His face was devoid of expression, but Brie felt the impact of his gaze as surely as if he had reached out and touched her. She stood there, unable to look away, not even realizing that she was still clinging to Julian's arm.
It was Julian who broke the spell by speaking. "I had best go in search of some brandy," he said quietly. "And perhaps a strong footman to carry Sir Charles to his room. Brie, can you see to Miss Hewitt?"
The question surprised her. She had been vaguely aware that someone was crying, but hadn't even realized it was Katherine. The elderly woman had collapsed in a chair and was sobbing softly into her hands.
Finally comprehending what Julian had said, Brie glanced once more at her grandfather. There was nothing more anyone could do for him. The realization left her feeling sick and shaken, but she made a determined effort to quell her nausea and nodded in answer to Julian's question.
"Good girl," he said, squeezing her hand. "See if you can find a place for her to lie down. I'll just be a moment."
Obediently, Brie went to the weeping woman and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Come, Katherine," she urged, aware that Dominic was watching her. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but she couldn't find the courage to ask him, or even to look at him, Involuntarily, her gaze returned to Sir Charles, and she shuddered. It could so easily have been Dominic whose life had ended in that one brief moment.
She led Katherine from the room, conscious all the while of Dominic's eyes following her. Upstairs, she found a small parlor where they could wait in relative comfort. After making Katherine lie down on the sofa, Brie settled in the wing chair opposite and tried to keep her thoughts focused on anything but what had just happened in the study.
Julian joined them about ten minutes later, bringing with him a decanter of cognac and three glasses. "This is quality stuff," he said as he poured the brandy, "but I had the devil of a time finding it. The servants are all in an uproar because of the shooting, though I'll wager they are more concerned for their jobs than for Sir Charles. Here, drink this, Miss Hewitt. You'll feel much better." Helping Katherine sit up, he handed her a full glass, then poured one for Brie. "You too, Brie. You look as if you could use something to settle your nerves."
Brie accepted her glass and obediently took a swallow, gasping as it burned a path from her throat to her stomach. "How . . . how is Dominic?" she ventured to ask.
Julian shot her a quizzical glance as he sat in the chair beside her. "Dominic is fine. The ball passed clear through the flesh of his upper arm. I've sent for a doctor, though, and the local authorities."
"But you said he was fine. Why does he need a doctor?"
Seeing her worried look, Julian quickly shook his head. "He doesn't, but a doctor must verify the cause of Sir Charles' death. And it won't hurt to have him take a look at Dominic's arm at the same time."
"Oh," Brie said, biting her lip.
"You realize, don't you, that the authorities will want an explanation?"
"But Dominic has done nothing wrong!"
"No, certainly not," Julian soothed. "Sir Charles fired at Dominic without any warning and Jacques shot back. But there will probably be an inquiry of some kind."
Brie lowered her gaze to her glass and stared at it for a moment. Then she looked up again. "What are you and Katherine doing here? How did you find me?"
Affronted by the question, Julian suddenly shed his fatherly air. "What do you think we're doing here? You disappeared the morning after that fiasco at the ball without leaving a note, without saying a single word to anyone. When Katherine discovered you gone, she came to me. She was frantic with worry, thinking perhaps that Dominic had kidnapped you."
Brie had the grace to flush. "Of course he didn't kidnap me. He never wanted to see me again. I followed him."
Julian frowned for a moment longer, then sighed. "I guessed as much. Either way, we were concerned for you. Whatever possessed you to go off like that?"
"I had to, Julian. I couldn't bear to leave things as they were."
There was another short silence before Julian nodded. "Dom had told me a little about the business with your grandfather, so when you disappeared, Katherine and I put the pieces together. We thought you might be in need of support."
Realizing her companion hadn't said a word during their entire conversation, Brie turned a questioning gaze on Katherine. She was sitting with her head bowed, nervously twisting the ends of her shawl while tears fell silently down her cheeks.
Brie leaned forward in her chair. "Katherine?" she said gently. "Katherine, dearest, you mustn't cry for Sir Charles. He doesn't deserve your sympathy."
