by Brooke, Meg
Would his marriage mirror theirs? He certainly hoped not, though they were getting off to a rather rocky start.
At last, Leo came back down the stairs and through the little aisle that had been made between the rows of chairs. He took his place, standing solemnly beside Colin, as the rector cleared his throat and opened his book. Everyone stood and turned, and then Eleanor appeared on her mother’s arm at the top of the stairs.
For a moment Colin was certain he was in the wrong place. How could it be possible that in just a few minutes the angel coming down the stairs would be his wife? She was a vision of perfection in her creamy gown, with a single rope of pearls around her neck. She clung tightly to her mother’s arm as they descended, but her eyes were fixed on his, and Colin had to remind himself to breathe.
Then she was beside him, her hand in his, and the rector smiled at them and began the service.
Eleanor was not quite sure how she managed to speak her assigned part, but suddenly Mr. Loden was saying, “Those whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder.” Colin’s hand gripped hers, and they were kneeling as the rector charged them to be fruitful and implored her to be obedient and faithful, quiet and peaceful. She almost giggled at that, but Colin’s fingers tightened around hers and she managed to keep a calm expression on her face.
There were cheers and applause as they stood and turned to face the assembled audience. She tried to smile confidently as each person came up to congratulate them, and then they were leading the guests into the formal dining room for the wedding breakfast. Everything was a whirlwind of smiling faces and laughter, toasts and cheers. She and Colin barely said a word to each other all through the meal and the lavish tea her mother served on the terrace afterwards.
Before she knew it, the sun was beginning to set and they were out on the drive, saying goodbye as the guests clambered back into their carriages.
If it had been any other wedding day in the country, for any other couple, she and Colin might have had some time alone before the family dinner. They might have gone to Eleanor’s rooms, which were theirs now, and he might have devoted some time to making her look forward to their wedding night.
But as Eleanor and everyone else were acutely aware, this was in no way a normal wedding day. Now she found herself being swept back into the house to look over the last-minute preparations for the princess’s arrival tomorrow, and Colin disappeared to the temporary barracks behind the stables.
The stars were coming out when she finally made her way up to her room, hoping to change into something simpler before the intimate family meal her mother had planned for the evening. When she had closed the door behind her, however, she allowed herself a brief moment to revel in the solitude. She leaned her head back against the door, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths. It was, she knew, one of the last moments she would have alone for the next week.
With a sigh she forced herself away from the door. She could not imagine where Lily had gotten to, but she had a sudden irrepressible urge to get out of the frilly dress, and she tugged impatiently at the laces as she crossed to the narrow dressing room that connected to her chamber. When she had loosened the gown enough she slid out of it, leaving the whole mass of lace and silk and satin on the floor of the dressing room. For a moment she stared down at it, thinking back to the day three years earlier when she had last worn the dress to be presented to the king and queen. How proud she had been then, how hopeful! She almost laughed at her foolishness. She had imagined that she would take the ton by storm, that every man from twenty to fifty would be enchanted with her, that she would have any number of suitors from which to choose, and that she would certainly be able to find one who would not care about the shame she carried in her heart. There had been suitors, of course, though she had never quite been able to convince herself that she could stomach the idea of marrying any of them. She had tried, of course. Lord Marsh had probably been her best chance at a marriage in which neither party would be deeply invested, but she had looked at him kneeling before her in the drawing room of Sidney House and had suddenly loathed herself for thinking she could deceive him, or that she didn’t care what he thought of her. How could she possibly have believed that she could live like other women did, married to a man she did not respect, and who could never respect her? She knew women like that, women who lived their own lives and ignored their husbands’ philandering because they felt they deserved no better. Eleanor had known in that moment that she could never bear that sort of marriage.
Certainly, she had changed a great deal since those days. She stared a moment longer at the gown, at the remnants of her girlhood. Then she looked up at the array of gowns hung before her, trying to select one. Beyond her tea-dresses and walking-dresses and the other elements of the arsenal a woman of the ton required for life in the country hung Colin’s few items of clothing. They had been moved at some point during the day, since his room would be needed for one of the princess’s retinue, and since it would have been absurd for them not to share a room at a home where they were both now officially guests. Eleanor paused to consider that for a moment. She was no longer a daughter of Sidney Park, who lived in the great house. She was now the property of Lord Colin Pierce, and her home was wherever he went.
She only allowed herself to dwell on this strange alteration for a moment. Then, giving up on selecting a gown until Lily came to advise her, she heaved another great sigh and went out into the bedroom—and froze.
Standing near the window, his dark eyes wide with surprise in his tan face, was a tall, thin, man clothed all in black, a black turban wrapped around his head. His body was turned away from her, but very slowly he turned back, one hand moving towards the dagger at his waist.
