The Devil In Disguise (32 page)

“There’s hardly time to argue, Lady Lucinda.” A man emerged from behind the curtain, his tall, wiry form coming to stand directly in front of her. “You’ve been most uncooperative these past weeks,” he said in a low, lethal tone, his black eyes narrowing with cruel, maniacal determination.

“Garenne,” Lucinda whispered in grim recognition. She backed away awkwardly, her legs bumping into the settee. She took him in, her mind trying to reconcile what her eyes saw. He was beautiful—almost too beautiful, his pale complexion, aquiline nose, and full lips more suited to an archangel than the devil she knew him to be.

She looked toward the door, her lungs constricting with fear. “I’ve only to scream and two Corinthian agents will pounce,” she threatened, her voice trembling.

The Frenchman squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his angular chin, reaching to massage his temples. “Your faith in the duke is really quite heartwarming,” he remarked snidely, opening his eyes and smoothing back a lock of his dark brown hair. “But I fear I’ve reached the end of my patience.”

He lunged at Lucinda with such speed she didn’t have time to scream. He grabbed her and slapped a rough cotton cloth over her mouth and nose. It smelled awful, the noxious fumes nauseating.

Lucinda lashed out, her arms and legs thrashing as she tried to free herself from Garenne’s grasp. She clawed at the devil, her nails cutting into the skin of his hand.

“Stupid chienne!” he uttered, pressing harder on the cloth.

“Delay as long as you can,” she heard him say, his thick accent slurring. “Do not let—”

All at once, Lucinda’s limbs felt too heavy to move, her arms and legs slowing to a stop. She struggled to speak but her words dissolved into an inaudible whisper.

And then the world went black.

She was taking too long.

“Would you not agree, Your Grace?” Lady Mansfield asked.

“Oh, yes, quite,” Will replied, though he had no idea what he’d just agreed to. The woman had accosted him the moment Lucinda had fled and he’d been trapped ever since.

Lady Mansfield pushed her ridiculous checkered mask back into place and smiled widely at Will. “Excellent.”

Bloody hell
. Will pinned Weston with an angry stare that told him to hurry along.

Weston smiled, clearly enjoying Will’s pain as he joined the two.

“Lady Mansfield,” Weston began. “I’m afraid I’ve need of the duke—quite a serious matter, I assure you,” he said smoothly, winking at the woman as he extricated Will from her grasp.

“Oh, well, of course,” she replied, somewhat reluctantly.

“Thank you,” Weston mouthed at Lady Mansfield, wriggling his eyebrows.

The woman turned to rejoin a group of friends near the refreshments.

“Yes?” Will asked expectantly, the sight of Lucinda emerging from the retiring room slightly easing his anxiety.

“A man of interest was found in an upper room. He’s been detained in the library,” Weston answered, his serious tone belying his lazy demeanor.

Will listened with keen interest to Weston’s report, though his eyes remained fixed on Lucinda as she walked down the hall.

She hesitated for a moment when her gaze met Will’s, offering him a small smile before threading her way through the crowded ballroom.

“Come with me,” he ordered Weston. Instinct had him moving to follow her before he realized what he was doing. As he purposefully made his way through the throngs of revelers, he noticed her hair color, just a shade off from his vivid memory of her lying back in the library, her golden hair fanning out about her beautiful face.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze lowering to the woman’s shoulders as she picked up her pace. He’d never forget the exactitude with which Lucinda’s slender shoulders fit into his embrace, as if they were made only for each other. This woman’s shoulder span was slightly wider than Lucinda’s, though Will doubted anyone other than he would have noticed.

He was nearly upon her now, his alert senses all but confirming what he suspected. He caught hold of her arm just as she turned to leave. Pulling her around to face him, he looked at her mouth. Her lips lacked the lush fullness and unique hue of pink that Lucinda’s possessed. Nor was her nose a complete match, though Will mentally congratulated Garenne on finding such a passable double. Dread filled his heart as he pulled the feathered mask from the imposter’s face.

He spared but a moment to look at her before gesturing for Weston to take her away. And then he ran, screams of surprise erupting from those he pushed aside as he urgently made his way toward the retiring room. He raced down the hall with two Corinthian agents close behind and kicked in the door.

