The Third Son (20 page)

Esmeralda’s hands shook as she reached for her gown. Tiny shivers of delight still coursed through her and were further enlivened by his candid words. She knew when the time came she would be eager to experience all that Damien had to teach her; she looked forward to it breathlessly.
Esmeralda
pulled her gown on and turned her back, allowing Damien to re-fasten the tiny buttons down her back. He grasped her shoulders pulled her against him one last time.
Damien
pulled the curtain of her hair aside and kissed the side of her neck tenderly.

They cleaned up the remains of their picnic and rode back to the palace in companionable silence. Damien stole little glances at her as they rode, pleased with the effects that his touch had on her. She managed to pin her hair back neatly and donned her white hat once more. To the casual observer, there had been no change in her since she was last seen at the tournament. Damien observed the slight pink flush in her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes and smiled. They dismounted by the stables and Damien ordered the carriage brought around for Esmeralda.

“I would love to escort you home, but I must see to my brother,” he said, before handing her into the spacious carriage.

“I understand,” she said, allowing him to kiss her hand. His lips lingered for a few seconds longer than what was proper and Esmeralda could swear she felt the warm rasp of his tongue.

The carriage pulled awa
y
, and Esmeralda leaned forward to peer through the carriage window,
waving as she disappeared from sight. Once she was gone, Damien was forced to turn his thoughts from their passionate encounter in the shaded glen. Lionus’ injury was no foremost ins his mind. Serge had seemed worried over the circumstances of the incident and Damien had no reason to doubt him. Lionus’ fall may well have been staged to look like an accident. The thought made him shiver, knowing that it could have been any one of them and that Lionus could now be dead. How long before this criminal had his way, Damien wondered. What would happen to Damien if he did?

Chapter 12

“I knew that something wasn’t right. I just knew it!”

Lionus frowned, folding his arms over his chest. He studied the horseshoe that Serge held up for all of them to see. Damien and Nicolai both had shocked expressions on their faces. Lionus’ head was bandaged, and though it throbbed greatly he had refused the laudanum and brandy offered to him once he had awakened. He wanted to be lucid for this meeting. He sat up, erect and regal among the bedclothes, his freshly washed hair hanging down to his shoulders, wearing a black silk dressing gown. The only visible injury was that of his head, though he had several bruises on his torso and legs and his muscles pained him greatly. 

“Unbelievable!” said Damien, studying the twisted, mangled horseshoe. “No wonder your horse went down, Lionus.”

“You’re saying that this shoe was on Lionus’ horse during the tournament?” asked Nicolai in amazement.

Serge nodded vehemently. “All but one of the nails had been removed as well. It probably was only slightly bent at the beginning of the day. But as the day wore on, it became worse.” He turned to Lionus. “When you started charging at Damien during the joust, the shoe cut into your horse’s other leg, causing him to go down.” 

Lionus took the horseshoe from Serge and studied it with his sharp eyes. “None of the grooms would be careless enough to allow this. This was done intentionally.”

Serge nodded, his mouth a firm, hard line. “Exactly.” He had gone straight to the stables to inspect Lionus’ horse as soon as he had left his bedside.
Serge
was astonished at what he’d found.

“Have anyone who was anywhere near the stables this morning questioned,” Lionus said to Serge. “And while we are here, let us discuss what we do know. Nicolai and I have inquired around at the various gatherings over the last two weeks and have learned nothing new. Several of the nobility have even heard of this masked man, yet none of them seem to know who he is.” 

“He’s like a phantom,” said Nicolai. “He comes and goes within the upper and lower classes, paying or threatening people in order to get them to do his bidding.”

Damien frowned. “I had the same problem,” he said. He had taken a few nights away to visit some of the seedier establishments in town. Many people had stories to tell about encounters with the masked man, yet none of them could offer any clues to who he was, other than the description already given. “It’s as if he doesn’t even exist.”

“But he does exist!” roared Lionus, Through his anger, his brothers and cousin could see the pain reflected in his eyes. “The man is not a ghost or a specter! He is very real, obviously, if he is able to make attempts on my life and the lives of my family. I want him found!”

Serge nodded. “I think it’s time we put out a description of this man…at least the little that we do know. Perhaps if we offer a reward someone will come forward with more substantial information.”

“I did not want to have to do that,” said Lionus, rubbing his tired eyes. “But I suppose it must be done.” 

“I will see to it,” said Serge. “In the meantime, we should increase security. Specifically around you since you are the latest target of these attacks.”

Lionus nodded his agreement, but was otherwise silent.

“Why don’t you take a little laudanum,” Nicolai suggested, lifting the bottle from the nightstand beside the bed. “You are in pain.”

“And if I do, do you suppose the masked man will send an assassin in to murder me as I sleep? No thank you. The pain is tolerable.”

“Nevertheless, we will leave you to your rest,” said Damien, following Serge and Nicolai from the room.

Serge still clutched horseshoe in his hand, his countenance filled with worry. “It seems this man won’t rest until he has achieved his ends.”

“Or until he is caught,” said Damien. “The sooner he is found, the better.”

****

Damien watched, pleasure in his eyes, as Esmeralda was draped with length after length of satins and silks. He had brought her to Madame Didier’s establishment to have her fitted for a gown for the masquerade ball, to be held at the end of the week, the night before the wedding. Esmeralda had insisted that
Raina
promised to make her a suitable costume, but Damien insisted that she have the best.

She stood now, on a small raised platform while Madame Didier watched two shop girls drape Esmeralda with various fabrics. When she wasn’t covered in yards of material, she stood in her chemise, nearly naked to his watchful eyes. 