Trying to control the panic she felt welling up inside her, Eleanor took an unconscious step backwards, looking about for any sort of weapon she could use. Then her eyes fell on the chair that stood between her and the man in black. There on the cushion lay her father’s pistol. She looked away from it, bringing her focus back to the man in black, praying that he had not noticed the direction of her glance.
For a long moment they stood regarding each other. All around them the house was silent and still. She could not even hear the voices of the militiamen outside the windows, or the tinkle of Maris’s laughter down the hall. It was as though she and the assassin were the only two people in the world.
Then, sneering, he pulled the dagger from its sheath and, stepping towards her, said, “Do not scream.”
Eleanor lunged for the gun. It was loaded. What had possessed her to leave it loaded? At any other time she might have chided herself for doing something so foolish, but tonight she thanked God for her carelessness. The assassin was just two steps from her as she cocked the pistol and leveled it at his chest. He froze. “I don’t think I need to scream,” she said evenly.
He stared at her, not even looking at the gun. “You do not dare,” he said.
Eleanor lowered the gun and fired. The shot went off like a cannon in the enclosed space. The assassin jumped back, but that did not stop the bullet going through his foot. He shrieked with pain and surprise and fell to the floor, blood already beginning to spread on the expensive carpet beneath his boot. His dagger flew from his hand and landed at Eleanor’s foot. The assassin rolled and tried to get up, but Eleanor took a step closer to him with the gun and he stopped. “Do you still believe I wouldn’t dare?” she asked.
The door flew open, crashing against the wall. Eleanor did not look away from the man in black, who was staring past her. She felt Colin’s strong presence at her side, and then heard more booted feet running down the corridor.
Colin’s hands were on her shoulders. “Eleanor,” he said, “are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right,” she said, finally turning to look at him. “He may not be, though.”
Behind Colin, Colonel Taylor and three men appeared. The colonel stopped abruptly in the doorway. “Oh, Miss Chesney—I mean, La
dy Pierce. Do forgive me.” Eleanor turned and saw that his face was quite red, and for a moment she could not understand why. Then she remembered that she was wearing only her chemise and petticoats.
On the floor, the assassin let out a moan of agony. “Don’t be silly, colonel,” Eleanor said. “This certainly takes precedence over my attire.”
All the same, Colin took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. Then he took the pistol from her hand so that she could slip her arms through the sleeves. Kneeling but keeping the gun trained on the assassin, he picked up the dagger and tucked it into his belt.
Leo rushed into the room. “I heard the shot. What happened?”
Eleanor turned to him. “It’s all right, Leo, really. Are mother and the girls safe?”
“They’re in her sitting room,” he said. Then he looked at Colin. “Is this one of them?”
Nodding, Colin met Eleanor’s eyes. “It was smart of you to leave him alive.” Then he crossed to the window and pulled the tie from one of the damask drapes. While the others watched he knelt and bound the assassin’s hands behind his back. The man whimpered a little, but made no other sound. His eyes were fixed on Eleanor. When Colin had finished, he stood, and looking at Colonel Taylor he asked, “Can you have your men carry him...oh, I don’t know...” he looked back at Eleanor.
“The game dressing room,” Eleanor supplied, looking to Leo for approval. Her brother nodded.
“I’ll show you the way,” he said. “It’s downstairs.”
The men lifted the man in black, who now began to struggle a little, and bore him out of the room with Leo leading them. Eleanor stared at the dark stain on the carpet. When they had gone Colin turned to Colonel Taylor. “How did he get in here?” he growled.
The colonel frowned. “I do not know, My Lord, but you may rest assured my men will find out.”
“No,” Colin said, “no, I want to question him myself. Secure him for now. I will be down as soon as I can.”
The colonel nodded grimly and went out, closing the door behind him. Only when his footsteps had faded away down the corridor did Colin put his hands on Eleanor’s elbows. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, looking intently at her face. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”
She shook her head. “He never got close enough.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Oh, my brave girl. When I heard that shot I was so afraid—”
“I’m quite well, Colin,” she insisted. “I’m not so fragile as all that.” And truly she wasn’t, yet she felt in that moment that all she wanted was for him to hold her in his arms and comfort her, to tell her that she was safe.
But he did not. Instead he kissed her forehead again and said, “I must go downstairs. Will you be all right here?”
She nodded, willing her lower lip not to tremble. “Of course. I shall get dressed and go to mother and the twins.”
“Good,” he said, and then he turned and strode out, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the bloodstained carpet on her wedding night.
EIGHTEEN
Colin marched down the stairs and through the salon. He met one of the militiamen at the door to the servants’ stairs. “They took him down there, My Lord,” the man said. Colin thanked him and descended, finding the servants’ area bustling with activity. Mrs. Clarence appeared at his elbow.
“Oh, My Lord,” she said, “is it true that that vile man was shot?”
