Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  She broke off at his dark expression. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door.

  “Tell me about Deimos.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Diana sat down on the bed with a thump, both hands flying to her mouth. “You knew?”

  “I do now.”

  She frowned. “But…how?”

  “St. Edmunds told me.”

  “What? St. Edmunds knows?” Dear God, how could he know what she had done?

  “What have you been telling Deimos, Diana?” Vincent came to stand directly in front of her, scowling down at her.

  She shrank back. “I have told him nothing…nothing at all.”

  Vincent raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  She sat up straighter, groping for calm, and said firmly, “Indeed… I have not.” Dear God, he had to believe her. “He threatened me, but he did not ask for anything until…”

  “Wait. He threatened you? How?”

  Diana looked at him in puzzlement for a moment before understanding dawned.

  Then she said, “You don’t know.”

  “I know you were corresponding with him.”

  “No.” Diana shook her head. “I never answered him, but he…he was attempting to blackmail me.”

  Now he looked puzzled. “Blackmail? You? What have you ever done to be blackmailed?”

  This was the moment, the moment she must say it out loud. But she could not look at him. Diana covered her face with her hands.

  “I killed someone.”

  Vincent sounded positively dumbstruck. He took a step back. “You killed…? When? Why?”

  “It was an accident. I didn’t even realize I had done it…”

  “You didn’t realize you killed someone? Diana…how could you not… Hold a minute.” He sat beside her on the bed and gazed intently into her face. “Who did you kill?”

  “Roger Goodnight. It was before I stopped going out socially—at a ball at Lady Holland’s.”

  Vincent frowned. “Goodnight broke his neck in a drunken fall—before more than a hundred people, including me.”

  “But I pushed him. Someone saw me—this person who calls himself Deimos.”

  “No. I saw Goodnight fall myself. No one pushed him over that rail. He leaned over to look at someone below. This does not make sense.” He leaned back against the headboard, shaking his head. “You better start at the beginning.”

  Diana took a deep breath. At last she could tell the story that had been corroding her heart since the first letter from Deimos had arrived. “I had been to the room designated for ladies. It was near the top of the stairs that led down to the ballroom. When I came out, Roger approached me—he was very drunk—and he began to…to…”

  “I understand. Go on.”

  “He was putting his hands on me.” Diana studied her slippers. “So I pushed him as hard as I could and ran back into the room. When I came out again, everyone was gathered around him on the floor below. I still did not realize I had caused that fall…until I got the first letter.”

  Vincent now looked very thoughtful. “What did it say?”

  “That he had seen me push Roger over the railing, had heard me say angrily that I would kill him.” She looked up at him. “I did not say that, Vincent, but I did push him…and Deimos made it sound so convincing. I feared he could persuade the authorities that I had done it deliberately. But he said…he said he didn’t want to see me…hang. He assured me that he would keep silent, but only if I did. That one day I would repay him.”

  The cold fear rose in her again and Diana turned toward Vincent, drew her legs up onto the bed and wrapped her arms around them, resting her head on her knees. “Oh, Vincent, if I were executed or even imprisoned, what would happen to Selena and Bytham?”

  Vincent was beginning to see just a crack of light. The man was a master of manipulation. “Did you tell Wyn?”

  She lifted her head and looked at him. “No, Deimos warned me not to, or he would report me. And…and… Oh, God, this is the worst of it. You will utterly despise me.” She covered her face with her hands again. “I—I took money from him. I could not tell Wyn that.”

  The light again became murky. “Deimos sent you money? Blackmail usually works the other way about.”

  “I know. But I had no money, and then he began to write vile, insulting things—as though I were a…” Around her hands Vincent could see the blood suffuse her face. “I thought… I feared…that someday he would try to make me do something… You know.”

  “Hmm.” Not much doubt what that meant. “What did you do with the money?”

  She lifted her head and glared at him defiantly. “I bought food with it! And clothes for the children…”

  Vincent held up a restraining hand. “I understand.” He pondered this information for a moment. “So he held a two-edged sword over you. A threat on the one side and obligation on the other.”

  Diana sighed. “Precisely. I did not know what to do. I could not give the money back.”

  “You never saw him?” He watched her closely, but she gazed at him openly.

  “No, never. Everything arrived through the post.” Vincent nodded. He knew of no one who had ever laid eyes on Deimos—and lived.

  “So when did he make his demand?”

  “When we were at Eldritch Manor. I received two letters from him—both of them forwarded by Helen. He must have known I stayed with them, but he did not seem to know where we went when we left them. But he said he would find me—no matter where I went.” She tightened her arms around her knees and her face paled. “And he accused me of killing Wyn, too, so that I might…seduce you.” She ducked her forehead against her knees again. “Oh, he just twisted everything and made me sound like the most wicked, shameless schemer alive. He almost made me believe it. I knew his diabolical tongue could, in fact, have me hung.”

  “Little wonder you were terrified.” Vincent stifled the impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her. He could not let himself be swayed by emotion in making sense of this bizarre tale. “What did he want?”

  “Information about you. Details. Anything out of the ordinary. But I would not do it. At the time I was not sure of your motives, either, but I knew I could not betray you. You had taken such good care of us. So I did not respond.”

