“And were you to return to the inn after completing your task to collect your pay?” Lucien inquired silkily.
“That’s right, we was to be paid by his lordship, and me and me mates was shipping out for the colonies next week.”
“Oh, you may still be shipping out for the colonies, but in irons,” Lucien promised him, “unless you and your mates are hanged or rot in prison first. Turn these gentlemen,” Lucien said sarcastically to John and Will, “over to Colonel Fletcher, who will be relieved, I’m sure, to inform the neighborhood of the capture of the notorious Bonnie Charlie.”
“Hey, but I ain’t him!” the highwayman yelled at Lucien’s back as he sauntered to his horse.
Lucien turned and arrogantly looked at the man. “Really? Then why are you dressed as this notorious highwayman if you are not he? I doubt whether you will find anyone likely to believe your tales.”
“But we was hired by that gent from London, Lord Feltham. He’ll tell you so. We ain’t never been here before. Find him and he’ll tell you!” Jeremy Pace cried frantically, already feeling the noose tightening around his neck.
“Oh, I intend definitely to speak with your employer. Most definitely,” Lucien assured him, his eyes narrowed in contemplation of the event. “And I seriously doubt he will be in any condition, or position, to help you, if he was of a mind to, which I doubt.”
Lucien mounted his horse, his coat ripped out in the sleeve and stained with dirt. His face was braised and his lip was swelling rapidly.
Will jerked Jeremy Pace to his feet and pushed him toward his horse, only to halt him beside it. “I think we’ll let these three hearties walk back to town, eh, John?” he called as he climbed on his horse.
“Right, Will. Give them time to think over the error of their ways,” he chuckled.
“Mighty glad I’m not at the inn right now, nor sitting tight in his stiff-necked lordship’s breeches. Him and his lady are in for some powerful trouble when the duke walks in alive and well, and madder’n blazes.”
“Swine, imagine trying to kill their own cousin.”
“And a little girl like Charlie.”
“Come on,” John urged the slowly shuffling feet of their reluctant prisoners. “We ain’t got all day.”
Lucien rode into the innyard and dismounted without a glance at the ostler who came running out to take his horse. His anger had simmered as he had ridden along, but now it reached its boiling point and he could feel his scar throbbing in his cheek, his temper flaring into a black rage as he entered the inn.
He opened the first door he came to only to find the room empty. In the next he surprised an elderly couple sipping tea, then Lucien smiled humorlessly as he opened the third door and heard Percy’s familiar voice.
“Well, what is it now? I told you we were not to be disturbed,” he complained sulkily without bothering to glance up at the intruder.
“Really,” Lucien spoke clearly, closing the door behind him, “I would’ve thought you’d be very anxious to know the unfortunate outcome of your murderous plot.”
Percy jumped to his feet, petrified by the unexpected voice behind him. Kate gave a scream of fright that turned into a whimper as she looked into Lucien’s deadly cold eyes.
“Lucien,” Percy whispered hoarsely, trying to come to his senses. “W-what are you doing here, and what in the world happened to you?” he bluffed desperately.
“You bastard,” Lucien murmured beneath his breath as he began to close the distance between them.
Percy choked on his words, turning pale as he watched Lucien stalk him. He tried to smile, but his muscles felt frozen. “Now, Lucien,” he warned as he took a backward step.
Lucien grabbed Percy by his casually knotted stock, relishing the sound of it tearing beneath his hands and then, bunching his fist, swung it back and smashed it into Percy’s sniveling face.
Kate screamed and ran to the fallen Percy, blood spurting from his broken nose. She found a handkerchief and pressed it to his face shakily.
“Get up, Percy, or aren’t you man enough to do your own dirty work for a change?” Lucien taunted him, his face mirroring the disgust he felt for his cousin as he stared down at his crumpled form.
Percy glared up at Lucien with unveiled hatred in his eyes. Holding the handkerchief to his nose he struggled to his feet, Kate lending him support as he swayed. “How I hate you, Lucien,” he spat.
