Moonstruck Madness (12 page)

Sanders' eyes grew enormous and he choked back an exclamation as the Duke shook his head for silence.

"I want no one to know of this, do you understand?" the Duke told him coldly. "You bring the medicine and bandages when
ready,
I'll be up with our guest."

Sanders returned to the business at hand as the Duke left, but half of his thoughts were following the Duke upstairs.

Sabrina opened her eyes through a haze of pain. Her body felt like it was on fire and she gasped as a sharp, searing pain went through her shoulder as she tried to sit up. She lay back panting, her thoughts confused as she tried to remember what had happened. The vagueness began to sharpen in her mind and suddenly in a flash she knew. The scar-faced gentleman! He had tried to kill her, and nearly succeeded, she grimaced, as she struggled to sit up, a faint feeling spreading through her at the effort.

She glanced about the room fearfully for her attacker, but it was empty. Sabrina shivered, feeling a draught of cool air caress her bare shoulders, and pulled the coverlet closer about her.

A strained look entered her eyes as she realized the implications of that. The person who had removed her mask and wig, and bared her shoulders, must have had a surprising discovery. She put her trembling fingers to her temples and tried to think. She couldn't seem to gather her wits and act. First, she must escape. She must get away from this scar-faced man who had caught her. What had he thought, she wondered, when he'd found out he'd dueled with a woman?

Pulling the coverlet over her shoulder, wincing with pain as she moved her arm, Sabrina struggled from the bed, biting her lip to keep from crying out. She felt the warm blood from her shoulder trickle down her arm, feeling sticky between her fingers. Stumbling to the window she pressed her hot face against the cool pane and rubbed a spot clean of grime to peer out, but only darkness met her eyes. The simple task of opening the window became a tiring struggle in her weakened condition until she finally succeeded, and cool air rushed in to bathe her flushed face.

She saw her coat crumpled on the floor across the room and slowly made her way to it. She was standing dumbly in front of it when the door was opened and the Duke entered, coming to an astonished halt midstride as he saw his wounded prisoner swaying before the coat.

Two dark, violet pools of pain stared up into his eyes as he came to stand before her. His mouth tightened ominously as he noticed the blood dripping from her fingers.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" he demanded angrily.

Sabrina continued to stare mutely up at him. The scar on his cheek fascinated her. She lifted a bloody finger to touch it, unaware of the glazed, feverish look in her eyes raised to his.

The Duke felt the chill from the opened window and looked over at it in puzzlement until the truth dawned on him, his eyes narrowing as he returned his stare to the blanketed form before him.

"Trying to escape, are you?" He laughed harshly, the sound ringing in Sabrina's ears like a death knell as she fell into his outstretched arms, his face swimming demoniacally in her eyes.

Let those love now who never loved before;

Let those who always loved,
  
now love the more.

Thomas Parnell

Chapter
5

M
ARY wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, her small lace handkerchief already soaked from her crying. Where was Sabrina? What had she allowed Sabrina to walk into with her damned premonitions? Oh, how she cursed the day she was blessed with second sight. If only she hadn't reassured Sabrina that all would be fine. She had given her a false sense of security because of it. How could it have happened? She hadn't seen anything terrible happening to her. Although she had foreseen some trouble, she hadn't believed it to be serious—and yet, Sabrina was missing. She'd been gone now for over five days. Not a sign of her, or Will Taylor.

Mary threw back her head and gave a watery, near-hysterical laugh with no amusement in it. What could she do? Go to the authorities and tell them that her sister, Lady Sabrina Verrick, who was actually the notorious Bonnie Charlie who had robbed them all at one time or another, was missing? That she had disappeared on one of her midnight forays with one of her armed associates in crime?

Six days now. Mary's nails bit into her palms. She had to do something. She couldn't stand this fearful uncertainty much longer. Something deep within told her that Sabrina wasn't dead—but that didn't set her mind at rest. John Taylor had scoured the countryside, but had found nothing. They seemed to have been swallowed up from the face of the earth.

Mary walked over to the window and stared hopelessly out at the trees and hills in the distance. They were shrouded by a fine mist from the rain shower and looked ghostly to her worried eyes. How many times had she stood at the window staring out? And yet she saw nothing. Each time it was the same never-ending question—where was Sabrina?

"A gentleman to see you, Lady Mary," the butler announced from the doorway.

Mary composed her face and tried to erase any trace of tears as she turned from the window. "Who is it?"

"A Colonel Terence Fletcher, Your Ladyship."

