In Bed With the Devil (22 page)

Then he strode from the room, praying that Avendale would make his appearance soon, before Luke went mad with wanting Catherine again.

 

The rain began near dusk, the wind whipping off the moors, the thunder rumbling.

In the library, Luke stood at the window, his hip against the windowsill, gazing out on the darkness, the land occasionally illuminated by the flashes of lightning.

Catherine sat in a nearby chair, a book in her lap. She'd read the same passage three times now and still hadn't a clear understanding of what Jane Austen was trying to say. It wasn't a complicated point. She simply couldn't concentrate.

“I've been pondering something you told me once,” Claybourne said quietly.

Catherine welcomed the opportunity for conversation and closed the book. “And what was that?”

Claybourne was studying something beyond the window. “You said that the first Earl of Claybourne had earned the right to pass the estates and title on to his heirs.”

“I have a vague recollection—”

He turned from the window. “When we return to London, I'm going to appear before the House of Lords and denounce my claim to Claybourne.”

Slowly coming to her feet, Catherine felt as though all the air had been forced from her lungs. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I'm weary of living a lie. Because a time existed when I didn't fully appreciate what I'd been handed—I saw only my life not the legacy behind the title. All of this truly belongs to Marcus Langdon, and I shall see that he comes to have it.”

She saw so many problems and difficulties with his plan that she hardly knew where to begin.

“They'll hang you.”

“I doubt it. The witness to my crime died several years ago. What evidence do they have? Besides, I can well afford to pay the sharpest legal mind in all of England to defend me if it comes to that.”

“But Marcus Langdon—he isn't you.”

He chuckled low. “Yes, that's quite the point.”

She took a step nearer. “No, I mean, I truly can't see him as the Earl of Claybourne. You seem so well suited to the role.”

“That, too, is the point, Catherine. It's been a
role
that I've played. I've been playacting all these years.”

But she knew his reasons encompassed more than he'd revealed. His being the Earl of Claybourne was preventing him from obtaining the one thing he truly wanted: Frannie.

She took a step nearer, felt the tears sting her eyes. Reaching out she touched his cheek. “You are a remarkable man, Lucian Langdon. Frannie is incredibly lucky to have your affections.”

“I'm not doing this for Frannie. I'm doing it because of you. When I see my reflection in your
eyes, I don't want to see it tainted by deception and as long as I'm the Earl of Claybourne, I'm not a man worthy of any woman.”

“I know of no man more worthy.” Stretching up on her toes, she kissed him, unable to believe how deeply she loved him. She wanted to do more than kiss him. She wanted to show him that he'd managed to claim not only her body, but her heart and soul.

She wondered how much time remained to them before the devil would appear. She drew back from the kiss. “When do you think he'll come?”

She saw regret in his eyes, knew he understood what she was asking, what she wanted. “It could be any time now.”

“How long will we wait before we decide he's not coming?”

“He'll come.”

“How can you be so certain?”

He gave her an indulgent smile, which might have pricked her temper before she knew him well enough to know that he wasn't mocking her curiosity, but rather he was amused by her interest, perhaps even a bit impressed that she'd care. “I've played cards with him for a number of years. I know how the man thinks.”

“You misjudged me when we played cards.”

His smile disappeared. “He can't be that good at hiding the sort of man he is.”

“Did you know he beat his wife?”

He shook his head. “No, but he hates to lose. He especially hates to lose to me. He shall come here to reclaim his wife. I have no doubt.”

“What will you do when he arrives?”

“I'm not going to kill him if that's what's you're wondering.” He took her hand, kissed it, then began stroking his thumb over the scar on her palm. “It's not an easy thing to live with the death of a man on your conscience, even when you know he deserved it. You see his face when you close your eyes to sleep—and there are times you won't sleep because you don't want to see his face.”

“Then how shall you ensure that he'll leave Winnie in peace?”

