Palmerston’s brilliant blue eyes peered out from twin bushy white eyebrows. “You know what I’m talking about, gel?”
“I — no, I guess I don’t,” admitted Gillian.
“Some people — sick people, people sick in their minds — find pleasure in inflicting pain on others. Other people gain pleasure from their own pain.”
Gillian wrinkled her nose in disbelief.
Palmerston nodded. “Elizabeth was like that. She took enjoyment from pain, and she took great delight in hurting others.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “She particularly liked to hurt your husband. And his son.”
“But why?”
Palmerston shook his head. “No reasoning with their kind. They’re not sane. Mind yourself, gel. There’s others like Elizabeth who would hurt you if they could.”
“Me? Who?” Gillian asked.
Palmerston didn’t reply; he just closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.
“Is it the same person who has tried to harm Noble?” She gave the old man a gentle shake, but he refused to say any more. She sat back next to him, ignoring the sudden crashes and harsh voices from the room beyond. Elizabeth had hated Noble? If that was the case, perhaps he hadn’t been mourning her death; perhaps she had misinterpreted his dislike of his first wife for grief. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.
The noise swelled into the room as the door opened and a figure slipped through.
“There you are, Lady Weston. I thought you might have come here.”
Gillian glanced at Palmerston, but he was still sleeping despite the noise. “Yes, but I should return,” she said, standing. “Noble will be wanting to leave…”
“He asked me to escort you downstairs,” Lord Carlisle said, grasping her arm and pushing her toward a back door.
“Noble asked you?”
“Yes. He’s taking his son to his carriage and asked if I would see you safely down. You don’t want to go out into the main rooms — they aren’t safe for a gentle lady.”
“But my cousin—”
“Has been taken outside already,” Lord Carlisle said with a worried smile. He pushed her gently toward the servants’ stairs. “We’ll go down the back way, then meet up with Weston outside.”
Ha, Gillian thought to herself some time later. What a fool she had been to trust Lord Carlisle. She hoped Palmerston would be sure to tell Noble who had urged her away. She struggled briefly against her bonds and wished she had the common sense God gave to slugs.
He had kidnapped her! Face down on the floor of his carriage, her arms bound at her sides, a foul taste in her mouth from the horribly musty black cloth that encased her, Gillian came to terms with the fact that the man she had thought was a friend was, in fact, a villain. Noble had been right all along.
“Just because I tried to stop the duel,” she muttered, spitting out a mouthful of the cloth and trying to work a foot out of the bottom of the canvas bag, “he decided to pay me back in kind. Well, he’ll soon see what a mistake he made in underestimating me!”
The carriage lurched over a hole in the paving stones, sending her flying into the side wall. She saw stars for a few minutes, then managed to curl herself up so her head didn’t pound against the wall interior of the carriage with each bump and jolt. Once she was satisfied she had enough air, she concentrated on trying to work her arms free of the ropes, but it would be hopeless until she could remove herself from the bag. She struggled for what seemed to be days until she had one foot free.
“Excellent,” she said to herself, and spent the next two years working her second foot free. Just as she emerged from her chrysalis, exhausted and sweaty but triumphant, the carriage swayed and jounced to a halt. She cautiously peeked out the window. They were in the yard of a posting inn, and it looked as if the horses were being changed. “More than excellent,” she said as she tried the handle of the carriage door. It was unlocked. She sent up a little prayer and threw the door open, leaping out of her prison.
And straight into Lord Carlisle’s arms. Or what would have been his arms if he had known she was going to come bursting out of the carriage just as he was opening the door to check on her. Instead she hit him head-on, knocking him backwards. Together they hit the ground with a resounding smack.
Gillian scrambled off the earl and stared at him for a moment. There was a pool of blood growing from beneath his head. She prodded him. He didn’t move. She put a hand to his mouth but felt no breath stirring.
“Bloody hell! I’ve killed him!”
“Aye, that you’ve done,” a raspy voice said from behind her. Gillian turned around to see a coachman backing away from her warily.
