by Sandra Heath
“Please don’t ask me to go, Dane.”
“I’m not asking, Rosalind, I’m ordering. I can no longer bear the sight of your face, and certainly don’t want to endure your close proximity. You made your bed, now you can lie in it.”
“Yours is the only bed in which I wish to lie, Dane.”
“Ah, the softly seductive voice of the injured wife,” he mocked. “Dear God, I marvel at your capacity to play the martyr. Well, at least you’ll never starve, my dear, for if Denham doesn’t want you, I’m sure you’ll be welcomed at Drury Lane.”
“Do you think I was acting last night? Was it all false when I gave myself to you in the carriage, and then again here? Was I deceiving you when I woke you this morning and we made love again?”
“Yes, madam, I believe you were.”
“I’m evidently a truly great actress,” she said, holding his gaze.
“There’s no doubt of it, madam; indeed, I take my hat off to such dazzling talent.” He sketched a derisive bow.
“Please don’t be like this, Dane,” she whispered, feeling the familiar salt sting of tears.
“You surely don’t expect me to be affable?”
“I don’t expect anything, but I want you to believe in me, Dane!” she cried. “I love you, only you! Thomas Denham means nothing to me!”
The echo that had whispered their entire conversation so far, now picked up her raised tone almost eagerly, and flung it wildly around the silent hall, as if laughing at her. Nothing to me...! Nothing to me...! Nothing to me...!
Dane was unmoved. “I suppose that’s why I found you in his arms today?” he replied dryly.
“You found me trying to spurn his advances.”
He laughed. “Oh, how foolish of me to misunderstand. So you went into the timber yard with him in order to tell him you didn’t wish to be with him? How very credible!”
“It’s the truth.”
“You’ve forgotten what truth is, Rosalind, I doubt you’d recognize it even if it stood before you with a label around its neck!”
“I want to stay with you, Dane.”
“Well, my dear, I don’t want you, so we have an impasse, I think,” he said acidly.
The tears shimmered in her eyes now. “Is that what you really wish?” she whispered.
“I’ll tell you what I really wish, madam. I wish I was monster enough to deal you the appropriate punishment right now!” Suddenly he strode down the final steps and seized her wrist, twisting it savagely behind her back so her body arched painfully against him.
“You’re hurting me!” She tried to writhe away, but his grip was like a vise.
Her throat was pale in the faint light of the moon, and he could see the fullness of her breasts, cupped only by the plunging bodice of her flimsy gown, and he gave a low laugh. “Perhaps I should sample you one last time, my dear. You’re mine by right—conjugal right!”
He pulled her down to the floor, still twisting her wrist behind her so she couldn’t escape, and only letting go when she was pinned helplessly beneath his weight. Then he looked down into her eyes. “Being on your back suits you, my dear; in fact, I’d go so far as to say it was how you were meant to be.”
“Take me like this if you wish, it will make no difference to the truth. I love you now, and I always will. Always!” The spiteful echo mocked her. Always...always...always...
“Oh, what an unerring touch you have for the dramatic. A veritable tragedienne,” he breathed. “Well, let’s see how convincing you can remain, let’s really test your skills.”
He wrenched her flimsy muslin skirts up to her waist, and forced her thighs apart. Then he bent his head to kiss her fiercely on the lips. Whether it was anger or hatred that aroused him she didn’t know, she only knew that he was far from impotent at that moment. She felt him undo his breeches and take out the rigid shaft through which the bitterness of betrayal pulsed like a heartbeat, then he kissed her again. It was a harsh kiss, but behind its cruel force she could sense his agony. It was within his power to really hurt her physically, but he didn’t. Neither did he penetrate her, but watched her face as he pressed his masculinity to the threshold of her body. He was hot with desire, and if he entered her now he would surely impale her soul.
Instead he looked contemptuously into her eyes. “What price Denham now, my sweet? You’re my wife, mine to do with as I please, and now it pleases me to reject you, for you’re not worth my effort.”
