Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (21 page)

Charity felt sick.

Guy said in a low growl, "She will not be harmed, Claude."

Claude threw back his head and laughed merrily. "Whilst you
live to prevent it? Ah, do not tempt me, Guy." He sauntered to a
crimson and black bell-pull and tugged it.

The door opened at once, and a scared-looking footman entered,
his eyes becoming round and more scared when he saw the condition of
the room.

Claude said, "This lady is Mademoiselle Strand. Take her to
the room we prepared for Mrs. Leith." He nodded to Charity. "Go with
him, foolish girl. And do exactly as you are told else, despite my
noble brother, I shall be quite happy to arrange that your stay with us
is very uncomfortable indeed."

The bedchamber to which Charity was conducted was not
uncomfortable in the least, however, except for the iron bars outside
each window, and the large, hard-eyed woman, incongruous in the uniform
of an abigail, who waited there. Stamping about the room, hanging up
gowns and flinging undergarments into the chest of drawers, she
informed Charity that her name was Meg and that she wasn't nobody's
fool. "Gulled poor Ella proper, didn't you, Miss Strand? Well, you
won't gull Meg, so don't never try it."

Charity did not deign to reply, quietly putting off her cloak
and bonnet and dropping them on the bed.

Two footmen arrived, bearing a hip bath and followed by a line
of servants carrying buckets of hot water. Charity's attempt to dismiss
her truculent abigail was not successful. Folding massive arms, Meg
revealed that "the Frenchman gent'' had ordered her not to leave her
charge for an instant. "Me bed's in there," she added, nodding her
untidy, greying head towards the adjoining dressing room. "So you
needn't think as you can get up to mischief after dark, neither."

Charity ignored her and began to disrobe. Meg snatched the
garments as they were shed, but beyond tossing a sponge and towel onto
a chair and pulling it within reaching distance, she made no further
attempt to help. Charity was painfully conscious of the woman's
scornful gaze and of her own small breasts and boyish slenderness. She
fought against betraying an awareness of Meg's insolence, and only
later, when she was seated before the dressing table and the woman drew
a hairbrush so roughly through her curls that it brought involuntary
tears to her eyes, did Charity say sharply that there was not the need
for such force.

"You'll want to look your best, I thought, my lady," smirked
Meg.

"I have no title," said Charity, her chin high. "You are as
aware of that as you are aware I am not here of my own free will. You
are insolent, and also I have to assume you are a criminal."

"Hey!" protested the big woman angrily. "Who you calling a
criminal?"

Charity lifted one hand in an unknowingly regal gesture. "I
know Monsieur Sanguinet well enough to believe that he does not wish me
to be served with impertinence. If you address me in so rude a fashion
again, I shall ask that you be replaced."

The woman glared at her, but after a moment she said
grudgingly that there was no need to fly into a pucker. She was more
tractable after that, but her pale blue eyes glittered with malice and
Charity could not be at ease with her.

Whatever her shortcomings, Meg knew her trade. She arranged
Charity's hair in a most becoming style, completing that task when a
knock came at the door, and Guy asked to be admitted. Charity slipped
into a wrapper and went to sit beside the fire.

Impeccable in a dark brown velvet coat and beige pantaloons,
Guy said, "
Merci
. That will be all."

Meg, standing militantly behind Charity, said, "Monseigneur
said I was to stay by her. Day
and
night," she
added with a sneer.

Guy smiled. "Would you wish your feet to direct through that
door,'' he enquired, ''or should you prefer that I bodily convey you?"

"Monseigneur says—" Meg began, folding her arms.

Purposefully, Guy walked towards her.

"Like to see you try it, I would," she shrilled.

"By all means.'' He reached for her and she squealed and ran.
Closing the door behind her, he turned to Charity, both hands held out,
his comely face a study in regret. "Oh,
ma cherie, mon petit
chou
, how very much I am sorry for this."

