Authors: Caroline Richards
The Darkest Sin (23 page)
“Do you know why you were invited to Alcestor Court?” one of the men asked. He was short but aggressive in his posture. Still, if his hands were not tied to a chair, Rushford could have taken him in the ring in under a minute. Pity he would never have the opportunity.
“Why don't you ask the Baron?” Rushford replied. One of the other men, weighing at least two hundred and fifty pounds, drew back his arm and smashed his fist into Rushford's sternum. Pain seared through his chest, and he felt the warm wetness of blood fill his mouth.
The shorter man smiled his approval and clapped a hand on Rushford's shoulder sympathetically.
“We have all night for this discussion, if you choose to be difficult, my lord. You will just simply miss the festivities below.”
The next few minutes passed in a blur. The big man had once studied boxing, Rushford decided; he knew the location of the body's internal organs and how to target them with lethal force. The man who addressed Rushford introduced himself between the blows as Crompton. Crompton watched as the pugilist named Johnston performed his duties with detached interest, interspersing the volley of punches with the occasional question for Rushford.
“Are you here because of the Rosetta Stone?”
Rushford told him that he had no idea what they were talking about, that he had been invited to a country house for the weekend by the Baron for no other reason than to disport himself among his guests.
“With your mistress?” Crompton asked.
“With whomever the Baron decided to invite.”
“Your mistress is not Miss Warren but rather Miss Woolcott, is she not?” The room spinning, Rushford replied that he had no idea what they were talking about. This time, Crompton held him while the other man punched him repeatedly in the stomach. The huge four-poster bed with its crimson canopy swam before Rushford's eyes. He was close to vomiting and on the verge of blacking out.
“It would be a shame to have Miss Woolcott share the same fate as the late Duchess of Taunton, would you not agree?” The voice was Crompton's, although it came from a great distance away as it filtered through the haze of Rushford's brain. He allowed the image of Rowena's face to dance momentarily in front of his mind's eye, his senses consumed by pain. A fist to his right ear rang in his head, accomplishing what he could not have done alone. It banished thoughts of Rowena.
“We are clearly losing our patience, my lord, with your disinclination to oblige us.”
“Then perhaps try asking me questions that I can answer,” he said, his voice still surprisingly strong. The pugilist raised his fist again, but Crompton held him back.
“What would you like to tell us about the Rosetta Stone?”
“It is where it always isâthe British Museum.”
“Then why are you here at Alcestor Court?”
Rushford closed his eyes, a tide of weakness tugging him into the shallows. “I already told you.”
Crompton pursed his lips, a cupid's bow, incongruous with his stocky frame. “Very well then. How much do you care about Miss Woolcott? It perhaps doesn't truly signify, since you already have the blood of one innocent on your hands?”
Dimly, Rushford considered telling them what they wanted to hear. That he would allow them to steal the Stone but only if Rowena Woolcott and her family were left in peace. The insight gave him a strange confidence. The Baron would find an appealing symmetry to the idea, of having both the Woolcott dilemma and possession of the Rosetta Stone resolved with one elegant solution.
Crompton's voice droned on. “Despite your amazing resilience,” he continued serenely, “our aim is not to dispatch you, my lord, although we easily could. Another body found floating in the ThamesâYou are known as a man who loves his drink and who is still lamenting the death of his former mistress, the Duchess of Taunton. No one would be overly surprised, I shouldn't think.”
They would not kill him yet, Rushford knew. They would leave him to his own devices for the time being, he predicted, to allow the chill of threat to permeate his already aching bones.
Crompton said, “I believe that Johnston here deserves a reprieve, Lord Rushford. Take some time to ponder your opportunities. And let's not forget how Miss Woolcott is spending her time at the momentâwith the Baron. How fortunate for them both.”
