Deeper in Sin (25 page)

The floor was flagstone and cold beneath her feet as she paced in front of the window. Angelique trained the pistol on her.

The cottage consisted of two rooms—one big main room with chairs circled around the fireplace, and beds at the other end, and a separate kitchen room with a large hearth and a big wooden table for cooking. A low doorway led between the two.

It could have been a quaint, sweet little home once, but she looked around it and imagined a five-year-old boy held inside it as a prisoner. It made the house seem to breathe evil.

What nightmares would come back to Cary when he walked into this place?

She acted as though she were watching anxiously for Cary, but Sophie kept glancing around. Cary had escaped this hell, using the fireplace poker as a weapon. Her captors were armed: Angelique had a pistol. Her coachman—Angelique had called him O'Malley—was in the kitchen, drinking ale, and he also had a pistol.

There was no fireplace poker to hand—Angelique had sent it into the kitchen with O'Malley. Angelique had taken off her cloak and hung it by the door. O'Malley had pulled off his greatcoat. The fire was burning, but the cottage felt cold as a tomb. Sophie could not see anything in the cottage she could use to defend herself.

She looked out the window once more. Moonlight spilled onto the fields around the house. In the silver-blue light, Sophie saw movement. A horse galloped down the lane, emerging out of the shadows cast by trees. A large black gelding with hooves thundering. The rider leaned along the animal's neck, urging it to great speed. Dust flew up.

Then the rider straightened and reined in his beast as they neared the cottage.

She saw his face in the pale light. Cary.

He jumped off, then tied the reins of the horse to a wooden post. He slowed as he walked toward the cottage, as if he were afraid to come to it.

He must be reliving all the nightmarish things that happened here.

He must be in hell.

She wanted to scream at him to go back. Angelique growled, “Do not move or make a sound, or I will shoot you now.”

Outside the door, Cary ran his hand over his face. Then he shook his head as if shaking off memories. He stalked to the door and hammered on it.

There was fire in the cottage fire grate and a lamp burning in the corner, but she wasn't sure what Cary could see through the small dirty panes of glass.

Angelique shouted to her man in the kitchen. “O'Malley, come and answer the door to his Grace, the Duke of Caradon!”

The large man lumbered out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned the iron key in the lock and flung open the thick wooden door. “Welcome, Yer Grace. Why don't ye step inside?”

Cary walked in, his face tense and expressionless. Then he saw her. “Thank God, you are all right, Sophie. Thank God.”

He came toward her, but Angelique leveled the pistol at him. “You are not to touch her, Caradon.”

He stopped. “So it was you. You were the daughter of the monster who kidnapped me. I used to beg you to help me, and you refused. You tortured me instead. I can't believe I didn't recognize you.” He peered at O'Malley. Frowned. “I recognize you also. You were in my regiment in Ceylon.”

“Ye'll forgive me if I don't put me weapon down to salute, Yer Grace,” O'Malley sneered.

Angelique pointed to the end of the room, to the corner beside the beds. “You were chained there. Do you remember how piteously you cried? Do you remember how my father tried to soothe you—?”

“Yes, I remember that,” he spat.

“Stop it,” Sophie cried.

“Shut up,” Angelique snapped. She stood in the center of the room. Cary stood with his back to the door. O'Malley had moved close to the kitchen door. Sophie was still near the window, and O'Malley had her in his line of fire.

“You did everything he asked willingly, Caradon,” Angelique said. “You were more willing than I ever was. Did you enjoy it? Is that why you've never married? Did you discover your true tastes? Perhaps you now hunger for young boys.”

“God no,” Cary muttered. His face looked like stone, but he'd gone pale.

“Why do you think my father touched you? He knew he'd found someone like him. Didn't you try to please him?”

“No.” Cary's voice was ragged. “I was afraid. Too damned afraid to fight.”

“That's what you say, but we both know the truth.”

Cary was not believing any of this, surely?

“I was there, after all,” Angelique said. “I saw everything.”

