As they'd been talking he had slowly moved down the terrace and across to the balustrade, leading her further away from the few remaining guests.
"Shall I guess?" he murmured moving much too close for her comfort. "Could that someone else be Zane De'Ville?"
She stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. Not only did he know about her relationship with Zane, his odd French accent had abruptly fallen away.
"How could you possibly know that? Who are you?"
"Has he told you that your eyes shine like the stars, or your skin is like alabaster?"
"How dare you speak to me in such a way, and what's happened to your accent? You're nothing but a phony!"
"And that man is the devil."
"He is not, and I'm going in," she declared, but as she started to turn he grabbed her wrist. "Let go of me. Let go of me this instant or I shall scream."
"If you scream I might release you and run off, or I might just snap your neck in two!" he snarled. "We're all alone out here. Look behind you, everyone's gone."
"I said, let go of me," she shouted, then remembering the knee-in-the-groin trick she'd used so effectively the night she'd been attacked she started towards him, but he quickly spun her around and pulled her arm up behind her back.
"Owww, you're hurting me. Stop it!"
"Not a chance girlie," he growled in her ear, and with a strength that belied his size, he suddenly threw her over the railing.
She wailed as she fell but it wasn't a long drop, and landing on soft wet turf, though breathless with fright, she was unharmed. Scrambling to her feet she began to run, but her shoes kept sticking in the mud, and as she raised her head and frantically called for help she realized there was no-one on the terrace to hear her.
"Stop panicking," she muttered, "think, you must think."
The startling sound of an evil laugh abruptly echoed through the air, and terrified she tried again to run, but she'd only traveled a few yards before an arm came around her waist and lifted her off her feet.
"Where do you think you're going? Running away again? It's becoming a habit."
"PUT ME DOWN! SOMEBODY HELP!"
"Put you down? Certainly, my lady," he sneered, and as if he was throwing aside a bag of potatoes, he tossed her on to the waterlogged ground.
Covered in mud, freezing cold, and absolutely terrified, she stared up at him. His face was ghostly white in the moon's bright silver glow, and his dark thick eyebrows made him look monstrous.
"Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you? I don't even know you."
"Zane," he grunted. "I want him to know how it feels."
"How what feels? What are you talking about?"
"He cares for you, I know, I've been watching him. Taking you away from him will be my vengeance. Hurting you will drive a knife into his heart, just like he drove a knife into mine. It's payback time," he hissed glowering down at her. "I thought I had you when you walked out of his house late that night. I couldn't believe my luck, but you got the jump on me. That won't happen again!"
"You're the man in the cape!" she gasped. "I don't understand. Who are you?"
"That bastard is gonna find your beaten lifeless body. He'll bloody-well suffer like I suffered."
"When did you suffer? Did he harm the woman you cared for? No, I don't believe that for a minute. He would never do such a thing."
"He took Mary from me. We were happy until he came along. Mary was a sweet pure girl. I met her in Paris, but then she ran across your damned De'Ville and he got her all turned around. That bastard ruined my life and now I'm going to ruin his."
As he'd poured out his anger Flora's hand had been foraging in the dirt for some kind of weapon. Her fingers had finally wrapped around a rock. It wasn't a big rock, but it was still a rock.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back in the private salon George was trying to process the frightening information Zane had just told him; Zavier wasn't Zavier at all but a complete fraud, and he was after Flora.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I," Zane said quickly, "but we have to get to her. Is there another way to the terrace? I'll never make it through the crowd."
"This place is a maze of rooms. Hold on."
Racing to the door George poked out his head and waved urgently at the nearest footman. The young man immediately hurried forward and George pulled him into the room.
"How may I be of service, my lord?"
"I must reach the terrace immediately and I don't want to push through the crowd. Please show me another way."
"I shall fetch Mr. Hargreaves to help you, sir."
"No, no, we don't have time," George exclaimed fighting his rising panic. "A woman is in danger. Just lead me to the terrace without going through the crowd."