Chapter 15
R
owena felt a curious mixture of despair and relief. Relief that she had the monster Faron in her sights and despair at the impossibility of escape. Despite his small, lean frame, Sebastian seemed to fill the conservatory. “You are looking disarmingly beautiful, Miss Warren, I must say.”
owena felt a curious mixture of despair and relief. Relief that she had the monster Faron in her sights and despair at the impossibility of escape. Despite his small, lean frame, Sebastian seemed to fill the conservatory. “You are looking disarmingly beautiful, Miss Warren, I must say.”
His air was one of formality, and she followed his lead with a slight bow of her head. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Sebastian looked about the gracious room, running his hands over the rich sheen of his waistcoat, as if wondering what to do with them. She noticed that he did not have his cigar case on his person.
“You are welcome to take your brandy and cigars, if you choose,” she said. “It does not disturb me in the least.”
“Most thoughtful of you. Shall we stroll, Miss Warren?” he asked, the timbre of his voice all too familiar. Rowena concentrated on steadying her breath.
“There are some wondrous species of orchid and lily that my gardener has taken great pains to cultivate,” he continued. “And then we may converse at our leisure.” When she didn't immediately respond, Sebastian asked, “Come now. Surely a sedate stroll is preferable to what is going on in some of the bedchambers at the moment, Miss Warren? Your virtue is safe with me, if that's your concern.”
“Where is Lord Rushford?” she asked abruptly.
“I haven't the slightest idea. Perhaps he has taken up with Miss Barry, who, we all noticed, seemed particularly enamored of him. Don't look so downcast, my dear. You will hardly survive life as a courtesan if you do not inure yourself to such things. Is that not precisely why you've accompanied Lord Rushford this weekend? To round out your education, as it were?”
Rowena's throat felt blocked, but she squared her shoulders and said as carelessly as she could, “I am certain Lord Rushford will disport himself as he wishes while I welcome the opportunity of getting to know you better, Baron.”
“How brave you are, my dear,” he said. “Perhaps the prospect has you nervous.”
“I have absolutely nothing to be nervous about, now have I? Lord Rushford looks after his own interests, as do I,” she claimed, responding to the Baron's gestured invitation that they commence their walk around the periphery of the glass enclosure. The Baron began pointing out a species of lily discovered in South America, his meandering disquisition more nerve-racking than if he had pulled Faron like a rabbit out of a hat.
“You are so wise for one so very young,” Sebastian said with mock admiration, pointing out the furrowed leaves of a vibrant yellow orchid. “Life is so much more pleasant when one is accepting of one's fate.”
Rowena stared at the orchid, its color rich against the dark green foliage. “Such as the accident arranged for me earlier today?” she asked. Her anger must have shown as she lifted her eyes, for his own flashed unexpected fire.
“Whatever do you mean, Miss Warren? I trust you are not referring to the unfortunate incident that befell you earlier today. And I do so hope that you are not accusing your host . . .” he began with a halfhearted indignation that did not match the expression in his eyes.
“Clearly, I don't accept my fate,” she interrupted. “And not for the first time, Baron Sebastian. Otherwise I might be found on the bottom of the Irthing River.”
The Baron registered her words with an unblinking stare. “Never truer words spoken,
Miss Woolcott,
” he concurred, resting his hands in the pockets of his evening jacket. There was a moment's silence, and it seemed to Rowena that even the stars shining overhead through the glass conservatory dimmed. The sweet and heavy scent of the blossoms seemed suddenly overpowering.
Miss Woolcott,
” he concurred, resting his hands in the pockets of his evening jacket. There was a moment's silence, and it seemed to Rowena that even the stars shining overhead through the glass conservatory dimmed. The sweet and heavy scent of the blossoms seemed suddenly overpowering.
“You abducted me from my home,” she said finally, pausing significantly as if to let the words take on their full weight. “And left me for dead. You were there, were you not?”
The Baron's dark brows rose in surprise. “I didn't expect you to be quite so blunt, Miss Woolcott.”
“I have nothing to lose.”
