Reckless (25 page)

Rohan shook his head, the unease that was filling him beginning to spill over. “I haven't seen her outside. She's refused to marry me, and every time I try to talk to her she throws something at me.”

“My dear friend, you must have bungled that badly. Which surprises me—you're always so good at handling angry women. Of course, this case is very different.”

“Because she's pregnant?”

Montague sighed. “I don't understand how you can be so thickheaded when I've always considered you an eminently intelligent man. Save for the times you've been under your cousin's influence. All of you are complete dunderheads—at this rate I don't dare die. You have no sense at all.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. I can manage my life perfectly well,” he said with a trace of hauteur.

“Yes, you've just demonstrated what an excellent job you're doing. I've got Evangelina pining over Simon, I've got the vicar mooning after her like an adolescent girl. At least Simon seems aware of it, unlike Lina, who doesn't seem to realize she's fallen in love.”

“Lady Whitmore's in love with the parson?” Adrian said, momentarily distracted, remembering their argument. “That should turn a few heads.”

“You're no better. Charlotte's totally besotted with you, heaven only knows why. To be sure, you're pretty enough, but Miss Spenser is far too intelligent a woman to be swayed by simple beauty.”

“It's not my beauty,” he said dryly. “She thinks I'm not the lecherous profligate I pretend to be.”

“I did mention she was intelligent, did I not? You, on the other hand, are a complete idiot. You're not likely to find another woman who's worth even half of what Charlotte could bring you. And you go stomping around, totally oblivious to your own feelings.”

“What feelings?”

“Never mind,” Montague said wearily. “Do you happen to know where the so-estimable Etienne de Giverney is right now?”

Adrian's rebellious streak flared. “Don't, I pray you, become like my parents and tell me all the
reasons Etienne is a danger to my health. Surely you are more broad-minded when it comes to indulging one's appetites. Etienne is inventive and entertaining.” Which wasn't strictly true. He was tired to death of Etienne and his constant need for distraction. Distractions that led to a profound weariness of the soul. But he was damned if he was going to admit it. “In fact, I told him I didn't want him accompanying me here. He tried to insist, saying he had a fondness for you, but acquit me of being a total idiot. He despises you and you return that regard.”

“I rejoice that you see that much,” Montague said.

“In truth, I've felt sorry for the man. He's lost everything, he's trapped in a foreign land, forced to exist on the limited kindness of my father, who's never liked him. If it weren't for me I doubt he'd be received anywhere.”

“And yet you didn't bring him?”

Adrian paused for a moment, looking at his friend's tired eyes. “I admit it. I'm sick to death of him,” he finally said. “Why do you ask?”

“He's a tall man, is he not? He knows where you and Charlotte are. And he hates you.”

Adrian laughed, ignoring the uneasiness building inside him. “Don't be absurd, Monty. I've taken him everywhere, brought him into society. He owes me as much as he owes my father.”

“And he hates your father. As he hates you. No one
likes to be made grateful all the time. Why do you think your lovely girl decided to run off? She didn't appreciate your noble sacrifice.”

“I didn't say that,” Adrian protested. “I was perfectly logical. And I'll have you know I told her we should marry before I even knew she was increasing.”

“You told her
the two of you should marry
. And you still haven't figured out why you failed so miserably?”

“She could hardly have expected a declaration of love and a promise of lifelong fidelity,” he said, irritated.

“It sounds as if she did.”

Adrian said nothing for a long while. “Right now I simply want to find out where she is. We can argue about the marriage later. If you know where she went then for God's sake tell me.”

“I think Etienne has her.”

“In heaven's name why?”

“I can think of any number of reasons. He's not your friend—the Etienne de Giverney I've known since my early days in Paris is not a friend to anyone. He gets rid of anything that stands in the way of what he wants. I think he's decided that having lost his French title and lands he now wants the English titles and estates. And he's going to get them.”

“Of course he wants them. He always has. I'm not a complete idiot,” Adrian said.

“No, only a partial one. Though I admit, I had no idea how far he'd be likely to go or I would have warned you. You're in his way. So is your possible heir. And if I were you I wouldn't be languishing, waiting for Charlotte to return.”

The feeling of dread that he'd been fighting returned full force. “You think Etienne has taken her?”