From across the room, Zane could see the worry in the footman's face. The young lad was being asked to leave his post and walk a stranger through his employer's private rooms.
"What is your name?" Zane asked, marching across to him.
"Harry Campbell," the lad replied turning around, then seeing his master's honored guest standing before him, he immediately bowed his head. "Excuse me, your highness, please forgive me. I didn't know you were here."
"It is imperative we get to the terrace," Zane declared raising his chin and speaking with authority. "Please take us there at once via the fastest route possible."
"Oh, yes, yes, of course, uh, follow me," he exclaimed hurrying across to one of three doors that led out of the room, "we'll be there in no time."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Staring up at the seething figure hovering over her, Flora couldn't decide what she should do with the rock. Her attacker had begun pacing, ranting about the nobility and how desperately he missed Mary, but when he abruptly paused to lower his head and leer at her, she caught sight of his ugly scar.
It suddenly hit her. She had another weapon!
It was small, but if she used it in the right place she would inflict terrible pain. She needed a distraction, something to make him look away long enough for her to grab it. He started to pace again, describing what he was about to do to her, but to her dismay he was scowling at her as he railed. It was impossible for her to do anything unseen.
"And once we're in those trees I'm going to rip that fancy dress off you, then tear away your knickers and everything else, and then you snotty snob I'm going to really hurt you."
Keeping her eyes focused on his, she released the rock and began to move her hand slowly towards the large gemstone brooch pinned at her shoulder, but he saw her and grabbed her wrist.
"Wait! The brooch, I just want to show it to you," she protested. "It's extremely valuable, please, I'll give it to you."
"Take it off!"
"You could get thousands for it," she continued, quickly unclasping it from her dress. "See, it has diamonds and emeralds."
Placing it carefully in the palm of her hand to show him, she made sure the long, sharp stick pin was through her fingers and protruding out the other side.
"Look at how it's sparkling. Think of the money. Thousands of pounds."
"I'll take it all right, but it's not going to save you, not a chance."
He reached out, and heart racing she prepared herself. She needed him to bend over just a little bit more, but as she was about to close her fingers around it and make her move, a miracle happened.
"FLORA! FLORA!"
George's voice was ringing through the air, and her attacker darted his head up towards the terrace.
It was her chance.
Tightly grasping the brooch she lunged forward, and with all the force she could muster, she swung her arm up between his legs, driving the stick pin through his trousers and into his soft sacs. With a howl of pain he grabbed his crotch and fell forward, almost landing on top of her.
As George raced to the railing Zane ordered the footman to find Hargreaves as fast as he could, then hurriedly followed George, joining him at the balust
rade.
"Do you see her," Zane asked urgently. "That scream though, that didn't sound like her."
"I hope it wasn't. FLORA? WHERE ARE YOU?"
"GEORGE! I'M HERE!"
Spinning around they saw her stumbling up the terrace steps covered in mud from head to foot. Ignoring the pain slicing through his gut Zane broke into a run, but George had spied a figure staggering across the lawn, and as Flora fell into Zane's arms, George jumped over the balustrade to give chase.
"Flora, my love," Zane said anxiously as he wrapped her up. "Are you all right?"
"It was him, the man in the black cape," she exclaimed breathlessly, "he said his name was Zavier but it wasn't. He wasn't even French."
"I know, and I'm so sorry. You're freezing, quickly, I must get you inside."
"Your Highness, what in the world has happened?" Hargreaves asked rushing forward with the footman a few steps behind.
"It's a long story but right now we need a private room and blankets."
"Follow me. I shall notify his lordship as soon as we have her comfortable."
"Her brother is chasing the culprit across the grounds," Zane declared as they followed the worried butler through a nearby door.
"I shall ring the police immediately."
"You have a telephone?"
"Just installed, your highness, and I'm certainly glad of it. Harry, fetch some blankets and start the fire."
