by Sara Bennett
“H-he seemed so cultured,” she sobbed. “So continental. I believed he was the sort of man I could confide in, whom I could trust to…to…”
She looked up wildly, and it was Marissa who answered.
“I understand. He betrayed your trust.”
“Yes,” she spat. “He was a filthy creature of no conscience and no soul.”
It took time and patience, but gradually the truth came out one painful piece at a time. Lady Longhurst had indeed found Baron Von Hautt charming and pleasant company, and she’d chosen to invite him into her bedchamber for some mutual enjoyment. She was a lonely woman, and now she admitted that her husband had a young mistress in London, so she was also feeling neglected. The baron seemed like the sort of man who would understand her offer was for a casual afternoon of enjoyment and after they’d both taken their fill then he would leave.
However it didn’t happen as Lady Longhurst had hoped, and before too long she began to realize that she had made a terrible mistake. All began as it should, with wine and conversation in her boudoir, but his kisses were rough and painful, and suddenly Lady Longhurst no longer trusted him. She ordered him to leave, but he refused, and a moment later his façade of charming gentleman peeled away to reveal the real creature beneath. Despite her struggles and protests he would not desist in his rough lovemaking.
“He told me that to be hurt was what a woman such as me deserved.” By now Lady Longhurst was sobbing bitterly. “He told me that only a whore would offer herself to another when she was already married. He said—said he needed to teach me a lesson about f-fidelity that I would never f-forget.”
Once the story was told, Lady Longhurst became incoherent for some time, and Valentine carried her to her bedchamber, where Marissa and the maid put her to bed with a sedative. Eventually she fell asleep.
Marissa stroked her hair, looking down at the bruised and ravaged face, now pale and peaceful. She knew Lady Longhurst had been foolish and perhaps arrogant in her belief that her position would keep her safe, but she didn’t deserve what had happened to her. She was not part of the quest for the rose and yet Von Hautt had chosen to make her suffer.
Leaving the maid with her lady, Marissa went to seek out Valentine. She found him in deep discussion with the servants, but when he saw her, he broke off and led her into a room where they were able to be private.
“I understand why she didn’t call anyone who lived nearby Canthorpe,” Marissa said unhappily. “She’s embarrassed, vulnerable, and she feels as if it was her fault for trusting him. Baron Von Hautt must know that. What sort of creature is he, Valentine, to prey upon a sad and lonely woman?”
He reached to take her hand in his, squeezing her fingers comfortingly. “You were right to come, Marissa. She did need a woman’s support.”
After a little while Marissa managed to shake off the image of Lady Longhurst’s bruised and injured body. “What did the servants say?”
“They say they heard nothing at all until Lady Longhurst began screaming and when they came to her aid they found her door locked. By the time they’d broken it down, the baron was gone, escaping through a window and into the garden.”
“So he is gone?”
“It appears so.”
Marissa sighed. “I am sorry I thought badly of her,” she said. “No one deserves to be treated like that. He must be a madman.”
“If that happened to you…” Valentine began and then shook his head, not wishing to finish. “I’d kill him,” he growled. His eyes were blazing, his cheeks were flushed, the tendons in his neck standing out.
Shocked at his show of raw violence, nevertheless Marissa felt a purely feminine thrill. “He won’t do anything to me,” she reassured him, leaning forward to kiss his lips. “I know what he is and I would never trust him.”
“Hmm, I seem to have interrupted an interesting moment.”
George was standing in the doorway with a questioning look on his face.
Marissa moved to draw back, tugging her fingers from Valentine’s, but to her surprise he held on to them and kept her close. George’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s enough, George,” Valentine warned, before he could speak. “Marissa is upset. This has been a most unpleasant experience.”
“She could always come to me if she’s upset,” he muttered sulkily.
“George!” His brother gave him a quelling look and for once George took heed, although his sigh was heartfelt. “The servants also told me that Lady Longhurst has a younger sister she is very fond of, who lives about five miles away. The sister has a new baby and they think that is one of the reasons she didn’t send to her for help.”
“I think we should send word to the sister that Lady Longhurst requires her help. If they are as close as she says then she must be told.” Marissa looked to Valentine for support.
He smiled into her eyes. “I knew you’d think so. Let’s do it then, before we go home.”
Arrangements were made for a servant to go to Lady Longhurst’s sister, informing her of the situation, and asking her to come to Canthorpe as soon as possible. By the time Valentine and Marissa were ready to leave, all was in hand, but George had agreed to stay, just in case.
“I’m sure you won’t miss me,” he said mournfully.
“I’ve continued the guard on the house,” Valentine ignored him. “Just in case Von Hautt is still about, although I doubt he is. He’s too clever to linger after something as dastardly as this.”
“We must find him before he attacks someone else,” George said bleakly, looking out into darkness that was beginning to lighten with the dawn. “He’s a very dangerous man.”
His words returned to Marissa as they rode away, and she knew it was true, and she should be wary and a little bit afraid. But the sun had begun to rise and suddenly the world was beautiful again. If Valentine was the man for her, there was no need to search anymore. She thought she might love him, and she thought—she hoped—she could convince him to love her.
