“Leave us,” the woman said, gesturing with the pistol. “This does not have to concern you.”
“Wrong,” Reign replied tersely. “You have my wife. Surrender her, and we will leave.”
“Rainecourt—” Ravenshaw began, but Reign cut him off with a vicious glance. It was apparent that every time the Rainecourt name was evoked, it increased the woman’s agitation.
“I give you my word, madam,” he said, staring into the woman’s eyes and feeling that odd connection again. “Step aside, and allow me to untie my wife. Consider it a trade. Her life for your freedom.”
“Gabriel, you do not understand,” Sophia said, cringing away from the barrel pressed against her temple. “She is your mother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“My mother is dead.”
Sophia did not blame Reign for the resounding denial. From what he had told her about his childhood, his father had been an uncompromising man who used his fists on his wife and young son. He had been aggressive, competitive, and channeled his power politically. What mother would abandon her defenseless son to such a man?
“It is true, Gabriel,” Sophia said, hating that she could not go to him when he needed her. She did not know if Lady Colette intended to tell Reign the truth, nor did she care; the time for secrets had ended. “Your father kept her hidden away on Rainecourt lands with attendants as companions. He told everyone, including you, that she had died.”
I am so sorry, she wordlessly mouthed to her husband.
Reign sucked in his cheeks, revealing the firm lines of his jaw. He shook his head, refusing or perhaps not wanting to believe that his father had executed such a cruel deception. “Sophia, I do not know who this woman is, but she is lying. I saw my mother’s body. I saw . . . !”
“A dead woman with long dark hair,” Lady Colette said, her eyes glistening. “Probably some poor creature from the village, I would guess.”
Reign started to respond, but seemed to catch himself. The past could wait. It was the present that concerned him. He stabbed his finger at the countess. “Let us be clear, madam, I do not care if you are my mother or claim to be Demeter herself, searching for her long-lost daughter. What grievances you have should be directed at me, not my wife. Release her at once!”
“Oh, love, can you not see that she will never be yours?” Lady Colette said, moving behind the chair as she gently stroked Sophia’s hair.
“What is she rambling on about?” her brother muttered.
Reign’s burning gaze did not waver from his mother’s face. “You are not helping, Ravenshaw.”
Sophia closed her eyes and willed her brother to remain silent. Stephan did not seem to comprehend that Lady Colette’s grasp of the present was tenuous at best. One misstep and the countess might fire the pistol.
“Madam,” Reign said, holding out his hand. “You are among friends. Give me the pistol.”
“You tried to take the pistol from me that night, too.” Lady Colette’s hand seized a handful of Sophia’s blond hair and pulled when Reign tried to move forward. Sophia’s cry of pain halted his slow advance. “And failed.”
Reign parted his hands in surrender. “What night?”
Sophia drew in a shaky breath. The back of her head throbbed from the blow the countess had delivered earlier, and her stomach roiled in protest. “The night your father and my parents were murdered. Lady Colette was there, and I think—”
She craned her head to glance up at the older woman. “Good heavens, you were the one who hit me that night. When I came down the stairs to find my mother, I saw my mother and father from the doorway. I heard Lord Rainecourt’s angry shouts.” The memories from that night were elusive and insubstantial as smoke.
Still . . .
“Someone struck me from behind,” Sophia said, wondering why no one had considered that there had been one more person in the house. “It was you.”
“She was a baby, you crazy bitch!” Stephan yelled, his face reddening with suppressed fury. “You almost killed her!”
Sophia blinked, taken aback by her brother’s outrage. Then again, perhaps it was not surprising. That horrible night had left its mark on all of them.
“Steady, Ravenshaw,” Reign warned, though his underlying calm was a facade. “Think of Sophia.”
“Yes, Ravenshaw,” Lady Colette hissed. “Think of Sophia.” The countess pressed the walnut stock of the pistol to her temple, and trembled.