"Which should I do first?"
"The fire," Zane answered.
As Hargreaves hurried away and Harry started the fire, Zane helped Flora lay down on the chaise, then quickly removed his jacket and covered her.
"You just rest now. Thank the Lord you're all right."
"I'm so cold," she muttered. "Zane, he was going to k-kill me."
"Ssh, it's over, you're safe now," he said gently, then raising his head he searched out the butler. The austere man was already walking briskly back to him.
"I have ordered some hot tea. It will be here shortly. What else may I do for you, sir?"
"A snifter of brandy wouldn't go amiss, and please find Lord and Lady Braithwaite."
"Of course, your highness."
Harry had managed to get the fire flaming, and rising to his feet he removed his coat and handed it to Zane.
"Might this help as well, your highness?"
"Yes, thank you, Harry."
"I'll fetch those blankets."
"And Harry, a warm damp cloth and a towel please."
"Yes, sir, I'll be back as quick as I can."
He hurried from the room, and finally alone with Flora, Zane tenderly smoothed the wet mucky hair from her forehead.
"I have never been so scared," he said softly, staring at her mud-streaked face. "Never in my life, not about anything. This has made everything clear to me."
"It has?"
"I've been an idiot. I didn't realize…"
"Wh-what?"
"That I'm in love with you."
"You l-love me?"
"So much it almost hurts."
"Zane, I love you too, I love you with all my heart."
He suddenly knew being with her was all he cared about, and taking a deep breath, his heart hammering, he dropped on one knee and took her hand.
"Flora Braithwaite, will you—"
"Flora? Flora? Where is she?"
A woman's urgent voice rang through the room, but before Zane could respond Flora grabbed his arm.
"Zane, what? Please finish, please."
"How can I not?" he whispered. "Flora Braithwaite will you marry me?"
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," she breathed, sure her heart was about to burst.
"I'm going to check on George," Zane whispered rising to his feet. "I won't be long."
"My poor child, there you are," Margaret lamented, spotting her as Zane straightened up. "What on earth happened?"
"Please excuse me," Zane said as Margaret and Walter drew near, "I know we haven't met, but I'll be back in a moment. For now I'll leave you with your daughter," and before they had a chance to stop him he was striding purposely towards the terrace.
Zane was worried. George was taking far too long, and as he stepped out on the expansive patio he could hear shouting from across the lawn. Ignoring the growing pain in his stomach he moved quickly down the steps, and as he marched across the muddy grass he spied the two men near a small thicket of trees. Drawing closer he saw George was standing over the thug holding a very large stick.
"The police will be here any minute," Zane declared as he approached. "What's going on?"
"I was hoping you'd come," George panted. "I didn't know how to get him back to the house so I've been keeping him here waiting for you—or anyone really. I thought someone would get here sooner or later. How's Flora?"
"Fine, thank goodness."
"It's you, it's you!" the villain suddenly snarled. "I'm gonna kill you, you bloody bastard."
Springing to his feet he caught George by surprise and shoved him to the ground, then spinning around he charged Zane, but Zane was ready. As the man came at him Zane landed a fierce blow to his stomach, followed by a quick right hook across his jaw. The man tumbled down, groaning loudly and curling into a ball.
"Impressive," George exclaimed standing up and brushing himself off. "Where did you learn how to do that?"
"I've had some boxing training. My father insisted I learn how to defend myself when I was growing up."
"I must say, you learned your lessons well."
"Now for some answers," Zane exclaimed, and dropping on top of the villain he grabbed him around his neck, fisted his hair and yanked back his head. "Who are you? Why did you attack Flora and me? How do you know Jimmy Foster? Tell me everything or I swear I'll choke the life out of you."
"Aarrgh, I don't know Foster. I just paid him ten quid to write that note so I could grab your girl, and I told him if he said anything about me I'd track down his family and slice them to pieces."
