by Jackie Ivie
“This is the Tremayne you’ve been discussing all eve, you young whippersnapper?” Linden asked. “The one who’s legal wed to the Montriart heir? Why…I’d have thought she had better taste.”
Gil’s eyes filled with tears again. He wished he knew Brandy’s secret about stopping them, because there wasn’t any way to disguise it anymore. So he simply dropped his head into his hands and shook.
“Gil?”
He heard Reg’s shocked exclamation and waved him off. It didn’t matter anymore if anyone saw how heartsore he was. That’s how much it hurt. He’d have done absolutely anything to be thought the epitome of masculine attainment. He’d even marry Helen to keep his image sacrosanct, to have Reginald follow his words and affect his motions. Reginald even dressed like Gil. Now, none of that mattered in the slightest. Nothing except a pair of luminous, brandy-colored eyes.
“Lad? Here. Have a go with the water. Here, Son.”
Gil took the water Linden handed him, gulped it down, and then swiped at his eyes. He noted Reg perusing the bookshelves beside the door as if he knew how to read well enough to enjoy them, while the Irishman helped himself to a more sturdy beverage from the grog tray.
His Brandy wouldn’t be very proud of him at the moment. That was the thought that strengthened and sustained him. She’d never have anything to do with a spineless milksop. She’d tell him so, too, in plain terms, using spirited words. Gil sat straighter, and looked at his visitor as the man took a seat beside him. Gil had to squint slightly. The light added to the throb behind his eyes, making it difficult to concentrate.
“My thanks,” Gil told him. “I’m quite recovered.”
“Well…I suppose this answers my question, but now I’m a bit concerned. You are the legal husband of Helene Bingham, aren’t you?”
“All this twaddle about legalities is unnecessary. Yes, I am solidly wed to Helene Montriart Bingham. If you’ve come to request that I annul it, you’ve wasted your time. So, if that’s your reason for visiting today, I’ll thank you to leave. Now. Before I get angered enough to challenge you.”
“I take it she’s well?”
Gil nodded.
“Good. I’ve a feeling the comte would much prefer you for a husband, instead of that vapid fop her family has been posturing with.”
“You’re not making sense, Linden. And I must warn you. If you’re referring to the Bingham family, I’d suggest you see yourself to the curb before I have you thrown there.”
“Gil!”
Reg abandoned his search for the perfect book, but Gil and Linden ignored him.
“Of course I’m referring to the Bingham family, and I have to say, since meeting that Helen chit in Monte Carlo, I share your opinion of the lot. So…if you don’t mind, Lord Tremayne, I’ll avoid the curb for now. What say you to that?”
“You were in Monte Carlo?”
“Aye.”
“And met Helen?”
“Aye again.”
“That figures.”
Gil put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and pressed, although he didn’t expect it to alter anything. His headache wasn’t going to abate no matter what he did. Nothing worked at controlling his rampant emotions. And he should’ve expected something like this when he could least deal with it.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“No.” Gil moved his hand and glared at his visitor. “How about, that God-damn, bloody well figures? Is that better?”
CHAPTER TWO
Reginald’s reaction came immediately, but the Irishman just looked at Gillian with an expression bordering on dislike. Gil welcomed it. He didn’t want anyone liking him anymore.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, Sir,” Reg said. “I’ve never seen him like this, and I offer my complete apologies for—”
“Shove off,” Gil said, “and quit apologizing for me, Reg. I already told—oh,Christ.”
He tried to stand, then slumped back as his legs gave. Life wasn’t helping him at all, and he was getting very annoyed at that particular aspect of his future.
“What’s wrong with you, Gil? Your mother wasn’t very forthcoming when I asked for you all week, and now that I see you, you’re dead on your feet and—”
‘‘Shut up, Reg, or pack your bags.”
Gil tried to glare around the blur in his eyes. Reg slumped into a chair and sulked.
“I see I came at a bad time,” Linden said. “I need to speak with you, Tremayne. I don’t suppose you can advise me when you might be in a better temper?”
Gil raised his hand and stopped the man from leaving.
