Lucas tamped down his building anger.
Cedric leaned back. "Wrong. I will let him think you stole his money," he murmured. "I will salvage enough to make him grateful. I will remind him of the honor and the duty due to our family name. I might even leave one of your silver dueling pistols on his desk when I leave him alone. A fitting end to such an arrogant bastard, don't you think?"
Christ. Why hadn't he seen it before? Or suspected it? He would have trusted Cedric with his life. The sense of betrayal pained him more than his physical injuries. Muscles bulged and strained in his neck and arms as he fought the ropes. Pain tore at his chest. "Face me like a man instead of a sniveling coward," he shouted with the furor of an injured beast. The echoes battered his ears.
Cedric smiled. "I will enjoy watching you beg and plead as your life slips away inch by inch."
"You perverted bastard. You are unnatural."
"I'm no more a bastard than you are, Lucas. But you are not entirely wrong about my pleasures—which reminds me, I look forward to educating your wife."
His heart shrank at the thought of Caro in this madman's hands. Pain no longer registered as he struggled. Reason slipped into unthinking rage.
Cedric eyed him with wry amusement.
Lucas took a slow deep breath and stilled. This got him nowhere. He needed to find his cousin's weakness. "Why, Cedric?" he bit out. "My father loves you like a son. What more could you want?"
God, the truth of those words hurt.
Cedric poked him in the ribs with the stick. Lucas swallowed his groan of pain.
Cedric pressed harder, and Lucas sucked in a hiss of breath.
"It is all wasted on a rakehell like you," Cedric said. "Even your father agrees you don't deserve it. I should have been the heir. Now I will be."
"Then Caro has nothing to do with this."
With a sly smile, Cedric leaned so close Lucas could smell the wine on his breath. "I needed her. I had to convince François to play along. He had no reason to help me until he thought you and your father would take the chateau. Once he marries Carolyn, he has nothing to fear. And for that to happen, we have to get rid of you." He shrugged. "Very simple, really. All I needed was everyone's trust."
So the bastard liked to feel clever. Lucas responded, "It was a brilliant move on your part to convince Caro you had annulled our marriage."
"I know." He frowned, no longer quite so selfsatisfied. "I thought she'd be pleased. But she's proving stubborn."
A growl escaped Lucas. "Then let her go."
Cedric got up and grinned down at him. "You like her more than I suspected. Good. The best part is, once Valeron is assured of the estate, he won't need her. Then she becomes mine."
Horror clogged Lucas's throat. He forced himself to remain unmoved. "Why would he give up a beautiful wife?"
"I congratulate you on your discernment, but once more, you can't see what is in front of your nose. The Chevalier doesn't want to marry Carolyn."
"You lie. He paid court to Caro from the day he arrived in London."
Cedric rapped the stick on Lucas's shin. A wave of agonizing pain shot up his leg. He gasped.
"Pay attention, Lucas. For some reason, the grasping Mademoiselle Belle Jeunesse, a rather crass young lady in my opinion, holds the good Chevalier's heart and his balls in her hot little hand. She will make him delightfully miserable for the rest of his life. But only if he has this estate. She won't have him without it. And he can only be sure of it if he marries Carolyn first. In a year or so, I will arrange for his wife's disappearance. Actually, it is too bad both you and Valeron had to wed her first, or I could have made her my countess. On the other hand, she will make a delightful mistress."
It all sounded insanely logical. A raging inferno of hell seemed to open a fiery maw to welcome Lucas in. Lucas cursed long and loud and fluently.
"Impressive. You really must stop mixing with the lower orders, dear boy. You have become quite vulgar in your speech."
"Bugger off."
"Speaking of that, she's still a virgin, isn't she?"
Sickened, Lucas fought for a semblance of calm. "I'll give you anything you want, if you leave Caro out of this."
An unholy light reflected in Cedric's eyes. "I want Carolyn. Beneath that demure outside, she is surprisingly spirited. And my God, that bosom. You never deserved her, Lucas." He licked his lips, and his eyes gazed into the distance. "In time, I am sure I will convince her that I am the better man."
"I'll do anything you want, Cedric. Just leave her alone. I'll give you my grandmother's estate."
Cedric shook his head. "Why would I need it? I'll have the title and Carolyn."
Bile filled Lucas's throat, nausea combined with black dread. He bowed his head in defeat. "I have money—a fortune in investments. Take it all. If it is me you hate, don't make Caro suffer."
"It is not that I particularly hate you, Lucas. I hate being your father's errand boy. I deserved so much more."
"In a pig's ear," Lucas growled.
Cedric grinned. "My mother always said you would come to a bad end. And so you will. What a joke."
He circled around to stand behind Lucas. "I thought I'd solved the problem of you before, you know." His musing tones were worse than his ranting. "I thought your father might actually kill you when you refused to own up to getting that wench pregnant."