“By making certain he understands that she is under my protection, and if he ever touches her again, I
will
kill him. Without remorse. Without regret. Without mercy.”

A shiver raced up her spine, caused her scalp to prickle. She nodded.

“He's a bully,” he said quietly. “It usually takes only standing up to him to make him back down.”

With her free hand, she skimmed his hair off his brow. “But what if he threatens you?”

He pressed a kiss to her palm. “I have my guardian angel.”

The library door opened, and the butler walked in. “My lord, the Duke of Avendale has come to call.”

“You see,” Claybourne said, grinning at Catherine. “Civilized.” He looked at his servant. “I'll see him. And under no circumstances are we to be disturbed. I don't care what you hear or think you hear happening inside this room. As a matter of fact, once you've delivered him here, dismiss the remaining servants for the evening.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Claybourne released her, walked to his desk, leaned against it, crossed his arms over his chest, and met Catherine's gaze. “I don't suppose you'd leave while he and I discuss—”

“I'll not leave you to face him alone.”

“Don't interfere.”

She opened her mouth to speak—

“I mean it, Catherine. This is going to be like a very complicated game of cards, and I intend to do a great deal of bluffing.”

She nodded, heard the click of determined footsteps. Her stomach roiled. She walked so she was off to the side, near the shelves, far enough away not to be bothersome, but close enough to offer what support she could.

Avendale strode in, and once he was clear of the door, the butler closed it behind him. Catherine could sense the fury emanating off the duke in waves. She was also very much aware that Claybourne seemed completely unaffected.

An extraordinary number of lamps had been lit as though Claybourne wanted a clear view of his adversary, or perhaps he wanted Avendale to have a clear view of him. Unfortunately, they also gave Avendale a clear view of her.

He sneered at her. “I should have known you were at the heart of this travesty.”

“You'll address me, not Lady Catherine,” Claybourne said, his voice firm, his manner that of a man who knew no fear.

Avendale shifted his attention to Claybourne. “We're not among my peers where I must pretend politeness, so let me speak frankly. You're nothing.
You're not the rightful earl, and I'll not recognize you as such. I am here for my wife and heir. You will bring them to me and you will bring them to me now.”

“I have some questions I want answered first.”

“I do not answer to you.”

“Why were you having Lady Catherine followed?”

“Where is my wife?”

“Answer my question and I'll answer yours.”

Avendale looked at Catherine, not bothering to disguise his low opinion of her. She just didn't know if it was a recently acquired opinion. “She is a bad influence on my wife, and so I thought it worth keeping an eye on her.”

“And the reason you tried to have me killed?”

“Because I don't like you, you insolent dog. You're a blight on the aristocracy. Now bring me my wife and son!”

“It's a bit difficult to do your bidding when they're not here.”

“You're lying.”

“I've not lied since I was fourteen. Search my residence, every room, every nook and cranny. You'll not find them here because they never left London.”

“You think to keep them away from me?”

“If I must in order to protect them. You and I are going to come to an understanding—”

Avendale dropped his head back and yelled, his hands balled into fists. When he again looked at Claybourne, the fury he'd brought into the room with him was tenfold. “I'll not allow you to take anything else that rightfully belongs to another!”

He swung his fist one way, knocking a lamp onto the chair, swung it the other way, sending another lamp flying toward the draperies. Before anyone could react, he flung himself toward Claybourne.

The lamp on the desk hit the floor, shattering, spilling kerosene and fire. Catherine grabbed a cushion from a chair, made a move toward the flames in order to beat them out—

Suddenly dark eyes, insane eyes, were in front of her. Without warning. She felt blinding pain shooting through her jaw into the back of her skull, more pain as her head collided with something. The floor she realized. She felt a jerk on her arm, heard a roar, and the hold on her arm was gone.

Forcing her eyes open, she could see Claybourne and Avendale crashing around the room, with flames dancing around them as though they were in some macabre form of hell. Flames. Fire. She had to get up. She had to get help.