Without hesitation, Stephan and Reign took advantage of Lady Colette’s momentary lapse by edging closer to the two women. They froze when the countess’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. “How can you defend her, knowing that she betrayed you?”
Uncertain of his part in this drama, Stephan glanced warily at Reign and shrugged.
Sophia cast a furtive glance at Reign. The same enigmatic expression was on her husband’s face.
“What? You have nothing to say?” Lady Colette taunted.
“Be careful, Gabriel,” Sophia said softly when her husband shifted his stance. “Do you not see? All the players are present. Just like before. Rainecourt, Ravenshaw, and Lady Ravenshaw.”
And Lady Colette.
It was happening again. The countess was reliving the horrifying night that had ended in death.
Someone was going to die.
Reign did not want to believe that woman standing over Sophia was his mother. After his mother’s death, his father had removed his wife’s portrait from the gallery. Reign had assumed that it had been a painful reminder of loss. Now he was not so certain. The portrait had been forgotten, leaving Reign with faded memories.
The woman before him did not remotely resemble the raven-haired beauty who used to visit him in his dreams. The dark tresses he recalled had silvered with age. Her mouth had thinned with bitterness, and lines marred the once smooth face that had seemed so full of vitality. It was the lady’s eyes that troubled him the most—intense and steeped in shadows. He did not like how the woman stared at Sophia.
Reign was frightened for his wife. He had seen the miniature of Lady Ravenshaw that Sophia kept on her dressing table. The resemblance was startling, and Lady Colette seemed too eager to embrace the past.
He longed to assure Sophia that he understood what she was trying to convey. Unfortunately, her vision was too unpredictable, and Reign did not want to tip his hand to his mother. The scandalous tale of the Rainecourt-Ravenshaw murders that had tantalized the ton for so many years had been based on speculation. Everyone, including Reign, had assumed that his father had coveted Lord Ravenshaw’s wife, and a fight had broken out between the two men that had ended in two murders and suicide.
No one had guessed that there had been another person in the room that night.
Or that the real killer had walked away after she had mercilessly murdered three people and left six-year-old Sophia barely clinging to life.
“You will not succeed this time, madam,” Reign said, his gaze shifting from his wife to Stephan, willing the man to not lose his head for his sister’s sake.
Lady Colette laughed. “You are free to collect the pistol from me, Rainecourt, if you dare.” She brought the pistol up so it was level with Sophia’s temple.
The worn, hollowed shell that had once been his mother was still being tormented by her husband. One way or another, Reign intended to end it.
“You only have one pistol, madam,” Reign said, ignoring the soft whimper coming from Sophia. “You cannot shoot all of us.”
Stephan cleared his throat, dividing the countess’s attention. “Unlike the night you killed my parents.” His grin did not have a trace of humor as he brazenly took a small step forward, practically daring the woman to shoot him.
Shrewdness crept into Lady Colette’s narrow face. “I do not have to shoot you to hurt you, Ravenshaw. All I have to do is shoot her.”
Reign’s heart lurched in his chest. Denial clawed up his throat.
Before he could speak, Ravenshaw said
, “Pull the trigger and you will forfeit your life, madam.”
“Brave words, sir.” Lady Colette cocked her head and studied him. “But hardly truthful. When I pressed the barrel of my pistol into your wife’s spine and fired, you thought naught of revenge. You gathered your fallen wife and rocked her in your arms.”
Sophia bit her lip and choked on her wordless denial.
As much as he longed to, Reign could not afford to comfort his wife. Not with her life in jeopardy. The key was to keep the countess talking until she made a mistake.
“You had more than one pistol that night, did you not?” Reign mused aloud. “What did you do, use the other to shoot Lord Ravenshaw?”
Lady Colette beamed at her son’s astuteness. “The man was so beset with grief, he did not notice the other pistol in my hand. I simply aimed and fired. Ravenshaw was docile as a lamb before the bullet tore out his throat. He died choking on his own blood.”
Sophia was openly sobbing now. Her soft hiccups made Reign’s stomach cramp with impotent rage.