“But I didn’t mean to…he kidnapped me, you see…and then this…he was opening the door as I was coming out…it was an accident. You can see that, can’t you?”
The coachman looked at her with wide, nervous eyes, which widened even more when he looked around her again. “Here, I’m fetching the landlord. If you’ve gone and murdered my lord, it’ll be the three-legged mare for you, lady or no!”
“But, wait—” Gillian started toward the coachman, but he turned and fled before she could get near him.
“Well, now what do I do?” she wailed to the still figure of the earl. “I can’t just leave you here — good lord, Sir Hugh! Whatever are you doing here?”
A small yellow curricle raced into the yard and pulled up directly before her. The baronet leaped from the seat, took one look at the scene before him, and ordered his tiger to tend his horse. “I shall assist Lady Weston home in this carriage.”
Gillian felt like kissing him for saying such a nice word. Home. “That would be excessively kind of you, Sir Hugh, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to stay. You see, the magistrate will be sure to want to know how I came to kill an earl…”
Sir Hugh peered down at the recumbent figure. “Dead, is he? Shame, but still, I’m sure it was an accident. He did kidnap you, after all.”
“Kidnapping or not, I don’t believe I should leave until I’ve spoken with the authorities,” she said with a reluctant look toward the inn. She had no desire to see the gallows, let alone make use of them.
Sir Hugh pulled his lip in thought. “I have an idea. I have a house not far from here — an hour’s drive at most — I’ll leave word inside as to your whereabouts, and you can come along and have a rest until Weston arrives.”
“Noble is coming?” Suddenly the situation didn’t seem to be quite so terrible. Surely he would be able to help her out of this horrible mess. “Is he right behind you?”
“No, he had to tend to some business first. I’ll just go inside and leave Noble a message where we’re going, and then we can be on our way.”
Looking back on the day, Gillian realized she should have been suspicious about Sir Hugh’s antics when he insisted on leaving the body of Lord Carlisle lying in the courtyard, but she had wanted to be away just as badly as Sir Hugh seemed to, so she accepted his explanation that the innkeeper was sending for a doctor before Carlisle was moved.
She also felt she should have seen signs of Sir Hugh’s madness before it became disastrously evident, but she hadn’t. She rode along with him, pleased with her savior up until he escorted her into a darkened bedchamber.
“Thank you, Sir Hugh,” she said politely, wishing he would leave her so she could tidy herself up. “I’m sure this will be most…oh, my. What…er…what exactly is that?”
“What?” Sir Hugh asked politely as he slid the bolt home in the door and began to light candles.
Gillian pointed at the raised circular platform. “That. That large thing, just there, taking up most of the room.”
She began to feel something was very, very wrong.
“Ah, that.” Sir Hugh came up behind her and put a hand to her back. “That is a little something I devised myself. A modified Catherine wheel. Notice that it spins.”
Gillian noticed that, just as she also noticed the four leather straps and what look
ed suspiciously like dried bloodstains. She tried not to sound scared to death when she spoke. “Ah. It’s…most ingenious, Sir Hugh.”
He smiled. Gillian’s stomach dropped into her boots. She was looking at a madman; she knew that just as well as she knew her own self.
Sir Hugh laughed. “Mad? I don’t believe so, my dear, although I should by rights be after suffering what your husband has done to me.”
Gillian took a step backwards. “Noble is your friend, Sir Hugh. He’s been your friend for many years.”
“Friend,” he snarled, stepping toward her. “Enemy, my dear, my bitterest enemy. Did you know he stole the fair Elizabeth from me? She had been promised to me, you see, by my papa. But then Noble came along, and suddenly he had to have her and no one else.”
Gillian stepped back again, but the madman followed. “If she was in love with him…”
He snorted. “She didn’t know how to love anyone but herself, the coldhearted bitch. No, first he took my Elizabeth, then he took my land.”
“Your land?”
A tic started beneath the baronet’s left eye. He rubbed at it absently as he spoke. “The solicitor blamed the gaming debts, but I know the truth. Weston bought him out, forced him to sell my land, my inheritance, forced me from my birthright!”
