Moonstruck Madness (26 page)

"Certainly not, first come first served, I always say," the Duke of Granston laughed. "Sorry to have intruded," he apologized, making a wry face of regret "Some other time, eh, Lady Sabrina?" he asked with a smirk, winking broadly as he turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Sabrina stared at the closed door in stunned silence,
then
looked up at Lucien who was watching her with a satisfied look on his face. Sabrina swallowed back her tears as the truth dawned on her.

"It was all a trick, wasn't it?" Sabrina
whispered,
her face a pale, frozen mask. "You knew the Duke would come here this evening."

Lucien smiled hatefully. "He intimated that he might pay a visit on the lovely Lady Sabrina, who had flirted outrageously with him all evening."

Sabrina nodded her head numbly. "I see, so you thought you would play the lover first, and then allow the Duke to discover you. Why?" Sabrina asked bluntly, her big violet eyes gazing at him directly, making him feel uncomfortable, but he shrugged it off contemptuously.

"I told you that you would pay for making me look the fool," he reminded her coldly. "You thought to catch the Duke in marriage,
well,
I seriously doubt that he will ask for your hand, now. Even he has a little pride, and to think that I had his bride in his own home before he, well, that is too much for even him to overlook. Of course, he may wish to form an alliance with you, but it won't lead to his purse strings, my dear."

Sabrina took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin proudly as she stared in contempt at Lucien. "Do you actually believe that I wanted to marry that drunken fool? Do you think that I would have gone into that marriage any more willingly than you are going into yours?" Sabrina asked him scornfully, her violet eyes searing him with her hate.

"You may feel satisfied with your damned revenge, for you have succeeded far beyond your wildest expectations. Not only have you degraded me and ruined my reputation, you have also destroyed my family," Sabrina told him shakily,
then
laughed hysterically. "Do you believe the Marquis will be pleased,
Your
Grace? It was he who planned my marriage to the Duke. He is the one in desperate need of money. And how do you imagine he persuaded me to follow his plans? Do ask me how, Your Grace, for I want you to know how he threatened to evict my aunt from her home, and how he plans to take my little brother from us. Oh, yes, do let me give your regards to my family, for they should know the man who has destroyed us."

Lucien stared down at her ravaged face, his eyes narrowed, the expression masked by his heavy-lidded eyes as he listened to her. He put out his hand and placed it on her shoulder comfortingly and was startled by the strength of her hand as she knocked it away.

"Get out!" Sabrina told him in little more than a whisper. "I hope I never see that scarred face of yours again, Lucien. It's scarred your soul as well, and I hope you rot in hell," she spat, and turning from him ran from the room and down the hall to Mary's room, bursting into her bedchamber and throwing herself into a startled Mary's arms.

Sabrina sobbed brokenly until she was drained of emotion and lay docile and silent in Mary's comforting arms. Finally she felt Sabrina's breathing become steady, although still ragged from her crying, as she fell into a troubled sleep. Mary had to comfort her several times in the night as her sleep was broken by terrible nightmares that left her trembling and sweating in fear. Sabrina hadn't told her anything, but she had the feeling that it concerned the Duke of Camareigh. He had some kind of hold over Sabrina that she couldn't seem to resist, for Mary had seen the look in her eyes as she stared at his scarred face. It was a warm and loving look that had never softened her eyes in that way before. Now, when she had mentioned his name to Sabrina, her eyes had filled with hate. When he had driven his sword into Sabrina's shoulder he had not hurt her more than he had now by whatever he had done. He might as well have driven it through her heart, for he had killed something in Sabrina this night.

The next morning Sabrina had gained control of
herself
and presented a normal, if subdued, face to the assembled guests. Lucien had left early, and with both Mary and Sabrina unusually quiet and reserved, and the Duke of Granston's attentions directed elsewhere and noticeably cool when speaking with Sabrina, the Marquis became quite annoyed.
The night before everything had seemed to be moving along nicely, but now it seemed as though the Duke regretted having issued his invitation for the weekend.
The last day seemed to drag on forever, until finally they made their departure the following morning. Sabrina huddled in her corner of the coach silently staring out of the window, oblivious to the smouldering looks the Marquis sent her every few minutes. Mary sat next to her, her face calm but her hands nervously fiddling with her gloves as she prepared to act as a shield should the Marquis decide to confront Sabrina with the disappointing outcome of their weekend. But the Marquis maintained a brooding silence the whole journey, only occasionally saying something in Italian to the Contessa, who wore a worried expression on her usually tranquil features as she glanced between the occupants of the coach.

When they arrived in London Sabrina and Mary quickly fled the coach and made for their bedchamber, but the Marquis had other plans, for he followed after their retreating figures.

"Sabrina! I want a word with you, girl." He pushed his way into their bedchamber, his violet eyes flashing with anger that he could no longer control. He stood facing them, his hands clenched in frustration as he stared at the small, defiant face so like his own.

"I know now why the Duke suddenly cooled towards you. What a fool you were to let him find you with Camareigh. You've ruined everything, even any other chances we might have had to wed you to some other rich suitor," he spat. "The Contessa heard the gossip from everyone there. It is now common knowledge that you are Camareigh's mistress. Didn't I tell you not to look in his direction? Damn you! Was his lovemaking worth it? You could've been a Duchess, but no, you can't resist a night in bed with a Duke, and that is all you'll get from Camareigh!"

Mary's mouth dropped open in astonishment at the Marquis' accusations, and turning to look at Sabrina, felt her heart stop as she saw the anguished expression on her heart-shaped face.

