‘Of course I am not.’ His face flushed uncomfortably. ‘I just think it wiser if you remain here until Darius comes for you.’
Arabella shot him a derisive glance. ‘You have known Sebastian for some years now, and during that time you must surely have come to realise that the St Claires are not always wise?’
Grayson grimaced. ‘I have found that to be the case on occasion, yes.’
‘You see my point, I hope?’
‘Yes. But—’
‘There is no but, Lord Grayson. I intend to go and look for my husband now. My advice to you is that you continue with your breakfast until Darius sends for you.’ Arabella gave him one last challenging smile before turning on her slippered heel and leaving the room to go in search of her husband.
Darius sat behind the desk in his study, his face pale as he attempted to accept the significance of the note he had just received from William Bancroft.
‘Darius…?’
The contents of Bancroft’s note were so disturbing that Darius was not in the least surprised he had not heard Arabella open the study door and enter the room before quietly closing it again behind her. Nor was he surprised that she had not done as he had asked and stayed in the breakfast room with Grayson; Arabella had not obeyed any of his suggestions to date, so why should he have expected that she would obey that one?
‘What is it, Darius?’ She glanced at the note that lay open upon the top of his desk. ‘Have you received bad news of some kind?’
His laugh was completely lacking in humour. ‘Not just bad, Arabella, but earth-shattering!’
‘What is it?’ Arabella’s concern deepened as she took note of the pallor of his face. ‘Darius, what has happened?’ She crossed the room to his side.
He did not answer her with words, but instead held out the note for her to take.
‘Read it, Arabella!’ He stood up abruptly to move away from her and stand in front of the window, his hands gripped tightly together behind his back, his expression as grim as the cold and frosty weather outside.
Arabella’s hand shook as she held the note, her emotions too disturbed for her to immediately be able to focus on the words written there. She had never seen Darius like this before. So bleak. So utterly lost to all hope, it seemed.
Her heart sank as she read the note signed by Lord Bancroft. Helena Jourdan was dead. She had been drowned over a week ago, when the ship taking her back to France had floundered and sunk in a storm off the Normandy coast. The bodies of those who had died were only now being washed ashore and identified.
Darius looked so bleak, so helpless, because Helena Jourdan had died…?
Arabella crumpled the note in her hand to stare across the room at her husband. ‘You cared for her after all, then.’
‘Do not be ridiculous, Arabella!’ Darius exclaimed as he turned impatiently back into the room, his eyes ablaze with emotion.
She shook her head. ‘But you are so upset—’
‘Of course I am upset.’ Darius began to pace the small confines of the room. ‘Do you not see what this means, Arabella? Can you not see that if Helena Jourdan has been dead this past week then she cannot be the one trying to harm us? It must be Francis after all.’
Now that Darius had pointed it out to her, of course Arabella did see. But it was not that realisation that made her face pale as she stumbled to the chair placed in front of the desk and sat down abruptly. No, that was for quite another reason entirely.
Even the thought of Darius being in love with another woman, of his being devastated at learning of that woman’s death, had been almost enough to bring Arabella to her knees in aching anguish.
She was in love with Darius!
She had known herself to be fascinated by him during her first Season. Had imagined herself to be slightly infatuated with him, and been infuriated rather than saddened when he’d married Sophie Belling the previous year. But Arabella had not known, had not realised until this moment, that she had really been in love with him all along.
Even when he had felt himself forced into offering for her she had fooled herself into believing that she was only accepting him because he would make her a much more interesting husband than any of the other men she had met during her two Seasons.
How could she have been so stupid? So blind to her own feelings?
‘Arabella?’
She looked up to find Darius frowning down at her, and was at once engulfed in feelings of panic. Darius could not know how she felt about him! He must never learn that she had been foolish enough to fall in love with him when he was a penniless lord, and that she was still in love with him now that he was a wealthy duke!