  Thank God for that. “And the second letter?”

  “He was very angry.” She looked up at Vincent again, her face drawn and her eyes hollow. “He gave me two weeks before he took his information—the whole parcel of lies—to the magistrate. That was the night I asked you to care for Selena and Bytham if anything happened to me.”

  “I see.” At least he hoped he did. Vincent stared at the ceiling for a heartbeat. He wanted to believe her so badly.

  “But I had no idea he was associated with St. Edmunds.”

  “He is not. St. Edmunds retrieved one of his notes to you from your fireplace. That is why he feared you—that you knew his plans and were selling them to Deimos.”

  “Dear God! What a tangle. I knew nothing about St. Edmunds or his friends or Bonaparte or…” She leaned back against the bedpost. “But who is Deimos?”

  “Deimos is a highly secretive assassin and purveyor of information.”

  “A spy?”

  “More aptly a criminal. His loyalties tend to shift toward the highest bidder. He is utterly vicious.” A cold knot of dread coiled in Vincent’s belly. The animal had been pursuing his Diana all this while and he hadn’t even known it. As farfetched as the story sounded, Vincent believed every word of it—in part because he knew the way the blackguard worked. But he knew now that was only a small part.

  He believed Diana because he knew her nature.

  He trusted her.

  Almost before he knew what he was doing, he lunged across the bed and seized her, crushing her to him. “Good God, Diana. He is a greater danger than St. Edmunds ever was, and he hates me. If I do not stop him, he would destroy you just to injure me.”

  She clutched h
im tightly, shivering. “In his last letter—just four days ago—he said he was coming for me. That I would wish he had sent the hangman instead.”

  “Very good.” Vincent spoke quite softly. “I shall have the opportunity to kill him.”

  She had clung to Vincent, unable to speak, while he rocked her in his arms until dusk settled outside the windows. Diana had not let herself realize how much Deimos’s last letter had terrified her. She had been required to function, to think of the children, to care for the injured. There was no time to be frightened.

  But as she spoke the words to Vincent, the horror had washed over her. Suddenly she was too afraid even to weep, to think, to hear or feel. But as he held her she at last began to feel his hands smoothing her back and hair, hear his murmured words of comfort. The fear began to recede.

  Finally she was able to sit up and look at him. “Is it all too much to believe, my lord?”

  He brushed her tousled hair away from her face. “Had I no understanding of the man—or of you—it might very well be. But this is just the sort of thing he would do—abuse and harass a woman in order to bend her to his will.”

  “I am starting to think that I have been very stupid. I knew I had not intentionally pushed poor Roger to his death. I would have gone to the authorities myself, except that he threatened to bear witness against me. I see now that he would probably never have done so. He wished to make use of me. But then…” She glanced at him apprehensively. “The money truly did put me in his pay, and I didn’t want you to know I had taken payment from a man.” She covered her face once more with her hands. “I feel so ashamed. Stupid and ashamed.”

  “As he intended. He makes use of the feelings that decent people have to manipulate them and pull them into his web.” Vincent’s warm fingers clasped hers. “The shame of the money accrues to Wyn, Diana. Had he taken proper care of you, you would have told him the whole immediately.”

  “Yes.” She stared into the distance thoughtfully. “Yes, I think I would. I felt so alone.”

  “Damn him.” A small muscle jumped in his jaw as his expression hardened. “But you are not alone any longer, and I believe that St. Edmunds is no longer a threat, although his confederates may be.”

  “What happened to him? Why did you let him go?”

  “I no longer had a reason to keep him.” He related the afternoon’s conversation with the lord.

  Diana listened intently. “Do you mean that his own people will kill him?”

  “Very likely. He spent too long talking with me, for one thing, but I think he believes his days are numbered. He can no longer be of use to them, and he knows too much.”

  Diana shuddered. “What awful people.”

  “Conspiracy is an awful game, Diana.” Vincent gazed into her face. “But it is part of who I, also, now am. I sent him to his death. I want you to think about that before you agree to become my wife.”

  Diana nodded silently. What a complex person she had fallen in love with. A spy. She would not ask him if he had killed. She did not want to hear the answer.

  Another question occurred to her. “How did you come to be my champion? I was afraid of St. Edmunds from the beginning. He was so determined to carry me away, I feared he would succeed.”

  Vincent glanced at her ruefully. She would not be happy with the answer to that question. He cleared his throat. “We, er, we cast dice for the privilege.”

  “What?” She jumped off the bed and glared at him, arms akimbo. “How…how…insulting!”

  “Now, Diana.” He reached for her, but she stepped away. “I could not allow him to take you.”

  “But what if he had won?” She folded her arms across her breasts.

  “I knew he would not. Neither of us could afford an honest game, so I insisted that we exchange dice. He gave me the opportunity by challenging my honesty. With Sudbury listening, he could not refuse. I expected his dice would deliver an eleven or twelve—a win in a game of hazard—but he surprised me. The ones he produced were loaded for six, a main.” He glanced at her puzzled face. “One must first roll a main to control the dice.”

  “Oh. But you still won.”

