"I have your dress here, cleaned and pressed, Your Grace, but I fear it doesn't look much better for it. If -- if Your Grace -- " The maid's voice became low and nervous as she set down her burdens and poured warm water into the basin. "That is, we are of a size, Your Grace, and I -- I have brought my best Sunday frock which you may borrow, if Your Grace would condescend."
Lucia flushed with shame, her eyes avoiding Anne's, full of sympathy and commiseration. Goose bumps prickled her bare skin as she climbed out from under the warm covers to stand by the basin. "Thank you," she said as the maid began to bathe her. "I would be most grateful."
During breakfast, Robin outlined his objectives for the day. "This morning, Georges, you will take Lucia to Lynkellyn House, the servants following in the baggage coach. Stay at the house until I arrive. Look the place over and see what has to be done. I need to see Gleason about some business and make certain arrangements with my bankers. Then I shall stop at Lynkellyn House, collect the two of you, and return here for a noon meal. After we have eaten, ma chérie, you and I shall go shopping for a new wardrobe for you. A trousseau, as it were." He smiled at her, his gaze lingering on her lips still pink from his kisses. "I fear you will have to find your own amusement this afternoon, Georges," he said, his eyes still on Lucia. "I have no further plans for you."
"I am excessively relieved to hear it, mon ami. I had begun to think the ordering of my life was one of your greatest pleasures."
When Georges and Lucia arrived at Lynkellyn House an hour later, they were shocked at the mansion's state of decay. Sunlight streamed in through the open front door as they entered, illuminating dust devils and thick cobwebs in the foyer. Beyond the sunshine, the rest of the house was cloaked in blackness, its windows barricaded with heavy, faded velvet draperies. A stench of mildew and rot hung over all.
Lucia turned to Georges, her brows furrowing in distaste. "I hope we do not see too many insects. I can't abide vermin, especially spiders! When I was child, my family and I often slept in alleys when we could not afford lodging. I used to wake up during the night and feel all those creepy creatures crawling on me." With a shudder, she looked warily around the dark entry hall. "Perhaps the carriage lantern would help," she said.
De Valiére nodded and sent the footman who accompanied them out to get a lantern. When the servant brought the light, Georges lit it with a flint he carried in his greatcoat pocket. He and the footman followed Lucia, illuminating her path as she moved from room to room throwing back the filthy curtains to let in the sunlight.
Dusty holland covers swathed the ancient furniture. Filth and grime coated paintings and tapestries. Cobwebs nestled in corners and festooned the doorways. Dust devils whirled and danced across the floor, spurred by the unaccustomed breeze that rushed through the open door. Lucia shook her head sadly as she surveyed several Amberley treasures that she feared had been ruined by neglect and vermin.
The latter could be found in abundance. Insects and rats crawled or scurried into their secret places as Lucia and the marquis defiled their sanctuary with light. Suddenly Lucia screamed, flinging herself frantically into Georges's arms and almost causing him to drop his lantern. "I saw one!" she jabbered, her eyes wide with panic. "It was big and black and -- kill it! Oh, kill it!"
"Calm down, Your Grace!" Georges said. "It's only a little spider! It cannot hurt you!"
The ferocious insect chose that moment to crawl across the floor toward her. She almost knocked Georges over trying to hide behind him. "I know it's a spider! It's attacking me! Kill it! Please! Please! Kill it!"
With a sigh, de Valiére stepped forward and crushed the spider with his foot. "voilâ! At your command, it has been executed, Your Grace."
She peered around fearfully. "I -- I daresay there may be more of them!"
"Probablement!"
Lucia shuddered again. "I cannot stay here, then. Mice, even rats, I can accept, but insects -- spiders. No! I must leave!"
"Perhaps if I lead the way and murder the little fiends for you, you will find the courage to continue," Georges suggested. "Robin did ask us to tour the house. He will be angry if we let mere insects chase us away." Lucia met Georges's eyes above the lantern. The one thing she feared more than household pests was the duke's fury. She swallowed hard and nodded.