“So,” Lucien spoke softly, “you finally come out in the open. A pity you did not sooner, it would have saved us both a lot of time. I underestimated you and Kate once too often.”
“Always a glib retort. Never without the quick reply to put someone in their place. Well, I’m not sorry for what we’ve done!” he yelled, losing control. “I’m only sorry those hired assassins didn’t succeed. How you managed to escape them I don’t know, but you won’t escape this time,” he promised, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a pistol. Lucien lunged forward and made a grab for the pistol, but Percy was strong with rage, the adrenaline pumping through his blood and feeding him strength. Lucien struggled with him, barely retaining his hold on the pistol barrel by feel alone as the pistol disappeared between their twisting bodies.
Kate backed into a corner, breathlessly watching the death struggle going on before her eyes. “Kill him, Percy!” she screamed shrilly, her eyes glowing with excitement as she saw the barrel of the pistol pointed into Lucien’s face. “Put a hole through him! Now. Percy, now!”
They twisted and stumbled, knocking into the table and sending the dishes crashing to the floor. A knife skidded across the wooden floor and came to a halt near Kate’s feet. drawing her attention, then looking up at the two figures she reached down and picked it up, wrapping her fingers around the hilt the sharp blade pointed toward the broad back of the duke.
A roar cut through the heavy breathing and scraping of feet and left a silence suspended in the room as Lucien and Percy caught their breaths in surprise, each waiting for the other to fall. Lucien stared into Percy’s eyes, so similar to his own, his breath hot against his face. He could see every pore in Percy’s skin as their gazes locked.
The door opened behind them and two soldiers rushed in, their pistols drawn. They came to an abrupt stop as they stared at the two gentlemen locked together in the middle of the room. A high-pitched scream shattered their immobility as a serving maid who’d followed behind the soldiers managed to sneak a look into the room.
Lucien pushed Percy from him, the pistol dropping uselessly to the floor. Percy saw the look on Lucien’s face and the others standing helplessly in the room and, following their horrified gazes, saw Kate. With a sob of disbelief Percy fell to his knees beside her on the floor. Her pale yellow gown was stained with blood that trickled from a jagged cut across her cheek. From chin to temple ran a deep, vicious-looking wound.
Kate opened her eyes and stared up at Percy’s appalled face. Dazed with shock by the unexpectedness of the searing pain she could only stare in confusion.
“Percy?” she whispered as pain shot through her face. As the pain increased so did her consciousness as she slowly became aware of the pitying looks on the faces crowding around. She gave a moan of disbelief and looked into Percy’s eyes, only to see her worst fears confirmed.
Her eyes widened with shock as she raised a shaking hand to her cheek and quickly withdrew it covered with blood. She opened her mouth, giving a soundless scream that everyone heard as she realized her disfigurement.
Percy doubled over and shook with sobs as he pressed his head into her lap. Kate stared mutely at the knife still clenched in her other hand, the knife she would have driven deep into Lucien’s back.
“Get a doctor, quick.” Lucien ordered one of the soldiers, and as he still remained, a look of revulsion on his face, Lucien gave him an impatient shove. “Go, man, and the rest of you clear out, except you,” he ordered, gr
abbing the serving maid as she tried to slip by. “Fetch water and bandages. And some brandy, lots of it.”
“Kate, Kate,” Percy cried, his voice muffled by the folds of her gown.
Her whole face felt as though it were on fire, the pain shooting up into her skull like a red-hot poker. Blearily she glanced around the room until she found Lucien. He stood quietly watching them, his face blank of expression.
Despite the pain Kate managed a crooked smile, the muscle severed by the bullet allowing her mouth to pull down in the corner and hang open, creating a travesty of her once flawless face.
“Ironic, isn’t it, that I should reap the rewards of my past actions in so bizarre a style,” she whispered painfully. “You win, Lucien, you always do. God, how I’ve hated you all these years. Do you know how I enjoyed scarring your face? But you got over it, didn’t you, Lucien? You still have all the women you want. You have everything, even Camareigh now. We thought we had defeated you when Percy killed Blanche, but the duchess had to give her golden boy another couple of weeks, and you would manage to come up with another bride. Always a step ahead of us Lucien.”