The beating hadn't hurt as much as his father's disbelief in his claims of innocence. "She lied. I never touched her." A ghastly thought tightened Lucas's throat. "It was you, wasn't it? Somehow, you bribed her to point the finger at me."
Cedric chuckled and sauntered around to stand in front of him. "You guessed. How clever. Unfortunately, your father is as weak as you are. He couldn't bring himself to be rid of you, no matter how many opportunities I gave him or how much he despised you."
"Damn you. You were my friend. All those times you interceded with him on my behalf—"
A loud guffaw filled the gloomy chamber as Cedric threw back his head. "Oh, Lord Stockbridge, Lucas is in a fix again," he mimicked. "Debt up to his ears, another woman demanding money from the estate. Your own flesh and blood is bleeding you dry. I wish I could help."
He deepened his voice to the tones of Lucas's father. "You are such a good boy, Cedric. I wish you were my son."
He winked. "Now I will be."
This felt like some bad Covent Garden play, and Lucas didn't like the script. What fools he and his father had been to trust this man. "Audley knows you took Caro against her will and knows I'm here. He'll investigate."
"Try again. The British government won't make waves. This country is in turmoil, rife with beggars and murderers at every crossroads. Your disappearance will be forgotten in a month, and to all eyes, Carolyn will be happily married to a Valeron."
The bastard had thought of everything. "Kill me. I don't give a damn," he challenged, "but leave Caro and my father out of it."
"No." Cedric pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. "By the way, there is one scene left to play. You don't have any lines, but your role is important. Open your mouth, if you please."
Like hell. Lucas clenched his jaw and turned his face away. Cedric jabbed him in the gut with the stick. Agony tore through bone and muscle. He groaned and sucked in a breath.
Cedric stuffed the handkerchief in his mouth. "Most obliging."
Lucas breathed frantically through his nose, blackness curling in around him as his lungs ached for air.
Cedric lit candles, filling the cavern with dancing light. "Don't go anywhere," he called as he strolled into the darkness. A low laugh wafted back.
Like giants ready to spring, barrels crouched beyond the glowing circle of light. Hopelessness weighed on Lucas's chest, making breathing yet more difficult.
Henri and Lizzie knew of his and Caro's whereabouts, but what could a footman and a lady's maid do against the powerful Valerons? They could go for Audley. And Audley would do nothing.
God, he wished he didn't
believe Cedric. Despair threatened to swallow him like a bog. He had wasted so much time on revenge against his father. And now that he finally knew what he really wanted, he'd let it slip through his fingers. Worse, he'd put Caro in terrible danger. The ache of his injuries was nothing compared to the pain of regret. If he hadn't married Caro for money, none of this would have happened. He had to get out of here. He had to put things right.
Think, damn it. He stared around the cellar. He struggled. A spider couldn't have bound its prey more tightly.
A candle sputtered and flickered. If he could get to the table, he might be able to burn the ropes off, if he didn't set light to himself first.
He leaned back and then jerked forward. The chair crept forward a fraction. Pain stabbed his ribs. If he pierced a lung, Caro would be on her own. He took a slow breath. This was his only chance. He clenched his jaw and established a rhythm—rock, jerk, creep. Rock, jerk, creep. Sweat poured down his face and back. It chilled instantly, leaving him shivering.
Voices sounded in the distance, followed by footsteps.
He peered into the dark. Who the hell now?
Eighteen
"Liquid gold, Carolyn." The reverent words echoed off the low cellar ceilings. François gestured to row upon row of bottles in wooden racks lining the snow-white walls. His lantern swung, casting eerie shadows on the pale walls.
The cool musty air chilled her skin, but François's air of triumph froze her to the bone. It took all her will not to shiver. "I thought it was wine?"
"Not wine. Champagne. The best in the world."
The only time she had drunk champagne, she had almost kissed this gloating beast. Shame burned her face. She aimed for indifference. "You certainly have a lot of it down here."
"This is only a fraction of our cellars. One day, I will show you everything."
If she never saw the place again, it would be too soon, but she daren't voice her opinion, not when he seemed to be relaxing his guard. "Some other time perhaps. It is such a lovely day—I thought we might look around the vineyards?" Now that she knew the lay of the land, it might be possible to slip away.
His voice hardened. "You have not the slightest interest in all this, do you?"
She rubbed her bare arms above her long gloves. "I am a little cold, that is all."
He set the lantern on the floor with a sigh. "Then we must move quickly to the real purpose of our visit."
The vague threat quickened her pulse. Did he intend to incarcerate her down here? "Purpose?"
He nodded. "Unfortunately, we have an uninvited guest. Your previous husband decided to . . . drop in, you might say."
A leap of her heart drove her breath out in a rush. Last night hadn't been a dream. Joy lightened her spirits, gave her hope. "Lucas is here? Why didn't you say so?"
François grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to his side. "I am afraid he is in grave danger."
The excited flutter in her chest slowed to a torturous drum. "What danger?"
