Authors: Lisa Kleypas
The man flinched and ducked away, ignoring her.
“Get out,” Joyce sneered, gesturing with the pistol.
Sara climbed to the ground, her legs cramped from the long ride. She shot a glance at the driver, who had gone to the front of the carriage with the horses. Since he apparently had no conscience to appeal to, she tried threats. “My husband is Derek Craven, and when he finds out about this, he won’t rest until he’s made you pay—”
“He won’t do anything to help you,” Joyce said, prodding Sara with the pistol. “Start walking.”
The path was illuminated by the carriage lantern Joyce carried. They approached the medieval structure, little more than a mutilated shell of stonework. The windows and doors had crumbled, giving the fortified house the appearance of a jaw with gaps of missing
teeth. Slowly Sara entered the central hall. Mice and vermin scuttled in all directions, alerted to the presence of intruders.
Annoyed by Sara’s hesitant pace, Joyce brandished the gun and pushed her toward the broken stone steps that led up to the tower. “Up there,” she said brusquely.
Slowly Sara mounted the first step. Her mouth was dry with fear. She broke out into a heavy sweat, liquid fear seeping from her pores. “Why?”
“There’s a room at the top with a bar across the door. I’m going to keep you there. You’ll be my own private pet. From time to time I’ll come and visit you, and tell you all about your husband. We’ll find out how long he grieves for you, and how long it takes before he comes back to my bed.” Joyce paused and added smugly, “Perhaps I’ll even show you ways to pleasure me, and you’ll show me exactly what your husband finds so compelling about you.”
“You’re disgusting,” Sara said in outrage.
“You might say that now, but after a few days you’ll do whatever I want in return for food and water.”
Sara’s nerves twitched rebelliously, demanding action. She would rather die at this moment than be at the mercy of a madwoman for some indefinite length of time. She had to do something now, before they reached the tower room. After another few steps she pretended to stumble on the landing. Swiftly she turned and grabbed for Joyce’s arm.
Joyce reacted with a hiss of rage, fighting to keep hold of the pistol. She dropped the carriage lantern and tried to claw Sara’s face. Feeling the bite of long nails on her neck, Sara screamed and tried to twist the gun away. They grappled desperately and rolled down the steps together. The painful impact of the stone
stairs on her head and back dazed Sara, but she didn’t let go of Joyce’s arm, even as she felt it come down between their writhing bodies.
All at once her ears rang with an explosion.
Sara’s first thought was that she had been shot. She had felt a hard, bruising blow against her breast that she gradually identified as the backward kick of the pistol. Slowly she stirred and sat up, holding a hand to the throbbing side of her head.
Joyce lay a foot or two away, moaning. A patch of crimson blood welled over her shoulder. “Help me,” she wheezed.
“Help you?”
Sara repeated, staggering to her feet. Somehow she managed to collect her wits. The discarded carriage lantern was still intact, the tiny flame sputtering as the lamp rolled lazily across a step. After picking up the lamp, she went to Joyce, who was clutching her injured shoulder.
I should leave you here,
she thought. She was unaware she had said the words aloud until Joyce replied.
“You can’t let me die!”
“You’re not going to die.” Disgusted, terrified, Sara removed her own petticoat, wadded it up, and pressed it firmly against the wound to staunch the blood. Joyce screamed like an enraged cat, her eyes slitted and demonic. Sara’s ears rang from the piercing cry.
“Be quiet, you bitch!” Sara snapped. “Not another sound!” Suddenly her entire body was filled with furious energy. She felt strong enough to push down a stone wall with her bare hands. She went to the crumbling entrance of the castle and saw that the hack driver was still waiting, craning his neck curiously. “You!” she shouted. “Come here right away, or you won’t get a bloody shilling of what she promised!” She
turned back to Joyce, her blue eyes blazing. “And you…give me back my necklace.”
As Alex had predicted, Derek returned to Swans’ Court, disheveled and dirty, smelling of charred wood. His face was tearless and cold, scraped from his earlier scuffles. Lily had been waiting up for him, drinking countless cups of tea. Henry, her brother-in-law, had gone out to roam with his friends in London, seeking trouble as high-spirited young men were wont to do. Alex stayed home, pacing edgily from room to room.
As the butler admitted Derek into the house, Lily rushed to the entrance hall and took his arm. She questioned him anxiously as she led him into the parlor. “Derek, where have you been? Are you all right? Would you like something to eat? A drink?”