Lucien stared at her, pity and disgust showing in his eyes. Kate saw it and laughed contemptuously. “Don’t pity me. I don’t want it. We don’t need it. Percy, look at me, it’ll be all right. Percy?” she cajoled lovingly, caressing his neck.
Percy raised his head and stared through swollen eyes into her face, unable to hide the revulsion he felt as he stared at her destroyed beauty. Kate sensed his withdrawal and felt as if a knife had gone into her heart, then closed her eyes and let her tears of pain and anguish mingle with her blood.
Lucien left them in the doctor’s hands and made his way from the room. He sought no more punishment for them. They would have to live with what had happened for the rest of their lives. Percy had worshipped Kate’s beauty as an extension of himself, and Kate herself had used her beauty from the first time she’d been aware of it. What would they do now?
Lucien shook himself free of that nightmare as he rode back to Verrick House. What, he wondered, would await him there. A pity Kate and Percy did not realize that their mischief had indeed done irreparable harm.
Sabrina had remembered. Remembered the hate and the old distrust she’d harbored against him—and the reason for their marriage. It was indeed a pity, for he had been allowed to see a side of her he’d not known before, and he had found he liked it and enjoyed having her play the adoring lover.
It was regrettable she had to remember, but it changed nothing as far as he was concerned.
***
“Lies. All lies,” Sabrina confronted Mary angrily. “And you, my own sister, turning against me. How could you, Mary?” she asked, her violet eyes showing deep hurt and disappointment.
Mary linked her fingers together tightly, her gray eyes wandering about the room rather than look into Sabrina’s. “What would you have had me do? You’d forgotten everything, Rina. You didn’t remember Lucien at all. You forgot all of the years of worry and danger. Why should I try and force you to remember? You were so young again—so free of all cares. And, the most important detail, the thing you’ve seemed to have forgotten once again, is that you are going to have Lucien’s baby.”
“Why do you have to remind me of that?” Sabrina asked despondently, pulling off her hat and shrugging out of her riding jacket.
“Because it will be all too evident before long,” Mary stated calmly, then watching impatiently as Sabrina dabbed at her swollen lip, cried, “Well, aren’t you going to tell me what has happened? I can’t believe that Lucien would have hit you. Why have you remembered everything suddenly?” Mary demanded in confusion. “Lucien has been so kind these last few weeks. Was it only an act? I can’t understand.”
Sabrina turned from the mirror. “Are you just now finding out how ruthless Lucien really can be when he wants something? Of course he’s been pleasant. He’s had his way. I’ve been the acquiescent, loving bride. Lucien gets his inheritance and a lover all at once. To think that I believed him. He must have laughed at me each time I said I loved him. I’ll never forgive him. Never! Do you hear?” Sabrina vowed, “I wish those highwaymen had killed him.”
“Highwaymen? Someone attacked you and Lucien?” Mary asked incredulously.
Sabrina laughed, showing a flicker of amusement in her eyes as she explained. “You can imagine my surprise to see Bonnie Charlie riding down on us. Seeing that familiar figure was enough to jolt my memory, and everything came flooding back. Then they started fighting, and Will and John miraculously showed up, and then it was quite an exchange of blows.”
Mary was suddenly reminded of the vision she’d had about Sabrina and Bonnie Charlie, and Lucien in danger. It had come true, then. “If the Taylors showed up, then I don’t doubt the outcome of the fight,” Mary commented.
“No doubt at all, although Lucien took a bit of a beating before Will and John showed up,” Sabrina said without emotion.
“What happens now?” Mary asked, dreading the answer.
Sabrina raised her chin, looking every bit the duchess. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”
Mary regarded her suspiciously. “And what does ‘absolutely nothing’ imply?”