Following Georges, Lucia explored the kitchens, still room, and storage rooms, the public rooms and bedchambers, the nursery, the grand ballroom, and finally the servants' quarters and the garrets above them. De Valiére lost track of the number of insects he trampled in response to her gasps and shrieks, but he was convinced that he had killed every creepy, crawly creature in the place. When they had seen the entire house, Georges and the footman escorted Lucia out into a small stableyard. While he dismissed the servant, she sat down on the steps, looking defeated. De Valiére joined her. "Is something worrying you, ma cousine?"
She looked surprised at his manner of address.
"My father and your mother, my Tante Elise, were brother and sister. We are first cousins."
"If that is true, you are, indeed, kind to befriend me, considering the contempt with which the rest of the de Mondecharles family regards me." She stared, unseeing, at the traffic passing in the street.
Georges stared at the ground. "It is not the entire family, but only Monsieur le Duc, your grand-père, who is against you. He is in very fragile health and no one, including me, has the courage to risk his life by defying him openly, but I will stand your friend and help you when I can, ma petite. For instance, if you feel that you do not wish to remain with Robin any longer, I shall find a place for you to live on one of my estates. It might be nothing more exalted than a cottage, but -- "
She rose eagerly. "You don't believe he would search for me?"
"He might, perhaps, but I doubt he could find you hidden away in the French countryside."
For a brief moment, hope shone in her eyes, then abruptly vanished. "We would never get out of London. These servants -- " she gestured at the grooms who had already begun to muck out the long-neglected stables, "are not here merely for our comfort and safety, my lord. They are His Grace's spies and my gaolers. Haven't you noticed how they are always with us? Unobtrusive, but always there. Look! We are being watched even now."
Georges followed the direction of her gaze and saw one of the coachmen, apparently lounging at his ease against a stable wall, his eyes resting intently upon them. "Perhaps later, when Robin has lowered his guard a little, we may find an opportunity."
"Perhaps," she said with no conviction. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I'd best set my maids to work. It will take a century to clean this house properly."
As several women filed through the door a few minutes later, Georges smiled to hear the duchess say, "Mind the insects! They're everywhere!" He strolled over to the stables to supervise the grooms, resolutely ignoring the scream that issued from the mansion a moment later, scream that ended with a loud stomp.
***
When Robin visited Mr. Gleason, the solicitor happily informed him that his legacy with accumulated interest had been deposited at his bank along with the financial records pertaining to his grandfather's personal properties and the ducal estates. The solicitor gave Amberley the deeds to his new holdings and Robin tossed a sheaf of papers onto the solicitor's desk. "I want all these deeds transferred to my legal name. Everything is to be above board."
Taking the documents, Gleason looked through them, not divulging by the flicker of an eyelid his astonishment at the amount of far-flung property Lynkellyn had accrued during his exile. France, Italy, Spain, Denmark, Holland, the West Indies -- he had apparently claimed them all as home at one time or another. Finding the papers in order, Gleason said, "Very well, Your Grace. It shall be done."
Both gentlemen rose. "One last thing, Your Grace!" Gleason said. "I took the liberty of informing Lady Blayne of your presence in London. After all, it was at her expense that my firm set out to locate you."
"No doubt she w
as thrilled to hear of my return." Robin's voice was thick with irony.
"Yes, she was! She sincerely considers herself your friend, Your Grace."
Robin adjusted his lace-trimmed tricorne in a mirror Mr. Gleason kept on his door. "Then I shall grant her the greatest favor a man in my position can bestow. I shall stay as far away from her as possible." Collecting his cane and gloves, he bid Gleason good day.
At the bank his family had patronized for generations, the banker, Mr. Parks, informed him that his grandfather's fortune was at his disposal. "très bien," Amberley said, "and what is the total amount of mortgage debt on all the ducal estates?"
Mr. Parks looked up in surprise. "If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I shall find out." Bowing, he left.
He bustled back into the room several minutes later, a portfolio beneath his arm. With a respectful nod to Lynkellyn, he sat down at his desk, opened the file, and sorted through the papers, emitting little hums of enlightenment and noting figures on a chalkboard as Robin waited in impatient silence.