“Except your aunt and sister,” he finished deftly. “Faron is most displeased to discover that you are among the living. So it would stand to reason that he may set his sights on your aunt.”
Rowena clenched her fists in her evening gloves. “Which I intend to forestall,” she said heatedly.
“That remains to be seen.”
She thought of her pistol, at home in Montfort, and imagined drilling a tidy hole in the Baron's forehead. But it was not to be. There was another moment's silence as she lowered her eyes so that he wouldn't see her thinking, or detect her anger. “Sebastian,” she said softly, breaking the air of formality between them, “there must be some way we can reach an accommodation.” When she dared to look up, she found his eyes, dark obsidian, upon her.
“What makes you say that?” he asked in a calculating tone, his head bent toward a giant calla lily, openly admiring its dusky color. “You have little with which to bargain.” He turned to look at her, and she recognized then from the expression in his eyes what the price of accommodation would be. It sickened her, but in some way, it also hardened her resolve. Suddenly, only Meredith and Julia mattered, and she knew what she had to do, and realized that she had the strength to do it.
“Faron tried to kill me. As you did today. At his behest, I surmise.”
“What do you remember of what transpired a year ago?”
“You were there. I remember your voice,” she said. “Distinctly.”
“That may well be,” he mused. “I can't entirely account for my presence during that period.”
Rowena flinched, suddenly cold in the thin silk of her gown. “You find the prospect of murder amusing?”
“Murder? You are standing before me today, my dear Miss Warren. Due entirely to Lord Rushford's timely intervention, upon both occasions,” the Baron reminded, deliberately testing her. “I wonder how difficult it would be,” he continued crisply, “to work against the man who has saved your life not once but twice.”
“Are you inquiring about my loyalties, sir?”
“Of course, my dear,” the Baron answered, suave as ever. “How else can I determine whether you would truly see fit to betray Rushford's confidence?”
“You are mad.”
“Hardly, my dear Miss Warren. I am entirely rational in believing that you would give your loyalty to your aunt and sister before you would give it to the man who has taken you as his mistress.”
Rowena quickly thought beyond the present, envisaging a future where life at Montfort would be as vibrant and full of promise as in the past. “I shall be honest,” she said. “If I could, I would kill you here and now for what you and Faron have done and still intend to do.”
The Baron smiled with satisfaction. “I shouldn't doubt it. You are an unusual young woman, and I value your truthfulness.” He picked a wilted leaf, rolled it between his fingertips, and discarded it with the flick of a wrist. Patting his pockets, he produced his silver cigar case. “If you would permit me?” he asked again, the courteous host, extracting a thin cigar.
Rowena's mind worked quickly. If he wanted something in exchange, she would give it to him. “Let's dispense with civilities, Baron. I refuse to speak to you any further about my loyalties, divided or otherwise. I will resolve the situation regarding my family with Faron directly,” she said stonily. “From you, I wish only to know of Faron's whereabouts.”
He looked vaguely amused. “What you ask is difficult.” He produced a match and lit his cigar. “You understand that Faron wishes you dead. I should not like to disappoint himâagain.”
“However, I may be worth more to you both alive. For the time being at least.” Despite the humid warmth of the conservatory, she felt chilled in the thin crepe de chine gown.
His sleek brows rose. “My dear girl, what is it that you are offering? It must be of great value, please understand.”
Rowena met his eyes evenly. “Anything I might have to pay.”
The Baron smiled at her through a haze of smoke. “I have never needed to coerce a woman for her favors.” A look passed between them that Rowena couldn't fully understand, but it had in it the raw light of truth. If he guessed her real intentions or feelings in that moment, he would let her know. He merely took another puff of his cigar and allowed his gaze to wander. “Women's bodies are abundantly available, a fact which at your tender age, you have yet to learn. However, you are beautiful and young and belong to Lord Rushford, for the moment at least. You need not tell me whether your arrangement is predicated on need or gratitude, my dear. Neither matters in the least. Regardless, despite my baser inclinations, I would say that your offer is not nearly enough to entice me to come to an agreement.” He punctuated his statement with a keen look through a plume of smoke.