“Haven't I said as much?” Montague spoke with a trace of his old asperity. “I haven't much time or energy left, and I really don't wish to waste it solving the mess my friends have made of their lives. I wish to depart mine knowing that things are well on their way to at least a reasonably happy conclusion. I'll be very annoyed if something happens to Charlotte. It will depress me, and if I have to die young, I at least deserve to die happy.”

“Nothing's going to happen to Charlotte. I'll find her and force her to marry me.”

Montague closed his eyes wearily. “I can't live forever, dear boy. Stop being so stubborn. You're in love with the girl. Admit it and go tell her.”

Adrian narrowed his gaze, but he didn't bother arguing. “Where would Etienne have taken her?”

“How should I know? It depends on how mad he is. He may have strangled her and dumped her body in the canal by now, while you've been sulking.”

“No,” Rohan said, his heart like ice. “No.”

“You think he's not capable of doing such a thing?”

“No,” he said, the blind fury threatening to over whelm him. “I believe he's capable. But I would know if she were dead.”

“Would you? And you still deny you love her? What kind of bond could you possibly have that would allow for you to know any such thing?”

“I need to find her. We can argue about whether I love her or not once she's safe,” Adrian snapped.

“Well, at least that's a step in the right direction. You're allowing for the possibility, when any fool can see you're totally besotted with the girl. Which gives me much greater hope for your future. In the mean time, there are any number of places Etienne might have taken her. He may have driven her back to London—she'd probably go with him willingly enough in her need to escape your ham-handed behavior. Or he could have taken her to the ruins. There's lots of privacy there. Send Dodson to me and I'll have him organize a search party.”

“I can't—” Their conversation was interrupted by one of Monty's beautiful footmen.

“Excuse me, my lord, but a gentleman left a message for you.”

The fear suddenly went bone deep, and when Adrian held out a hand for the folded scrap of paper he could see it shake slightly.

He recognized Etienne's scrawl immediately:
Your bride awaits you at the Chapel of Perpetual Erection. I suggest you come at once, and alone.

He looked up, meeting Monty's gaze. And then he walked out without another word.

A
t first Charlotte was aware of nothing but darkness and the smell of what seemed uncomfortably close to fire and brimstone. Her recollection was hazy—she'd been running from something, hadn't she? And why couldn't she seem to move? There was something over her head, blocking out the light, and she tried to shake it off.

She squirmed, and heard a low, evil chuckle, the same sound she'd heard in the maze at Ranelagh Gardens. Memory came flooding back, along with a full-blooded fury. She tried to speak, only to discover something was tied around her mouth, silencing her. She tried to shake it off, furious, when she heard the laugh again.

“You don't like that, do you, my pet? If you'd had the sense to hit your head on a rock when I shoved you down the cliff you wouldn't be going through this now.”

Etienne, she thought. Etienne had pushed her. She allowed herself a brief moment of relief. She thought she'd long ago dismissed the idea that Adrian had tried to kill her, but there must have been a lingering doubt, now vanquished.

She was good and trussed, like an angry chicken, she thought. Her legs and arms were tied to a chair, and she struggled, wildly, the chair tipping when a heavy hand clubbed her across the face. The hood over her head muffled the blow, and she struggled, desperate for a way out of the darkness. She didn't like being tied up.

“If you're going to behave yourself I'll let you see where you are.” He pulled the hood off, and she blinked, looking around her. She appeared to be in some kind of church, and for a moment she wondered if Etienne was in league with Adrian, if he'd brought her to the village church to force a marriage upon her.

And then she noticed that the cross was inverted, the altar was a bed, and the leaded glass was patently obscene. There was a brazier nearby, a fire burning, taking some of the damp chill off the air. Fire and brimstone. She must be in the blasphemous chapel of the Heavenly Host. The Church of Perpetual Erection, Lina had told her. Wishful thinking on someone's part.

She turned her head back, her eyes settling on Etienne de Giverney's bulky form. She glared at him,
but he merely watched her, unmoved, one leg swinging negligently as he perched on the edge of a table. Names for him swirled inside her head, and her inability to spit them out at him was almost worse than being tied up. “Don't worry,
mademoiselle.
You won't be in this deplorable condition for long. Your noble knight will be rushing to your rescue momentarily, and you will have the chance to die in his arms like a true heroine. Just be patient, or I'll be forced to hit you again.”