At last, Mr. Parks looked up. "The sum of the mortgage debt, including interest to date, is eighty-three thousand, five hundred sixty-two pounds, four shillings and sixpense, Your Grace."
Without so much as a blink, Robin said, "I should like to pay off this debt out of the funds now at my disposal."
Mr. Parks sat very still for a minute. "The-the wh-whole amount, Your Grace?"
Robin nodded. "Oui! The whole amount! I want to hold that property free and clear."
An hour and a half later, Robin left the bank, his heart lighter, his step jauntier than it had been in years. Lynkellyn Castle, his beloved home, was free of debt. He yearned for the Season to end so that he could take Lucia home to the Border. In his mind's eye, he saw the future; his children romping merrily through the garden he had loved as a boy; Lucia strolling on his arm, her love for him shining in her eyes as she laughed. He blinked. Where the devil had such a maudlin daydream come from?
"I say, sir! Kindly watch where you're going!" said an indignant voice.
Near collision with a stranger jolted Robin back to the present. "Pardonnez moi, monsieur!" he said automatically, then his eyes focused on his victim. "Jeremy! Jeremy Boniface! Tiens! Is it really you? It has been much too long, mon ami!" He held out his hand eagerly.
Looking into Robin's face, the gentleman suddenly recognized him and stepped back, nodding curtly. "Sir!"
Robin stiffened. His hand fell and the joy drained from his face. "Pardon my error, sir. I mistook you for an old friend. Good day to you, sir." Bowing, he walked, stone-faced, past Mr. Boniface, determined not to open himself up to such humiliation again.
***
Half an hour after his grace had left Mr. Gleason's office, Giles Bridland, Lord Mountheathe minced through the door, flourishing a lace handkerchief. His lordship was a palely handsome man, made paler and more fashionable still by a heavy coat of white paint upon his face. He was of average height with pleasing proportions and large, fawn-like brown eyes that could seduce a lady without a spoken word. He had blackened his lashes and plucked his eyebrows, painting them back in thin and dark. His nose was aristocratically aquiline, his lips full and sensuous. His face boasted two patches; a moon by the left corner of his mouth and a diamond on the rise of his cheekbone just beneath his right eye. "I have come to claim my legacy," he lisped with a syrupy smile.
Surprised, Gleason leaped to his feet. "My lord! Weren't you informed? Your cousin has been found and he has fulfilled the demands of the will. The legacy is his!"
"You gave him my money!" Mountheathe shouted, dropping all pretence of the beau.
Gleason paled. "My lord, I was legally bound to do so! He met the stipulations of the late duke's will and..."
"Married and all?" Giles sidled into a chair, still glaring at the solicitor.
"Yes, my lord! To Miss Lucia Cothcourt." Gleason sank into his own chair, relieved to see Giles calmer. "At fifteen minutes before midnight on the twenty-eighth of March by special license at Brackenwell Hall, Essex. Reverend Alfred Stanfield officiated."
"Fifteen minutes before midnight! An odd hour for a wedding!" Giles said.
"His Grace's time was running out, obviously."
"Obviously! I've a mind to visit my dear cousin and meet his precious bride. I suppose they are here in London?"
"His Grace is planning to open Lynkellyn House."
"I crave the privilege of being the first to welcome Their Graces to Town." Giles said, sneering. He bid Gleason good day and departed, resolving to discover what some of his more gossipy friends might know of the Duke of Lynkellyn's marriage before confronting his cousin.
An hour later, armed with several on dits about Amberley's wedding, Giles strode purposefully to the front door of Lynkellyn House. He started to pull the bell, but then noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, he slipped quietly into the house.
He wandered from room to room, finding them all empty, but with evidence of recent occupation. At last, he located someone, a maid by the look of her, in one of the drawing rooms. She was busily sweeping up a pile of dust and debris. A smudge of dirt caressed her cheek and her cap and apron were grey with filth.