A swift search verified Will’s worst fears—they found no one.

“Your Grace.” Agent Chilson drew Will’s attention to an open window.

Will strode across the room and peered out, noting the distance to the ground. It would have been risky, but Garenne could have accomplished such a task if he’d lowered Lucinda to someone waiting below.

He gripped the window frame with both hands, his lungs struggling to fill with air. “Chilson, have Weston bring the woman to the library. You,” he said to the two other agents, “search the grounds.”

He released the frame and stood, willing himself to remain calm. He would find her. There was no other option.

Lucinda awoke with a pounding headache, disoriented and terrified. She felt about in the pitch black, reaching blindly for anything that might tell her where she was. Her knuckles suddenly scraped against a cold brass knob. She turned it and pushed gently, but the door would not open.

She put her eye to the keyhole and peered out. The outer room was lit, blinding her for a moment.

She squinted until her vision adjusted, then looked again. The room beyond was dingy, its dirty windows shabbily hung with torn curtains. Sagging furniture was arranged haphazardly. And Garenne bent over a large desk, humming a haunting tune while busily writing.

Lucinda pressed her hand tightly over her mouth to hold back a scream. She had no memory beyond the attack in the retiring room that ended with the foul-smelling handkerchief over her nose. Clearly he’d managed to spirit her away. But to where?

The musty smell of her prison wasn’t that of a salt-encrusted sailing vessel, so she felt sure the Frenchman hadn’t brought her aboard a ship. The reassurance that she was still on English soil gave her reason to believe that Will would come for her. But she could hardly sit and wait for his arrival, the little she’d been told of Garenne having indicated that he was not to be underestimated.

She reached for the hem of her dress and lifted it, fingers searching her inner thigh for the small knife that she’d strapped there when dressing for the ball.

The sounds of Garenne’s approaching footsteps startled her, nearly causing her to drop the knife. She caught the weapon with her other hand and quickly jammed it into the keyhole.

“Lady Lucinda,” Garenne called in a disturbingly calm voice. “It is time to rise and meet your destiny.”

Lucinda tightened her grip on the knife and held her breath.

He put the key in the hole and turned the knob, jiggling it forcefully in rapid succession. “Come now, do you really think that a wooden door will keep you safe?” He let go of the knob and threw his body toward the door, the wooden slats absorbing the blows with audible cracks. “You stupid chienne. You’ve tried my patience for the very last time.”

Lucinda bit the inside of her cheek, panic rising in her throat. He rammed the door again and a horrified scream escaped from her lips.

“Come out, Garenne. You’re surrounded.”

The booming voice from outside the house startled Lucinda, sending her jerking back and away from the door. She landed against the far wall with a thud and dropped the knife. She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, desperately searching for the weapon. Her fingers closed over the haft and she gasped with relief. Clutching the knife, she looked out the keyhole, searching for Garenne. He was back at the desk once again, hastily stuffing papers into a leather satchel.

“Do not be concerned, Lady Lucinda,” he said over his shoulder, the malevolence in his voice making Lucinda’s blood run cold. “We will be leaving here together. Whether you will be alive or dead, well”—he closed the clasp on the bag and turning to cross the room—“that is up to your duke.”

Another shout from outside was followed by a loud crack. Garenne’s footsteps stopped and Lucinda held her breath, waiting.

The sound of Garenne’s retreating footsteps and the low creak of stairs reached Lucinda’s ears. She knelt and peered out the keyhole. He was nowhere to be seen, the dingy room empty once more. Fearing what the French madman planned for those who waited outside, she set to work on the lock and prayed that she would escape in time to warn them.

Carmichael had offered Garenne’s decoy passage to Canada if she gave them the Frenchman’s location. She’d acquiesced, the loyalty between thieves and murderers was evidently as expendable as their consciences.

The late night ride had been pure torture, images of Garenne with his hands on Lucinda flashing in Will’s head. He’d urged Sol on at breakneck speed, the entire contingent of Corinthian agents hard on the stallion’s heels. They’d slowed to a walk once the hovel had been spied, Will using hand signals to tell his men where to deploy.

