Lucien Tregellas (26 page)

The crowd parted. He heard Boyle by his elbow. ‘Was tied to his horse to make it back here. Couldn't do nothin' other than ride it right up to the front door. Bleedin' badly he is, m'lord. We got him in here as quick as we could. Young Hayley's taken the beast round to the stables.'

A broad smear of blood across the marbled floor of the hallway showed clearly where the body had been dragged. Something squirmed in Lucien's gut. One hand steered the sniffling housemaid to the side until at last he could see the figure that lay there. The man's clothing was darkened and wet. Great slashes in the material showed skin that had been white, now mottled dark. Lucien's eyes travelled up the tortured body, past the wounds, past the blood, until they came to rest upon the face. A breath escaped him. A rush of air so silent that none around would have noticed. A sound both of horror…and relief. For the blood-daubed face was not that of Guy, but his valet, Collins.

Lucien knelt by the poor battered body, touching his fingers to the neck in search of a pulse. Then he stripped off his coat and balling it as a pillow, carefully inserted it behind the man's head.

The gritty eyelids fluttered open. ‘Lord Tregellas.'

The man's whisper was so low that Lucien had to press an ear close to the bruised mouth to hear the words. ‘It's all right, Collins, I'm here.'

The valet struggled to speak.

‘Take your time,' said Lucien, kneeling by the man's side.

‘Was a trap. Walked right into it before we knew.' Collins reached a bloody hand to catch at Lucien's. ‘There were too many of them. Ruffians. Brawn hired by the gent. Didn't stand a chance.'

The coldness was spreading throughout Lucien's body. He held Collins's hand and waited for him to continue.

The man's swallow was painful to watch. ‘We put up a fight, but they had us in the end. Took us somewhere deep under the ground. No light, just torches. Damp. Horrible. Asked us questions about this place, and you and Lady Tregellas.'

Lucien's lips tightened to a grim line.

‘Released me to bring you a message.' Collins paused to gather his strength. ‘The gent says if you want to see your brother alive again then you're to meet him tonight at ten o'clock by Tintagel Castle—and take your wife with you. If the both of you don't show, he'll kill Lord Varington.'

‘Is Guy…?' Lucien could not bring himself to say the words.

‘He's hurt bad.' Collins's eyes filled with moisture. ‘Nothing I could do. I'm sorry.'

Lucien patted the man's hand. ‘You did your best. Guy will be proud.' He leaned in closer as Collins's eyes began to close. It was a question he did not need to ask, but he wanted to be sure. ‘Just one more thing before you rest, Collins. His name—did the one you call a gentleman tell you his name?'

Collins slowly shook his head. ‘Said you would know who he was. Hair as red as a fox's pelt. Slim, medium height. Lord Varington called him Farleyson or some such name.'

‘Farquharson,' said a woman's voice behind Lucien.

‘Yes, m'lord, that was it.' The valet drifted out of consciousness once more.

Lucien slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder, and when the ice-blue eyes raised, they met with the clear amber gaze of his wife.

 

‘Don't be absurd, Madeline! You are not accompanying me and that is final.' Lucien's jaw tightened into what Madeline had come to learn was his stubborn expression.

‘And when you turn up to meet Farquharson without me, what then? You'll effectively condemn Guy to death.'

‘It's a trap, Madeline. He means to catch us all. If I go alone, at least I have a chance of killing him. To take you along would be to hand you to him on a platter. It's bad enough that he has Guy without giving him you as well.'

‘But you mean to walk straight into his trap yourself, and you think that I'll just sit here and let you?'

‘We've little choice, Madeline.'

‘What about the High Constable. If we inform him, perhaps he could—'

‘We're running out of time and, besides, the Constable will be of little use against Farquharson and his cronies. The only chance that Guy has is if I go alone.'

‘No.' Madeline shook her head. ‘He'll kill Guy anyway, and then he'll kill you.'