The Marquis was breathing heavily, his face ruddy with anger. "Well, aren't you going to deny it? Claim your innocence? By God, I'm going to teach you a lesson I should have long ago," he threatened as he saw a riding crop on a nearby table and, picking it up, raised it above his head and brought it down on Sabrina's unprotected shoulder.

Lucien stared at the woman sitting nervously before him. Her auburn hair was sprinkled with gray, and there was a marked resemblance between her and her daughter.

"What are you trying to tell me, Lady Delande?" Lucien inquired softly, holding a tight rein on his growing anger. "Blanche has disappeared?"

Lady Delande ran her tongue across her lips nervously, moistening their dryness while she tried to find the right words to tell the Duke of Camareigh that she didn't know where Blanche was. "She never came back from the Harriers' ball, Your Grace."

Lucien frowned thoughtfully. "But that was at least four days ago. Why in the world didn't you come to me sooner, woman?" he demanded impatiently.

Lady Delande twisted her handkerchief until Lucien felt like grabbing it from her. She looked up finally, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. "I thought she might have been with you."

Lucien shook his head. "I received a note from her that evening informing me that she had the migraine and wished to leave early. By the time
I
received it she had already hired a conveyance to take her home. I certainly would have driven her home in my carriage had I known sooner," Lucien explained, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the distraught woman. "And you say she never reached home?"

Lady Delande nodded, pulling at her bonnet ribbons as though they were too tight.

"Why didn't you get in contact with me earlier?" Lucien demanded.

Lady Delande coughed and looked around the room at the blue and gold satin-upholstered chairs and settee, the mahogany sofa table and bureau-bookcase. In a large, carved gilt mirror she saw her own reflection and was startled by her own face.

"Why?" Lucien repeated.

"When I realized that she was not with you, I had seen you the next day in the park, if you remember, and you inquired after her health. Well, I knew she must have lied to you, and was not with you," she admitted, then looking up at him bravely added, "and must be with someone else."

Lucien's mouth thinned. "You came to that conclusion quite fast. Had you reason to believe that she was involved with another man?"

Lady Delande sighed tiredly. "Yes, she was seeing someone else, Your Grace. And I also have found out since the ball, from one of Blanche's friends, that the man she was involved with was," she hesitated nervously, "your cousin Lord Percy Rathbourne."

"Percy?" Lucien looked startled, his face taking on an alert expression. "So you think she must have left the ball with my cousin Percy?"

Lady Delande nodded reluctantly as she saw the blazing anger in the Duke's eyes. "I'm worried, though, Blanche should've come home by now unless—"

"Unless what? I think she values my dukedom more than a casual dalliance with a married man." Lucien spoke contemptuously.

"But you see
,
all of her things are still in her room. She doesn't even have a change of clothes.
Her perfumes, jewelry, and most of all, her laudanum.
She can't sleep without it," Lady Delande told Lucien worriedly.

Lucien rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a grim look settling on his face as he began to speculate on possibilities. "You realize, of course, that I must marry by the end of this week, or I lose my estate?"

"Yes, I know," Lady Delande answered faintly. "Oh, please, Your Grace, I am sure there must be an explanation for Blanche's disappearance. There must be," she whispered desperately.

Lucien stood up, conflicting emotions of compassion for Lady Delande and anger at Blanche and Percy warring within him. "I'll see what I can do, Lady Delande, but you can appreciate the fact that I am in a predicament. I will get to the bottom of this, you may rest assured on that score," Lucien promised, stroking his scar absently.

An hour later Lucien was admitted into the home of Percy Rathbourne and was greeted timidly by Lady Rathbourne, her smile coming and going like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. She hovered around Lucien, trying to entertain him until Percy arrived. Lucien felt sorry for her as he stared at her drab appearance, her thin face tired
and ,
harassed beneath an untidy mop of blonde curls, the yellow gown she wore bringing out a
 
sallowness in her skin.

"Would Your Grace care for tea?" she inquired nervously.

"No, thank you, Lady Rathbourne,
I
haven't a lot of time," Lucien answered shortly.

"No indeed, you do not, does he, Percy?" Kate commented upon hearing Lucien's words as she entered the room. She was dressed in a superbly cut riding habit of superfine, the masculine cut moulding the cloth of the jacket and waistcoat to her body, and matching the same shade of blue as Percy's coat and breeches. With their wigs and matching three-cornered hats they looked identical except for the long skirt of Kate's habit.

"We really haven't much time, either, for we are going out riding," Kate informed Lucien casually as she walked over to the mirror above the mantelshelf and stared at her reflection in satisfaction, noting the creamy smoothness of her skin and her lovely profile.

"You really should try and do something with your looks, Anne," she criticized Lady Rathbourne. "Just because you are married and have a brood of brats doesn't mean you should let yourself go the way you have." Then with a cruel, baiting smile she added thoughtfully, "You'll have people believing that Percy married you only for your money, which of course we all know isn't true—is it?"

Anne Rathbourne's lips trembled under the vicious attack from her sister-in-law, especially when Percy smiled in appreciation.

"I think what I have to say had best be said in private, Percy," Lucien suggested coldly.

Percy glanced at Kate in surprise and apprehension. Kate merely shrugged and taking a seat settled
herself
comfortably. "Run along, Anne dear, I'm sure you can find something to occupy your time." She ordered Lady Rathbourne from her own salon as though ridding herself of an irritating gnat

Lady Rathbourne made her excuses, her face a tight mask of martyred suffering as she scuttled from the room under Kate's contemptuous eyes. "Percy and I have no secrets, Cousin dear, so I don't think I need vacate the salon as well, do I, Percy?" Kate asked mockingly, staring up at Lucien with a smug smile.