“I’m at a distinct disadvantage, Linden. I’ve just returned from Paris, and Monte Carlo was just one of the things the new regime was strangely interested in, aside from my wife, of course. Your visit is just another in a long string of coincidences. Forgive me. I’m out of sorts.”
“You’ve been in Paris?” Reg’s voice rose. “Good God! Haven’t you heard? We’re at war!”
“Do tell.”
He looked over at Reg, who slouched back in his chair.
“Before I was interrupted, I was about to mention how precipitously my wife and I had to leave that fair city. She’s safely recovering from an experience that would send most women into seclusion. Other than having her face her past, something I’m not proud of, we found out very little about what happened in Monte Carlo. I suppose the First Consul lost interest in my wife when they learned she wasn’t the Helen they were looking for.”
“That’s plenty amusing, because she’s exactly the Helene they’re looking for,” Linden said. “Another master stroke for the mother country!”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
Gil was really beginning to dislike the man he’d first taken to. The pounding in his head kept increasing, while Linden’s explanation just fogged matter worse.
“Don’t you wonder why I was at Monte Carlo, My Lord?”
“I haven’t the vaguest idea or the slightest temptation to find out.”
“Well, I do!” Reg exclaimed.
Both men glared at him until he leaned back in his chair acting put-upon.
“I was enjoying green baize tables, not knowing how much influence this Bonie person has,” Linden continued. “Hell, I dropped a rather tidy sum before I found out about the state of affairs in Europe.”
“How much is tidy?” Reg asked.
“Thirty thousand pounds.”
“Thirty thousand…pounds? A veritable fortune. You must be exceedingly rich, Sir.”
“Addlepated.”
Linden winked at Gil before addressing Reg. Gil didn’t respond.
“I already mentioned once, lad, I’ve given up any claim to my family’s errant titles and such. Why, they’d as soon embrace the devil himself as me — until I hit my lucky strike, anyway. I haven’t been back to ascertain it, and have no desire to. You see, I’ve become a very rich man, richer than my wildest dreams. Thirty thousand is a pittance.”
“If I may be so bold?” Reg leaned forward. Gil watched.
“I’ve a million pounds in good English gold, lad. It’s held for me on account at the Bank of England.’’
Reg whistled. Gil should have matched it. The Tremayne estates brought him forty-five thousand a year. That was enough of a fortune to get him on the most-marriageable list. A million was almost beyond comprehension.
“This is where your Helene fits in, My Lord,” Linden explained. “As it happens, I’ve the same amount on deposit for her.”
Gil’s glass dropped. Remarkably, it didn’t shatter. Reg’s outburst covered the noise.
“She—she’s an heiress?” Reg asked. “Goddamn it, Gillian, if I had any hope of besting you, I’d challenge you right now! Goddamn my rotten luck!”
“Perhaps…I will…take a stiffer drink.”
Gil rose and walked across the floor to the liquor tray, averting his face. Ice was invading his veins. It chilled. And then it froze. He poured a whis
key, absolutely amazed he didn’t shake. Nobody said anything until he was reseated. He’d been wrong. His entire body felt glaciated.
“You’d best start at the beginning,” Reg spoke up, and scooted his chair close.
They didn’t look at Gil. Linden started talking. The Irishman’s voice warmed as he spoke. Reg listened with a rapt expression. Gillian watched it like a play was happening in front of him.
“I met the Montriart family in…’84. Back then, I was just a snot-nosed whippersnapper like you. The Comte de Montriart turned my life around. See, I’d left my family fold after one too many arguments with...sorry, Lads. I’m losing my story in ancient history.
“The comte believed in me, said he needed to stash some funds away from the restless spirit of his country, so he bankrolled my effort at mining for gold in South Africa. I didn’t just take his coin. I made certain there were signed papers, legalized and stashed in the Bank of England’s vault before I sailed. I wouldn’t just take fifty thousand from a man and run.”
“You had only fifty thousand to start? Cor! Where was my family when you needed bankrolling?” Reg asked.
“It’s more than the thirty he bet with, Reg,” Gil remarked. “Remember?”
