"Or perhaps the deed to the land in France is what stopped them. They can only get the deed from me. It must be important to whoever hired them."
The two men were silent for a time, each thinking his own thoughts. Finally Dominic grinned. "Are you certain you want me to stand as godfather to your daughter?"
Jason's blue eyes danced with humor as he rose to take his leave. "You wouldn't dare think of backing out now, would you? Lauren would never forgive you—or me either, for that matter. We've set the christening date for Saturday next. Surely you can stay alive long enough to attend."
"I'll manage somehow."
"From that look on your face, I'd say Germain may not be so fortunate. I wouldn't care to be in his shoes tomorrow. Although I must admit I am looking forward to seeing what methods you employ to loosen his tongue."
Dominic's mouth twisted sardonically. "Haven't you guessed? I shall simply lock him in a room with you while you expound on the joys of fatherhood. In less than an hour, Germain will be begging for mercy. Nine o'clock tomorrow, then?"
Dominic rose early the next morning and ordered his curricle brought around. When he arrived at Lord Manning's office in Whitehall, he was shown into a tiny room where an elderly clerk greeted him.
"I regret that his lordship is not here at present," the clerk said, rising from behind his desk, "but I have been instructed to aid you. Please be seated. Now where did I put the file? Ah, here it is," he muttered, shuffling through his stack of papers. "Strange case, strange case."
When at last he turned, he found Dominic watching him impatiently. Unnerved by the cool intensity of his visitor's gaze, the clerk cleared his throat. "I have an assistant, my lord, who spends a good deal of time in the local taverns where he gleans bits of information here and there. A few weeks ago he came to me with an interesting story which, only recently, I decided might have some bearing on this case. My man overheard—well, perhaps it would be better if he told you himself. If you could wait one moment please."
He left the office and returned a short time later, followed by a rough-looking character whom he introduced merely as Tom. "Tom, tell Lord Stanton, if you please, what you learned at the Boarshead tavern."
Tom took a moment to look over the dark-haired lord, then broke out in a grin, showing a gaping hole where his front teeth had been. "So yer the one they was after. It ain't no wonder then." His grin disappeared when Dominic's eyes narrowed.
"Well, you see," Tom hastened to explain, "I was at the Boarshead when this cove comes in an' starts drinkin'. 'Ee was drownin' 'is sorrows, like. I didn't give 'im much mind first off, till 'ee starts to say something about them Frenchies. So I starts to listen."
"This 'cove'," Dominic interjected. "Was he named Boulter, by any chance?"
"Yeh, Freddie Boulter. 'Ow'd you know?" When there was no reply, Tom decided it best to get on with his story. "Well, Boulter was drunk as a fiddler an' 'ee didn't make much sense. Seems there was a swell what was to do for you, but 'ee got done for 'imself. So Boulter was cryin' about 'avin' to go off an' finish the job." Tom gave Dominic another gap-toothed grin. '"Ee didn't finish it, did 'ee?"
"Boulter is dead."
It was said so calmly that Tom shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Well, I don't s'pect anyone will miss the likes of 'im."
"What about the reference to France?" Dominic asked.
"Yeh, well, the nob what 'ired Boulter and the swell, 'ee came from France. But I don't think 'ee was a Frog. 'Ee was Hinglish, with a title. Didn't catch it, though. Boulter said the nob was touched in the upper works."
"Do you suppose this 'nob' is still in England?"
"No, 'ee ain't, if 'ee ever came in the first place. You see, Boulter only got part of the brass till the job was done. 'Ee was wonderin' 'ow 'ee was to get the rest, with the nob across the Channel and the swell havin' disappeared, like."
"I will need an address, a location in France. Could you get it for me?"
Tom grinned again. "Boulter won't be needin' it, will 'ee? I'm yer man, gov'nor . . . er . . . milord."
Dominic tossed him a coin. "Watch out for Boulter's brother while you're at it. Martin, I think is his name. I understand he enjoys making people scream." Rising then, Dominic directed the clerk to send any new information to his town address and left the office.