With that got to his feet and smiled mockingly down at her as he did his breeches up again. “I swear this is the last time you and I will share any intimacy, and I pray it is also the last time I ever have to look at you. Be gone from this house within the hour. Everything that is yours will be sent to your new protector.”
The cruel echo continued to whisper his last word, as if intent upon taunting her to the very end. Protector...protector...protector... It was still swirling around the hall as Dane stepped over her, as if over something in a gutter. Then he went up the staircase without a backward glance.
She lay there with tears streaming down her cheeks. If he’d beaten her, or taken his brutal pleasure to the full, she could have borne it more, but instead he’d humiliated her. Nothing could have shown his loathing more than the way he stepped over her, and nothing could have pierced her heart more than the way he hadn’t even glanced back.
She wanted to curl up and hide from the world, but then cold facts swept soberingly over her. She couldn’t hide, for this was her existence now, and if she gave in to misery she might never find the strength to fight for what she wanted. Slowly she sat up, and shook her gown until it hung properly. She wouldn’t give in because of this, she wouldn’t!
Renewed determination flooded through her veins, and she got to her feet. Somehow she’d turn Dane’s hatred back into love, and she’d begin by wearing his ring again. Gathering her skirts, she hurried up the staircase.
The silence of the castle seemed to intensify as she opened the drawing room door. Everything was ghostly in the moonlight, and a window had been left slightly open, so the night breeze stirred the curtains and the ivy on the wall as she went to the cabinet. The rustling of the ivy made her shiver, just as it had the day she’d met Jeremiah Pendle in this room. She glanced uneasily toward the open window. What was it about that sound that got to her? It had never bothered her before—in fact, she quite liked the rustle of leaves. She didn’t like it now, though.
She put the matter from her mind then, to get the ring. It was on table by the cabinet like Rosalind said, and felt cold as Kathryn slipped it onto her finger. She held her hand out in the moonlight, gazing at the golden band. She’d never take it off again, never. Sir Dane Marchwood was her husband, and she wouldn’t rest until she was welcome in his arms once more. However much he tried to banish her now, she wouldn’t go voluntarily. If he wanted her to go, he’d have to put her out by force!
She turned to leave, but suddenly heard a stealthy sound coming from outside the window. The ivy was shaking from more than just the night breeze—someone was climbing up it! Now she understood why she’d shivered each time she heard those leaves, it was a premonition of some kind!
Smothering a gasp, she drew into one of the deep window embrasures on the opposite side of the room, and her heart quickened as she peeped around the curtain in time to see a furtive figure clamber over the sill and drop softly into the room.
It was a man, his features concealed by his hat and upturned collar as he went to the cabinet. He was slight and wiry, and his fingers were nimble as he opened the drawers to sift hastily through what lay inside. At last he found what he was searching for—the leather case containing Dane’s dueling pistols.
Kathryn’s eyes widened as he placed it on a table. Suddenly he glanced around, as if sensing he wasn’t alone, but although she immediately pulled back out of sight, she was too late. He saw the slight movement and was upon her in a moment. Her lips parted to scream, but his hand clamped over her mouth. The moonlight
shone on his other hand as he raised it to strike her. The blow jerked her head back against the embrasure, and the moonlight began to retreat into an inky impenetrable darkness as she sank to the floor. In the split second before she lost consciousness, she saw a scar on the back of the hand that struck her, but that was all.
He froze as he recognized her face in the pale light. Lady Marchwood! For a moment he thought he’d killed her. A numbing fear immobilized him, and he could only stare at her slumped figure, but then he regained his wits. Crouching, he felt for her pulse, and then exhaled with relief. He straightened again and drew the curtains slightly to hide her from view, then he swiftly returned to the table to open the leather case and take out one of the pistols. It was the one Dane always used, its damaged stock distinctive in the moonlight. Taking a small tool from his pocket, he worked quickly. Within a minute the gun’s magazine was cleverly blocked with a bent nail, although this would not be apparent unless the weapon was examined very closely indeed. His task complete, he replaced the pistol in the case and then took the case back to the cabinet, leaving it exactly as he’d found it. A moment later he climbed silently out of the window again.