"Show him in, Sims," Mary told him, her voice shaking.
A colonel?
What could he possibly want with her—unless they had captured Sabrina?

She twisted her damp handkerchief nervously between her fingers as the colonel was shown in. Mary stared up into his penetrating gray eyes as if magnetized. His stern face and military bearing intimidated her and she took an instinctive step away from his awesome figure. His jackboots shone spotlessly and his scarlet coat was impeccably cut. A long sword hung from his waist and as he came forward his silver spurs jingled a warning.

"Colonel Fletcher," Mary greeted him weakly.

"My pleasure, Your Ladyship."
He spoke quietly, his voice oddly soothing to Mary's frayed nerves. "I hope you will forgive me this intrusion upon your privacy, but I am just recently arrived from London, and acquainting myself with the neighborhood," he said, explaining his uninvited presence.

"Please sit down, Colonel," Mary invited him, her gray eyes showing a distressed look. "And what brings you to our county, Colonel Fletcher?"

"I have been assigned the task of tracking down and bringing to justice the highwayman who calls himself Bonnie Charlie."

Mary let her eyes slide away from his direct gaze as she studied a floral arrangement. "I see."

Colonel Fletcher watched her curiously as she continued to twist her handkerchief unconsciously. Something was worry-ing the lady, but it was no concern of his, unless what he'd said had alarmed her; however, she'd seemed distracted before he'd been introduced.

"I hope what I've said hasn't caused you distress? The fact that you live with your sister and young brother, and only an aunt to chaperone you, led me to make this call and make myself known to you. Lord Malton, upon whom I've recently called, told me of your circumstances, and I must admit I am quite concerned lest you and your family be molested by this outlaw. Going unprotected invites danger. I thought of posting a few sentries about your property to insure your safety, if it meets with your approval?"

"Oh, please, you mustn't!" Mary cried. "I mean, it would be too much bother and upset my aunt terribly, what with the constant reminder of our immediate danger." Mary quickly recovered, smiling frozenly into the colonel's interested stare.

"I really can't allow it. We are perfectly safe. Just knowing you are here in the neighborhood sets my mind at rest. Lord Malton exaggerates on our behalf, truly. After all, we have not been robbed. Surely that proves that we are safe? We are not excessively rich."

Mary averted her eyes, praying the colonel would agree. If he posted his men around their property, Sabrina might stumble into them trying to get into the house
..

 
The colonel controlled his expression as he answered carefully, "It will, of course, be as you wish, although I have doubled the patrols and I'm confident of catching this highwayman. I doubt whether you are completely safe, even though you've not been robbed." He pondered that fact silently.
Odd that the Verrick family had not been harassed by the highwayman.
But then as the lady had said, they were not rich.

He accepted Lady Mary's offer to tea, unwilling to take his leave of this rather unusual woman's company for a few minutes yet.
For there was a puzzle here.
Most women enjoyed his company, he had found, although he hadn't had much time for prolonged affairs, but he would have sworn there had been a look of terror in Lady Mary's eyes when she'd seen him and a sense of revulsion when she'd held out her hand.

He watched her carefully while she poured the tea from a silver teapot, her hands slim and steady now that she'd seemed to regain some of her composure.

Her hair glowed red beneath the wisp of starched lace that served as a cap, and her features were delicately moulded, although there was a sprinkling of freckles like gold dust across her nose. But her most unusual feature was her eyes; light gray with the translucence of crystal.

She was holding out his teacup and saucer, a quizzical look in those eyes now as she patiently waited to gain his attention.

"I beg your pardon for staring," he apologized, "but you've most unusual eyes."

Mary flushed and took a sip of tea in embarrassment, her lashes sweeping low and masking her expression.

"Have I embarrassed you? I didn't intend my compliment to do that," he said with a challenging light entering his eyes as he watched her shy away from him like a startled fawn. He smiled slightly, getting to his feet.

"I'll take my leave of you, Lady Mary," he addressed her, startling her by his use of her first name. "It has been
a
pleasure.
I
am only sorry
I
didn't get the opportunity to meet the rest of your family."

Mary responded volubly, relief evident on her face. "Oh, Aunt Margaret seldom comes down when we've visitors, and Richard is at his lessons and my sister Sabrina," Mary stuttered in nervousness, "s-she isn't feeling too well,
a
c-cold."

"I'm sorry to hear that.
I
hope she'll feel better soon," Colonel Fletcher commiserated, a thoughtful look on his face as he sensed Mary's unease. "I will keep you informed on my progress, Lady Mary, concerning the highwayman. I shouldn't want you to worry needlessly. Good afternoon."