"Why?"
"Mary! Remember her? We were happy till you came along then she wanted nothing to do with me."
"So you were going to hurt an innocent young woman to get back at me? What sort of coward does that?"
"You needed to feel the pain I felt."
"Mary is alive and well!" Zane hissed tightening his hold. "How did you know about Zavier?"
"I know all about you. I've been watching you since I lost Mary. You French, you're all the same. Fancy clothes, fancy French accent. Fooling old Featherstone was easy."
"And your name?"
"Jeremy Wyatt, and why do you care?"
"You gave the police your real name?"
"Why not? They had nothing on me, and once I'd killed your girl I was going to disappear."
The sound of whistles echoing across the grounds signaled the arrival of the police, and looking towards the house Zane saw several officers striding across the lawn.
"About time," George muttered, moving forward and waving his arms to get their attention. "I need a stiff drink."
"I'll join you," Zane said, climbing off the nefarious man and pushing him roughly into the mud. "What a complete debacle, and what a foolish boy."
"Who?" George asked as Zane walked over to join him.
"Jimmy Foster. If he'd told me I would have given him the ten pounds as a reward for his loyalty and arranged protection for his family."
"There's nothing you can do about it now."
"I think I'll arrange a lawyer for him. He was probably scared out of his wits. I should have talked to him before acting."
"This isn't your fault," George declared. "He made his choice."
"Still, he was in my employ. Perhaps I could have handled it differently. Yes, I shall arrange a lawyer and see that he gets a fair hearing."
"For a rogue you have a very big heart."
"I like to think I have a fair heart, George. The police are here. Let's go and have that drink."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Forty-Eight Hour
s Later
Margaret had spared no expense when she'd planned the celebratory dinner party. It was to be an intimate affair, but the reason behind it was no small matter. Zane Francois Leopold De'Ville, a dashing young man who would have been the King of the French had the country not fallen into such turmoil, had formally requested Flora's hand in marriage. Of all the men in the world Margaret couldn't think of a more suitable husband for her beautiful, strong-willed daughter. Not only did he come from one of the most noble families in all of Europe, he was wealthy and clever, and carried himself with a confidence rare in a young man. He was only twenty-six, but his grasp of world events, his deep knowledge and appreciation of the arts, and his overall bearing could put men twice his age to shame. Initially she had sensed some reticence from her husband, but he hadn't voiced his concerns. Instead he had spent over an hour chatting with the handsome young man in the privacy of his office. When they had emerged Walter's enthusiasm for the engagement took on new life, and now they were officially celebrating with the Stewarts, along with other relatives and close friends.
"Mother, the table looks divine," Flora beamed, walking into the dining room. "You've outdone yourself."
"I told your father there would be no quibbling over pennies for this dinner," Margaret declared. "You know how he can be, but I wouldn't hear of it."
"Thank you. It's just all too wonderful. Now I must go. Reeves has just informed me Anne's carriage has arrived to pick me up."
"Are you sure you need to spend time with her this afternoon? You'll be seeing her tonight. Don't you want a say in the flower arrangements? They'll be arriving soon."
"No-one can deal with flower arrangements better than you, and I've already accepted her invitation. She's been such a good friend I couldn't refuse her, and I didn't want to."
"Yes, yes, I know you two are close. Off you go then, but make sure you're home in plenty of time."
"I will be. I know it's going to be such a wonderful evening."
"Goodbye, dear, enjoy your afternoon."
Hurrying into the foyer Flora donned her hat and coat, and under the protection of a large umbrella held over her head by Reeves, she moved quickly from the front door and into the carriage. It wasn't Anne she was visiting, it was Zane who would be waiting for her at Anne's home. His note the day before had sent a thrill through her entire body. It had been delivered by Bancroft himself, and he'd insisted on handing it to her personally. Racing up to the privacy of her bedroom, her pulse racing with excitement, she had read Zane's intriguing words.
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