He shouldn’t have spoken. It came out hard. Curt. Controlled. Rude. Gil couldn’t help it. The shock was evaporating. His hand gripped the etched goblet so tightly he feared it might shatter. But that would never do. Nobody could know how he was locked into place in order to hide the new round of emotions flooding him as the icy feeling receded. Alarm. Futility. Pain. Suffering. Reg didn’t understand. Linden, either. Nobody did.
“Where was I?” Linden asked.
“The papers stashed in the bank vault.” Reg replied, sliding to the edge of his chair.
“Oh, yes. Well, my first mine played out in ’92. I couldn’t get a message to the comte on what to do with his share, news being so poorly delivered and all. I was immersed in mining. I didn’t know what was happening here. I could be the only British citizen without knowledge of the revolution in France, and the comte’s fate.
“But back then I did what any other prospect-buggered fellow would do. I reinvested the comte’s share in another mine. This one for diamonds. It didn’t strike until last year, but then heaven opened up. Not only do we have two million on deposit between us, but the mine isn’t anywhere near played out. I’ve a bit of knowledge about these things, and I believe neither we nor our children’s children will see the end of it. Maybe longer.”
“I don’t want to listen anymore, Gillian,” Reg said in disgust. “I’m sick at heart and positively green over here.”
“Buck up, lad.” Linden slapped Reg’s knee. “Every millionaire needs friends, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not touching it,” Gil said.
There was complete silence while he swore he could hear someone playing a piano. It wasn’t a melodic sound, either. It was a constant hum of discordant notes. They came in waves, over and over. Through his ears.
“Excellent attitude!” Linden exclaimed. “Short-sighted and stupid, but excellent. And much more refreshing than the Bingham family’s reaction.”
“So, that’s why,” Gil said.
“That’s why…what?” Reg asked.
Gil inhaled. Odd. He couldn’t even pull in a deep breath. And now he was trembling.
“Helen found out about the fortune at Monte Carlo. The new regime did, too. That’s the reason for their close attendance in Paris. This also explains why Helen had her husband killed. But that plot would only work if I was willing to annul my marriage…and that explains everything else. God help me.”
The last words were whispered. It took all his will not to drop his head in his hands again. Gil wished he could take pride in the fact that he didn’t. He just sat there, willing his heart to stop sending absolute agony with every beat. Helene was rich beyond a fortune hunter’s wildest dreams. Now it didn’t matter if he managed an apology to her or not. This was the death knell.
He couldn’t approach her. She’d always think it was because of the money.
So, why was he still existing, sitting here, listening to his heart rate slow until it was a dull thump that almost drowned out the non-musical sounds?
“Now, wait. I didn’t mean to tell them. It just slipped out.”
Linden was still talking. Gil forced himself to listen.
“I knew the comte had a daughter named Valerie, but she hadn’t married when I left. I only learned the state of things when I reached Chateau Montriart…or what was left of it.”
“I’ve seen it,” Gil told him.
“Yes. Well. I visited the church next. Found records of marriages and births. And deaths. Found no mention of little Helene’s fate. I should have pursued it, but I didn’t think she’d survived. How could she? So. I continued my pursuit of worldly pleasures and that took me to Monte Carlo. I’m afraid I drew a bit of attention to myself there. And there was a lovely blond woman who found me highly interesting. And when I found out her name was Bingham? Well. I should’ve known not to speak first. But I had no way of knowing she wasn’t Helene Montriart Bingham! I mean, I’d drunk a bit more than I should, and had a bit more fun than I expected, and I had no way of knowing for certain. I shouldn’t have spoken of it, but I thought—well. I confess. I let the cat out of the bag, lads. It was my fault.”
“How’d you find her out?” Reg asked.
“I might be approaching my dotage, and there are those who’d wish me there sooner, but I’ve still got an eye for liars, and that Gerard fellow is one for certain. He’s got a gamin face, and looked ready to expire every time he saw me. Bloody liar.”