Sophie wanted to scream that he was a child. But she was afraid she would be helping Angelique by reminding Cary he had been powerless. “You can't hurt him, Angelique,” she cried. She hadn't thought this through entirely, but she must go on. “Time has healed his wounds. He is a good, strong, noble gentleman. The reason he has not married is because he did his duty for his country and did it honorably, but now he
is
ready to find love and marry. Whatever you took from him no longer matters, because you only made him stronger.”

Cary was watching her, looking startled. Their gazes met. His softened. It was so intense, so bright, she lost her breath. Cary spoke. “Sophie is right. It was a long time ago. It's over. In the past. That is where it should remain. Stop this now, Angelique.”

“It's too late for that,” she spat. “You really have no idea why I hate you so much, Caradon?”

He stepped closer to her. Her hand trembled a bit, and she waved the pistol at him. “I will shoot you,” she said. “You will die tonight in this place where you were once a sniveling, terrified little boy.” She shrugged carelessly. “It would be disappointing to do it earlier, but I will do it.”

He gazed at her. “I see it now. Corporal Yew was related to you. Your brother?”

“My son.” Her voice broke. “He was my son. You murdered my only child.”

“He committed a heinous crime. He knew the punishment.”

“He killed one of the enemy's women. He was a good Englishman, and you wanted to see him give his life because he killed a woman. A woman who belonged to the people massacring our soldiers.”

“Let me tell you what really happened.” He spoke with calm. Slowly.

Sophie shivered. The pistol pointed at his heart.

“Stop,” Angelique snapped. “Why don't we talk of what happened to you here when you were a little boy?”

“I was kidnapped and forced to do unspeakable things by your father. I killed him. This is just a cottage, Angelique. That is in the past.”

He looked to Sophie. “I won't let memories master me, Angelique. But I will tell you what happened to your son. It was the day after a long, hard battle. Indeed, we had lost a lot of men. Despair and anger were both whipping us. I tried to keep the men calm—I was afraid tempers would explode and something rash would happen. Your son was the worst powder keg of the lot—he seethed in rage at all times, and he had found the mutilated body of the youngest lad of our regiment and had vowed revenge. I understood how he felt, but I tried to make him see sense. To be honest, I was afraid he would get himself—or someone else—killed because he was being driven by blind fury.”

“He would never listen to you. He knew who you were.”

“Let me finish, Angelique. Your son stalked away, and I let him go—to give him time to clear his head. On the outskirts of our camp, he apparently encountered a Ceylonese woman. Perhaps she was acting as a spy or an assassin, or she had just innocently come upon us. I went in search of him. I found the girl sobbing, her clothing torn. His breeches were unfastened, and he was strangling her. I shouted out to him to stop, but by the time I reached him and pulled him off the girl, it was too late. He threw her body away. I was appalled. It is one thing to kill on the battlefield—another to destroy a defenseless woman. I intended to speak to my superior officers, but at that moment we were attacked from two sides. Most—hell, all of the other soldiers were killed. I thought I was the only survivor. I was taken prisoner, chained up in a cave.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Angelique said sardonically. But she was listening. “So, you are telling me my son was killed in the attack.”

“No, he wasn't. He deserted and hid. Then he found me. What he did to me—he attempted to kill me. I was chained up, fighting for my life. He thought if I were dead, there would be no one to condemn him for the murder of that woman. It was he or I, Angelique. I'm sorry.”

“And when you were found, did you tell the truth? Did you admit to killing him?”

“I told the whole story. It was decided there was no need to reveal it all. He was dead and had paid the price for what he did. His name was protected—it was said he died in battle. What more would you want, Angelique?”

“Justice! What was wrong with what he did? He merely killed an enemy spy. And you—you act as though what he did was wrong! You murdered an Englishman. You will not get away with it!”

Cary took a step away from Angelique, toward the door. Sophie met his gaze, and he motioned with his head. She edged toward the door to the kitchen. She was against the wall by the doorway, and O'Malley was watching her.