She ignored him to look around her, her vision somewhat encumbered by her restraints. The chapel was a new construction, made of wood. Ecclesiastical-type hangings lay across the low-slung altar, blasphemous ones, and she wondered what Simon Pagett would say if he saw this place.

There were piles of wood set at intervals around the sides of the small church, and she could smell the resin scent of pitch. The place was set to go up in flames, and there was a certain poetic justice to it. A chapel dedicated to the fires of hell succumbing to a conflagration.

Her eyes met de Giverney's expressionless ones, but his smile was eerily affable. “Yes,
mademoiselle,
there will be a sad accident. You and your lover will die in a fire. It will be a very great tragedy, do you not think? No? You look as if you were quite desperate to tell me something, but I think I will leave the gag in place for the time being. I'm afraid I have a very
hard heart, and your tears and pleading will leave me completely unmoved. They will only annoy me.”

She'd been frightened and angry, now her fury overwhelmed any lingering fear. As if she was so poor-spirited as to beg for mercy! She glared at him, trying to put all her anger and contempt into her gaze, but he remained completely unmoved. “It won't be long,
mademoiselle.
I expect him to come charging up on a white horse—oh, no, he won't be able to do that, will he? He'll have to use the ornamental canal to get here, which will cut the drama. But I expect him to make any number of heroic declarations before I kill him. In fact, I think I hear him coming now.”

Charlotte's fear escalated, and she began to struggle anew, to warn him, when de Giverney's low, eerie laugh sent chills along her spine, and he called out, “We're here, dear boy. Your lady love awaits.”

She half expected Adrian to charge in, as he had into her bedroom earlier in the day, full of rage and demands, and she braced herself, ready for rescue.

Instead he pushed the door open and strolled in, seemingly at ease. “Etienne,” he said in a charming voice. “What is all this?”

The
comte
laughed, amused. “Oh, I think you know, dear boy,” he replied. “It should come as no surprise to you. If you'd listened to your father's warnings you'd know that I never give up on what I want. But then, what headstrong young man ever
listens to their elders? I suggest you put that pistol down on the chair. I have one trained on Mademoiselle Spenser, and she would be dead before you managed to get off a shot.”

Adrian's wry smile was all charm as he removed the dueling pistol from inside his riding coat and set it down carefully. “Of course, you knew I would have to try.”

“Of course,” Etienne said with equal courtesy.

“So how can I convince you to let Miss Spenser go? She has nothing to do with what lies between your family and mine.”

“Ah, but she does. You think I don't know that she's carrying a possible heir? The moment you became infatuated with her I knew she was a potential problem, and I tried to dispense with her earlier. If I let her go now, not only would your father contrive to have your child inherit, but it would leave a witness. And they're much more likely to believe a silly English girl than a despised Frenchman, don't you think?”

Silly English girl, Charlotte thought, fuming. Now she was truly angry.

Adrian must have sensed her rage because he glanced over at her. “You've already tormented her enough. Trust me, being unable to talk is sheer torture for her. I know she's dying to tell you what she thinks of you.”

“
Dying
is, I'm afraid, the operative word,” Etienne
said, trying to sound regretful and failing utterly. “Go over there and untie her, but don't let your body get between her and the gun, please.”

“You're letting her go?”

“Don't be stupid, Adrian,” Etienne said wearily. “Move slowly. I would prefer not to have to shoot you, but I'm willing to take the chance.”

Charlotte looked up at him as he towered over her. His back was to Etienne, and the expression on his face was startling, filled with regret and guilt and longing. “Am I allowed to talk to her?”

“Feel free,” Etienne said grandly. “I'm afraid she won't answer. My tolerance for romantic declarations is minimal.”

He knelt in front of her, his hands on her ankles, and began to untie the ropes that bound her there. “I'm sorry I got you in this mess, sweet Charlotte,” he murmured. “If I had any idea there was insanity in the family I never would have come near you.”

Etienne made an angry sound, then managed a laugh. “Unlikely. You are too much like me, Adrian. You take what you want and be damned to the consequences.”

Her feet were loose, and he reached for her bound wrists. “I'm nothing like you. I'm not some pathetic old man whose empty life needs to be filled with other people's titles and money.” He dropped his voice to only a breath of sound, and if she hadn't
been staring up at him she wouldn't have heard it. “When I turn, drop to the floor and stay there.”