Tom remained where he was, stroking the dark stubble on his chin. "Cor," he said to no one in particular. "Good thing that nob from France didn't 'ire me to do 'is dirty work. I don't think I'd be standin' 'ere now."
When Dominic brought his horses to a halt before the Effing residence, Jason was waiting. He grinned as he climbed into the curricle. "Wouldn't do to let Lauren see you. Not unless you want to spend the next hour admiring our daughter."
It didn't take them long to reach the house where Germain was being held—a small, white structure a few miles north of town. They were greeted by a grim-faced housekeeper. "But you'll be wanting to see Mr. Germain, no doubt," she said, directing them up the stairs. "This way, if you please."
She led them to a closed door at the end of a corridor, where a brawny, dark-featured man was standing guard. Withdrawing a heavy key from her pocket, the housekeeper unlocked the door and stepped aside to admit the gentlemen. Dominic made no comment as he followed Jason into the room, but he noted the elaborate precautions with approval, including the heavy bars on the window.
Germain was lying on the bed, his eyes closed. The thick bandage wrapping his chest, as well as his sickroom pallor, indicated that he was recuperating from a severe injury. He didn't bother to look up when they entered.
"Morning, old man," Jason said cheerfuly. "Lovely day, isn't it?" When Germain gave an indignant grunt, Jason clicked his tongue. "Come now, you can do better than that. I've brought you a surprise."
The injured man opened one eye. Catching sight of Dominic, he sat up abruptly, clutching at his bandage while his color turned a shade more pale.
"Hello, Charles," Dominic said in a dangerously soft voice. When Germain only stared at him warily, Dominic raised an eyebrow. "What is this? Have your manners gone begging, Charles? Are you not going to invite me to be seated?"
"Oh, to be sure," Germain snarled, indicating the chair beside the bed. "After all, I am your prisoner, am I not?"
Turning the chair around, Dominic straddled the seat and casually draping his arms over the back. Then he pursed his lips as if considering a difficult problem. "That depends. I have several alternatives. Would you care to hear them?"
"I expect you plan to tell me, regardless."
Dominic remained unruffled. "My first is to turn you over to the authorities for attempted murder," he said coolly. "You might escape hanging, but a man recovering from a chest wound such as yours would not long survive a London prison."
Germain relaxed back against the pillows, his mouth curling in a sneer. "You won't have me arrested. That would implicate you as well, and you have far too much to lose."
"Did I say anything about a duel? Actually I was referring to the two ruffians you hired to kill me."
Charles was suddenly wary again. "You have no proof."
Dominic's lips twisted in a slow smile. "Ah, but I do. Before he died, your friend Freddie Boulter implicated you in front of a number of witnesses."
"Boulter is dead?" Charles asked, his tone sounding less assured.
"Quite dead. That is my second alternative for you, by the way. You were accosted by highwaymen, so the story goes, and were severely wounded. You were brought here to recover, but alas, you succumbed to a fever. Of course I mean to show profound grief at your death. I'll vow that I did everything in my power to save you. . . . But perhaps I needn't say anything at all. No one knows you are here. As far as the world is concerned, you disappeared three weeks ago. And I'm sure the good man waiting just outside your door could be persuaded to dispose of your body."
Germain said nothing, but there was a look of burning hatred in his eyes. Dominic returned his gaze steadily, his own e
yes as hard as flint. "Then there is always torture," he remarked blandly, "but that can be rather distasteful, wouldn't you agree?" Dominic flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his coat sleeve. "The last alternative might be more appealing to you, though I confess I don't care for it much. You can go free."
Seeing the flicker of interest in Germain's eyes, Dominic bent closer, his gray gaze holding Germain's like a moth with pinned wings. "I want the name of the man who hired you to kill me."
Germain licked his suddenly dry lips and involuntarily glanced at Jason for help. The tall marquess stood with his back to the room, looking out the window, ignoring the scene being enacted behind him. Germain returned his gaze to Dominic. "No," he said defiantly, determined to brazen it out.
Dominic stood up slowly. "Don't tell me you have suddenly developed a streak of loyalty, Charles. Remarkable. I never would have thought you capable of it. Jason, are you coming?"