“Bring the gold silk,” Madame Didier commanded, studying Esmeralda critically. “It will compliment her skin very nicely. Such exotic looks,” she commented, circling Esmeralda as the two shop girls held a length of gold silk up against Esmeralda’s skin. Madame Didier gasped dramatically, throwing her hands up in the air. “Magnificent!” she cried. “It is perfect!”

Madame Didier draped and pinned the silk in various places, looking to Damien for his approval. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, his mouth watering as he observed the way the silk draped over Esmeralda’s frame.  

Madame Didier held up a length of black lace. “Yes this will do nicely I think over the bodice. Many people cannot pull off black, but your coloring will only enhance it.”

Esmeralda fingered the lace held out to her. “It’s so fine,” she said, turning to Damien. “It’s sure to be expensive.”  

“No expense is to be spared,” he said with a grin.

Madame Didier returned his smile and focused her attention back on Esmeralda. “A black sash, and a train of course.” Esmeralda nodded her agreement. “Matching slippers, reticule, and of course a mask. It will be an exquisite creation.”
             

Esmeralda stood for nearly an hour while Madame Didier and her assistants pinned and draped until the beginnings of a dress were formed. She breathed a sigh of relief once the creation was lifted from her. She knew the gown would be terribly expensive and some part of her protested strongly.
A
nother part of her, the vain part no doubt, luxuriated in the idea of a dress custom made to fit her. Damien waited until Esmeralda left to dress before pulling Madame Didier aside.

“I would like to order more,” he said, his voice low. “You have her measurements and I’m sure you will choose fabrics and colors that are suitable.”

“But of course, your grace,” she said, smiling at the prince. She had dressed Damien’s former mistress, but found she liked this woman much more than the vain, demanding Davina. Dressing her would be a pleasure. “What would you like?”

“Day dresses, evening gowns, ball gowns. Four of each should do. And a riding habit.”

“Accessories? Undergarments?” Madame Didier began making notes on a small tablet.

Damien nodded. “I’ll leave the particulars up to you,” he said. “You know what is fashionable.”  

Madame Didier smiled brilliantly and accepted the heavy sack of coins placed in her palm. The prince was always willing to pay handsomely for what he wanted.

Esmeralda emerged from the dressing room and allowed Damien to take her arm. She did not notice the conspiratorial glance exchanged between Damien and Madame Didier.

Soon they were in the swaying carriage, speeding toward Esmeralda’s home. “I really wish you had not spent so much on a gown for me,” she said, threading her fingers through his and resting her head on his shoulder. “My mother could have altered one of my gowns and it would have been just as suitable.”

Damien placed a kiss on her forehead. “Nonsense,” he said, squeezing her hand affectionately. “You need an appropriate costume and Madame Didier is the best. She’ll make you the envy of every woman present.”

Esmeralda smiled and snuggled closer to Damien in the intimate confines of the carriage.
He
savored moments like this, times when they could be away from probing eyes and whispers. Damien pulled her closer and whispered in her ear, “I wish I could have you to myself more often. But you have become wildly popular at court and….what the devil?”

Esmeralda followed Damien’s distracted gaze out of the carriage window. A black carriage was speeding alongside them on the narrow lane, swerving dangerously close. The carriage’s curtains were closed, and there were no identifiable crests or markings on it anywhere. It was pulled by a team of impeccably matched black bays, who were being driven by a figure also shrouded in black, his face hidden by the scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. Damien banged on the wall of the carriage, trying to gain their driver’s attention. 

“Slow down and let him pass, Rawlins!” he shouted, struggling to be heard over the clatter of wheels. “Reckless bastard,” he muttered, pushing the curtains back to try and better identify the carriage and driver. Just as he peered from the window, the black
vehicle
swerved toward them, perilously close to ramming them. Their driver shouted and cursed, trying to bring the startled horses under control. The carriage swayed and rocked dangerously, tossing Esmeralda about. Damien grasped her and pulled her close, trying to keep
Esmeralda
in
the
seat.

“God damn it all, Rawlins get the horses under control!” Damien shouted to the driver, pressing Esmeralda up against the cushioned seat. “Hold on to me, love,” he whispered to Esmeralda, wrapping his arms tightly around her. The horses seemed to be picking up speed, carrying the coach down the dusty road at a dangerous pace.

The black
conveyance
swayed toward them several more times before it rammed into the side of them, causing their carriage to tilt precariously to one side before slamming back down to four wheels. This time, a scream escaped Esmeralda’s lips, and Damien could do nothing more than hold her more tightly against him.

The horses were out of control now, terrified by the attacking carriage and their panicked driver. If Damien were alone, he would simply throw open the door and try to leap to safety.
H
e would not risk such a move with Esmeralda. She could be crushed under the wheels or trampled by the horses and he would never forgive himself.  

“Cut the horses loose, Rawlins!” Damien shouted, praying the driver could hear them.

Separating themselves from the horses seemed to be the only way and Damien prayed that Rawlins would be successful before the other carriage succeeded in tipping them over. Damien could hear gunshots ringing out overhead and felt Esmeralda shake violently in his arms at the explosive sound. Rawlins’s cursing and yelling were the only indications that the man was still alive, but the bullets flying
overhead
, were obviously slowing his progress.

“Got it, your grace!” shouted Rawlins just as he cut the last horse free. Damien felt the carriage slowing to a halt as the racing horses left it behind. He breathed a sigh of relief and loosened his hold on Esmeralda.
             

“Thank God,” he said, sighing heavily. “As soon as
we have
stopped, we’ll-” Damien was cut off, as the carriage jerked violently, causing him to go flying across the vehicle to the other seat.

“Damien!” Esmeralda’s voice shrieking his name was the last thing he heard before the
y
began to roll.