“I’m fighting for the happiness of the people I love most in this world, Beatrice. If that doesn’t call for a bit of ruthlessness I don’t know what does!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
In her chamber, Eloise was packing. She had no idea where Alain was or if he was even aware that Edmund had lived long enough to identify Christopher as his attacker. Regardless, their plan was now sunk. His recklessness had ruined everything. It would be impossible for them to continue their scheme. Christopher would be hanged publicly for the crime, ending any chance that Alain would be able to simply take his place.
“Damn his temper,” she whispered, tossing garments willy-nilly into a case.
If anyone dared stop her she would simply claim that her grief was too great to remain and she needed to return to the bosom of her family for comfort. It was a blatant fabrication, of course. But who could gainsay it?
Gathering up her bag, she opened the door and peered out into the corridor. Seeing no one, she stepped out and closed the door quickly behind her. She’d taken no more than two steps when someone emerged from a room across the hall.
“Embarking on a journey, Mrs. Blakemore?”
Eloise gasped, dropped her bag, and her hand flew to her heart. “Dr. Warner! You frightened me near to death!” she exclaimed.
“Surely not to such a degree, Mrs. Blakemore! I anticipate that you are made of infinitely sterner stuff than that,” he replied cagily.
Eloise considered his tone and his words carefully. It was quite obvious that he was suspicious of her. “If you’ve something you wish to say, Dr. Warner, then I suggest you get on with it.”
“I cannot say precisely what role you’ve played in this fiendish plot, Mrs. Blakemore, but I’m not so foolish as to believe you innocent. You are not leaving this house.”
“And will you stop me?” she challenged, her words snapping with temper. “You are barely above a tradesman and I am a gentleman’s wife!”
“In point of fact, Madam, you are a gentleman’s widow… and a widow of your own making,” he chided in a deceptively mild tone. “I’ve no wish to detain you physically or to assault your person in such a manner, but I shall if need be. Return to your rooms, Mrs. Blakemore, and await Lord Blakemore. What is to be done with you is entirely at his discretion now.”
For a moment, she considered attempting to get past him, to make a run for it. But she had to acknowledge that she would likely not succeed. Her only hope lay in Alain’s return and even that she could not be certain of.
“You seem quite impressed with your own cleverness, Dr. Warner. I find myself rather fatigued. I will retire and undertake my journey to visit my family on another day… surely you can understand why a woman would wish to be in the bosom of her family after such an ordeal?”
“Of a certain, Mrs. Blakemore. Rest well,” Dr. Warner said softly, but he made no move to leave. In fact, he leaned nonchalantly against the opposite wall as if he meant to remain there guarding her door throughout the night.
Retreating into her chamber, Eloise leaned back against the door and let her head fall back. It was all crashing down about them and they would likely both swing for it.
Eloise began to pace the room, from side to side and back to front. She paced until her feet ached in her sturdy kid boots and a fine sheen of perspiration glistened on her brow. But it wasn’t the exertion that prompted it. It was the cold sweat of fear that dampened her flesh. Prison was not for her and neither was the hangman’s noose.
Her pacing stopped abruptly as she stood in the center of the room and considered what was, in fact, her very last option. Her only chance of being spared came from making her useful. If she offered information in trade, perhaps Lord Blakemore would be merciful.
In truth, she reasoned, she had yet to do anything wrong other than to be aware of Alain’s doings and keeping silent. She had reason enough to fear him, did she not? Surely no one would fault her for such.
Opening the door again, she met Dr. Warner’s speculative gaze. “If you’d be so kind, Dr. Warner, to escort me to the library where I may await his lordship. I find that there is pertinent information that I may need to share with him.”
In a priest hole tucked into the wall next to the fireplace, Alain La Chance listened to the exchange between his lover and the good doctor. The greedy bitch was hanging him out to dry, he thought.
“I will not burn for this alone, Eloise… if at all.” He needed leverage and Miss Marlowe would suffice.
Turning on his heel, he backtracked through the tunnels and corridors to a position just outside Lady Agatha’s chamber. He’d have to wait there for the right moment, but she was his one chance for making a clean escape from Castle Black.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Graham was in the library, having sent off the missive to Christopher. He’d no doubt be home within the hour demanding to know who the hell Graham thought he was to issue such edicts.
The door opened and Warner entered, Eloise on his arm.
“Confession is good for the soul, but as hers will no doubt be carefully edited, I cannot say how good,” the doctor stated.
Eloise jerked her arm free of his. “You may keep your smug comments to yourself, sir!”
“Enough!” Graham barked. “I’m in no mood to tolerate this foolishness at present. The issues in this house need to be resolved posthaste. For once in your miserable life, Eloise, tell the truth. Who is he and how did he come to be here?”
“His name is Alain La Chance and he is Christopher’s half-brother, but I’m sure you already knew that,” she said. “I only ever married Edmund because of him. He needed entry into this house and, at the time, Christopher was too young to wed.”
“And how did he compel you to assist him?” Warner asked, “Because I have little doubt this story will be told to paint you as the victim.”
She glared at Warner even as her next statement proved him right. “He’s a very violent man, my lord. Threats were made and he was certain that I was made aware of how legitimate they were. He did horrible, unspeakable things.”