"He forced his way in. He has some strange idea you don't want our marriage."
"I wonder why?" Tugging her arm away did nothing to free it from his grasp. She stared around her. "Where is he?" She opened her mouth to call out. François clamped his hand over her lips and nose.
She couldn't breathe. Blood pounded in her ears. She tore desperately at in his fingers.
"Hold still." His hot breath fanned her cheek. "His well-being depends on you. Make one sound, and he will suffer the consequences, understand?"
Sick fear rolled through her. This man would stop at nothing. She understood that well enough. She nodded.
He released her, and she sucked in a gulp of air, pressing her fingers to her tender lips with a deep sense of foreboding. What had he done to Lucas?
"Listen carefully," he whispered. "Foxhaven will leave here the moment we are wed, provided you convince him that you desire our marriage. If not, he will never leave us in peace."
He was right. Lucas would never knowingly let down a friend. He'd always been especially protective of her. In return, she'd covered up his scrapes, just as she had agreed to marry him. "What must I do?"
The lines around François's mouth eased. "Come around the next corner with me and make him believe you love me, and then prove it in church."
Blackmail. Once more, she was a pawn in a man's game of power. She wanted to weep with frustration. Instead she glared into his patently false sorrowful expression. "And you will set him free?"
"It will be my greatest pleasure never to see him again."
"You promise?"
"I give you my word."
What choice did she have? She tried to ignore the chill spreading through her body. "I'll agree to whatever you want."
"You must kiss me and pledge your love in front of him."
A fierceness she didn't know she possessed blocked her vision in a blood red wave. She would convince the devil of her saintliness, provided it saved Lucas's life. If only she trusted François enough to believe he would play by the rules. But until she saw Lucas, she could only agree to François's demands. "Very well."
He took her hand and led her around the corner.
In a flickering glow at the far end of the next cavern, she made out the blur of a seated figure. He raised his dark head.
She paused. François placed his hand in the small of her back. "Remember why you are doing this," he whispered and pushed her forward into the light.
Head high, she sauntered along the cavern. The tightness in her chest stifled her lungs. Dear Lord. He was bound to a chair and gagged. One eye glared from beneath a puffy lid. Blood smeared his swollen upper lip, and a scrape marred his stubbled cheek. Her heart wrenched. She longed to go to him, ease his cuts and bruises, apologize for all the trouble she'd caused. She glanced at François for her cue.
François flashed his charming, lying smile. She wanted to rake her nails down his cheek and wipe the smile from his lips. Instead, she mirrored it.
"See, it is just as I told you, Carolyn," François said. "Lord Foxhaven came in the night to steal you away."
It wasn't a dream. He had been there in her room. Her heart danced as the memory of his kiss brushed her lips. She recalled his haste, his refusal to talk. The drugs had clouded her mind, made her useless. But what happened after that? How had he ended up here?
No matter. He had tried to rescue her, and now it was up to her to make sure François set him free.
She fixed a mocking smile to her lips. "How strange. He certainly didn't want me when we were married." The fragile flower of their new understanding seemed to wither at her harsh words. Her heart ached with loss even as anger sparked in Lucas's eyes. He shook his head and winced.
"His only purpose in wedding you was to rob me of my inheritance," François sneered.
Lucas glared and strained against the ropes around his chest, his neck corded.
"Perhaps his father forced him?" she suggested softly.
François's fingers crushed her upper arm. "You don't believe that."
The belief that Lucas would never intentionally harm her strengthened, but she forced a sigh. "I heard them talking." The hurt she'd tried to dampen with logic sharpened. "His father told him that if he wanted the Valeron estate, he had to get me with child." Her voice broke as guilt flickered across Lucas's expression along with something remarkably like regret. Tears filled her throat.
She forced them down and spoke around them in a hoarse whisper. "He said that twenty thousand pounds might be enough to induce him to bed even me." This was her interpretation of his words, but it was true nonetheless. The laugh she tossed out sounded as brittle and sharp as broken glass. "It was not."
Lucas flinched and shook his head, staring at her with an intensity that seemed to sear her soul.
François's smile broadened. "He is despicable. He doesn't deserve you, cherie."
"No. But then he never wanted me." She dared not ask for his help—it was too dangerous—but Lucas woul
d know that whatever he heard or saw next was a lie by her signal. She tapped the side of her nose slowly with her gloved index finger, once, twice, and then tugged at her earlobe.
Would François notice? Did Lucas's eyes widen a fraction in acknowledgement? Or did her hope to lessen the impact of her words just make her believe so? If only the light were better so that she could see.
François grabbed her arm, swung her around to face him, and pressed his mouth hard against hers. Nausea tangled with tears. For a moment, she resisted the dry, hot pressure of his lips. Her limbs trembled until she thought she would fall. She must do this. Lucas's life depended on it. She brought her hands up and around François's neck and tried not to suffocate on the floral scent of betrayal.
No Regrets Page 27