"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 Delande sighed tiredly. "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 Percy Rathbourne."
"Percy?" Lucien looked startled, his face taking on an alert expression. "So you think she must have left the ball with my cousin Percy?"
Lady Delande 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 Delande told Lucien worriedly.
Lucien rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a grim look settling on his 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 Delande 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 Delande and anger at Blanche and Percy warring within him. "I'll see what I can do, Lady Delande, 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 Rathbourne, 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 tired 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 Rathbourne, 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 moulding 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 Rathbourne. "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 thoughtfully, "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 coldly.
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 Rathbourne from her own salon as though ridding herself of an irritating gnat
Lady Rathbourne 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 mockingly, staring up at Lucien with a smug 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?" she spat.
"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
Percy swallowed and shifted uneasily before Lucien's hard stare, looking to Kate for help.
"And how will you prove these allegations, Lucien?" Kate asked idly, not even bothering to deny his claims. "Has anyone ever seen Percy and I lift a finger threateningly against you? You have merely had a few more accidents than most people experience, certainly not reason to suspect your dear, loving cousins of plotting your murder? It is ridiculous, and no one, Lucien, will believe you," she taunted him. "People will feel sorry for the poor Duke, who lost not only his fiancée, but also his estate. Apparently Blanche Delande preferred running away with her lover rather than marry you," Kate speculated, then stared at Lucien analytically. "Possibly it was the scar that sent the little dove flying?"
Lucien smiled unpleasantly. "And is she still flying high, Percy? Or was she brought down by some hidden hunter, just waiting to flush her out and bring her to earth?"
Percy flushed, perspiration breaking out on his forehead as he rubbed his hands against the cloth of his suit as though wiping them clean. "I don't know what you are implying, Lucien, but I resent it. No one can connect me with your missing fiancée. Kate and I were together the whole evening of the Harriers' ball, and we left together," Percy blundered as he sought to clear himself.
Lucien walked over to him, his face a grim mask of hatred. "I never told you when Blanche disappeared, Percy. Odd that you should know that she never returned home from the ball. Did she die easily, Percy?" Lucien asked softly as he reached
out and grabbed Percy by the throat, pressing against his windpipe and cutting off his air. Percy's eyes bulged with horror and Kate screamed, running up beside Lucien and trying to pry his fingers from her twin's throat.
Lucien released his death grip reluctantly, staring down in contempt as Percy fell to his knees clutching his throat "You bastard, I ought to skin you alive, and hang you, Kate, by that lily-white neck of yours. You haven't won yet, dear cousins, for you shall never set foot in the halls of Camareigh. I swear by all that is holy that you shall pay for your sins, and by God, I'll exact punishment for them one of these days."
Kate looked up into Lucien's scarred face, flinching at the blazing fury in his eyes, his face looking like a devil's as he turned from them in disgust.
"You won't win, Lucien!" Kate screamed at his broad back as he made for the door. "You haven't time to find another bride before the Duchess's deadline. And do you imagine any woman would want to risk marrying you?" she called out desperately.
Lucien turned at her words. "Yes, dear cousin," Kate raged on, "you might be suspected of murdering your fiancée in a fit of jealous rage. Everyone knows you've an uncontrollable temper when aroused. Blanche had decided not to marry you, perhaps, or maybe she left the ball with her lover and you caught them, and in a black rage murdered them both. Who knows what rumors might spread about your missing fiancée? And if you dare to tell the Duchess about your suspicions then you will kill her. She's old and frail, and so very proud. You tell her, Lucien, and you sign her death warrant."
Lucien turned, feeling sickened at the sight of Percy and Kate. He felt dirtied and disgraced by them. His body felt as though turned to stone as he sat in his carriage, which jostled to join the mainstream of traffic. What in God's name was he to do? He would not lose Camareigh—he would see Percy and Kate dead before he allowed them to own Camareigh. But Kate had been right about one thing—if he told the Duchess about their murderous actions it would kill her. She was a proud old woman to whom the family name meant everything. To know that her grandchildren were murderers, and had plotted to kill their cousin, would surely kill her. No, he could not, and would not, tell her. Kate had played a beautiful hand, he had to admit, and only he knew it. But he would not give up—never!
The Duchess was resting when he arrived at her home seeking an audience with her. Refusing to be put off by the majordomo he vaulted up the grand staircase and forced his way into his grandmother's room. He stopped as he entered the darkened room and accustomed his eyes to the diminished light.
"Who is there?" a shaky voice asked from the depths of a large, canopied bed.
Lucien followed the sound of her voice until he was standing beside her bed. "It is I, Lucien, Grandmere," he spoke softly.
"Lucien?" she asked in puzzlement as she propped herself up on the mound of pillows behind her. "How dare you storm into my bedchamber when I do not wish to be disturbed," she demanded, her voice gaining strength as she woke from her sleep.
"I beg your pardon, most deeply, but I have to tell you something of the utmost urgency, Grandmere," Lucien ex-plained, looking down at her in the shadowy darkness of her bed.
The Duchess snorted. "Nothing is that urgent; however,
as long as you have already disturbed me, I shall allow
you to remain," she conceded. "Now light that candle so I
may see your face," she commanded. »,
When the light spread across a small area around her bed and lit Lucien's face she sighed deeply. "You are troubled. Never before have I seen quite that look of desperation on your face. What has happened?" She straightened her shoulders, her regal air seeming incongruous beneath her frilly lace cap and nightgown.