Dominic went to the door and opened it, but then he turned back to address Charles once more. "I believe I neglected to tell you that I already have a good deal of information about your client. I know, for instance, that he is an Englishman currently living in France. And in a few days I shall have his direction. I will find him, even without your help."
Germain's bravado cracked. "All right, damn you! I'll tell you. It's Durham. Sir Charles Durham."
Dominic stiffened visibly, white lines appearing around his mouth. Then suddenly, he turned and walked out.
"Wait!" Germain shouted after him. "Did you hear me? You said I could go free!"
Dominic was already seated in the curricle when Jason joined him. Once glance at his friend's expression convinced Jason to hold his questions, but when Dominic sent his whip cracking over the heads of his pair, Jason stayed his arm. "Wait a minute, Dom. Let me take the reins till you cool down." He received a fulminating glare, but he made the exchange anyway.
As the curricle slowed to a more sedate pace, Dominic sat back in his seat, clenching his fists in cold fury. Durham. The very name was a curse. First the daughter, now the father. Dominic swore violently, venting his rage and frustration in a succession of oaths.
It was some time later when he took note of his surroundings. They were jogging slowly along a quiet road, some distance from the city. "Might I ask if we are going anywhere in particular?" he demanded of Jason.
"Ah, it speaks!" Jason replied. "But for the profanity issuing from its mouth, I would have sworn it had been struck deaf, dumb and blind."
Dominic gave a snort of mirthless laughter. "Blind, certainly. I should have expected something like this. Turn the horses around, Jase."
"Of course, after you tell me what set you off like a firecracker. No, that won't wash, my friend," Jason said when Dominic eyed him coldly. "You forget that I've known you too long for your withering looks to have any effect. And you can't knock me senseless while I'm driving your cattle. Besides, I'm, a new father, remember? That was quite a performance you gave with Germain, incidentally. Very effective. Durham," he mused. "Where have I heard the name before?"
Dominic's lip curled. "Do you recall what I told you about my father's death?"
Jason nodded, remembering the story Dominic had related some years ago when they had both been less than sober. There had been bitter anguish in Dominic's voice when he had spoken of the false arrest. "She accused my father of murder," he said, clenching his fists till the knuckles turned white. "She lied! My father was no more a murderer than you or I, yet he was condemned to die by a vicious bitch for God knows what reason. She even tried to make him believe it was all a mistake. Treachery at its finest." Dominic had closed his eyes and laughed grimly. "How well I remember the look on my father's face when he learned Suzanne Durham was his accuser. She got away with it, though. She fled France and my father lost his head to the Republic. I should have killed her!" When Jason had pointed out that Dominic had been a mere child, his face had become shuttered. He had never again mentioned his father.
"Ah, yes," Jason said, making the connection. "The girl's name was Durham, wasn't it?"
"Suzanne Durham. Sir Charles was her father."
Jason brought the horses to a halt. "And he is the man who wants you dead? But why, after all these years?"
"If I knew that, do you think I'd be sitting here now? But at least one puzzle is solved. Durham must still be living near Valdois. That must be how he knew of the sale of the estate. And the timing is right. I only purchased the deed a few months ago. My guess is that when he learned I had bought the property, he hired Germain to prevent me from assuming control."
"Nice neighbor you have," Jason remarked dryly. "So, what do you intend to do now?"
"Go to France. I'm just the least bit curious about why Durham wants to kill me. Christ! He must be well over seventy by now, though how he ever escaped the Revolution and the war with England I can't imagine. Here, let me drive. I'm calm enough not to land us in a ditch."
When Jason handed over the reins, Dominic turned the curricle around and urged the horses into a brisk trot. "I've been meaning to go to France anyway, to put Valdois in some sort of working order. This business with Durham makes it imperative. If I leave tomorrow, I should be back in a matter of weeks."
Jason glared at him thoughtfully. "I have a better idea. Wait until after the christening and I'll go with you. It won't hurt to have me along when you confront Durham, and I would enjoy the trip."