As Giles admired her full breasts, tiny waist, and the inviting slope of her hips, she turned slightly, allowing him a glimpse of large, cerulean eyes and rosy pink lips. 'Well! Well!' he thought with a smirk, 'my cousin has acquired a fine eye for servants!' He crossed the room to stand behind her.
Suddenly aware that she was not alone, Lucia whirled to find a stranger confronting her. "Who are you? How did you get into the house?"
"Why, through the front door, certainly! It was open. No one was about so I let myself in. I've come to see the Duke of Lynkellyn."
"He is not at home," she answered guardedly, wondering where her husband's spies were when she needed them.
"I shall see the duchess, then."
The telltale knotting of her insides instantly made Lucia wary. Deciding that she neither liked nor trusted this man, she looked straight into his eyes and lied as fervently as she could. "Her Grace is from home as well, sir. If you will leave your card, I will tell Their Graces of your visit."
"I'm certain they will be overjoyed to hear of it. Perhaps I should give you a more interesting story to relate, love."
"I do not take your meaning, sir." Her expression all innocence, Lucia curtsied demurely. "When His Grace returns, I am certain he will receive you most cordially."
"Will he, by God!" Giles laughed. "Well, I know a capital way to pass the time until the master returns, my girl." He reached for her, but Lucia sidled out of his grasp.
"Please excuse me, sir. I have a great deal of work to do." Turning her back on him, she began sweeping again.
Giles grabbed her broom and flung it across the room. "You are far too pretty to be a mere maid, my girl, and quite impertinent, besides. I daresay you are some little strumpet with whom my cousin has an understanding. How delicious the Rogue must find it to fall into your bed every night after his compulsory visit to his bride's." Giles leered. "Wife and mistress living under the same roof! I must congratulate Amberley."
Lucia blushed at the beginning of Giles's string of insinuations, but, by the end of his speech, she was quite pale. "Sir! You mistake the matter!"
"Do I?" His brows rose. "No, I cannot credit that! My cousin would not hire a wench who did not fulfill all his requirements."
Outrage burned in Lucia's eyes. "I am not a wench..."
"Enough of this banter! I've a mind to sample His Grace's goods."
He clamped a large, elegant hand around her wrist and dragged her into his arms. Crushing her body against his, his mouth assaulted hers, bruising and biting her. Disgust washed over her when he touched her and she shuddered. He tightened his hold and deepened his kiss, ignoring her struggles.
She flailed at him, beating at his chest and head. Her hand landed in his hair and her fingers c
lutched wildly at his curls. She pulled with all her might and, to her dismay, his silver tresses slid off his head. Revolted, she threw the wig down and brought her knee up sharply into his groin.
With a howl of agony that became a curse, he doubled over in pain, letting his quarry escape. She ran to the fireplace and grabbed a rusty poker, turning, weapon in hand, to confront her assailant.
Still gasping, Giles straightened. Murder burned in his eyes as he started toward her. "You little harlot! You little slut! You shall pay dearly for that filthy gutter trick! Aye, and for ruining my new peruke!"
Lucia tightened her gripped on the poker. "If you come near me again, I swear to God I shall dash your brains out!"
Laughing, Giles strode toward her. Lucia raised her weapon, ready to strike him.
"Non, ma chérie! Don't kill him just yet!" a silken voice drawled from the doorway. "That pleasure is reserved for me, in the fullness of time."
Relief flooding Lucia's features, she lowered the poker. Giles whirled around in astonishment.
Amberley stepped into the room, surveying the situation through an elegant quizzing glass. "Giles," he almost hissed, dropping the glass to greet his cousin with a curt nod. His smile mocking and his smoky eyes glittering with malice, he retrieved the wig, grey with dust and grime, from the floor and offered it to Mountheathe with an impudent bow.
"So you have had the barefaced brass to return to England!" Giles said, ignoring the wig.
"Why not?" Robin countered. "You have had the barefaced brass to remain here all these years in spite of your treacherous lies, or have you managed to convince even yourself that your version of the Ashwell scandal is the truth?"
The Rogue's Revenge Page 10