He nodded. “By Lady Pierce, in fact,” he said.
She gasped and put a trembling hand to her face. “Oh, that poor girl,” she said.
With a wry grin, Colin replied, “It’s not her I’d be worried about, Mrs. Clarence.”
The housekeeper looked as though she didn’t believe him, but she nodded. “They’ve taken him to the dressing room, My Lord,” she said. “It’s that door there.”
Colin had not needed her assistance to find it. There were two red-coated guards outside the door, and beyond it he could see Colonel Taylor and Strathmore standing over the dressing table, on which they had laid the man in black.
It was certainly an intimidating room, Colin reflected as he strode in. It had clearly been used recently, for there were fresh bloodstains on the table from whatever animal had been cleaned there. Just like everything else at Sidney Park it was neat and orderly, all the implements used to dress the game brought in from the hunts lined up on a bench to one side.
The Serraray assassin was lying calmly on the table. Someone had untied his wrists and bound him to the loops on the sides of the table’s surface instead, securing his arms and legs. His left boot had been removed and Strathmore, who must have just come in from a patrol, given the mud on his own boots, was cleaning the bullet wound, which was at least a clean through-and-through shot. Still, the foot was a mangled mess of bone and tissue, and Colin doubted the man would ever walk without a limp again.
Strathmore looked up as Colin entered, and then gave the colonel a curt nod. The man went out, closing the door behind him and leaving only Colin and his assistant standing over the man on the table.
As Strathmore secured the bandage around the man’s foot, Colin did a loop around the table, walking slowly, taking in every detail. The man was clothed in black from head to foot. His turban was coming unwound, but otherwise his clothing was far cleaner than Colin would have expected for a man who had endured a sea voyage and a week out in the open on the Broads. It only solidified in his mind what he had previously suspected: someone was helping these men.
Strathmore finished his work and stepped away. Colin paused at the foot of the table. He allowed the silence to hang in the air for a long time before asking, “How many of you are there?”
The man stared up at him in silence.
Colin looked at Strathmore, who said something in Arabic. The assassin looked surprised, but then let out a string of rapid language that might have been Arabic or something close to it. Strathmore listened intently and then turned to Colin. “He says...well, most of what he says I will not repeat. But he says that the princess is doomed, that it is too late to stop them. I believe he also said that we may torture him all we like, but he will never tell us anything.”
Colin smiled what he hoped was a sinister smile. “I did not imagine he would. What is his name?”
“My name Meddur Udad,” the man spat, looking warily at Strathmore.
“Very well, Mr. Udad. Perhaps you would like to be our guest a while longer?” Colin glanced down at his wounded foot. “You are not going anywhere else, it appears.”
Meddur Udad let loose another string of invective. Strathmore’s face turned beet red. “He says he will kill the...well, he says he will kill Lady Pierce for shooting him.”
“What did he call her?” Colin asked, feeling his blood begin to boil at the thought of this man and his new wife in the same room.
But Strathmore only shook his head and refused to interpret.
Colin leaned back against the bench, not bothering to look back at the shining implements arrayed there. Then he looked levelly at the man on the table. “You will tell us about your companions, Meddur,” he said. “You will tell us about their plans.”
“Or you will—” Udad looked at Strathmore, “torture?” he asked, repeating the unfamiliar word.
Colin pressed his lips together, but said nothing. Udad looked from him to Strathmore and back.
“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Colin said, and he rose. Strathmore picked up the single candle and followed him out of the room. Once they were in the hall Colin turned to one of the uniformed men waiting outside the door.
“I want two men on this door at all times,” he said.
“Yes, My Lord,” one of the men answered.
Colin led Strathmore upstairs and out into the stableyard. “His fellows will be looking for him,” he said as they went. “We should double the patrols for tonight, and set two men on Havenhall as well.”
Strathmore nodded. “I’ll go.”
Looking shocked, Strathmore said, “My Lord, it’s your wedding night. We can handle things for tonight.”
Colin looked up at Eleanor’s windows. A light was still burning there. “My wedding night will have to wait.”
Eleanor was still standing beside the chair, looking down at the pistol that lay once more on the cushion, when Lily burst into the room.
“Oh, Miss,” she cried, rushing to her, “we heard the shot, but they wouldn’t let us come upstairs. I was so worried for you! Are you all right?”
Eleanor nodded stiffly. “Of course,” she said. “Everything’s fine. Would you help me dress for dinner, Lily?”
Her maid’s concerned expression did not change, but she said, “Yes, Miss—I mean, My Lady.”
“You don’t have to call me that, Lily.”
Looking scandalized, Lily said, “You are Lady Pierce now. You will be a countess one day.” Then, as if that were explanation enough, she turned and disappeared into the wardrobe, coming out with a dark blue evening gown. “What do you say to this one, My Lady?”