“And my father,” Reign said tightly. “Rainecourt was not a docile lamb, madam. He would not have sat there quietly while you reloaded.”
His father was intimate with violence. He would not have hesitated to kill a woman everyone thought was already dead.
Lady Colette did not bother confirming his suspicions. Instead she said, “Do you know why Ravenshaw and Rainecourt were fighting?”
“Was there a fight?” Stephan asked, startling the countess. While she was distracted, he had gained a few inches.
“Careful,” Lady Colette chided. “Or you will be slipping in your lady’s blood.”
Sophia shook her head, silently begging her brother to remain where he was. “Y-you told my father that Rainecourt had betrayed him,” she said, attempting to do her part even though she was grieving for her parents.
Reign marveled at his wife’s fortitude. A weaker lady would have been hysterical and begging for her life by now. Sophia was a fighter. Pride and love swelled in his chest.
“Did you send him a note?”
With her unencumbered hand, Lady Colette brushed aside a strand of hair that was tickling her face. “A note could be discarded. Ignored. I did something Ravenshaw could not ignore.” She laughed, amused by her own cleverness. “I came back from the dead. When he was alone, I approached him and told him about Rainecourt’s wickedness. At first he did not believe me. Then the doubt began to creep into his heart. He knew his friend’s weakness for women. His fondness for rough sport. He also knew his lady’s sweet nature, and her desire to protect her husband.”
Sophia cleared her throat. “Was it true about Rainecourt and—and my mother?”
Lady Colette frowned as she pondered Sophia’s question. “The truth hardly matters. Your mother would deny it. So would Rainecourt. With my subtle encouragement, Ravenshaw came up with a brilliant plan. We would confront them together.”
“But something went awry.” Sophia shuddered and sniffed. “My father and Rainecourt were already arguing. I awoke because I heard them shouting.”
Though Sophia could not see it, Lady Colette nodded. “Foolish man. Ravenshaw could not hold his temper. With his unsuspecting wife and young daughter in tow, he brought a pistol to the house with the intention of gaining a grand confession from Rainecourt.”
Stephan slid his foot to the side and shifted his stance. “Your plan was already unraveling. Rainecourt was on guard, and Sophia wandered downstairs in search of our mother. You had not counted on having a witness, even if she was just a six-year-old child.”
“Sophia . . . I remember her. Such a lovely little girl, and well mannered for one so young,” Lady Colette said, forgetting that she was pointing a pistol at the adult Sophia. “I never understood why Lady Ravenshaw brought the girl.”
The countess scowled.
Reign had been away at school when the murders had occurred. Over the years, he had often wondered whether his father would have killed him if he had been in the house that evening. He stared at the woman who had given birth to him and felt nothing. No kinship. No loyalty. Did she feel the same? If he lunged for the pistol, would she aim the barrel at his heart or would some lost part of her shy away from the notion of murdering her only son?
“Damn you, halt!” Panicked, Lady Colette pointed the pistol at Ravenshaw. “I told you that—that I would shoot her!” Ravenshaw froze when the countess pressed the end of the barrel into Sophia’s skull.
Keeping his gaze fixed on his mother, Reign shortened the distance between them.
Focused on the past, Sophia nodded. “There was no time to reload. Gabriel is correct, Rainecourt would have stopped you. You used my father’s pistol to shoot your husband, did you not?”
“Rainecourt’s arrogance was far more dangerous than any bullet, my dear,” the countess confided to Sophia. “When I picked up Ravenshaw’s pistol from the floor, can you believe that my husband laughed? It did not bother him that his best friend and the man’s wife lay dying at his feet. He did not even seem particularly amazed that I had escaped my captors, and had been doing so for years.”
“My father was confident that he could overpower you,” Reign murmured.
“Rainecourt did not believe that I could pull the trigger,” Lady Colette corrected. “He was still laughing when the pistol discharged and the impact from the bullet took off half his face.”