Katherine buried her face in her hands. "Ah, child, if you only knew."
"If I knew what? Katherine, why are you crying? Please, won't you tell me what is troubling you?" When she received no response, her patience gave out. "Katherine, surely you don't condone what my grandfather did? My God, he tried to kill Lord Stanton! Not once, but several times. Sir Charles would probably still be alive if he hadn't shot first."
"Take it easy, Brie," Julian said, laying a restraining hand on her arm.
"And end such a spirited defense? No, Julian, by all means let her continue."
The cool voice had come from the doorway, and immediately three pairs of eyes swung to where Dominic stood with his arm braced in a sling. The reaction of the room's occupants to his appearance was varied. Julian frowned, Brie flushed and lowered her eyes, and Katherine stiffened.
Julian was the first to recover. "Dominic, I'm afraid there are some things you don't know about Sir Charles."
Dominic raised a dark eyebrow. "And I suppose you mean to tell me. Very well, then. Please get on with it." He strode into the room, taking up a position behind Brie's chair, resting one hand negligently on the tall back.
Julian threw an apologetic glance at Katherine, then cleared his throat. "Miss Hewitt knows why your father was arrested."
Dominic's gray eyes narrowed at Katherine. "Is this true?" he asked sharply.
"She was there the night—"
Dominic held up his hand, effectively quelling Julian's speech. "Allow Miss Hewitt to speak, if you will."
"Honestly, Dominic," Brie interrupted. "Must you be so harsh? Can't you see she is upset?" Intending to comfort Katherine, Brie rose halfway in her chair, but Dominic's hand firmly pressed her back down.
"Miss Hewitt?" he repeated softly, the underlying steel in his voice brooking no argument.
"Lord Denville is correct, my lord," Katherine whispered.
There was a lengthy pause while she appeared to be gathering the nerve to continue. Then she clasped her hands tightly in her lap and began to speak. "I was here when the tragedy began—and it was a tragedy. I was Lisette Durham's companion then, as well as a governess of sorts for her daughter Suzanne. I know, Brie," Katherine added at Brie's sharp intake of breath. "I should have told you before now. But it seemed pointless. While she was alive, your mama forbid me to speak of it. And afterwards . . . well, there seemed to be no reason to dig up the past. It was such a sordid story that I thought you better off not knowing."
Katherine hesitated, her gaze momentarily lifting to Dominic's. Then she dropped her eyes and kept them trained on Brie. "It happened in '92. That spring and summer . . . Sir Charles was gone much of the time, travelling around Europe. He left Lisette alone too much of the time. She was French, you see." At Brie's blank look, Katherine leaned forward. "Lisette was . . . gentle. She didn't have your strength, Brie, nor your mama's for that matter. Suzanne was away at a finishing school and Lisette was lonely. She began seeing the Comte de Valdois.
"I tried to warn her that no good would come from encouraging a man like that, but she just laughed. She was like a butterfly, attracted to pretty flowers. Then one day she came home with her gown torn and dirty. There were . . . bruises on her body. She had such a stunned look on her face that my heart nearly broke. The comte had . . . the comte had forced himself upon her."
>
Since Dominic was behind her, Brie couldn't see his expression, but she could feel his fingers tighten reflexively on her shoulder. She wondered if he would challenge Katherine's statement, but he said nothing.
There was a tense silence while the elderly woman wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief. Then she took a deep breath. "Lisette begged me to keep it a secret from her husband, and I agreed. Sir Charles was such a jealous man that he would have killed anyone who touched his wife. But I made her promise never to go near the comte again. I . . . I took Lisette to a woman in the village, and she was given a remedy that made her vilely ill. For a time I even feared for her life . . . but she recovered. She never again was as gay and carefree as she once had been, but I thought she was beginning to recover from her . . . her experience, as well.
"Some two months later, we received word that Sir Charles was coming home. Lisette seemed upset, but I thought . . . I thought she was simply nervous, you see."
