely added, “and must be with someone else.”
Lucien’s mouth thinned. “You came to that conclusion quite fast. Had you reason to believe that she was involved with another man?”
Lady Staddon sighed despondently. “Yes, she was seeing someone else, your grace. And I also have found out since the ball, from one of Blanche’s friends, that the man she was involved with was,” she hesitated nervously, “your cousin Lord Feltham.”
“Percy?” Lucien looked startled, his face taking on an alert expression. “So you think she must have left the ball with my cousin Percy Rathbourne?””
Lady Staddon nodded reluctantly as she saw the blazing anger in the duke’s eyes. “I’m worried, though, Blanche should’ve come home by now unless—”
“Unless what? I think she values my dukedom more than a casual dalliance with a married man.” Lucien spoke contemptuously.
“But you see, all of her things are still in her room. She doesn’t even have a change of clothes. Her perfumes, jewelry, and most of all, her laudanum. She can’t sleep without it,” Lady Staddon told Lucien unhappily.
A grim look settled on Lucien’s face as he began to speculate on possibilities. “You realize, of course, that I must marry by the end of this week, or I lose my estate?”
“Yes, I know,” Lady Feltham answered faintly. “Oh, please, your grace, I am sure there must be an explanation for Blanche’s disappearance. There must be,” she whispered desperately.
Lucien stood up, conflicting emotions of compassion for Lady Staddon and anger at Blanche and Percy warring within him. “I’ll see what I can do, Lady Staddon, but you can appreciate the fact that I am in a predicament. I will get to the bottom of this, you may rest assured on that score,” Lucien promised, stroking his scar absently.
An hour later Lucien was admitted into the home of Percy Rathbourne and was greeted timidly by Lady Feltham, her smile coming and going like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. She hovered around Lucien, trying to entertain him until Percy arrived. Lucien felt sorry for her as he stared at her drab appearance, her thin face worn and harassed beneath an untidy mop of blonde curls, the yellow gown she wore bringing out a sallowness in her skin.
“Would your grace care for tea?” she inquired nervously.
“No, thank you, Lady Feltham, I haven’t a lot of time,” Lucien answered shortly.
“No indeed, you do not, does he, Percy?” Kate commented upon hearing Lucien’s words as she entered the room. She was dressed in a superbly cut riding habit of superfine, the masculine cut molding the cloth of the jacket and waistcoat to her body, and matching the same shade of blue as Percy’s coat and breeches. With their wigs and matching three-cornered hats they looked identical except for the long skirt of Kate’s habit.
“We really haven’t much time, either, for we are going out riding,” Kate informed Lucien casually as she walked over to the mirror above the mantelshelf and stared at her reflection in satisfaction, noting the creamy smoothness of her skin and her lovely profile.
“You really should try and do something with your looks, Anne,” she criticized Lady Feltham. “Just because you are married and have a brood of brats doesn’t mean you should let yourself go the way you have.” Then with a cruel, baiting smile she added, “You’ll have people believing that Percy married you only for your money, which of course we all know isn’t true—is it?”
Anne Rathbourne’s lips trembled under the vicious attack from her sister-in-law, especially when Percy smiled in appreciation.
“I think what I have to say had best be said in private, Percy,” Lucien suggested.
Percy glanced at Kate in surprise and apprehension. Kate merely shrugged and taking a seat settled herself comfortably. “Run along, Anne dear, I’m sure you can find something to occupy your time.” She ordered Lady Feltham from her own salon as though ridding herself of an irritating gnat.
Lady Feltham made her excuses, her face a tight mask of martyred suffering as she scuttled from the room under Kate’s contemptuous eyes. “Percy and I have no secrets, cousin dear, so I don’t think I need vacate the salon as well, do I, Percy?” Kate asked, staring up at Lucien with a quizzical smile.
“No, I suppose neither of you have any secrets from each other, do you?” Lucien commented. “But then you aren’t really whole without the other one, are you?” he said quietly.
Percy bit his lip anxiously for he knew Lucien in one of these quiet, sarcastic moods, and it usually
meant an uncomfortable time for the person it was directed at.
“How is it you managed to romance Blanche Delande by yourself?” Lucien asked suddenly, then sending a sharp glance at Kate, added, “or was dear Kate in the background whispering in your ear?”
Percy gave an involuntary gasp followed by a quick, incredulous laugh in an attempt to cover it up. “Me, romancing your fiancée? Really, Lucien, you go too far.”
“No, you go too far, Percy. I want the truth, and now,” Lucien told him, his voice icy with rage. “Where is Blanche?”
“You don’t mean to tell me, dear Lucien, that you have misplaced your fiancée?” Kate asked with just the right note of disbelief in her smooth voice.
Lucien looked at her in disgust. “Beautifully done, Kate, but you haven’t quite mastered the art of concealing the expression in your eyes. The cunning and greed glows brightly from within. A bit more practice and you may succeed.”
Kate glared up at him. “I don’t need to hide the hatred in them now, do I?”
“That would be the impossible, even for a woman of your accomplishments.”
“What the hell are you getting at, Lucien?” Percy demanded belligerently, feeling brave in his own home.
“What I am getting at is a series of misadventures I seem to have been experiencing the last few months,” Lucien informed them calmly. “A series of hard-to-explain accidents and incidents that have now culminated with the disappearance of my fiancée. At first, having my share of enemies, I foolishly attributed these close calls with death to one of them. But as they continued with annoying regularity, I began to suspect a well-thought-out, cold-blooded plan had been devised by someone to insure my death. It didn’t take me long to figure out who would profit most handsomely by my death, eh, Percy?” Lucien asked, his sherry eyes glowing with deadly intent.
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