“And yet, you are his lover and his accomplice. Why did you not confess to Edmund and let him assist you? Why did you not confess to any one of the strapping footmen you have apparently been taking to your bed?” The question had come from the doorway, where Christopher stood, drenched from the rain and clearly more than a little drunk. “I’ll tell you why! Because you’re a heartless and evil bitch. You’ve never cared for anyone in your life. You let him kill Edmund. You probably encouraged him to do it!”
“I did know,” she said softly, “that it was his ultimate plan. I had no idea he meant to do so now! I am as much his victim as anyone else!”
“Tell that to your husband… via a medium, of course,” Warner added.
“How did you meet him?” Graham demanded, hoping to get the conversation back on track.
“In London. He’d learned of his half-brother’s existence when his father attempted to blackmail Lady Agatha. They argued, and I believe that he murdered his father in a rage… He considered taking up the blackmail scheme himself, but he meant to come after Christopher with it rather than Lady Agatha as he believed that Christopher, as the heir, would have access to larger sums of money.”
“And then he discovered their likeness,” Graham surmised. “And where do you fit into all of this?”
“He demanded that I seduce Christopher, to get information from him that would help him in being able to take Christopher’s place… but it was soon apparent that Christopher knew little enough to help us.”
“And so you moved on to Edmund,” Christopher summed up. “You left me, made a laughingstock of me and married my cousin to get your hands on money that we don’t even have because he’s been sending it all to Sir Godfrey!”
“I didn’t have a choice!” she protested. “He would have killed me otherwise. He may still. There is a madness in him that you cannot begin to understand!”
�
�What I understand is that you have wittingly assisted him in coming and going from this house, that you fully intended to stay by his side after Christopher became Lord Blakemore and then to eliminate Christopher and take his place,” Graham said. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “And if you believe nothing else I have said, believe that. He moves freely in this house because he has learned every inch of the tunnels and passageways. There is nowhere he cannot reach. He could be listening to us even now.”
“How long have you known about his existence, Christopher?” Graham asked.
The boy shrugged. “I suspected something when I was sent down from school. There were witnesses who swore I had attacked a schoolmate, beaten him to a bloody pulp and walked away. But I had been with Eloise at the time… much to my shame, I continued my relationship with her even after she left me for Edmund. But I had no proof and I didn’t know of her involvement with him. I thought her only guilty of being mercenary. I didn’t know she was a murderess, as well.”
“It goes against everything I believe is right… but this man is too dangerous to let live. If you help us capture him, Eloise, I will see to it that you are returned to your family and will face no consequences for your actions in these matters,” Graham offered. “But you will not see a penny from the estate.”
She didn’t argue. Whatever her many faults, Eloise was not stupid. It galled him to let her get away with it when he was fairly certain she was the mastermind of the entire scheme. But the scandal would be horrific otherwise.
“What is his next move?”
“He’ll look for someone to use as leverage. Either Lady Agatha or Beatrice,” she offered. “He’ll offer their safety in exchange for his freedom. But you shouldn’t believe it. He’ll kill them as soon as they’ve ceased to be useful to him.”
Those words settled over him like a cold, leaden weight. “Do not let her leave this room,” he said to Christopher. “Whatever it takes!”
Graham rose from the desk and headed toward Lady Agatha’s room, taking the stairs two at a time with Warner at his heels. They’d wasted precious time questioning Eloise. It would have been better to simply let her go and guard both Beatrice and Lady Agatha, but it was too late for second guesses. He could only hope he wasn’t too late to save them.
*
Lady Agatha had returned to her bed, exhausted from the news of Edmund’s death and the suspicious about Eloise and Christopher. It was all too much for her in her weakened state.
Gathering up the cards, the Two of Cups slipped from her hand and fell to the carpet. Beatrice stooped to pick it up and glared at the offending lovers who faced her, hand in hand.
“Don’t be so smug,” she said to the card. “He hasn’t asked and, in all likelihood, he will not.”
Placing the cards back into the drawer of the desk where she’d gotten them earlier, Beatrice turned to go back into the small sitting room. A sharp sound, the scrape of metal, stopped her in her tracks.
Crenshaw, who had been carefully mending the lace on Lady Agatha’s favorite wrapper, sat up in her chair. “What was that?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Beatrice said, “But it came from just beyond the door. Go in with Lady Agatha and lock that door behind you. Be quick!”
The maid looked ready to argue, but as the door handle began to rattle, she thought better of it. Her sewing forgotten, she darted toward her mistress’ bedchamber, slamming and bolting the door behind her. No sooner had the loud crack of that door closing reverberated through the room, than the door to the sitting room swung inward.
He did not look so much like Christopher. The similarities were there, of course, but in full view and bright light, it was apparent that he was older, taller, a bit leaner of feature. The coloring and build were nearly identical and, in time, she imagined that those similarities would be more marked. But that had been part of the plan, had it not? Christopher was sent down from school so that London society would have just enough time to forget his face.
“Miss Marlowe,” he said, the faintest of French accents coloring his words. “We meet at last.”