When Katherine gave a choked sob, Brie couldn't bear watching such grief any longer. Shrugging off Dominic's hand, she went to sit beside Katherine and put an arm about her.
Katherine wouldn't be comforted, though. Tears were streaming down her lined cheeks as if they would never stop. "I should have known!" she cried with a vehemence that was startling to her listeners. "The day before Sir Charles was to arrive, I woke to find a letter beside my bed. It was from Lisette, addressed to me. I tore it open. . . . 'When you read this, I shall be gone.' That was how it began. At first, I thought Lisette must have run away, but then I read further. Lisette had realized she was to have a child, the comte's child. She . . . she took her life . . . because she couldn't bear the shame."
Sobbing brokenly, Katherine buried her face in her hands, while Brie stroked her hair gently, trying to comfort her. Brie wanted desperately to know how Dominic was taking all these revelations, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. She glanced at Julian instead and saw he was staring fixedly at the carpet.
Dominic was the first to break the silence. "And I suppose Suzanne Durham discovered the reason for her mother's death and wanted revenge," he said in a tired voice.
"Monsieur le Comte, pardon-moi." The voice had come from behind Dominic, and they all turned to stare at the intruder. He was a man about aged fifty, well dressed, carrying a black bag—a physician by all appearances.
"Yes?" Dominic said impatiently.
"If I may be permitted, monsieur," the doctor replied in faltering English. "I have information to add to this lady's story. You are le Comte de Valdois?"
"I do not claim the title," Dominic answered, "but I am the comte's son. You are . . . ?"
"Henri Fontaine, doctor of medicine."
"I see. Well, then, Monsieur le Doctor, perhaps you will be so good as to come with me. I think a private conversation would be more in order."
"But Dominic," Brie said quickly, realizing they wouldn't hear what the doctor had to say. "Surely Doctor Fontaine's information cannot be so very private. Could you not remain here?" When Dominic turned to look at her, Brie hesitated, seeing the hard glitter in his eyes. But she felt she had a right to the truth. "Please, Dominic?"
He couldn't fail to see the justice in her plea. "Very well," he agreed. "Be seated, if you will, monsieur."
When the doctor was settled, Dominic took a seat across from the sofa and leaned back wearily, feeling a painful throb in his wounded arm. He wanted nothing more than to hear the last of these revelations and be alone with his thoughts. He needed time to digest what he had learned . . . and decide what to do.
As the doctor began to speak, Dominic found his gaze straying to Brie. She sat with her head bowed, her hand tightly gripping Katherine's. Watching her, he couldn't help swearing at himself. God, what had he done? Stripped her pride away, destroyed her reputation, doubted her honor, forced her . . . like his father. Only with a strong effort was he able to control his thoughts so he could follow the doctor's words.
"What Madame Briggs says is true," the doctor was saying. "My father, Pierre Fontaine, was Lady Durham's physician during the last years of her life. He examined her body upon her death and confirmed that the cause was poisoning. He also discovered that she was with child."
The doctor glanced at Dominic, then at Katherine. "When Sir Charles returned home and learned of the death of his wife, he was very distressed. He did not know then about the child, for my father never told him. But later he discovered the letter, did he not, Madame Briggs?"
Katherine nodded mutely. No one interrupted the story to ask about her name, for it seemed a minor point.
"How much better it would have been had you burned the letter," Fontaine said with a sigh. "But you did not expect Sir Charles to search your rooms? No, naturally you would not. Yet that was how he found the letter and learned about the child. I believe that was when Sir Charles became crazed. He could think of nothing but revenge on the man who had dishonored his wife. So he turned Le Comte de Valdois over to the revolutionaries. A cunning sort of revenge, perhaps, but effective. He could not be certain of winning a duel."
"But I understood my mother had accused the comte," Brie interjected.