Dominic hesitated. His first impulse was to say no, for the sooner he set out, the sooner he could solve the puzzle about Sir Charles Durham. Jason's plan would mean a delay of nearly a week, and he had already put off the trip more than once. He had been reluctant to return to Valdois, knowing he would dredge up unwanted memories. But wasn't that why he had bought the damned property in the first place? So he could face the past? So perhaps then his bitterness would leave him? He wanted to rebuild the land, if only to prove . . . prove what? That he could conquer the devils that drove him? Would he then find peace?
When a vision of Brie suddenly floated into his mind, Dominic shook his head. Brie, peaceful? A contradiction in terms, certainly. But he did want to see her again. She would be arriving in London on Friday, the day before the christening. That left Saturday evening. . . . He and Jason could leave the next morning for France. Admittedly, having Jason as a travelling companion would make the journey far more enjoyable, but Dominic couldn't fool himself over why he was willing, even eager, to postpone the trip.
"Well, have you made up your mind?" Jason broke in on his musings.
Dominic gave a curt nod, even while chiding himself for letting Brie influence his plans. "You know you are welcome. But shouldn't you be with your wife at a time like this?"
Jason grinned ruefully. "Frankly, Lauren will be relieved to be rid of me for a while. I'm afraid I've been getting a bit underfoot lately."
Dominic slanted him a mocking glance. "So domestic bliss is not perfect after all. I wondered how long it would take you to discover jt."
"I never said it was perfect, my thickheaded friend. But I will say this—I wouldn't trade it for the world."
When they returned to Grosvenor Square, Jason led Dominic to a small sitting room where his wife was sewing a ruffle onto a nightgown for their new daughter. Lauren looked lovelier than ever, Dominic thought as he greeted her. Motherhood had not marred the elegance of her regal figure, or dimmed the luster of her golden hair.
She returned his greeting with enthusiasm and pressed him into staying for lunch. "For you have not seen Alexandra yet," she added with a smile, "and I shall not let you leave until you have admired her properly."
Over lunch, Dominic gave an account of his stay with Julian, dwelling mainly on the social aspects of his visit. He managed to hide his surprise when he discovered that Jason and Lauren knew Brie.
"We only met her last year," Lauren explained, "but she truly impressed me. It must have been extremely difficult for her to keep up the training stables her father built. I h
adn't realized she and Lord Denville were such close neighbors, or I would have written and told her you were coming."
Dominic smiled at her artless comment. How different his first meeting with Brie would have been, had she been warned of his arrival. How different all their meetings would have been.
Realizing his thoughts had drifted, Dominic steered the conversation to safer channels, mentioning his impending journey to France with Jason. Lauren had several questions for her husband about the trip, and they spent the remainder of the meal discussing plans and itineraries.
After lunch, Lauren and Jason took Dominic upstairs to the nursery where baby Alexandra was just waking from a nap. Dominic was surprised when Lauren gently lifted the infant and placed her in his arms, but while he wasn't quite sure what to do with the tiny child, he paid all the proper compliments.
The proud parents fairly beamed with approval, he noted sardonically. Watching them, however, he was conscious of the odd sensation of being an outsider. He could never share the special bond that existed between Lauren and Jason—a bond that had been strengthened by the birth of their daughter. Yet, seeing Jason smile so tenderly at his wife, Dominic actually found himself envious of the unique happiness his friend had found.
Even after he had taken his leave of the couple, the feeling persisted, and later, when he was pondering his strange reaction, he recalled that Jason had once tried to explain his love. "I don't want to live without her, Dom," Jason had insisted. "I can't live without her." Dominic remembered laughing at the time.
He had no inclination to laugh now—particularly when he thought of the auburn-haired, hot-tempered beauty he had left in Rutland. It was not a question of being able to live without her, of course. He could. He wanted her, though.
The question was, how much?
Dominic was still asking himself that same question nearly a week later as he sat drinking alone in the comfort of his library. He frowned, staring at the crystal tumbler of brandy in his hand, not really seeing the swirling golden liquid. In a few hours, Brie would arrive in London, and as yet he had reached no conclusions as to what to do about her.
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