“My-my apologies, but I think I am going to be sick,” Sophia said faintly, a convulsive sound erupting from her throat.
Lady Colette glanced down at Sophia.
Both Reign and Ravenshaw charged the countess at the same time. Reign reached his mother first, seizing her by the wrist and wrenching her arm upward in a bone-cracking motion. Lady Colette still refused to relinquish the pistol.
“Curse you, Rainecourt.” The countess seethed and strained. “No!”
Locked together in a fierce struggle, Ravenshaw tipped the odds in Reign’s favor by tripping over one of the legs of Sophia’s chair and slamming into them.
The pistol discharged at the impact.
Reign stiffened as a sharp, burning pain stole the air from his lungs. In the distance, he could hear Sophia screaming hysterically, but there was no time to reassure her as he, Ravenshaw, and the countess staggered backward in a tangle of limbs listing toward the floor.
Something hard grazed his cheek as Reign fell, and the world went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Gabriel! Stephan!” Sophia had screamed their names so many times, her voice was becoming hoarse. She strained against her rope bindings, moving the chair in small uncontrolled increments that took great amounts of energy but did not bring her closer to the fallen men.
After the pistol had discharged, Sophia had seen her husband’s body jerk before her brother had collided into Reign and Lady Colette as the trio fell to the floor.
No one stirred for several minutes.
Stephan was the first to recover. Sophia cried out his name, relieved to see his fingers flex against the leg of his trouser. Dazed, her brother sat up and touched his head. There was a trickle of blood coming from a small cut above his left eyebrow.
“Sophia,” Stephan croaked as he shook off Lady Colette’s arm. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, grateful that her brother had merely been stunned by the fall. “Stephan, is Gabriel—? I cannot tell . . . is he wounded? The pistol . . .”
Sophia bit her lower lip as she squinted through the dark haze of shadows and tears, fearing for her husband. Every part of her body ached, and in particular, her arms. She felt pulled and stretched beyond the limits of her body, as if Lady Colette had tied her to a medieval torture rack.
Stephan crawled over to Reign’s still form and gently turned him over. Sophia tilted her head from side to side, but her brother’s broad back blocked her view.
“Is he . . . ?”
“Sophia, I am fine,” Reign said, brushing aside her brother’s attempt
to help him stand.
“He took a nasty blow to the face,” Stephan said grimly.
Sophia tensed, reacting to her brother’s tone.
“Probably from your damn fist when you came charging to my rescue and tripped over your clumsy feet,” Reign said, his voice laced his disgust as he gingerly fingered the swelling on his cheek. “My friends will never let me live down the fact that Ravenshaw knocked me out.”
“Stephan can keep a secret,” Sophia said quickly.
“The hell I can,” her brother countered gruffly. “Every gent will want to pat me on the back for trouncing the Devil of Rainecourt.”
“Bloody hell.”
Sophia leaned forward as far as her bound arms would permit her. “Gabriel, is something amiss? Is it Lady Colette?” She had been so concerned about Reign and her brother that she had been thoughtless not to ask about the countess’s welfare. The woman was so still and quiet. Had she been knocked unconscious from the fall as Reign had been?
“Ravenshaw, untie your sister.”
The fact that Reign was not rushing to her side, insisting that he see to the task, concerned her. “What is wrong?” When her husband did not respond, she pounced on the most logical conclusion. “Oh, no, you were shot! Do not bother denying it. You gasped in pain seconds after the pistol discharged. Tell me the truth, Gabriel. How badly are you hurt?”
Reign grunted. “Are you planning to nag me like this for the rest of our lives?”
“It depends on how much time we have, my lord,” Sophia replied, her eyes filling with tears again.
Her husband cursed softly when he realized that his teasing had made her cry. “Aw, Sophia . . . no tears,” he said helplessly. “I do not want you to fuss. The wound is not serious. The bullet sliced through the meat of my upper arm. It is messy, but hardly serious.”
Sophia’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “If the bullet sliced through your arm, then where did it go?”
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