‘No, Madeline, not if I kill him first. I cannot just leave my brother to die without trying to help him. Farquharson's methods will not result in a quick and painless death. The villain thrives on pain. It gives him pleasure to watch others suffer.'

‘Sarah Wyatt…' It was not fair to ask the question with Lord Varington as Farquharson's prisoner.

Lucien's face was a mask of grim severity. ‘An endless orgy of torture and rape. He killed her at Tintagel, then brought her here, left her body in the old chapel in the grounds of the house. He thought if her body was found at Trethevyn, then I would be suspected of her murder. My mother found it the next morning. She had been unwell since my father's death. The shock of what she saw that day sickened her more than I can say. She never recovered. Two months later she was dead.'

‘Oh, Lucien,' Madeline placed her arm around him. ‘I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have stirred such painful memories.'

‘It's better that you know the truth,' he said.

‘Why did he never stand trial?'

‘Farquharson has the cunning of a fox. There was nothing that could link him with the crime. His cronies swore that Farquharson had spent the night of the murder drinking and carousing with them. The High Constable could not proceed. Besides, Farquharson was busy planting the seeds of rumours that I was responsible for Sarah's death. I was, after all, the spurned betrothed, and her body had been found on my property.'

‘Was there nothing that could be done to bring him to justice?'

‘I employed a Bow Street Runner to investigate the matter, in an attempt to come up with something against him, but there was nothing to be found.'

‘How can you be so sure it was Farquharson?'

Lucien sighed. ‘At first I wasn't. I suspected him, nothing more. There was always an undercurrent about him, something unwholesome. And then when he knew he was safe, when he knew that there was nothing that could link the grieving husband to Sarah's murder, he approached me in my club one day and told me what he had done.'

‘He admitted it?'

‘Every detail.'

‘But surely you could act as a witness against him?'

‘Farquharson had been busy establishing my reputation as the Wicked Earl. The gossip in London said that I had killed Sarah. He would not have been found guilty.'

Madeline said nothing, just shook her head.

‘I called him out, thought that I would kill him. But I allowed my hatred for him to affect my aim. My bullet landed in his leg. His shot landed wide. The matter was closed. There was nothing more I could do…but wait and watch, and ensure that he never struck again.'

‘Oh, Lucien…' Madeline pressed her cheek to her husband's hand ‘…you've had a terrible time.' She raised her head and looked at him. ‘If Farquharson killed Sarah at Tintagel, then it explains why he has chosen that same place for an assignation.'

Lucien nodded. ‘A repeat of history except that instead of Sarah, this time he wants you. Farquharson's perversion will never diminish. I have to stop him, Madeline. You do understand why I must do this?'

‘To avenge Sarah's death.'

He shook his head. ‘Once upon a time that's what I lived for, the thought of making him suffer as he did to both Sarah and my mother. Not any more. Vengeance is not mine. Farquharson will reap that in plenty when he meets his Maker.' He took her face between his hands, his fingers resting lightly against the softness of her cheeks. ‘I love you, Madeline. For all my denials I think I've loved you since first I held you in my arms and waltzed with you at Lady Gilmour's ball. I will not let him have you. That's why it must stop here, this night. You were right, Madeline, you cannot live your life forever looking over your shoulder.'

She clung to him, pressed her lips to his. ‘No, Lucien! I didn't mean that. I love you. Please don't go alone.'

‘It's the best way, Madeline.' He looked down into her eyes, seeing tears falling freely from them for the first time. ‘Don't cry, my love. One shot is all I need and this time the bullet shall land within his heart.'

‘I cannot let you do this, Lucien. I won't.' Her face was wet beneath his touch.

‘Madeline,' he said gently. ‘Do this one thing that I ask.'