Her own budding happiness made her feel guilty, remembering Lady Longhurst. As they paused before the old moated manor house that she was beginning to think of as home, the light of dawn turned the bricks and timber to pink, while the rising sun reflected in the moat. And everything felt so wonderful and right, she was suddenly afraid.
As if the Fates were laughing at her, and preparing for her fall.
Chapter 22
Their horses crossed the drawbridge, hooves striking the stone, and into the courtyard of the manor house. Valentine looked up at the oldest part of his home, with its overhanging upper story of medieval black and white timber, small-paned windows shining in the sun. The walled garden was just coming to life with insects and birds, and servants were hurrying about their tasks for the day ahead. It was as if he’d stepped back into another world, for it was doubtful much had changed at Abbey Thorne Manor for centuries.
Valentine looked to Marissa, who was dismounting with the assistant of a groom. Once on the ground she shook her skirts into shape and brushed down her sleeves, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked tired but no less beautiful and he accepted the knowledge that he wanted to pick her up and carry her to his bedchamber.
But there were other matters to deal with, and from the look on Morris’s face when he came out to meet them, there was something very serious at the front of the queue.
“I did not know, my lord,” he began, hurrying after Valentine as he entered the house. “I had no idea until it was too late. I would never have allowed such a thing to happen if I’d had the least idea.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Morris?” Valentine was weary and irritable.
Morris’s eyes grew startled and wide, and his jowls began to quiver. “But…didn’t Wallace speak to you, my lord? I sent him after you as soon as I knew.”
“I haven’t seen Wallace.”
If Morris had been a lesser man he would have stamped his feet. “The fool probably went the w
rong way. And after I gave him explicit instructions—”
Valentine was at the end of his tether. “Tell me what you’re talking about, Morris, and tell me now.”
“My lord, I have bad news.” Morris stood stiff and straight, like a soldier facing the firing squad. “Someone was in your rooms while you were away. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I entered to place some mail on your desk, and I saw immediately that things were not at all as you’d left them. I cannot say if anything is taken, my lord, but—”
Valentine gave a roar of rage. He began to run toward the stairs, the sound of his boots on the marble floor echoing all around them.
“Lord Jasper is looking through your papers now,” Morris said hurriedly, his voice rising as he pursued his master up the stairs. “He thought it best to know the worst at once.”
“Of course, Morris. Thank you.” Marissa managed a fraught smile as she followed in Valentine’s wake.
Upstairs, she found Lord Jasper and Lady Bethany busy making repairs to the room, both of them appearing somber and concerned. Valentine stood in the doorway like a man in shock, glaring around him at the chaos of papers and books that covered the desk, chairs, and floor. Books had been pulled from the shelves and lay tumbled in piles, while dried rose specimens, broken and smashed, were scattered throughout the room.
Marissa was too horrified to speak.
“He’s been in here,” Valentine said, cold rage in each word. “In my rooms. Touching my things. Reading my papers.”
No one asked who he meant.
“I think it looks worse than it is, old chap.” Jasper’s voice held a soothing note. “Nothing is missing as far as I can see. It may not even be Von Hautt who did this, you know.”
But Valentine shook his head. “It was Von Hautt,” he said through gritted teeth. “This was all planned. Attacking Lady Longhurst and then drawing me away to Canthorpe. I thought he was behaving like a madman, but he’s a madman with a purpose. He planned it so that he could sneak into my rooms. Invade my personal belongings.”
“But even if that’s so, he hasn’t gained anything by it, has he?” Jasper insisted. “He already has the list of names. What is there here that he hasn’t already got?”
“Perhaps he wants Lord Kent to feel unsettled,” Lady Bethany suggested. “Knowing that his home has been infiltrated by the enemy will cause him a deal of suffering, and Baron Von Hautt seems to want him to suffer.”
Valentine ran his hands through his hair until it stood on end, making him look even more dangerous. “How can we guess the thoughts of a lunatic,” he muttered. Then he stopped, eyes narrowing, and spun around toward his desk. “Wait a moment…” Wildly he began to search through the mess of papers, some of which had fallen to the floor, or were about to.
Marissa came and stood beside him. “What is it?”
“The letter!”
“What letter…?”
“My friend in London. The letter that told me the geographical locations of the last families on the list. It was here and now it’s gone.” He looked up, eyes blazing into hers. “Von Hautt has it.”
“Are you sure?” She began to search through the mess of papers, carefully sifting them from one pile to another.
But Valentine already knew it was gone. He was striding across the room and then back again, so distracted it was impossible for him to keep still. “Oh yes, he has it,” he roared with bitter certainty. “Now he knows where the last two families lived and he’ll be able to get there before us. That has been his plan all along. To beat me to the rose.”
“We won’t be far behind.” Jasper was all quiet menace. “Don’t worry, old chap, he can’t hide from us. We’ll find the rose and we’ll find him, and then we’ll make him pay.”
“How the hell do you know he hasn’t found it already?” Valentine was beyond being rational or calm. “He could have it in his hands now. He wants to hurt me and he knows that by taking the one thing I’ve been searching for all these years…How can I complete my quest?” His gaze sought and found Marissa’s, his eyes full of agonized emotion.