“I was not offering my person,” she said, although she would have, she admitted to herself honestly. “What else do you wish from me?”
He stopped their perambulations abruptly, took one more draw from his cigar, his eyes suddenly darker and alien. “You have become close to Rushford. I'm sure he could be persuaded to confide in you. If he has not done so already.”
“About what precisely, Baron?” she asked, her voice surprisingly hard.
“Has he spoken at all of the Rosetta Stone?”
Rowena stared blankly. “Yes, the Rosetta Stone,” continued the Baron, leaning against the wrought-iron table in the conservatory. “Surely, Lord Rushford has confided somewhat in you?”
Rowena thought quickly, aware that she should feign knowledge of Rushford's intentions regarding the Stone despite the fact that he had been reluctant from the first to reveal anything of substance to her. It was a form of leverage, of power that she had over Sebastian and Faron. Her story would be pure fabrication, if need be, and cause no harm to Rushford's plans, whatever they might entail. If it brought her closer to Faron, all the better. “Of course,” she said with feigned confidence. “He explained how he foiled your plans to steal the Stone some time ago.”
“Anything more?”
“Certainly,” she said. “He mentioned that there were plans afoot to steal the relic once again and secret it out of England.”
“My dear, you are playing coy, which will get you no closer to what you want.”
Her mind grappled with plausible developments. “There are details, of course, to which I am not wholly privy,” she continued, measuring out what she knew. “But I shall endeavor to bring more information to you as I uncover it.”
“And I have your word?”
“Yes.”
“Well your word means little to me,” the Baron said abruptly. “I shall be honest with you. Should you refuse to be scrupulously honest with me, there is still your aunt, at Montfortâ”
Rowena placed a gloved hand at her throat. “That is not necessary. Entirely unnecessary,” she said softly. “You have my word. But if any harm at all should befall herâ”
The Baron chuckled. “And what could you possibly do?”
“Ensure that you never get your hands on the Stone,” she said, her words as hard and clear as glass.
The Baron examined the tip of his cigar. “And what do you wish in return for your assistance, in addition to securing your aunt's safety?”
“To meet with Faron,” she said clearly.
“He will no longer travel to England.”
“I will go to him in France.”
“An interesting proposition,” Sebastian said, tilting his head to one side before releasing a stream of smoke. “Perhaps arrangements can be made.”
“At the very least, tell me where he resides,” she said, trying to keep desperation from her voice.
“I don't suppose it could do any harm. Claire de Lune outside Blois is heavily protected. You would not gain entry without Faron's assent. And who knows, he may at this point derive some kind of twisted pleasure out of meeting you in the flesh. Although, he would still see you dead.”
Claire de Lune, outside Blois
. Rowena held on to the nugget as though it were gold. She struggled to concoct something regarding the Rosetta Stone that would hold Sebastian's interest. He observed her carefully, leaning gracefully against the glass and wrought-iron skeleton of the conservatory. “I don't suppose he's told you,” the Baron mused.
. Rowena held on to the nugget as though it were gold. She struggled to concoct something regarding the Rosetta Stone that would hold Sebastian's interest. He observed her carefully, leaning gracefully against the glass and wrought-iron skeleton of the conservatory. “I don't suppose he's told you,” the Baron mused.
There was a change in tone and Rowena shivered, wishing she had brought her shawl from the dining room.
“I suppose he has never mentioned the Duchess at all.”
The image of the beautiful portrait danced before Rowena's eyes. Now would be the worst time to examine her feelings too closely. “You are referring to Lord Rushford's former mistress.”
“Indeed. I don't suppose he divulged how she died. Perhaps you should be apprised of the details as it may make a difference in how you perceive your divided loyaltiesâto him and to me.”
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