Dangerous to Kiss (47 page)

“I could not be sure that Quentin’s memory would ever come back to him. This was the only way to remove the threat that Standish posed.”

“The rumors—you were behind them! Quentin’s memory wasn’t coming back to him. You used what you learned from me at Channings to bait your trap.”

He reached for the decanter and refilled his glass. “It was the only way, and when you have time to think about it, you will see it too.”

His calm assurance that he knew best had her spitting like a wildcat. “Do you know what threw me off? You were so careful not to be discovered. No one knew where you and Quentin were.”

“Yes,” said Gray. “I knew if it were too easy, Standish would suspect a trap. I had to make it difficult for him, but not too difficult.”

“So, you used me to lead him to Quentin!”

“Deb—”

Her voice was rising. “There is no such person as Dr. Mesmer.”

“Oh, Dr. Mesmer exists, and he is exactly as I described him to you. He lives in Switzerland, now, I believe, though he did live in London at one time. As for treating Quentin, no, it was never in my mind to put my ward into the hands of quacks and charlatans.”

“Your
ward?
Your
ward?” Her whole body was quivering. “I am his guardian too. You should have consulted me before you embarked on this wild escapade. Do you realize how closely Quentin and I came to losing our lives tonight?”

He watched her for a moment without expression. Finally, he said, “I know very well. I made a mistake there. I thought you trusted Nick and would do exactly as he said. If you had entered the house where we were lying in wait as you were meant to, things would have turned out very differently.”

She had risen to her feet, and as she paced, he watched her in silence, occasionally drinking from the glass in his hand.

Suddenly rounding on him, she said, “Do you know you sound just like my father? If I had only done what
be
wanted me to do, today I would be married to a simpleton, or I would be locked away in an insane asylum.”

Anger flashed in his eyes and was swiftly subdued. “How could I consult you? You allow your emotions to rule your logic. You have never stayed to face a fight.
Oh, I’m not saying you are not brave. That is not in doubt. But only when you are cornered. You run away from things, Deb, you know you do. And some things have to be faced.”

“That is so unjust!” She was hugging herself with her arms. “What should I have done when Lord Barrington was murdered? Should I have stayed to fight Philip Standish with my bare hands?”

“What you should have done was go to the authorities. I know those were exceptional circumstances, but when you reached London, you should have gone straight to the magistrates, yes, and told them that you suspected
me
of the murder. Instead of which, you took Quentin and ran. I don’t think I shall ever forget that night on the roof when he slipped toward the edge.”

She shrilled at him, “If you had not been so single-minded in pursuing us, we would never have been on that roof.”

“You are missing the point. What about your life these last eight or nine years? You’ve hidden yourself away, playing the part of a dowd, becoming old before your time. For what? You ran from your father and a trumped-up charge. If you had stayed, there is no jury on earth that would have convicted you. Instead, you became a fugitive, always looking over your shoulder. Is that the kind of life you wanted for Quentin?”

“Of course not! He could have gone to his uncle in Nevis—”

He cut her off with a violent motion of one hand. “Listen to yourself, Deb! Running away is no way to solve one’s problems.”

“Oh, it’s easy for you to speak. You are a man. You have power and influence. You cannot know the terror of being weak and helpless, with no say over your own fate. Women and children are chattels, did you know that?”

“You will never hear my mother or sisters speak like that. Doesn’t that tell you something, Deb?”

She laughed, a hollow sound, even to her own ears. “Oh yes. It tells me they are not married to you. Gray, you frighten me. You really frighten me. With you, the
end justifies the means. You don’t care how you do things, just as long as you get your own way.”

His features tightened and seemed to harden into a wooden mask. He rose to face her. “That’s not true.”

“How can you deny it?” she cried passionately. “From the very first, you abducted me and panicked me into leading you to Quentin.”

“Oh, so we’re back to that again, are we?”

She shook her head bleakly, incapable of putting her thoughts into words. But he was reading her, and he said the words for her.

“You think I’m like your father. Is that it? My God, how can you compare me to that worm?”