“Brandy,” Derek said curtly, sitting down on the parlor sofa.
Lily sent maidservants scurrying for hot water, towels, and brandy. All of it arrived in short order. Derek was strangely passive as Lilly dabbed at the dirty scrapes with a moistened towel. He cupped the brandy snifter in his hands without bothering to taste it. “Drink some of that,” Lily said in the firm, motherly voice that the children never dared to disobey. Derek took a swallow and set the snifter down, not looking at her as she hovered about him. “Are you tired?” she asked. “Would you like to lay your head down?”
Derek rubbed the lower half of his jaw, his green eyes flat and blank. He appeared not to have heard her.
Carefully Lily smoothed a lock of his hair. “I’ll be close by. Tell me if there’s anything you want.” She went to Alex, who had been watching from the doorway. Their eyes met. “I hope he’ll be all right,” she
whispered. “I’ve never seen him like this. He lost everything…the club…and Sara…”
Reading the worry in her gaze, Alex pulled her close and rocked her gently. In the years since their marriage they had shared a life of companionship, passion, and incomparable joy. Times like this served as a brutal reminder that they should never take their happiness for granted. He held his wife protectively. “He’ll survive,” he answered her. “Just as he’s survived everything else in his life. But he’ll never be the same.”
Lily shifted in his arms to glance miserably at Derek’s motionless form.
Someone used the brass knocker at the front door. The sharp sound echoed in the entrance hall. Alex and Lily looked at each other in silent question, then watched as the butler went to answer. They heard a thick cockney voice arguing with Burton’s well-modulated tones. “If Crawen’s ’ere, I bloody well ’as to see ’im!”
The man’s voice wasn’t familiar to Alex, but Lily recognized it immediately. “Ivo Jenner!” she exclaimed. “Why the hell would he come here? Unless…” Her dark eyes widened. “Alex, he’s the one who started the kitchen fire at Craven’s last year. It was just a prank…but perhaps he pulled another prank tonight that got out of hand! Do you think—” She stopped as she felt a sudden breeze rush by her, caused by Derek’s form as he shot past them to the entrance hall, lithe as a striking panther.
Alex followed him in a flash, but not before Derek had fastened his hands around Jenner’s throat, knocking him to the marble floor. Swearing obscenely, Jenner used his heavy pugilist’s fists to batter Derek’ssides. It took the combined strength of Alex, the butler,
and Lily to pry Derek away. The entrance hall was filled with their combined bellowing. Only Derek was quiet, busily engaged in murder.
“Stop it!” Lily was screeching.
Alex had one powerful arm locked around Derek’s neck. “Damn you, Craven—”
“I didn’t do it!” Jenner protested loudly “That’s why I came ’ere, so as to tell you I didn’t do it!”
Gagging from the hard pressure on his throat, Derek was finally forced to subside. “I’ll kill you,” he gasped, staring at Jenner with bloodlust.
“You ’ammer’eaded madman!” Jenner exclaimed, standing up and shaking himself off. He yanked the hem of his coat back into place.
“Don’t you dare call Derek names!” Lily said hotly. “And don’t insult me by protesting your innocence under my own roof, when we all know there’s reason to believe you’re responsible for the fire!”
“I didn’t do it,”
Jenner said vehemently.
“You were behind the kitchen fire at Craven’s last year!” Lily accused.
“Aye, I admit to that, but I ’ad nofing to do with this. I came ’ere to do Crawen a frigging
favor,
damn ’is eyes!”
“What favor?” Derek asked in a low, ugly voice. Alex had to tighten his restraining hold once more.
Composing himself, Jenner smoothed his red hair and cleared his throat “My affidavit man came to me tonight at my club, and ’e ’appened to be walking by Crawen’s just as the blaze started, an’ saw two women leaving the place. Looked odd, ’e said, since it wasn’t ’ouse wenches, but ladies dressed in fine gowns. One was blond, the other dark with green jewels all around ’er neck. They took a public coach away from the
club…an’ it was then the place started to burn like the bowels of ’ell.” Jenner shrugged and added a touch sheepishly, “I thought…maybe the dark one was Mrs. Crawen.”
“And maybe I’ll find a giant beanstalk in my garden tomorrow morning,” Lily said sarcastically. “You’re a
fiend,
Jenner, for coming here and tormenting Derek with this tale!”