To be in the company of this man who had been such a good
friend after her father's death, to see the sorrowful apology in his
hazel eyes, to hear the fondness in his voice, overwhelmed Charity's
tattered nerves. She was in his arms in a rush and sobbing gustily into
his cravat. "Oh, Guy! Oh, Guy… he will murder me, I know it! Or… worse…"

"Now you know that I will not allow such a thing to happen,
little one." He hugged her tight for a moment, then drew back, smiling
into her tearful eyes. "Claude has, alas, very many faults but you need
not have the fear he means to violate you." He patted Charity's
blushing cheek gently. "He has, you see, a most willing lady residing
here. And besides, whatever else he may be, I never have known him to
force a woman. He has too much of the pride for that. Now come, compose
yourself, for we have only a little moment of the time." He led her to
the small sofa and sat beside her. "Tell me this quickly, does anyone
know you are here? Is there any hope for help to come to you?"

She shook her head. "A red-haired boy named Lion was kind,"
she whispered. "He said he would help me if he could."

"So there are two of us…" He looked grave, then said
bracingly, "And two it is better than not one, eh? Now, you must be
brave,
cherie
, and have some faith in this Guy
Sanguinet who is not such a bad fellow, despite his bad blood."

Charity wiped impatiently at her eyes. "If you did but know
how grateful I am. But, Guy, forgive me, but… so often Rachel and I
wondered why…"

"Why I remain with my infamous brother?" He said with a
twisted smile, "It is a debt of love. One I have been tempted very many
times to cancel. But cannot. Some day, perhaps, I will tell you of it.
But for now, I am sent on the errand. Claude's yacht is to be readied
for departure. Some men have come with letters from England and news of
importance. I do not know what this is. But you are summoned to dine
with him. I shall contrive to have this boy, Lion, assigned to guard
you if I can. You are sure you can trust him?"

"Quite sure. Oh, Guy, when is the yacht to sail? And where?"

"This, I do not know. Now, listen to me,
chérie
,
you must not show my brother a tearful face. Claude, it shames me to
say it, is a very bad man, but he have admiration for courage."

"Yes. I'll try, but… I am very afraid, you see."

He took up her hand and kissed it, but said nothing.

Charity asked hesitantly, "Does he—can he possibly still want
Rachel?"

He frowned. "He want her. Not with love,
assurement
.
But because she dared to—how do you say it?—to spurn all he offered.
His hand, his wealth, his power—so much power,
chérie
.
This, for the first time in his life, a lady rejects. He does not
quite, I think, comprehend. For with love, you see, he has not the
acquaintance. He wants control of Britain. He wants Rachel. And, you
must know this, little one, he wants your fine brother-in-law, Leith,
and his good friend Monsieur Devenish—he wants them very dead."

"I know," she whispered, wringing her hands. "Oh, I know!"

"He will use you in any way he can to win these things. So you
must be brave and clever. And you must be patient, Charity, for I can
help you only at just the right time, or—" He paused, raising one hand
for quiet.

From outside came the sound of hurried footsteps. Guy stood
and walked toward the door. "If things are very bad, send your Lion to
me. Courage,
mon pauvre
."

He opened the door. Meg, accompanied by two tall footmen,
stood beside a shrunken-looking woman. It was obviously the
housekeeper, clad all in black, her grey hair pulled tightly back from
angular features. She had eyes as cold as the ocean beyond the windows.
She said in French, "This servant has displeased monsieur?"

"She has. She is an uncouth, ill-mannered, insolent peasant.
And no fit companion for Miss Strand. How came you to hire such?"

A thin smile did little to warm the housekeeper's face.

"She was engaged by Monsieur Gerard, sir. No doubt"— a sly
light crept into her eyes—"you would wish to discuss the matter with
him.''

"I think not. I shall discuss it instead with my brother. Good
day, Miss Strand." And he strode off, to return before the door closed
and push it wide again. "You," he said to the startled Meg, "keep a
civil tongue in your head, or I shall tell Monseigneur to move you to
one of the other islands.''

Meg turned to the housekeeper as the door closed. "You
wouldn't let him, would you, madame?" she asked agitatedly. " 'Course,
that one and Monseigneur ain't whatcha might call bosom bows."

"If you refer to Monsieur Guy," said the housekeeper in
flawless English, "he and his brother are not devoted. What they are is
Sanguinets. It would be most unwise to forget that!"