At least, that's what she thought he'd said. His coat hung open, and she could see a tiny pistol tucked inside, and she let out a muffled sound of protest. That small gun would be useless against the firearm Etienne carried, and Adrian would die in front of her, and she couldn't bear it. She loved him—it was too late to deny it any longer. She'd been an idiot not to take whatever he offered—it was more than most people got in this life.

“What's she fussing about?” Etienne demanded sharply. “You wouldn't be planning anything, would you? Move to one side so I can see her clearly.”

Adrian did as he was told, keeping his back to Etienne, one hand working on the knots at Charlotte's wrists, the other reaching for the tiny pistol.

She lifted her gaze, turning to look at Etienne, and froze in horror. He'd lifted the gun and was pointing it straight at Adrian's back.

It was shadowed, gloomy, and there was no way she could see him depress the trigger, but she moved anyway, surging to her feet, driving her shoulder into Adrian's belly to knock him out of the way just as the small area exploded in sound, and they both went down, hard. She felt an odd burning in her arm, a strange pressure as she landed on top of Adrian. He shoved her off him, and when he rose he had that
tiny, useless gun that was almost swallowed up by his long-fingered hand.

She thought she heard another shot, but her ears were still ringing from the first, and he'd used his other hand to shove her down onto the floor, keeping her there. She felt his body jerk slightly, and she knew he was shot, knew Etienne had killed him, and she screamed behind the gag, despair washing over her. She would kill him, she would…

She tried to scramble to her feet, but she was feeling oddly weak, and strong hands shoved her down again. Adrian's hands. The small building was filled with smoke from the pistol fire, and she could hear nothing but a loud ringing in her ears. She lay on her back, stunned, staring up to see Adrian rise, limber and graceful as always, and she wanted to scream at him to get down.

She could smell blood. Adrian's? Or Etienne's? Worse than blood, an indescribable stink on the air, one of violent death. But Adrian was still moving. Adrian still moved.

She managed to get her bound wrists under her and push herself up to a sitting position. Etienne de Giverney lay splayed out on the floor, a tiny, thoroughly effective bullet wound in the middle of his forehead, his discarded gun at his foot. Adrian picked up the gun and stood over his cousin's body, kicking him with his booted foot just to make certain, kicking him hard. And then he turned back to Charlotte,
and she'd never seen such rage on anyone's face in her life.

“How dare you!”
he shouted at her. “That's my child you're carrying—how dare you put yourself in danger.”

She reached up and pulled the gag free, even with her wrists still bound, and struggled to her knees.

“Bastard,” she said succinctly. “It would be nice if you cared whether I died, but instead you just don't want your precious heir put in danger. Well, to hell with you, you bloody-minded, pig-swiving, ridiculous man! I was trying to save your worthless, damnable life.”

Apparently he realized there had been something missing in his protest. “Why?”

“Why
what?
” She tried to stand up but instead fell back again. She felt weak, her shoulder was paining her damnably and she was tired of fighting him.

“Why were you trying to save my worthless, damnable life?”

She considered passing out, just to avoid coming up with an answer. After all, she was pregnant—she no longer had any doubt about the truth of it—and she hadn't eaten, and being kidnapped by a madman and nearly murdered was surely enough justification for even the most stalwart of females, which she hoped she was, to faint. But where was light-headedness when you really needed it? she thought.

“Because I love you,” she shouted back at him,
furious. “You do not deserve it. You're almost as worthless as your murderous cousin, and I still refuse to marry you, but whether I like it or not, I don't want you dead. I'm in love with you, but I imagine it's simply because pregnancy disarranges women's minds, and I plan to do everything I can to get over it as quickly as I can.”

He stared at her. It would make life so much simpler if he wasn't so damned beautiful, she thought. She was really pathetically shallow, because looking at him made her heart melt. Her only choice was to close her eyes as she repudiated him, but that made the room swim, and she decided she really didn't want to faint after all. She summoned up a suitably truculent expression, glowering at him.

“You're bleeding. Goddamn it, Charlotte, the bastard shot you.”

“Oh,” she said faintly. In that case it was perfectly all right to swoon. It would have been nice if she'd known that a little sooner and avoided having to tell him she loved him. But at least she needn't say anything more.

And she happily slipped into darkness.