She sobbed aloud. ‘Please…'

‘No more tears, my love.' And slowly, tenderly, he lowered his lips to hers and in that kiss was everything he wanted to give her: gratitude and joy and celebration for all that she had brought to his life, peace, and faith and eternal love. ‘Promise me that you'll stay here.' Her eyes were a clear light sienna flecked with gold. Eyes to lose yourself in, he'd once thought, and he'd been right. ‘Give me your word that you won't seek to follow me.'

Her teeth bit desperately at her lower lip. A minute passed in silence, then stretched to two. When she finally spoke her voice was cracked and broken. ‘You ask the impossible.'

‘Promise me, Madeline,' he said again and took one last chance to inhale the warm orange scent of her. Her hair tickled against his nose as he awaited her reply.

A small sob sounded. The teeth bit harder against her lip. ‘Very well,' she croaked, ‘I promise.'

One last kiss from her sweet mouth, then Lucien turned and walked towards the door.

‘My love,' she whispered as the door clicked shut. ‘Oh, my love,' and pressed her fingers hard against her mouth to capture the sobs that threatened to burst forth. Nothing could still the shudders that wracked her body.

 

Madeline did not know how long she stood motionless, watching the door of the small drawing room. Perhaps she waited in case Lucien changed his mind. Or to see if the whole nightmare was real or just some awful joke that Lucien and his brother had contrived between them. She stood statue still, breath so light as to scarcely be there. Her eyes were red and gritty, her cheeks damp with saline. She stood until there were no more tears to fall. Alone in the small drawing room, while her husband rode out to meet his death, to save both her and his brother. What chance did he stand against Farquharson and his men? The clock marked the passing of the seconds. Each frantic tick taking Lucien further from safety, closer to his doom. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Faster and faster. Madeline walked towards the mantel, lifted the pretty clock into her hands, and threw it hard across the room. It landed with a loud thud. Silence hissed. And the spell that had frozen Madeline shattered.

There was a thud of footsteps, uneven, growing louder. The door burst open. Madeline's head jerked up in expectation, his name soft upon her lips. ‘Lucien?'

Mrs Babcock's ruddy face appeared. ‘M'lady! Such a terrible noise. I thought you might have tripped and fallen your length…' The small black eyes rested upon the remains of the clock close by the window. ‘Ah,' she said. ‘No harm done.'

No harm? Madeline felt the urge to laugh hysterically. ‘No harm?' she said aloud.

‘Come along, doe.' The housekeeper steered Madeline out of the drawing room and along to her bedchamber. ‘Master Lucien said you was a bit upset, like. Don't you worry, Babbie's here. I'll make you a nice posset and tuck you up in bed, all safe and sound, until his lordship gets back.'

Madeline allowed herself to be guided by the older woman. Until his lordship gets back, Babbie had said. What would she say if she knew the truth? Lucien wasn't coming back, not tonight, not ever. Madeline looked up into the kindly old face…and could not inflict the hurt the truth would give. ‘There's no need for a posset, Babbie, I'll sleep directly. I'm just a little worried for Lucien, that's all.'

‘Aren't we all, m'lady, aren't we all? If you change your mind about the posset, just ring and I'll be here.' The housekeeper stroked Madeline's cheek. ‘I know you love him, doe. Never thought to see him smile again, not after what happened, what with the dowager Countess and Lady Sarah and all them terrible things. But you've made him happy, real happy. I'm sorry I was snappy with you when you asked me them questions.'

‘I should never have doubted him.' Madeline sat down upon the bed.

‘You weren't to know, and he can be a bit of a surly old bear when he's got a mind to be.' Mrs Babcock gave Madeline a brief hug, then hurried away with a face flaming like a beacon. She paused briefly by the door. ‘I'll send Betsy up to help you change.'

‘No, thank you, I'd rather manage by myself tonight.' Madeline raised a small smile. ‘Goodnight, Babbie.'

‘Goodnight, m'lady, and may the good Lord bring Master Lucien back to us safe and sound.'

‘Amen to that, Babbie.'

The door closed, leaving Madeline alone.