Gillian gasped as Sir Hugh screamed the last word. He was staring past her, his fists working, his face livid and twisted with hate. “He had everything. He had it all, handed to him by his dear papa, but still he had to take what was mine. Everything, he took everything.”
Suddenly his hand lashed out and he grabbed her by her arm, tugging her forward until she could feel his heated breath on her face. She tried to turn away from the horrible sight of his face tortured and knotted with madness, but he pulled her even closer.
“I showed him, though, didn’t I? Poor Hugh, nothing but a wastrel’s son, they all said, but I proved them wrong, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”
He shook her with the last words.
“I—”
“I did, I did and you know it! I even did away with that grasping, greedy bitch Mariah when he came close to tracking her down.”
Gillian stared at him with blank horror. He killed Mariah? Simply to keep her from speaking to Noble? She swayed for a moment, feeling as if she was going to be sick with the realization of just how mad Sir Hugh was.
“You cold bitch, you never did want me to succeed at anything either!” he snarled in her face. “I knew what you had planned, you know. I knew how you plotted with McGregor to have me shot in place of Weston.” Sir Hugh barked a short laugh. “I thought you’d learned your lesson the last time, but I see I shall have to punish you yet again, my dear Elizabeth.”
Gillian tried yanking her arm away from the baronet but wasn’t prepared when his fist shot into her face. Her knees buckled and she fought to catch her breath as mind-numbing pain radiated out from her jaw. She shook her head and tried to keep her heaving stomach contained but ended up retching onto the carpet. When she was finished, Sir Hugh yanked her to her feet and threw her onto the wooden platform. She was too dazed and stunned by the pain to do more than struggle feebly.
“What do you think?” Lord Rosse asked, watching through the window as their carriage raced down the drive toward the house. “Are you sure Carlisle was telling the truth? That Tolly’s brought her here? He wasn’t in any shape to know what he was about, what with that big dent in the back of his head.”
“He knew what he was saying,” Noble said grimly. He flexed his fingers. If what Carlisle said was accurate, Gillian was utterly without resources, believing the baronet to be her friend, not a deadly enemy. He just hoped he got to her in time. If not — he couldn’t face that thought. “Tolly fooled him just as he fooled me.”
Rosse shook his head. “Carlisle believed everything Elizabeth told him?”
“Yes,” Noble said, leaning forward in an effort to urge the carriage faster. “He believed every last damned lie that fell from her treacherous lips. She had to have something to explain to her lovers about the marks made by her sick games with Tolly — who better to blame than her own dear husband?”
Before Rosse could speak, the carriage rolled to a stop, and both men were out and leaping up the stone steps to the door. Noble pounded on it, demanding entrance. Rosse reached around him, tried the doorknob, and threw the door open.
“You’re such a gentleman,” he told the Black Earl as Noble shot him a surprised look. They pushed their way into the small hall. A scared-looking footman was just scurrying off into another room, but Noble was on him in two steps.
“Where is she?” he roared, almost deafening the poor witless man. “Where has he taken her?”
The man’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Noble shook the smaller man and demanded to be told where his wife was.
“Here, let me have him, you’re doing more damage than good,” Rosse said, pulling the man out of his enraged friend’s hands.
“Where has your master gone? Is he upstairs? Is he in the house? Where is he?”
The man blanched and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know where the master is.”
“Liar!” Noble snarled. Picking the man up, he threw him out one of the windows next to the door. “You!” He pointed at the slight figure of an obviously terrified footman. “If you don’t want to join your friend there, tell me where to find your master.”
The footman stared with an open mouth at the broken window, swallowed hard, and pointed upward. “Second floor, my lord. Last room on the left.”
Noble and Rosse were up the stairs before John Coachman and Nick even entered the house.
Noble’s mind was empty of all thoughts but of saving his Gillian. As his foot hit the top stair, a scream ripped through the air, rending Noble’s heart in two. He snarled vicious threats as he charged down the corridor, Rosse hard on his heels.
“Here,” he bellowed and, trying the doorknob, began to throw himself against the door.