She drew in a deeply controlling breath. ‘I realise this must be disturbing for you, Darius. But surely it is as you imagined?’
‘Imagined, perhaps. But I never gave up hope it would not be the case.’ He sighed heavily. ‘We will, of course, both have to return to London immediately.’
Arabella blinked at the sudden change of subject. ‘We will?’
Darius nodded. ‘Immediately.’
‘But of course I shall come to London with you if you think I can be of any help to you—’
‘It is not I who is in need of your assistance, Arabella, but your newest sister-in-law, Juliet.’
Arabella looked bewildered. ‘Juliet?’
‘Of course Juliet,’ Darius confirmed impatiently. ‘Your sister-in-law will need the support of all of her family to help sustain her through this difficult time.’
‘I had not realised that anyone but close family yet knew of Juliet’s…condition.’ Arabella was completely at a loss as to Darius’s train of thought. Perhaps having confirmation of his brother’s perfidy had unhinged him slightly? No, Darius was not a man to become unhinged by anything, and she had no doubt that when he finally apprehended Francis he would deal with his brother in the same calm and collected way he had dealt with him seven months ago.
Darius looked confused. ‘What condition?’
‘Why, she and Sebastian are expecting…’ Arabella trailed off into silence. She knew by Darius’s blank expression that he’d had no idea Juliet was with child. ‘Darius, why exactly do you think that Juliet needs her family around her at this moment?’
Darius had been so weighed down by the evidence of Francis’s guilt that he had spoken without thinking. Without practising his usual caution. Arabella, being Arabella, was now starting to draw her own conclusions from that slip. No doubt they would be the correct ones!
No matter. Darius had thought long and hard as he’d lain awake the previous night, holding her safe in his arms, and the conclusion he had come to from all that thinking was that as a married man it was now time for him to withdraw his services from the crown. He had enough to occupy him in being Arabella’s husband and the Duke of Carlyne. Most especially in being husband to the wayward Arabella!
Darius had never known another woman like her. Her beauty was all too apparent. But she was also self-confident. Self-willed. So high-spirited. A young woman, in fact, who refused to be cowed or frightened by anything or anyone. Even her scare the previous night—something that would have reduced a lesser woman to tears and hysteria—had only shaken her momentarily before she returned to being her normal stubborn self. As for the way she had sat down this morning and drunk tea and gossiped with Big Tom Westlake…
No, Darius had never before known a woman quite like her…
He grimaced. ‘Arabella, have you not wondered why William Bancroft should be the one to inform me of Helena Jourdan’s death?’
‘Well, I…That is rather strange,’ she agreed. ‘What is the Earl of Banford’s connection to her?’ Her gaze was suddenly sharp with suspicion.
‘I will explain that in a moment.’ Darius sighed. ‘Arabella, Helena Jourdan was Juliet’s cousin and companion.’
Arabella gasped.
Darius nodded. ‘And a French spy.’
A frown appeared on Arabella’s creamy brow, and
her eyes widened before just as suddenly narrowing again. Her beautiful pouting lips thinned indignantly as she glared up to at him. ‘The same French spy arrested at Lord and Lady Bancroft’s house party this past summer?’
Having made his decision to leave off working for the crown, Darius knew the time for prevarication as regarded his young wife was over. ‘Yes.’
Arabella went from being indignant to blazingly angry in a matter of seconds, and she stood up with an impatient ruffle of her skirts. ‘Why did you not tell me before? Why did you not explain?’
‘I could not, love.’
‘Do not “love” me, you—you—’
‘Diverting as this conversation no doubt is to the two of you, I find that I am becoming rather bored by it!’ a contemptuous voice suddenly interrupted.
Darius turned sharply to stare into the shadowed corner of the study behind him, his eyes widening with disbelief as he saw the man standing there, looking back at him so disdainfully.
His brother Francis!