She struggled to her knees. The room spun around her. Crawling to the desk, she pulled herself up. How long had she been on the floor? She screamed for help, but already the flames were circling the room, blocking her way to the door, the windows. She considered trying to leap across them, but her skirts would surely catch on fire.

Reaching beneath her hem, intent on removing a petticoat so she'd have something to slap at the fire, she looked toward Claybourne. He had Avendale pinned to the floor. He punched him, once, twice—

Avendale bucked, throwing Claybourne off. Something else shattered. Another lamp. Catherine pulled off her petticoat and began beating at the flames that were racing up the shelves devouring the books, the papers, the wooden shelves—

Dear God, was there a worse room for a fire to be let loose? So many flames rose higher and higher. And they were hot, so hot. The gray, billowing smoke made it difficult to see. Her eyes stung. Her lungs hurt.

Hearing a grunt, she looked back over her shoulder. Avendale had Claybourne bent backward over the desk, pummeling him. Catherine picked up a nearby statuette. Coughing and gasping, she staggered over—

Avendale turned away from Claybourne and with an unholy glow in his eyes, punched her again. Staggering backward, she landed once more on the floor. She'd forgotten how he relished striking women.

Growling, Claybourne flung himself at Avendale, knocking him down. Avendale's head hit the edge of a low table and he lay still, unmoving. Claybourne bent over him, pressed his ear to his chest. “He's alive.”

“We've no way out, nowhere to hide,” Catherine yelled.

It seemed only then that Claybourne realized the dangerous predicament they were in. “This way,” Claybourne ordered. He pulled Avendale upright, folded him over his shoulder, and lifted him up as he rose to his feet. In long strides, he reached the fireplace.

“What in the bloody hell do you think we're
going to do?” Catherine yelled. “Climb up the chimney flue?”

“No. We're going to climb down. Grab a lamp.”

She was surprised that a lamp still remained, but she spotted one on a small table in the corner. Grabbing it, she watched as he did something along the side of the fireplace—pushed something, pressed, pulled, she couldn't see clearly with all the smoke—and a grinding, groaning began to echo through the room as one of the great shelves shifted forward, creating a passage behind the wall.

Something crashed. She felt as though her blood were beginning to boil.

“Come on. Quickly.” He pressed his hand to the small of her back, urging her into the darkened passage.

The lamp illuminated a set of stairs.

“Go down,” he ordered.

“Where does this go?”

“I don't…I don't bloody well know. I just know it's safe. Go!”

She dashed down the stairs. It was cool here, the air while musty was easier to breathe. At the bottom she reached a tunnel.

“Keep going,” he ordered.

She ducked cobwebs, thought she heard a rat squealing—but facing a rat was better than facing a fire. She came to a fork in the passage, stumbled to a stop.

“Keep right,” Claybourne said.

She glanced back at him. “Where does the other go?”

“Back into the house.”

“I certainly don't want to go there.”

She followed the fork as he'd indicated. After a while she began to hear the rush of the ocean and smell the salt air. She walked out into the darkness, onto the shore. Dark clouds moved across the moon, but still the light glowed off the nearby sea. Had the family made its original fortune as smugglers?

Claybourne dropped Avendale onto the shore, then staggered over to a boulder. He sat on it and stared at the waves rushing in to cover his boots before darting back to sea. A light rain continued to fall, but it was the least of their concerns. Catherine knelt before him, lifting the lamp so she could see his face. “Luke?”

“Catherine, how did I know? How did I know about the passage?”

“I don't understand.”

He shook his head. “I didn't know it existed. I didn't know it was there.”

“How could you not know? Someone must have shown you.”

“No, no one has ever shown me.”

“The previous earl.”

“No.”

He sounded so certain, so sure.

“But you went right to it. You knew what you needed to do.”

“Only after you said we had nowhere to hide. Until that moment”—he pressed the heels of his hands against his brow—“dear God, my head. I feel like it's trying to split in two.”