Kathryn remained unconscious. She was still there several hours later when the moonlight was replaced by the first faint fingers of Lammas Day dawn on the eastern sky, and the hour of the duel approached.
Dane came to the drawing room for the pistols. He wore a charcoal coat and white breeches, and the gilt spurs on his boots jingled as he moved. There was a sapphire pin on his starched neckcloth, and a bunch of seals swung from his fob. He might have been about to sally forth along Bond Street instead of going to face an opponent in a secluded clearing, but the shadow in his eyes and pallor of his face was evidence not only of a sleepless night, but of the torture of knowing his beloved second wife was as adulterous as the first.
He placed the leather pistol case on the table and opened it to examine the weapons, picking up the one the intruder had interfered with so expertly. He detected nothing wrong as he balanced it in his hand for a moment before replacing it with its fellow. Then he picked up the case and went down to the great hall to await George Eden.
Behind the curtain, Kathryn remained unconscious. And precious time was now trickling away like sand through an hourglass.
Chapter Twenty-five
It was time to leave for the oak grove, but George Eden still hadn’t arrived. Dane’s spurs rang softly as he paced restlessly up and down in the great hall, and the white of his shirt was startling in the dawn gloom. George had willingly agreed to be his second, so where was he? He paused by the half-repaired fireplace, impatiently grinding some of the stone dust beneath his boot. God, how he loathed this waiting; it wound his nerves up to an almost unendurable pitch.
The echo, which only seemed to come to life during the quiet hours of darkness and dawn, toyed idly with the sound of his pacing. Then a horse trotted into the courtyard, and he breathed out with relief. George, at last. But silence ensued. He waited a minute or so, but there was nothing. Puzzled, he went out to see. The dawn was cold and misty, and he saw a riderless horse wandering aimlessly by the main gatehouse. He hurried across to it, and the mist swirled and parted in the draft of his passing.
For a moment he feared the horse was George’s, but almost immediately discounted the notion. George only bought blood animals, this was a modest hack, and the saddle was too old and well worn to be George’s. Nothing but the very best would do for an Eden.
He led the animal to the stables, where lantern-light in one of the stalls told him where he’d find the duty groom. But when he reached the door, he saw the man lying fast asleep on the hay. Leaving the horse in the yard, he went to push the groom with his boot. “Is this how you carry out your duties?” he demanded.
The man leapt to his feet. “Sir Dane!” he gasped.
“Well, certainly not his ghost. Not just yet, anyway.”
“Sir.” The groom lowered his eyes uncomfortably. The whole castle knew about the duel, and feared the outcome, for whatever the rest of the world thought of Sir Dane Marchwood, he was held in high regard by those who worked for him, because they knew he was a fair and reasonable master. He was strict and expected high standards, but he was never harsh or arbitrary. If he died today at Thomas Denham’s hands, he would be greatly mourned.
Dane eyed him now. “I trust it isn’t your habit to doze on duty?”
“No, sir! It won’t happen again, sir!”
“See that it doesn’t.”
“Sir.”
“Very well. Now, do you know whose mount this is?” Dane led the stray horse forward into the light of the lantern.
The groom looked blankly at it. “No, Sir Dane, I’ve never seen it before. How did you come by it?”
“It arrived in the courtyard without any sign of a rider. Someone must have taken a fall. See that a search is made of the estate as soon as it’s light enough.”
“Yes, Sir Dane.”
Dane thrust the reins into the groom’s hand. “Attend to its welfare in the meantime, and take care not to neglect your duties again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dane returned to the great hall, and five minutes later he again heard hooves in the courtyard, this time accompanied by the rattle of wheels. He turned relievedly, thinking that this time it had to be George, in his curricle perhaps, but once more he was doomed to disappointment, for it wasn’t the doctor who entered the hall, but Alice, whose walking stick abruptly ceased tapping as she saw him, although the echo, which faded with each passing minute now, repeated the sound, as if another Alice Longney were walking invisibly across the hall.