  He nodded, grinning. “My dice were loaded to lose.”

  “To lose? Why would you want to lose at dice?”

  “It is a convenient way to let money change hands with no one the wiser. I used them often with my informants.” He sobered. “But I never, even in my worst days, used loaded dice to win.”

  “So…in addition to the other indignities I have suffered, I am the prize in a dishonest dice game.” Her chin rose.

  She would not be mollified. He could see that. His only choice was direct action. In one lightning motion, Vincent seized her and flipped her onto her back on the bed. Before she could protest, he covered her mouth with his own. At first she resisted, her body tense under his, but at last he felt her soften. When they had to breathe, he lifted his head and looked down at her.

  “I would never have let him have you, Diana. Never.”

  What they would have done next, they never learned. They were interrupted by a peremptory knock on the door. Vincent opened it to find Durbin, his brushy eyebrows all but meeting across the bridge of his nose. “We have house guests, my lord.”

  “I am aware of that, Durbin.”

  The butler became very formal, addressing his next remark to the far end of the hall. “Cook cannot keep the food hot forever.”

  Vincent grinned. “I am duly chastised, Durbin. We shall be there directly.” Durbin bowed stiffly and departed. Vincent turned back to Diana. “I believe we are in disgrace.”

  “As we should be.” Diana hastily stood and went to the wardrobe. “Quickly. Help me with my buttons.”

  Vincent complied, but that did not prove to be a very efficient plan. Eventually they managed to concentrate on the task at hand sufficiently for Diana to change to a dinner gown. She then shooed Vincent out to change his own clothes while she restored her hair to its accustomed chignon.

  As tired as she was, Diana felt as though a hundred years and a thousand pounds had fallen from her. She had told him. Vincent knew the whole of her foolishness and duplicity, and he believed her. More than that, he still wanted her. That a fiend still stalked her paled to insignificance beside that fact.

  She reached the drawing room with her entourage of bodyguards shortly before Vincent. Sudbury and Delamare were drinking sherry together, patiently waiting. They both stood and Delamare hastened to provide her with a glass of wine. Diana had the uncomfortable impression that his sharp, black gaze cynically appraised the faint but telltale signs of her brief dalliance with Vincent—a red mark on the fair skin of her throat, her slightly swollen lips. In spite of herself, she blushed.

  Delamare smiled his sardonic smile, then sobered. “I have sent for my valet and my baggage. As long as I am not perfectly sure of your safety, I shall stay here to lend what aid I can. I could not bear to think of your being injured.”

  “Thank you, sir. I am much obliged to you.” Diana spoke the polite words without enthusiasm. She had rather not have to endure his flirting, but perhaps another man would be of help to Vincent.

  She managed to avoid him until after dinner when she could excuse herself, pleading fatigue. In fact, exhaustion had finally threatened to put her to sleep where she sat. Emma appeared to help her brush and braid her hair and don her nightrail. Diana hoped that Vincent would not be long in coming. He must be as tired as she was. She lay down on the bed to wait.

  Sometime later, knocking at the door waked her. She slid out of bed, and went to the door.

  “Vincent?” At the sound of his voice answering, she turned the key. He went straight to sit on the bed and commenced to remove his clothes. Diana followed. “Where have you been? It must be quite late.”

  He yawned and stretched. “It is. I have been talking to the ratcatcher and to Nurse.”

  “The ratcatcher… Is he truly…?”

  “Aye—one of my couriers. I ho
ped he would know who knifed him, but he says the blade came out of the dark.” He tossed his stockings aside. “I had set him to watch Delamare and his valet. I thought perhaps… But he says that he left them at the inn.”

  “Speaking of Mr. Delamare and his valet, he says they are moving here.” Diana helped tug the shirt over his head.

  “So I heard.” He laid it on a chair, grinning. “Perhaps he will generously share the valet with me. I left mine in London.”

  “I wondered. You have not sent for him?” Diana climbed into the bed while Vincent unbuttoned his britches.

  “No. He performs certain…tasks for me there.”

  She sighed. “More subterfuge.”

  “My life is rife with it.” He got into bed beside her. “But when I have settled the matter of Deimos, I will resign my post and put that behind me.” He pulled her close against his side. “But now I fear I have another dilemma.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “I have been talking to Nurse about the conversation she had with Delamare and me. I told you that I did not remember all the incidents she related.”

  “Yes. But that is not surprising. You were only six—Selena’s age.”

  He rose on one elbow and looked down at her. “I find I am coming to a very different understanding of my faithful nurse.”

  “How so?”

  “She made those stories up from whole cloth!”

  Diana had to laugh at the astonishment in his voice. “How devious!”

  “Just so.” He lay back and drew her to him again. “But she says that Delamare passed every test. I am beginning to be very much afraid that he is Henry. So now I must make a serious decision. If he is, do I acknowledge him, knowing that—as my father’s true heir—he may apply to the Crown to take my title, much of my fortune, my home? Or do I deny him and make that much more difficult?”

  “Can he do that?”

  “I do not know. Parliament would have to decide. But, Diana…” He looked down into her face. “What is the honorable thing?”

  “It all comes down to honor for you, doesn’t it?”