Mary sank back against the cushions of the settee, feeling drained of emotion. There was something about that man that worried her, a certain singleness of purpose that meant he seldom gave up or accepted failure. The colonel had frightened her. If only Sabrina were here—she would have known what to do, and how to have handled the colonel. She was never at a loss for words. It would have been very interesting, Mary thought, to have seen the colonel and Sabrina meet and exchange barbs.

Sabrina opened her eyes sleepily and yawned. She began to stretch, but her shoulder felt stiff and sore and was restricted by a firm bandage. She frowned and put a curious hand to it and noticed the fine white fabric of the shirt she wore. It was too long for her arms and flopped over her fingertips. She rolled back the lace-edged cuffs and sat up in the big bed. A fire was burning softly and casting a glow about the room, while rain tapped against the window outside. She was weak, but somehow refreshed, and the burning heat she'd been consumed by was gone. She put a tentative hand to her forehead and felt the dry coolness of it beneath her fingertips.

"I see you have rejoined the living," a deep voice commented from a corner of the room, and as Sabrina's startled glance sought it out,
a
large form rose from
a
winged-back chair in the shadows.

Sabrina felt her pulses quicken as the scar-faced man came close to the bed and stood staring down at her speculatively. She pulled the neck of the large shirt together protectively and cowered beneath the coverlet.

A grin appeared on his face as he commented dryly, "Your modesty is misplaced, I fear, for I have cared for you since your illness, and—" He spread his hands dispassionately, letting her draw her own conclusions.

Sabrina glared up at him impotently, unaware of the lovely picture she presented to him wearing his shirt, her midnight-black hair tumbling over it in startling dark waves and her eyes a wild violet color in a face flushed pink with embar-rassment.

The Duke pulled up a chair and straddled it, his arms resting on its back as he directed an interrogating look at Sabrina's bent head as she toyed with the edge of lace that had fallen over her wrist.

"Now, I think it is time we had a few answers, but first allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Lucien Dominick, Duke of Camareigh. You might have forgotten in the excitement."

Sabrina stared up at him insolently. "Certainly not, Your Grace," she contradicted smoothly. "I'll never forget your name."

"Good. Now what is yours? Ah," he interrupted before she could open her lips, "not your professional name, if you please," he warned softly. "I don't imagine Bonnie Charlie is your Christian name."

Sabrina looked away, a mutinous expression on her face. She jumped as hard fingers closed around the point of her small chin and turned her face back to face his. She stared up into his sherry-brown eyes unflinchingly.

"Why all the fuss, Your Grace?"
Sabrina demanded flippantly. "I'll be hanged soon enough when the soldiers arrive, now won't I?"

The Duke grinned unpleasantly. "Who said anything about soldiers?"

Sabrina put up her hand and tried to pry his fingers from her chin, only to have her hand grasped instead.

"Such a small, bloodthirsty little hand," he murmured and then put back his head and laughed. "And to think this has been terrorizing the countryside, a slip of a girl." He continued to laugh deeply, his muscular throat arched back and vibrating with sound, his body relaxed.

When he stopped laughing he stared down at Sabrina, his eyes narrowed and piercing, his body tense as he rapped out, "Who are you? Where do you come from?"

He continued to stare at her, taking in the delicate contours of her face, and asked suddenly, "Is that big fellow your husband?"

"Of course not!"
Sabrina answered unthinkingly.

The Duke smiled. "I thought not, but I wasn't sure. I've not seen many husbands take orders so meekly from then-wives, and it is evident that you are the leader of this little band of ruffians."

"Did you kill him?" Sabrina asked faintly.

"The giant?
No, he had a mighty headache for a day or two, but he is safely locked up belowstairs."

Sabrina sighed in relief.
If anything had happened to Will.
..

"You haven't answered my question," the Duke continued. "Who are you?"

"Just a poor country lass having to live by her wits, Your Grace," she answered demurely.

"A very rich country lass I would say, and one who has led us all on a wild-goose chase," he corrected her coldly, his humor forgotten as he realized what a fool he'd looked to her. Challenging a woman to a duel, he thought in disgust. What if he'd killed her? He watched her as she sat smugly before him, feeling no remorse at what she'd done. He was in a quandary and he suspected she knew it. She wasn't the ordinary highwayman—nor was she low-bred. Her features disproved that—unless she was the illegitimate offspring of some nobleman? And yet she was well-educated and cultured. Her speech evidenced that.