“I don’t say you are wicked. You’re not, of course. But you are ruthless. You manipulate people, events. You trick people. You lied to me—”

“I did not lie to you!”

“Then you deliberately misled me.”

“I did what was necessary to bring matters to a right and proper conclusion. Are you sorry that Standish is no longer a threat to Quentin? I assure you, Quentin is not sorry.”

She raked her fingers through her hair in a gesture of frustration. “No, I’m not sorry about that, but I’m sorry for the way it was done. You should have discussed it with me first.”

“What was the point when I knew it would do no good? You don’t trust me, you never have. Everything I do becomes a battleground for us. In some perverted way I cannot understand, you see your father in me. That’s the sum of it, isn’t it, Deborah?
Isn’t it?”

“Yes!” she cried out.

He took a step back, as though her passionate affirmation had struck him like a blow. They stood there staring at each other, the girl hugging herself to stop her trembling, the man as though he were hewn out of a block of stone. When she spoke, there was a catch in her voice.

“When I left my father’s house, I made a vow that I would never again put myself into the power of any man.”

His eyes were careful, wary. “I thought you had got over that?”

“I thought you were different!” she cried out. “I thought your love for me had changed you! But you are just the same.”

“I see.” He shrugged, as though it were of no moment to him. “You’re running away again, following your usual pattern. I shouldn’t be surprised. I won’t try to dissuade you. I won’t-how did you put it?—manipulate events to suit my own purposes. It seems we both made a mistake. I hope you find what you are looking for, but I see now you won’t find it with me. I could never be happy with a woman who was forever questioning my integrity. And you have questioned it once too often. If you don’t commit yourself to me now, this is the end for us. Be very sure I mean that, Deb.”

She felt as though her heart were being torn from her breast. Unable to bear that cold look, she turned away and took a step toward the door, just as it opened to admit Nick.

“Deb,” he said, “Lord Leathe is here and wishes to speak with you.”

Leathe was in the vestibule and his face was stark and white. “Deb, there has been a terrible accident. It’s Father.”

“Yes, I know. He’s dead.”

He clasped both her hands and subjected her to a searching look. “If those tears are for him,” he said, “you’ve come to the wrong person for comfort.”

“They’re not only for him. They’re for us too.”

“What does that mean?”

But she couldn’t explain it, not even to herself.

The Earl of Belvidere was young and handsome, and immaculately turned out in his blacks, but the mourners at his father’s funeral found little else to recommend him. His expression was austere. His responses to their condolences were cold and unrevealing. His manner was distant. When the service was over and the old earl’s coffin was duly lowered into the ground, they remained standing about only as long as good manners required, then they made their excuses and filed out of the churchyard.

Belvidere, as Leathe was now known, watched for a moment or two as the grave diggers began to heap the dark, bloodred earth into the gaping grave. He felt nothing, not a single regret for his father’s demise. If he regretted anything, it was that Deborah had persuaded him to accompany her on this senseless pilgrimage. He felt like a hypocrite, decked out in mourning. It wasn’t a mark of respect for their father, he assured himself, but in deference to their sister, Elizabeth. He wasn’t mourning. He was completely indifferent to the old sod’s fate, and when he and Deborah left this place, the mourning clothes would be packed away.

For no reason, his eyes began to sting, and he turned away with a soft imprecation. He was a man now, not a
boy, and he refused to let the past mold him to its whim. That was the argument Deborah had used to persuade him to accompany her. They were, she’d said, going on a pilgrimage to face their ghosts and finally lay them to rest. He feared it would be easier said than done. He thought of Meg, and it was like inhaling a breath of fresh air. He would allow nothing to come between them, not even Kendal. Suddenly realizing that the others had outdistanced him, he hastened to catch up.

The dowager was leaning heavily on the arm of an elderly gentleman, some relative whom Deborah understood was now Elizabeth’s guardian. Her half sister, Elizabeth, walked silently at Deborah’s side and flashed her a furtive glance from time to time. Deborah was hardly aware of it. She was steeling herself for what was to come. Belvidere was only a short drive away and the house, in her mind, represented something that was beyond her comprehension. She only knew that if she could come to terms with Belvidere, she would understand all mysteries. The thought made her smile.