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir.”
He laughed. “I do have you at a disadvantage. I mean to keep it that way… you are my way out, Miss Marlowe. I do not relish the idea of causing you pain. If you cooperate, I will spare you as little of it as possible.”
It was very obvious that was a lie. From the gleam in his eyes to the cruel twist of his mouth, it appeared that inflicting pain was something he reveled in. “What does cooperation entail, sir?” she asked. It was simply a stalling tactic. Graham would come. She believed that with her whole heart.
He raised his hand, revealing a pistol. “I am going to walk out the front door of Castle Black and you will walk out with me… if Lord Blakemore is wise and if he values your pretty head still sitting upon your shoulders, he will allow me to do so. If not—well, a pistol ball in your brain will certainly curb his more amorous tendencies toward you, would it not?”
The silver-handled letter opener gleamed on the desk. It was just beyond her reach. Could she get to it before he could get to her? She didn’t fear him shooting her. He’d as much as admitted that he needed her in order to get away. Shooting her would only complicate that task for him. Regardless, she would not simply give in to him without a fight. Without giving herself time to second guess or consider the consequences, Beatrice dove for the makeshift weapon.
He cursed and sprinted toward her. His hand tangled in the loose chignon of her hair just as her fingertips grasped the elaborately carved handle of the letter opener. With little thought to aim, she drove it backward, the sharp end embedding itself into the flesh of his thigh.
The shriek of rage was nearly deafening as it roared from him. But it was the exploding pain in her head as he tossed her against the desk that made her ears ring. Her vision swam alarmingly and she struggled to remain conscious.
“You’ll pay for that,” he hissed as he loomed over her. His hand wrapped in her hair, once more, hauling her up by it. Beatrice struggled against his hold, clawing at his arm and kicking at his legs as he dragged her toward the chamber door. She grasped the frame in a futile attempt to stay him. If he managed to remove her from Castle Black, he would kill her, regardless of whatever empty promises he offered. That much she was sure of.
His hand came down atop hers and he pried her fingers from the ornately carved door frame, her nails breaking in the process. The momentum sent them both tumbling to the floor again.
Beatrice screamed as she attempted to scramble away from him, but one hand snagged around her ankle, pulling her unceremoniously toward the door. They’d no more than breeched the threshold when she heard Graham’s voice over the din they were creating.
Her relief was short lived. The heavy weight of the pistol in his hand pressed against her temple and his arm closed around her throat, squeezing so tightly she could scarcely breathe. In fact, her vision began to dim.
*
Graham shouted in protest as he watched the bastard grab Beatrice. He could see her struggling to breathe. “Do not touch her again,” he warned.
“Or what?” Alain asked. “I will shoot her where she stands if you take another step.”
Graham halted, Warner at his side. “Leave. If you leave her be, you may simply walk away from here a free man,” he offered.
“And leave as poor as I entered?” Alain laughed bitterly. “I think not, Lord Blakemore. Miss Marlowe, now that she’s been effectively tamed, will be coming with me. I imagine you’ll pay handsomely enough to have her returned!”
Graham had never felt so helpless and so angry in his life. Standing there, only yards from her, and it might as well have been miles. He could not allow Alain to take her from the house. He was not so foolish as to believe that he would ever see her again if that happened.
Graham took a step forward. “You have one shot. Shoot her and I will kill you. Sh
oot me and Warner will see you dead before my body hits the ground.”
Alain removed the pistol from Beatrice’s temple and aimed it directly at Graham. It was the only opportunity he would get. Rather than charge directly at him, Graham dove low and tackled him just below his knees, taking all three of them to the floor. He grasped Alain’s coat, pulling him away so that Warner could get Beatrice to safety.
They traded blows and kicks. Evenly matched physically, the battle for supremacy continued for what seemed an eternity. As they struggled, both of them vying for control of the gun, Graham’s hand encountered the discarded letter opener. Driving the instrument deep into the other man’s ribs, Alain howled in pain. Rather than weakening him, it enraged him and seemed to give him strength.
They rolled again, until they were pinned against the wall. Graham’s head banged sharply against the corner. The sound of gunfire was deafening in the small space. Graham waited for the explosion of pain, but it never came. Alain rose to his feet and backed away. Graham looked down at his bloodstained clothing in confusion.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Beatrice screamed as the villain rose and backed away from Graham’s bloodied body. Her eyes were drawn to the dark red stain that had spread over the front of his waistcoat. Higher thought was impossible. Panic in its most pure and unadulterated form flooded her body. Her heart raced, blood rushed in her veins and her lungs felt as if they simply would not expand and no air could enter. She couldn’t lose him, she realized. It would destroy her. In a short time, he’d become everything to her and the very idea of living in a world without him was an anathema to her.
Jerking away from Warner, Beatrice ran to where Graham had fallen. Her tears flowed unchecked.
“Graham!” she cried breathlessly as she dropped to her knees in front of him.
“I’m fine, Beatrice.” His voice was strained and breathless.
“You will be,” she said as she turned back to the doctor. “Don’t just stand there! Come help him!”
The Lost Lord of Black Castle (The Lost Lords Book 1) Page 23