“Noble, stop a moment,” Rosse pleaded. “Stop a moment before you knock yourself silly.”
“Gillian…scream…in there…” Noble panted as he threw himself again and again at the door.
“Look at the door, man, it must be at least five inches thick. You can’t break it down.” He grabbed Noble and shook him until his eyes lost the panicked look. “You can’t break it down, but there has to be another way into the room.”
Noble stared at his friend, his chest heaving, his eyes clouded with tears. “He’s hurting her, Harry.”
“I know. We’ll get her out, but you have to use your head.”
Noble froze for a moment, anguish written into every line of his face; then suddenly he spun around and raced down the darkened hallway.
Rosse watched him for a moment before turning his attention to the lock. He fiddled with it to no avail. Perhaps they would have to break down the door after all. If so, they would certainly need something stronger than brute strength.
Gillian had discovered quite early on that her screams gave great pleasure to Sir Hugh, and a pleased Sir Hugh was a Sir Hugh who did not hover over her with that wicked-looking knife, threatening to do all sorts of unspeakable things to her. He had already carefully sliced off her gown and was now taking enormous pleasure out of cutting great chunks of her shift off as well. She knew Noble would save her, but she hoped he’d hurry. She was quickly running out of shift, and her attempt to delay the baronet with talk was not meeting with great success.
“Sir Hugh, won’t you tell me, please, why you are doing this? I understand you think Noble has done you a wrong…”
“Noble,” Sir Hugh growled, and waved the knife uncomfortably close to her face. “Your dear husband. Ah, Elizabeth, if only you’d chosen me, but I was a mere baronet and not worthy of you, was I?”
Elizabeth? This was the second time he’d referred to her as Elizabeth. Perhaps if she humored him…“Certainly you were worthy of me, Sir Hugh, but I fell in love
with Noble—”
“Love! Love? Don’t make me ill, my dear. You no more know what love is than you know what makes up the moon. No, my dear, I shall first punish you for your naughty ways, then we shall continue with our original plan. You will use that lush body of yours to bring McGregor to bay, and then we’ll arrange for your dear husband’s demise.”
Gillian felt sick, but not as sick as when the baronet began to describe what sorts of “games” he wanted to play with her. Did people really do those sorts of things to one another? And he made it sound as if Elizabeth enjoyed it — how could she have been so wrong about Elizabeth? Did Noble know about his first wife’s plot against him? Did he know what Elizabeth had really been like? Did he know that Sir Hugh had killed Elizabeth that night so many years ago? Did Noble know that his first wife had taken Sir Hugh as her lover?
And Lord Carlisle; there was no forgetting him. He had admitted to being Elizabeth’s lover, and it was evident from Sir Hugh that he and Elizabeth had planned to use Carlisle as a scapegoat for Noble’s murder. Gillian’s head began to spin with pain and confusion.
Secrets and lies, lies and secrets, Palmerston had said. The lies — those were Elizabeth’s words to Lord Carlisle. The secrets — Sir Hugh and Elizabeth and their secret plan to do away with Noble.
“It’s time, my dear. I haven’t heard your fair voice raised in terror in far, far too long.” Sir Hugh ran a thumb down the knife and stepped toward Gillian’s outspread legs. He had cut the shift off, leaving her exposed almost to her torso. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer, jumping at the sudden cold feeling of the blade as Sir Hugh ran its flat side up the length of her thighs.
“Now, Noble, now is a good time,” she whispered, trying to brace herself against any pain. “Please, Noble, I need you now.”
“Praying, my dear? You know how futile that is — I shall have to flog the blasphemy out of your soul once we are through with this little game.”
“Noble!” Gillian’s voice raised to a shriek as Sir Hugh grabbed the edge of her torn shift and ripped it open wide. A sudden explosion of light and sound burst into the hellish darkness of the room as a figure crashed through the window, and then Noble was there, his hands around Sir Hugh’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, lifting the madman off the ground, his hands never loosening their grip. Gillian closed her eyes again, but she still heard the sickening crack as Noble twisted the baronet’s head, snapping his neck.
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