Cary looked at Angelique. “Of course I will,” he said. “And so will Sophie.”

Oh dear God, what was he doing?

“No, you won't!” Angelique screamed. In one furious motion, she pulled the trigger. A flash of flame. A roar that shook the room. Smoke spewed out of the pistol.

Cary jumped to his feet. He had thrown himself at the ground. As he got up, he shouted, “O'Malley!” to keep the lackey's attention on him. He threw a knife, and it arced through the air, but with the warning, O'Malley was able to duck. Sophie was near the door. The key was still in the lock—

No. She turned to see O'Malley straightening, preparing to shoot Cary. “O'Malley!” she shrieked. “I've got a pistol, and you are going to die.”

He whirled to face her, and Cary lunged, shouting the man's name to draw his attention again. O'Malley's pistol exploded.

“Cary!” Sophie cried.

Cary slammed his fist into O'Malley's face with such force, he knocked the man out cold.

Angelique. What was she doing? Then Sophie saw the courtesan wrench at her bodice. Silver glinted in her hand.

“She has a blade!” she cried, and she looked for some kind of weapon. Her hands were tied, but that wasn't going to stop her.

Cary was struggling with Angelique, trying to get the knife out of her hand. Angelique seemed to have the strength of a madwoman. She'd cut Cary's face and his throat. Lines of dark blood welled.

Then Sophie saw it—the one thing she could use as a weapon. With her bound hands, she grabbed it. She lunged forward, just as she'd done to save herself with Lord Devars. Struggling against the ropes binding her wrists, she swung as best as she could and threw the thing—

Angelique's cloak fluttered though the air. It fell short, missing Angelique. But it distracted her, and Cary grabbed the woman. With two swift moves, he had Angelique disarmed.

He held the woman with her arms pinned behind her.

Sophie's heart still thundered faster than speeding horses. “Cary, are you all right? Were you not shot?”

“No, love,” Cary said. He breathed hard. “O'Malley shot the wall instead.”

Cary shoved Angelique away from him and pulled a pistol from his pocket. “Sit on the chairs.” He growled at Angelique. He motioned for Sophie to come to him. She knew he couldn't look at her; he was watching the villains. But he sliced through the ropes securing her hands, holding Angelique's knife in his left hand. He murmured, “Thank the Lord, you are safe. I was afraid—afraid I would be too late.”

“You weren't.”

“I can't believe you threw Angelique's cloak. It was brilliant.”

She glowed at the praise. “It was all I could think of.”

“Brilliant,” he said again. And added, “The other dukes were traveling behind me in a carriage.”

Sure enough, she heard thundering hooves, rattling traces. Sophie ran to the door and opened it as the other Wicked Dukes leapt out of the carriage.

They would be able to tie up Angelique and O'Malley and give them to the law.

Sophie almost sobbed. They had survived, and they were safe.

“Sophie, are you all right?”

She found herself turned around and pulled into Cary's strong embrace. But she drew back and faced him. “This place is just a house. A terrible thing happened to you here, but it does not have magical powers. Everything Angelique told you is rubbish. You were never willing; you must have been terrified. I know—why do you think I let Angelique put me in a carriage? She threatened your family. I was trying to protect them, and I was playing for time. I didn't fight her every step of the way because, to save myself and you and your family, I had to wait for the right moment. Of course, it didn't come. I needed you to save me. Here, when you were a child, you did the most amazing thing. You saved yourself, Cary. Angelique is going to pay for her crimes. You committed no crime, Cary. You don't need to pay for the rest of your life.”

Sophie almost held her breath. What would he say?

“This place is the setting of my most hellish nightmares,” Cary said hoarsely. “Even being held prisoner in Ceylon, where I was certain they would kill me, was not as bad. But you are right—this place is just a building of stone. It has no special power over me.”

“Those memories don't either. You don't have to let them. You are not to blame.”

“I could have run away. I didn't understand what was going on. I let the man approach me, and I should have run. My mother would have been spared hell too.”