Sabrina smiled unpleasantly. ‘The Duke wanted a wife, and he now has one, so I shall enjoy my reign as the Duchess of Camareigh. And I shall live the part, Mary. After all, his grace is rich. I just hope he will be able to afford me, for as a duchess, I shall have a duchess’s expensive tastes,” she informed Mary with a vengeful gleam in her violet eyes.
Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
Could hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.
—Shakespeare
Chapter 14
Sabrina stared out of the window across the parkland to the medieval chapel protected by cedars on the far side of the lake, and wondered at the fate that had brought her here to become mistress of this grandeur. To visit Camareigh was an awe-inspiring experience, but to live here was to be humbled. Her first view of Camareigh had been from the coach window as they had traveled down the terraced avenue flanked by chestnuts, past formal lawns and wooded slopes until Camareigh, with its noble facade and stately lines, had appeared almost magically out of the mists. She had counted over sixty windows alone along the east wing. The warm, honey-colored stone blended into the countryside as though it had stood upon sacred ground from the beginning of time in an undisturbed magnificence.
Now, through no wish of her own, all of this was hers. She had the right to walk in the topiary gardens and through yew-hedged walks to sunken gardens with hidden pools full of colorful water lilies.
It was a perfect, and appropriate, setting for Lucien Dominick, Duke of Camareigh. She could understand now the reason why he was so desperate to inherit his home, but she still could not forgive him for using her as a means to an end. He had wanted Camareigh, and nothing could have stood in his way to hinder him.
Sabrina thought of the elegance of the gold and white drawing room and the long gallery hung with beautiful paintings and portraits of the Dominick family; the great staircase painted with murals, the tall pier-glasses reflecting the hand-painted wallpaper in the salons, the plastered ceilings and tapestry-hung walls. It was undeniably beautiful—but she missed Verrick House. She missed the old, oak-paneled rooms and low-beamed ceilings, the crumbling walls of the garden and orchard, and the casual untidiness of the flowers. Sometimes life at Verrick House seemed like a dream, something that had never really existed.
Aunt Margaret was the only one who still lived there with Hobbs as her companion, along with the spaniels.. Mary had wed Colonel Fletcher towards the end of the year. He was a civilian now, and enjoyed playing the country squire for a change and living a quiet life on his estate. Sabrina smiled as she thought of Richard, who had gone through the most startling change
s during the past year. He had lost a lot of his shyness and sedateness and replaced them instead with a young boy’s natural exuberance and proclivity for mischief. The only thing that bothered her was the constant tug-of-war on Richard’s emotions as he tried to remain loyal to her and at the same time resist his idolatry for Lucien, who represented the first father figure he had ever known. Sabrina had tried not to influence him, but he could not help but become aware of the state of affairs that existed between Lucien and her. She supposed that she was to blame for it all. Her cursed pride had blinded her to the truth for so long, but as the months had passed it had become increasingly hard to find the words to heal their differences.
How angry she had been when she’d first regained her memory, lashing out at Lucien for tricking her and playing her for the fool, or so she had believed at the time. Now that she thought back on those days she could see all of the mistakes that she had made. The first time she had sat before this window staring out, Lucien had entered the room behind her and at his words she had begun her plan of action. How vivid the past became as she remembered that day.
“Plotting my demise?” Lucien had inquired as he’d found her sitting there with a frown marring her face.
“You are quite capable of doing that yourself,” she retorted, not bothering to look at him as he came toward her.
“A pity you remembered.”
Sabrina smiled, and looking up at him thought he was like a small boy who’d been denied his favorite toy to play with. “Isn’t it enough that you have your estate safely in your grasp?”
“I suppose I can’t have everything my way,” he returned regretfully, “although as I’ve said, it is a shame you had to go and remember your dislike of me.”
He bent down and let his lips touch the nape of her neck, lingering for a moment against its softness. “I’ve fond memories of you, Rina,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear.
Sabrina stood up, moving out of reach of his lips, her violet eyes cold as she glanced at him scornfully. “As you’ve said, a pity, but then you really can’t have everything.”
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