Chapter Seventeen
Arabella turned to frown at the man who had somehow joined them in the study without either of them having been aware of it until he spoke to them. She recognised him instantly, of course: young and handsome, with golden-blond hair and pale blue eyes, Francis Wynter really was a weaker-looking version of his brother.
‘How convenient that I should find the two of you alone here together,’ Francis remarked mildly as he stepped out of the shadows to reveal that he held a raised pistol in each hand. ‘Recognise these, Darius?’
Darius nodded tersely, a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘They are our father’s duelling pistols.’
‘One for each of you, yes.’ The younger man gave a mocking inclination of his head. ‘I apologise, my dear. We have not as yet been introduced.’ He turned that bold blue gaze upon Arabella. ‘I am—’
‘I know who and what you are.’ Arabella looked back at him scornfully.
‘Oh, dear, Darius, what have you been telling your young wife about me?’ Francis gave his brother a taunting look.
‘Darius did not need to tell me anything about you,’ Arabella assured him disdainfully. ‘I know from your previous actions what a monster you are, and your cowardly behaviour of last night only confirms that belief.’
‘Arabella—’
‘Oh, please, do let her continue, Darius.’ Francis Wynter calmly interrupted Darius’s words of warning. ‘I am all agog to hear what the haughty Lady Arabella St Claire thinks of me.’
Arabella drew herself up to her full height. ‘I am Arabella Wynter, Duchess of Carlyne, and as such you will address me as Your Grace!’
Those pale blue eyes narrowed with dislike. ‘Not for very much longer, my dear,’ he assured her evilly.
Arabella felt a shiver of apprehension run down the length of her spine. ‘You, sir, are—’
‘Arabella, please!’ Darius stepped forward to push her behind him in an attempt to shield her with his body, all the time keeping his steely gaze fixed firmly upon his brother. ‘How did you get in here, Francis?’ He asked one of the questions that had been plaguing him these last few tense minutes as Arabella had kept Francis occupied in conversation and Darius’s mind had raced as to how he was to reach his own loaded pistol hidden in the top drawer of his desk.
Francis gave a humourless smile. ‘Because you and our cousin Simon, and frequently Lucian St Claire—’ he shot Arabella another look of intense dislike ‘—chose to habitually exclude me from joining in your diversions outside, I was left to stay indoors and fall back on my own devices. In the process of doing so I discovered several secret passageways that had obviously been installed in the house when it was first built. In order to aid escape if the inhabitants of the house were ever attacked, one presumes. You see?’
He balanced one of the pistols so that he might reach out and touch the rose design in the centre of one of the panels on the wall, resulting in the whole panel silently opening.
‘Ingenious, is it not?’ He pressed the rose and closed it again before resuming his previous position, having both pistols levelled on Arabella and Darius. ‘God knows what our ancestors got up to that they needed such an escape, but I have certainly found those passageways helpful for my own plans.’
It explained how Francis had managed to enter the house the previous night undetected, at least. Without, as Darius had previously suspected, the aid of one of his own servants. That was something, at least. ‘What do you want here, Francis? Have your past actions not already caused enough unhappiness to our family?’
‘My dear Darius, I have not even begun!’ his brother said coldly as he pointed one of the pistols directly at Darius’s chest. ‘Now, for this to work properly, I am afraid you will have to step aside.’
Darius felt his heart turn to ice. ‘What do you mean?’
Francis smiled. ‘First you will shoot your wife in a fit of temper, and then you will take your own life.’
‘A fit of temper?’ Arabella was the one to repeat it incredulously as she stepped out from behind Darius. ‘I assure you Darius is far too much in control of his emotions to resort to anything so childish as a fit of temper!’ she dismissed contemptuously.
At that moment Darius wished that his wife were a little less outspoken and more in control of her own emotions! ‘Would you please allow me to deal with this, Arabella?’ he asked mildly.
‘“This” being your disgrace of a brother, I presume?’ She shot Francis another contemptuous glance.