"I am afraid that my scarred face has frightened away my fiancée once and for all. She has fled me, Grandmere, and I am faced with a wedding ceremony without a bride."
The Dowager Duchess drew in her breath sharply. "I do not believe it! How do you know this?"
"She has been missing since early this week, and today Lady Delande came to me and told me. She had not wanted me to know sooner, should Blanche have returned."
"I do not believe the foolish child would run away from your title merely because she did not like your face. Did she have a lover?"
"It is thought that she might have," Lucien replied evenly.
"If you had paid the chit more attention then she would not have needed to seek romance elsewhere," the Duchess accused Lucien angrily.
"If you recall, she was not of my choosing to begin with. However, that is not important now, since it may be possible that she has met with an accident."
"What leads you to suspect that?" the Duchess demanded curiously.
"Lady Delande tells me that her daughter's possessions have not been disturbed—nothing is missing. I doubt whether she would elope without a change of clothing. She did leave the ball early, complaining of a migraine and hired a coach to drive her home. She may have met with an accident," Lucien speculated, "but we may never know. That is why I have come to you. Will you hold me to your condition of my marrying to inherit my estate? It is impossible for me to meet the deadline now."
The Duchess was silent. "You forced this upon yourself, Lucien. You need not have waited so long in coming to my terms. It was pure defiance by you, and now you are faced with the unforeseeable results. No, you must still marry to inherit," the Duchess spoke adamantly. "However, I will grant you an extra couple of weeks in order to find yourself another bride. Fail this time and you lose Camareigh, my boy."
Lucien stepped back from the bed and bowed politely. "Thank you, Grandmere, my apologies again for disturbing you," he said sardonically, resentful and thankful to her at the same time.
"Don't disappoint me, Lucien." She spoke softly from the bed as he neared the door.
"I won't, Grandmere," Lucien promised as he opened the door and left.
When Lucien left the Duchess he directed his coachman to drive towards Hyde Park, his destination a house in a small square off it. He settled himself back against the cushions, a plan forming in his mind as he remembered his weekend at the Duke of Granston's. He had been seeking only revenge at that time, little knowing that it would become part of a larger scheme, and what he had put into effect then would now reap him far greater rewards. He smiled to himself at the thought, relishing, the moment when he would confront Sabrina with the coup de grace.
Sabrina fell to her knees under the cruel punishment of the whip, her shoulders and back stinging from the blows the Marquis rained on them. She heard Mary scream in protest as she felt the first flick of the whip, but failed to see Mary run forward and try to wrestle the whip from the Marquis' hands, only to be pushed away viciously and fall against the bed, her head striking one of the thick posts. Mary fought off the feeling of nausea and faintness that momentarily over-whelmed her and struggled to rise. 'She had to get help. Sabrina was curled in a ball on the floor, her face hidden in her arms as she tried to protect herself from the whip.
She groaned in pain as time and time again the sharp pain tore across her soft shoulders, ripping the thin material of her bodice and scoring the tender skin with angry welts.
Mary slid past the Marquis, who was completely oblivious of anything except the pleasure he was receiving in beating the arrogance and defiance out of his daughter. Mary's red hair tumbled about her shoulders as she ran from the room and down the hall to the head of the staircase, a bluish bruise beginning to rise on her forehead, her gray eyes wide with fear and desperation. As she stumbled weakly down the stairs the front door was opened by the majordomo and the Duke of Camareigh entered, looking up curiously as he heard her gasp of relief.
"Oh, thank God, you have come," she cried, taking him completely by surprise. He quickly took in her distraught appearance and reached her as she collapsed down the last few steps, falling into his arms. The majordomo called for help, sending one of the footmen for smelling salts as he hovered over Lucien's shoulder.
"Please," Mary whispered, her hands clutching at the Duke's arm, "you must stop him. He'll kill her if you don't."
"Kill whom?" Lucien demanded incredulously, staring down at her as if he thought her crazed.
"Sabrina! The Marquis is beating her, and it is all your fault!" she raged at him, tears streaking her cheeks.
Lucien eased her into the majordomo's arms and sprinted up the stairs, heading toward the sound of a whip slashing through the air, his mouth set in a grim, determined line as he found the room. He grabbed the Marquis' raised arm and twisted it painfully behind his back, forcing the Marquis to drop the whip as he gave a grunt of surprise at the attack.
"What the devil?" he cried out and turned to see who dared to interfere, his face contorted with rage until he stared up into Lucien's eyes and the scar whitening along his cheek. He felt a flicker of fear as Lucien's grip tightened painfully, then cried out and Lucien pushed him away in disgust.
"Get out! And if you ever lay another hand on her I'll take that whip and strip your coward's hide from you," he warned the astounded Marquis, and turning his back on him knelt down beside the fallen figure crumpled on the floor.
Lucien carefully lifted her up into his arms and placed her gently on the bed, laying her on her stomach to avoid the raw strips of flesh exposed through the torn gown that was stained with drops of blood. His face was taut as he smoothed a deep wave of black hair out of her face and stared down at her pale face, lines of suffering still on it. He waited while her eyelids fluttered and gradually opened and she stared up at him with her great violet eyes.
"I hate you, Lucien," she whispered. "Have you come to gloat over your victory?"
Lucien's mouth tightened at her words, for that was what he had come to do, and instead he had found her nearly unconscious with pain because of him. "I'm not gloating, Sabrina. I would never have you harmed like this," he told her truthfully.
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