She knew exactly what he was thinking. If Von Hautt had the rose then he’d failed. All the years of searching in vain.
She slipped her hand into his, warm and comforting, and watched as he forced himself to climb out of the pit of darkness. Valentine was no weakling, and he must be strong or Baron Von Hautt really would trample on his hopes and dreams.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a more natural voice. “It was seeing what he’d done. I am recovered now. Forgive me.”
There were understanding nods all around.
“Surely Baron Von Hautt cannot expect to appear in London with the rose and everyone to pat him on the back and say well done?” Lady Bethany said thoughtfully. “The truth about his behavior will come out and he’ll be shunned by the very people he wants to impress. Where’s the glory in that?”
“You are wondering what is the point of him winning the rose by foul means?” Jasper said with a nod.
“All that seems to matter to him is that he’s won,” Marissa replied, “not how that win was achieved. Defeating Lord Kent is what is driving him, not fame and world renown.”
“What have you done to him that he feels so bitter toward you?” Lady Bethany said. “There must be something, Kent. You must search your memories until you find it.”
Valentine sat down and put his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “I honestly don’t understand any of it.”
“Very well then, let’s just consider matters calmly for a moment,” Jasper said. “Von Hautt lured you away from Abbey Thorne Manor, using Lady Longhurst, and when you’d gone he came up to your rooms and stole the letter.” He paused, looking about. “Didn’t someone see him? He must have passed through the house and there would be servants, Morris, and so on. Someone must have seen something.”
“Morris says not,” Marissa murmured.
“Then someone must have let him in and guided him to the letter. All this,” Jasper waved his uninjured arm at the mess, “is for effect. To hurt you. To show you he is capable of creeping into your most private sanctum. How can you feel safe knowing that?”
“All along I’ve believed an enemy resides within my household,” Valentine said. “There are things Von Hautt knows about me, about us, that only an intimate of my family could possibly know.”
“So not a kitchen maid or a boot polisher,” Lady Bethany said in droll tones. “This enemy must be someone who spends time in your company and is well known and trusted by you.”
“One of us.” Marissa spoke what they were all thinking.
Valentine looked bleak. “That makes it worse. A betrayal. This person and Von Hautt are comrades, working against me, and there’s nothing I can do to protect myself.”
“You need some sleep, Kent,” Jasper said gruffly. “You’ve been up all night. Lady Bethany and I will deal with the next name on the list and if there’s a chance the rose still exists then we’ll send for you.”
Valentine wavered, obviously torn, but he was exhausted and he knew he’d be no good to anyone unless he spent an hour or two in bed. Reluctantly he nodded, and Jasper and Lady Bethany began to make their plans.
“George is still at Lady Longhurst’s,” Marissa added. “Someone should send a message to him and let him know what’s happening, so that he can be on his guard, too.”
It was agreed. Jasper and Lady Bethany would set off after breakfast, and Valentine and Marissa would remain at Abbey Thorne Manor.
“And we will all take great care,” Lady Bethany said with grim seriousness, looking at each of them in turn. “It seems our little botanical adventure has turned into a dangerous melodrama, and I would not like to see any more of us hurt.”
“We must be united against our enemy,” Jasper said.
“Enemies,” Valentine corrected him.
And with that somber warning they went their separate ways.
&n
bsp; Chapter 23
What do you think of my granddaughter and your friend Kent?” Lady Bethany spoke into the long silence as the carriage bowled along a lane beneath a blue summer sky.
“Think of them?” Jasper appeared surprised.
“Haven’t you noticed there is a certain frisson between them, whenever they are together? Really, Jasper, you can’t be that unobservant.”
“I suppose I have noticed a change in Kent since Miss Rotherhild arrived.”
“That’s better. A change in what way?”
“Well, he’s far more jittery, as if he’s living on his nerves.” Jasper shifted uneasily on his seat. “Didn’t you tell me your granddaughter came here with an eye for George, my dear? I’d hate Kent to have his heart broken by a fickle miss.”
Lady Bethany bristled in defense of her granddaughter. “Marissa is not a fickle miss, Jasper, far from it. And as for George…if you knew how drab the poor girl’s life has been you’d forgive her for setting her sights on the first man she met who was good-looking and the slightest bit interested in anything other than plants.”
“I suppose so,” he said uncertainly.
“I know so,” she replied forthrightly. “But when we arrived at Abbey Thorne Manor and she came face-to-face with Kent—and he with her, I might add—she realized George wasn’t the one. She has had stars in her eyes ever since.”
Jasper smiled. “Do I have stars in my eyes, my dear?”
Lady Bethany pretended to peer closely into them, her face expressionless, but there was a flush on her cheeks that betrayed how she was really feeling. “There may be one or two,” she admitted at last.
Jasper sighed contentedly. “Who would have thought that in the twilight of my years I would find the love of my life.”
Lady Bethany slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. Falling in love was a wonderful thing, there was no doubt about it, but she’d lived long enough to accept it didn’t always end happily or well. She had come to Abbey Thorne Manor for Marissa’s sake, never expecting to meet a man with whom she could feel such an affinity.