Darius winced as he saw the murderous glint that had now entered Francis’s eyes. ‘Arabella—’
‘No, please allow her to continue, Darius.’ His brother continued to look venomously at Arabella. ‘It will make it so much easier to shoot her when the time comes!’
That lump of ice in Darius’s chest became even heavier. ‘You will never get away with this, Francis. No one will believe that I shot my wife of but a few days before taking my own life.’
‘But of course they will.’ Francis gave them a confident, insane smile. ‘Once the rumour is circulated that your wife and Grayson were involved before your marriage, and that she invited Grayson to be with her here as early as your honeymoon, I have no doubt that the ton will believe every word of it!’
Darius’s eyes narrowed to icy chips of blue. ‘Lord Grayson has a perfectly legitimate reason for being here.’
‘I’m sure,’ his brother drawled knowingly.
This was not going well, Darius realised frustratedly. Not that he expected Francis’s story to be believed for a moment; too many people of influence knew of his true relationship with Grayson. But if he and Arabella were already dead it really was going to be of little interest to either of them what anyone believed! If Darius could only get to his own gun in the drawer of his desk. Perhaps if he could distract Francis?
‘Have you been hiding in the house this whole time, Francis?’ he enquired lightly, only to receive a frowning glance from his wife. He once again managed to move so that his body acted as a shield for hers.
‘At the Dower House, actually.’ Francis smiled. ‘The few servants that Margaret retains apparently do not talk to the lower class of servants you have engaged here since becoming Duke of Carlyne, and conveniently saw no reason to enlighten anyone as to my presence there.’
His brother really was insane, Darius realised heavily. Completely. Utterly. Which was not going to make the slightest difference when Francis pulled the trigger on his pistol and killed both him and Arabella!
‘Can we not sit down together and talk about this?’
‘How magnanimous of you, Darius.’ Francis gave him a derisive glance. ‘I seem to recall that as a child you were always one for doing the right thing. I made sure my mama never believed it of you, of course,’ he added. ‘Young as I was, I still remember her talking of how I would make a far better duke than either George, Simon or you could ever be.’
Arabella now understood the need Darius felt for
caution; his brother was obviously not in his right mind. Had not been so for some time, from the sound of it. No doubt he had been helped along in that insanity at a very young age by the ambitions of a mother who had proved herself to be vicious and unforgiving to the young and vulnerable little boy who had been her stepson.
‘Margaret is expected back tomorrow.’ Francis gave a contented smile. ‘I have decided it will be more convenient for all if, when she arrives, she is able greet me as the new Duke of Carlyne. If you would kindly step aside so that I have a clear shot, Darius?’ He made a waving motion with one of the pistols.
So that he had a clear shot at her, Arabella realised with horror. This man, Darius’s own brother, intended to calmly and cold-bloodedly kill both of them! As he was the only one of them holding pistols, Arabella could not see how they were going to deflect him from carrying out that plan, either.
Perhaps if she were to pretend to faint? No, Arabella doubted that would ruffle the obviously deranged man in the slightest; he would probably just take advantage of her prone position and shoot her where she fell.
Francis gave an impatient sigh as Darius continued to shield Arabella with his own body. ‘I really would have preferred for you to see your duchess die before your eyes,’ he said in disappointment. ‘But ultimately it is of little import which of you dies first.’
Once again he levelled the pistol at Darius’s chest.
‘No!’ Arabella screamed as she saw that finger about to squeeze the trigger, moving to grab Darius’s arm in order to pull herself round in front of him. She clung firmly to both his arms as her hungry gaze ate up every handsome inch of her husband’s angry face, and then she heard the sound of breaking glass and the loud report of the pistol being fired…
‘Arabella! Arabella, for God’s sake open your eyes and speak to me!’
Her first thought was that she had failed and Francis had succeeded after all. That she and Darius were both dead. How else could he now be talking to her? Her only consolation—if it could be called such—was that she and Darius were still together.
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