He’d taken the lead position, dropping from Sol’s back and picking his way through the heavy brush that surrounded the cottage. He walked the perimeter of the house, crouching down at each window to carefully conceal his presence. When Weston signaled that the men were in place, Will had pounded on the door and demanded that Garenne give himself up.

Silence greeted him. Will was hardly surprised, but what little patience he possessed had been used up long ago. He pounded on the door again and yelled for the Frenchman to come out, punctuating his request with a savage kick that left the door split near the bottom.

He was readying himself to kick it in when one of his men shouted for him to stand clear. Will spun, assuming the threat came from behind, but instead he found himself pinned to the ground under Garenne, the man’s pistol poised at Will’s temple.

“Your Grace, we meet again.”

It took all of Lucinda’s remaining mental fortitude to hold fear at bay while she picked the lock. She grunted with relief as the lock gave and opened the door slowly, not entirely sure of what she might find on the other side. She narrowed her eyes and glanced quickly around the room. Male voices shouted just beyond the front door.

Frantically, she peered through the darkness, looking for another door. Finding one at the back of the cottage, she pulled on it, prying it open a crack so she could peer out.

Suddenly, the doorknob was yanked from her grip as someone pushed the door wide. Hands grabbed her and pulled her roughly outside; a man rolled with her onto the ground. The scream building in her throat was stopped by a large hand clapped over her mouth. She kicked and struggled against the heavy weight on top of her. He rolled her onto her back with one swift motion. Lucinda flailed her arms and desperately wished for her knife, but it had been knocked free from her in the melee.

“Lucinda?” Lord Chilson whispered gruffly, taking his hand from her mouth and looking at her as if attempting to memorize her face. “Is that you?”

Lucinda nodded her head frantically. “Where is Will?”

Chilson climbed off of Lucinda and stood, offering his hand to her. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

“Garenne is loose, we must find him.” Lucinda pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes.
“Now,”
she implored, though Chilson only looked to the other Corinthians, standing behind her.

“Why are you not moving?” she demanded, her entire body shaking.

Chilson took her by the arm and pulled her toward a grassy outcropping where King Solomon’s Mine stood, pushing her down onto a large boulder. “Garenne captured Clairemont near the front of the cottage. You must wait here—where it’s safe.”

His words froze Lucinda’s heart, seizing her breath. She could not lose Will, not now.

She wasn’t about to sit idly by and allow him to be killed, even if it meant defying the Corinthians. She scrambled to a standing position on the boulder and grabbed Sol’s reins, hoisting herself onto his back in one smooth motion. She kicked her leg over and settled into the large saddle, yanking the voluminous skirts of her gown free to allow her to sit astride.

Too late, Chilson realized what she was doing and lunged for the horse. His hand just missed the Thoroughbred’s hindquarters as Lucinda kneed King Solomon into motion. She trotted him to the corner of the house, stopping at the sight of several Corinthian officers.

Garenne and Will stood with their backs to her, the Frenchman’s pistol cocked and held at Will’s temple while he shouted his demands to Lord Weston.

Fear gripped Lucinda as she took in the sight. She would have only one chance to save Will. She looked to Lord Weston and captured his attention with a wave. Swiftly gesturing with her hands and indicating her plan of attack, she shook off his clear refusal. He looked back to the two men, gesturing to Will to be ready.

Lucinda gripped Sol’s reins with one hand and wound her other into his mane. Then she kicked her heels hard into his ribs and the Thoroughbred exploded, moving forward in a blur of speed. Despite her scream and the thunder of hooves, Garenne had only just turned when Solomon reached him.

Cursing, he lifted his pistol and aimed at the horse. Will grabbed his arm and the gun went off. King Sol reared, whinnying with fear at the sound of the shot. Will savagely lashed out at Garenne, landing a blow to his jaw that sent the man to the ground. Sol reared again, this time crushing Garenne beneath the force of his massive, slicing hooves as he came back down to earth.

Lucinda’s hold on his reins and mane was jolted loose. She threw her arms around the stallion’s neck, hanging on desperately as he bolted toward the edge of the clearing. It took seconds to catch the reins and pull herself upright, tugging Sol to a stop. He stood, shuddering and wild-eyed as she slid off his back. She looped the reins around a tree branchthen ran back to Will.