Fontaine's gaze swung to Brie, studying her. "Your mother was Mademoiselle Suzanne? You have very much the look of Madame Lisette. But where was I? Yes, M'amselle Suzanne. Bah, she had nothing to do with the comte's arrest. It was Sir Charles, believe me. In his anger he thought it would be . . . how you say? Using one stone to kill two birds. Mademoiselle Suzanne had returned home from school but a few days before, and she was beginning to fall under the comte's influence." The doctor gave Dominic an apologetic glance. "Pardon, m'sieur, but your father had great charm with the ladies."
Julian spoke then for the first time. "Doctor Fontaine, how do you know all this? Surely Sir Charles did not confess all this to you."
Henri Fontaine looked affronted. "Monsieur, I have not been the physician and confidant of Sir Charles for twenty years without gleaning the facts of the situation."
"Then you know that Sir Charles tried to murder Dominic?"
The doctor gave a start. "Non, but I did not! He spoke of it many times, but I did not know that he had tried."
"Julian, pray let the good doctor continue," Dominic said wearily.
"Alors, where was I? Ah, yes, Mademoiselle Suzanne. She discovered what Sir Charles was about and went to warn the comte. But she was too late. That night she left her father's house with Madam Briggs. You went to England?" he asked Katherine.
"No," she replied in a hoarse whisper. "We stayed in an inn for a time, and when the comte was taken to Paris, we followed. Suzanne thought she could bribe the authorities to free the comte. But she could do nothing. Afterward, we went to London, where she met and married your father, Brie."
"Katherine, my father . . . Papa was my father?"
Appalled that Brie should have such doubts, Katherine stared at her. "Of course he was. You were born more than a year after Suzanne and Sir William married."
"She knew about her mother, then? About why Lisette had killed herself?"
Katherine nodded. "Yes, she knew. When I learned Suzanne meant to go to Paris, I had to tell her, though I think she had guessed beforehand what had happened. Lisette left a sort of warning for her . . . inscribed on a pendant. But Suzanne would not listen to me. She went to Paris, despite knowing what sort of man the comte was. I went with her, for I had lost my place here and I was afraid for her safety. It was so dangerous then—for all of us—but particularly for a young girl alone."
When Katherine bowed her head, Fontaine cleared his throat and continued. "During the war between our countries, Sir Charles was forced into hiding for a period, he being English. But he returned, having obtained the proper authorization papers. Many years went by. I believed he had forgotten about the past." Fontaine paused, then addressed Dominic directly. "Monsieur, do you remember a boy by the name of Nicholas Dumonde?" The arrested look in Dominic's eyes confirmed the answer. "I see
you do. Did you know that young Dumonde was the son—pardon mesdames—the bastard of Sir Charles?"
Dominic groaned, putting a hand to his eyes. "This becomes more absurd with each passing moment," he murmured. "Had I tried, I could not have become more involved with Sir Charles' family."
Everyone but the doctor was puzzled by his remark. "And the mademoiselle?" Fontaine asked curiously.
"Another coincidence," Dominic replied curtly, directing an enigmatic glance at Brie.
Julian, who had been trying to follow this odd conversation, finally became exasperated. "Would you mind explaining what the devil you two are talking about, Dom?"
Dominic shot his friend a hard glance, but then he sighed. "I was in Paris some four years ago," he explained, "spying for the British, if you must know. I had . . . discovered some valuable documents which I had to deliver to my superior. Before I left France, a boy by the name of Nicholas Dumonde tried to relieve me of them. I turned him over to a colleague of mine and then left for England. Later I heard that my associate had become . . . overzealous and that Dumonde had died. I assume Sir Charles discovered my involvement?" Dominic said to the doctor. "But that doesn't explain why he waited this long to seek me out."
"After his son's death, Sir Charles suffered a stroke. He was partially paralyzed."
"But he recovered enough to travel to England?"
Fontaine nodded. "Last September. But I thought he did not find you. You were travelling in the West Indies, or some such place."
"So I was. It was after I returned that Sir Charles' hirelings attempted to earn their pay."
The doctor stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Sir Charles was very angry when he learned you had recovered the Valdois estate. He meant to prevent you from taking possession. He even went to Paris a few months ago to speak to an attorney about this."
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