“It’s the truf,” Jenner said indignantly. “Dammit, I want you to find ’er! It’s all ower London—my own blasted club—that I’m the man what set the fire that killed bloody Mathilda! Bad for my reputation, an’ my business, and besides…I’ve a liking for the little wench.” He gave Derek a disdainful look. “Deserves better than this black’earted bastard, she does.”
“You’ve said your piece,” Alex murmured. “Now leave. I’m getting tired of holding him back.” He didn’t let go of Derek until Jenner was safely gone, the front door closed behind him. Derek shook him off and retreated several steps, giving him a baleful glare.
Lily released an explosive sigh. “That blustering idiot Jenner! I discount every word he said as nonsense.”
Derek had turned his attention to the closed door. His large, rawboned body was very still. The Raifords waited for him to voice his thoughts. His voice was strained and barely audible. “Sara has a green necklace. She was going to wear it tonight.”
Alex watched Derek alertly. “Craven…would Sara have had any reason to leave the club tonight?”
“With a blond woman?” Lily asked skeptically. “I don’t think any of Sara’s friends are blond except my sister Penelope, and she certainly wouldn’t have—” She broke off at Derek’s quiet exclamation. “Derek, what is it?”
“Joyce,” he muttered. “It could have been Joyce.”
“Lady Ashby?” Lily bit her lip and asked gently, “Derek, are you certain you’re not trying to convince yourself of something you want desperately to believe?”
Derek was silent, concentrating on his own thoughts.
Alex frowned as he turned the possibilities over in his mind. “Perhaps we should pay a visit to Ashby House,” he conceded. “At this point it wouldn’t do any harm. But Craven, don’t rest your hopes on discovering anyth—” He turned with surprise to find Derek already striding out the door. Raising his tawny brows, he looked at Lily.
“I’ll stay here,” she muttered, pushing him after Derek. “Go and keep him safe.”
After Sara and the driver helped Joyce into the coach, they began the long journey back to London. Joyce curled in a miserable huddle, groaning and cursing whenever the wheels of the vehicle jostled over a deep rut. Her endless complaining was finally too much for Sara to take. “Oh, good Lord, that’s enough,” she exclaimed impatiently.
“I’m going to die,” Joyce moaned.
“Unfortunately that’s not the case. The bullet passed cleanly through your shoulder, the bleeding’s stopped, and whatever discomfort you feel isn’t nearly enough to make up for all you’ve done,” Sara continued with growing exasperation. “The first time I met Derek was on the night you had his face slashed, and ever since then you’ve harassed and tormented us both. You brought this on yourself!”
“You’re enjoying my suffering,” Joyce whined.
“Somehow I can’t dredge up much sympathy for a
woman who’s just tried to kill me! And when I think of the cruel, callous way you destroyed Derek’s club…”
“He’ll always hate me for that,” Joyce whispered in satisfaction. “I’ll always have that part of him, at least.”
“No,” Sara said firmly. “I’m going to fill his life with such happiness that he’ll have no room to hate anyone. He won’t spare you a thought. You’ll be nothing to him.”
“You’re wrong,” Joyce hissed.
They fell into a seething silence that lasted the rest of the journey. Eventually the carriage stopped in front of Ashby House, a magnificent stucco-fronted mansion frescoed in a rich shade of umber. Sara bid the driver to assist her in bringing Joyce into the building. They had to ascend a short flight of steps. Mewling in discomfort, Joyce leaned heavily against Sara, digging her nails punishingly into her shoulder and arm. Grimly Sara resisted the urge to throw her down the stairs. As they reached the front door, an astonished butler admitted them. Sara spoke to the butler tersely. “Pay the driver whatever he was promised, and show us to Lord Ashby. Quickly.”
Bewildered, the butler stared at Lady Ashby’s bloodstained gown. “Go on,” Sara encouraged, and he complied with her orders. After he was paid, the driver scurried back to his coach and left with all due haste.
“What are you going to tell Lord Ashby?” Joyce murmured.
Sara regarded her with cool blue eyes. “The truth, my lady.”
Joyce gave a faint cackle, looking like a wild golden witch. “He won’t punish me. He lets me do whatever I want.”
“Not this time. I’m going to make certain you answer for what you’ve done tonight.”
“Try it,” Joyce invited, cackling again.
The butler led them to a nearby sitting room, magnificently fitted in red and black. Since Sara no longer offered her support, Joyce clung to the butler’s arm, becoming pale and dizzy as they reached their destination. “Send for a physician,” Joyce commanded thinly, holding her shoulder as she eased into a chair. “I require immediate attention.”