Gil sipped at his whiskey and swallowed extremely carefully. He should’ve trusted his gut. But, no. He’d called Brandy despicable names and…oh, dear God. The remark he’d said about her knowledge of Gerard’s scar should be enough to stop his heart right here and right now.
So why was the damned thing still beating?
“Helen had invited me to the family estate. It’s on the road to Bath.”
“Yes. Yes. We know where it is. Go on. Go on,” Reg requested.
Yes, do. Finish ripping everything apart. Get that last nail in the coffin. That final scoop of dirt tossed on.
Linden wasn’t paying much attention to Gil. His voice grew louder and faster as if cued by Reg’s growing excitement. And Gil just watched them, growing more morose by the word. And neither of them noticed.
“Met the entire family. All of them pleasant and on their best behaviors, but something was wrong. They claimed the money. Wanted it moved immediately. But I wasn’t the same dupe they’d fooled in Monte Carlo. I wasn’t letting that Bingham chit touch a shilling. She made me uneasy. Then again, she couldn’t speak a word of French. Dead giveaway, that.”
“This is better than a novel, Gillian.”
Reg grinned, and Gil looked at him until the grin faded. Reg was frowning as he turned back to Linden, his voice less excited than a moment earlier.
“So. What did you do then?” Reg asked.
“I toured the sanatorium Gerard finally admitted they sent the Montriart heir to. I got an earful from the new director. A Nurse Gunther. That woman has a bit to say about you, and your character, Tremayne.”
Gil didn’t answer. Reg did.
“Nurse Gunther runs the place? When did that happen, Gillian?”
“I understand she was installed, and the entire place cleaned out,” Linden said. “I don’t mind telling you that she was shocked and horrified at the condition Lady Tremayne was in when she first saw her. You don’t need to look so offended, My Lord. Nurse Gunther has nothing but compliments for your treatment.”
Gil grimaced and set down his glass. He didn’t need the drink and it tasted like everything else. No matter if he had boiled beef from the inn or the finest French brandy, everything tasted flat anymore. He supposed that matched how gray life looked, too.
“Go on. What happened next?” Reg aske
d.
“I was getting tired of half-truths and illusions, so I spent some time with a man called Gaston. I recognized him, of course. He’d killed Chaffin in the duel. I soon learned the lad has a loose tongue when he’s had a few drinks. I nearly had to drink him under the table to learn what I wanted, which was quite a chore.”
Gil twitched at the mention of Helene’s torturer. His jaw tightened. His hands made fists.
“What did he have to say?”
Reg asked it. Good thing. Gil wasn’t capable.
“He’s taken on a bit of an air, and it grated on me, if ye ken what I’m saying.”
“Being the mistress’s favorite has been known to have that effect,” Gil spoke up.
“You know about that, too?” Linden asked.
“Helene...has a very quick mind. She had the Bingham family pegged on all counts.” Only the slight pause after her name betrayed anything.
Reg whistled. “She really was in the revolution, Gillian? Good night! No wonder you’re acting out of sorts.”
“Reg—”
“I know. Shut up or pack my bags,” Reg interrupted. And then he grinned.
“Don’t go betting on any of this, either. Or I won’t allow you to see Mademoiselle Montriart Bingham once the annulment is completed.”
“Annulment?” Reg was shocked. It almost stopped his speech. “Surely you’re not serious?”
“Tremayne, don’t take offense, but you’re turning your back on a million pounds, lad!”
“I don’t care if it’s one pound or a million. I don’t want it. I believe Helene has the right to decide her future. As a gentleman, it’s my duty to give that back to her. Now. If you’ll both excuse me. I’m finding my chamber. Reginald. Linden. Good eve.”
He didn’t think his legs would support him at first, but they did. And they continued to do so through the hall, up the stairs, and toward his room. He almost made it before tears blurred his vision again. But, at least this time, there were no observers.
***
“I want to see my nephew, and you’re most definitely in the way!”
“Gillian isn’t receiving, Lady Bridget,” Reg said. “I already told you, just as I’ve told the hundreds of gossipy visitors we’ve been assailed with since the news broke. He’s not receiving!”