Dane’s eyes darkened, and he folded his arms. “Good morning, Mistress Longney.”
“Good morning, Sir Dane.”
“How bright and early you are, to be sure. Have you come to put a hex on me? So that I conveniently expire and leave the way clear for Denham?”
“No one wishes you dead, Sir Dane.”
He glanced cynically away. “Except me, perhaps,” he murmured.
“You should not think like that, sir.”
“There are many things we should not do, mistress.” He looked at her again. “Your arrival must mean that my wife has yet to leave. I trust you’ve come to take her?”
Alice’s eyes lightened with relief. “So she’s here?”
“Where else? And still claiming to love me!” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Dear God, how amazing she is. I found her actually in Denham’s arms, and still she looks at me with those big green eyes and swears I am the only one she loves.”
Alice breathed out gladly. It had worked, and Kathryn was the one who’d returned, for only she would vow undying love for Dane. Until this moment there hadn’t been any confirmation, and after a lifetime of the power to see so much, the old nurse wasn’t accustomed to being as ordinary a mortal as everyone else.
He held her eyes. “I want her out of here without further delay, is that clear?”
“I don’t believe you wish her to go, Sir Dane,” she said quietly.
“On the contrary, mistress, I wish her as far away from me as possible.”
“But she really does love you, sir.”
“Do I look like a fool?” he replied icily.
“No, sir.”
“Then pray don’t treat me like one. She’s made her choice, and that’s the end of it. She will cease to be Lady Marchwood as soon as the law can oblige me—always assuming, of course, that I live long enough to commence the necessary proceedings.
“You’re wrong to condemn her, sir.”
“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” he replied acidly. “You don’t pull the wool over my eyes, Mistress Longney, for I know you’d go to any lengths for Rosalind. Lying to me has never bothered you in the least. I have no doubt that from the outset you’ve connived at her affair with Denham.”
Alice prudently decided to ignore the last statement. “I’m not lying to you, sir. My lady lov
es you with all her heart, as I believe you love her.”
“Don’t presume to comment on my feelings, mistress,” he snapped.
She drew back a little. “Forgive me, sir.”
He turned away, leaning a hand on part of the fireplace mantel. “May I inquire if you saw anything of Dr. Eden on your way here?”
“Yes, sir, I did. I bring a message from him.”
Dane faced her quickly. “Well?”
“He rode past my little pony cart just as I reached Marchwood, and I saw him stopped by a man who ran across a field calling to him. It seems the man’s wife had just that moment been brought to bed of twins, and when the midwife saw the doctor riding to the village, she said it would be best if mother and babes were properly examined. I gather it had been a difficult accouchement. The doctor asked me to tell you he would not be long, and would meet you at the grove.”
Dane nodded. “Very well.”
At that moment there was an anxious cry from the top of the staircase. It was Josie, and the clamor of her cries stirred the almost slumbering echo into started wakefulness again. “Sir Dane! Sir Dane! It’s her ladyship—”
“What’s wrong?” he demanded quickly.
“Sir, I... I think she’s dead!” Josie hid her face in her hands and dissolved into frightened tears.
Alice’s face drained of color. “Oh, Kathryn ...” she whispered.
Dane’s spurs rang as he dashed to the staircase. “Where is she?” he cried as he reached the sobbing maid.
“In...in the drawing room, sir. I noticed something yellow peeping beneath the curtain, and when I looked, I... I saw it was my lady’s gown. There’s blood on her head, and ...”
Dane didn’t wait to hear more, but ran toward the drawing room. Behind him, Alice struggled up the stairs as quickly as she could, and Josie waited to help her, then they followed to the drawing room.
Dane knelt by Kathryn. “Oh, dear God...” he whispered, putting a hand gently to the trickle of blood oozing through the hair at the back of her head. Then he saw the ugly bruise left by the heavy blow that had sent her reeling so forcibly against the wall. He took her wrist. Please let there be a pulse...