Raising her eyes at that moment, she caught and held Elizabeth’s stare. The girl was the image of their father, thin faced, and with dark, long-lashed eyes. There was a question in those eyes, then suddenly the girl smiled, and her face was transformed as dimples flashed at Deborah.

Deborah smiled and nodded. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a communication of sorts. As she smiled at her sister now, Deborah regretted that she had hardly spared the girl a passing thought since the day she had left Belvidere. She had never really known Elizabeth. Her stepmother had kept them apart. She hoped they could do better in future.

“You must come and have tea with me one day soon,” she said to Elizabeth.

Again the girl’s face was transformed by her smile. “I should like that of all things. And … Leathe too?”

“Of course. He is your brother. Naturally, he will wish to see you.”

“Elizabeth!” The dowager countess’s hand was on the coach door. Her eyes were as sharp and piercing as a hawk’s. “Come along, child. You will ride with us.”

“Yes, Mama.” Elizabeth’s head dipped, and she moved quickly to obey her mother.

Deborah let out a small sigh and allowed the coachman to help her into her brother’s carriage. She wished there was something they could do for Elizabeth, but she didn’t know what. The girl had a guardian now, and it was out of their hands.

On the drive to the house, she and Stephen said very little. Occasionally, they pointed out landmarks they remembered, but when the house came into view, not a word was exchanged.

It was just as she remembered, a neoclassical palace modeled on the temples of Greece. Her eyes were drawn to the roof of the house, and traveled that long stone pediment with niches where statues of pagan gods looked down on all who passed by. As they drew closer, her eyes picked out the stately Ionic columns, the intricately chiseled borders of vines that decorated each window, and the ornate ironwork. There was a set of massive white marble steps leading down to the fountains, and another set that led up to the great portico and the front doors. When Stephen helped her down from the carriage, her breathing was not quite regular.

“It’s rather intimidating, isn’t it?” she whispered, as though she feared to betray her presence to whatever gods resided there.

Her brother’s eyes flicked over the house indifferently. “It’s a shrine to one man’s ego,” he said.

“It’s yours now, Stephen. Will you live here with Meg?” There was no question in Deborah’s mind now that her brother and Meg would make a match of it. Young as they were, they were both strong-willed and very much in love.

“If Meg wishes it.” He grinned. “She says that it’s only a house and when we fill it with babies I won’t recognize it. I’m going to make other changes, of course. For a start, I’m going to obliterate all the murals where Father is portrayed. There’s one other thing I’d like to do. With your permission, I’d like to have our mother’s portrait done. There is an artist I know who is gaining quite a reputation for himself as a portrait painter. He
tells me that he can do it from the miniature you have in our mother’s locket. He’s done this sort of thing before.”

“I think that’s a splendid idea.”

“There’s nothing to stop you from sending for it now, is there? Your name has been cleared. You’re a free woman.”

Free.
She was not so sure that she would ever be truly free. “I’ll write to Miss Hare at once.”

In the great marble hall, her steps slowed to a halt. More Greek columns towered threateningly on either side of her. Scenes from Roman history were depicted on the ceiling. Her breath caught painfully when she saw her father’s face staring down at her. In this awesome chamber, he was depicted as Julius Caesar. Until her brother mentioned it, she’d forgotten that in almost every room, her father was portrayed as some mythical hero or character from history. As a child, she had been terrified. It had seemed that his eyes were always following her.

“The solicitor is going to read the will,” said Stephen. “There’s nothing in it for us, of course, but I intend to be present if only to annoy the old harridan, and see that they do right by Elizabeth.”

Deborah nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on her father’s face.

“Aren’t you coming in?”

“What?” Her head jerked round.

He said gently, “The solicitor and the others are waiting for us in the library.”

“No. I shall wander around, if you don’t mind. This is what I came for.”