How Charity contrived to set one foot beneath the other as she
walked down the stairs, she did not know. Every inch of her fought to
draw back, and she was shaking, only the knowledge that Meg watched
from the landing forcing her to continue. Guy's threat of banishment to
another island had evidently been a major one, for the formidable
abigail had since been almost desperate in her eagerness to please. The
housekeeper's parting remark had troubled Charity, however. She had
known Guy for years and had always found him a perfect gentleman and a
most delightful companion. That he was an honourable man also, she had
no doubt, but he
was
a Sanguinet. Even though he
did not admire his brother and was deeply fond of her, Claude's wrath
could be a terrible thing. Guy might be willing to risk that wrath, but
to assist her to escape must also spell his brother's doom and the end
of the grandiose plans for which Claude had plotted and schemed through
so many years. It scarcely seemed realistic to expect Guy to hazard so
much for her sake. "But it is not for me alone," she thought. "It is
for England!" A foolish thought, as she at once realized, because Guy
was French—not English.

At the foot of the stairs, the housekeeper waited. She led the
way to a large room, ushered Charity inside, and withdrew. Charity
glanced around apprehensively. She stood in a warm and graceful salon
furnished in the French style; all white and gold daintiness. At first,
she fancied she was alone, but the smell of tobacco smoke hung on the
air and served to warn her, so that she was able to school herelf to
react with outward calm when Claude Sanguinet arose from a high-backed
chair beside the fire.

He wore evening dress, as did she, and he looked, she decided,
trying to quiet her leaping nerves, gentle and benign as he threw a
cheroot into the fire."How charming that I may have the pleasure of
your presence at dinner," he said suavely.

Usually, he preferred to speak French, but now he used English
and Charity noticed that his command of the language had improved since
last they met. "He has been preparing himself for his ascension to the
throne," she thought cynically. She also thought his sentiment the
epitome of mockery, but because she knew his reputation with women,
could scarcely force her reluctant legs to carry her closer to him. "Am
I to be the only female, then?" she asked. "I had thought to find you
surrounded with the type of, er, lady you admire."

"Like a harem?" His brows rose. "Oh, very good. So our insipid
little invalid has some spirit after all." He bowed her to a chair,
snapped his fingers, and a footman, who must have silently followed
Charity into the room, brought ratafia served in an exquisite crystal
wineglass, offered on a gold tray.

Claude waved, and the man bowed and withdrew, closing the
doors softly.

"Unfortunately, my dear Miss Strand," said Claude, returning
to his chair, "the women who come here must remain. At least, until my
plans are brought to fruition. For you will apprehend that no one
having seen my fortress can be permitted to leave."

A sharp pang pierced her heart, but glancing at him over the
rim of her glass, she saw the sly amusement in his eyes. He was
deliberately frightening her. Anger brought a defiant recklessness.
"How could anyone desire to do so?" she said sweetly. "If nothing else,
the climate is so salubrious."

He stared at her. "Have I misjudged you, I wonder? Stand up."

She had never been commanded so contemptuously. Further irked,
she set aside her glass and stood, looking down at him with her head
held high.

Claude leaned back in his chair, wineglass held lazily in the
air as he scanned her with insolent deliberation. "Turn around."

She murmured, "How nice it would be did you only say 'please.'
" But she obeyed. Facing him again, she saw the speculative light in
his eyes, and her heart almost failing her, enquired, "Are you deciding
how much I will bring on the slave market?"

"
Tiens!''
he exclaimed admiringly. "So
you have guessed your fate."

Then it was truth. She was to be sold to some loathsome
Eastern harem. Or worse. The room seemed to sway, and her knees began
to buckle. Dimly, she knew that Claude would be delighted if she
fainted, and as from a distance she heard Guy's words echoing, "… he
have admiration for courage…" She dug her nails hard into her palms and
fought away the dizziness.

Claude was speaking again, his voice amused. "…are not
beautiful, as is your sister, but you have improved a good deal in
looks since last I saw you. You have spirit, which I admire. You have
the family background that is essential.Have you ambition also, I
wonder? Some women do, you know."