The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (60 page)

Now, she found slight
comfort in talking to herself.
How
had she gotten herself into this mess?
Why hadn’t she
said “No!” to Victor’s invitation this morning? She’d thought
they were going to see his uncle and had been pleased. Too pleased.
And that had made her careless.

Foster must be out of
his mind with worry by now. He’d already have people out looking
for her. Would Reed be among them?

Mr. Mason would, no
doubt, be leading the search. He was being paid to guard her, after
all. She wished she hadn’t been so quick to free him for the day.
But she’d intended to paint all day and he said he’d take
advantage of that by investigating further whether her attackers were
in fact the Vanisher’s men.

What she didn’t know
— couldn’t know until she got there — is what the chances were
of any of them discovering where Victor was taking her?

* * *

It was mid-morning the
next day when their vehicle turned in between large stone gates that
proclaimed they had reached… “Mel–” She’d been dozing a
little, so when the vehicle turned sharply, she hadn’t been able to
read the name etched into the stone. She was almost sure the second
word had been “Abbey”.

They had abandoned the
rented carriage and its driver at their last stop, where they were
met by a rough-looking, harsh-speaking man in a smaller, one-horse
vehicle.

The weather was damp
and overcast. Rain had been threatening all day and had begun lightly
sprinkling as soon as they had taken to the road, about two hours
ago. Thankfully, despite its disreputable look, the folding roof of
the vehicle had kept them dry. The heavy air and black clouds looming
low above them, threatened a huge downpour.

After spending so many
hours being bounced about in a moving vehicle, her limbs were
cramping and, no matter where they ended up, she was anxious to stand
on terra firma for longer than a brief half-hour’s stop.

What was Monsieur doing
at an Abbey? Was his ailing friend — if there even was any such
friend — a monk? If Victor had responded to her efforts to
communicate earlier, she might have asked. She flicked a quick look
in his direction.

He ignored her. Just as
he’d been doing for most of the journey. She lifted a careless
shoulder. No help there.

She resumed her perusal
of the scenery. She’d been relieved when they’d changed vehicles,
even though she surmised it was so the driver wouldn’t see where
she was being taken, and that wasn’t a good sign. In fact, it was a
downright ominous sign. But she’d been cooped up in that closed
carriage with a silent Victor for too many hours and was glad to be
breathing fresh air and facing the road and nature rather than his
scowling face.

It was cold, but not as
bad as last night. She’d been frozen through by the time the sun
had dipped yesterday and she hadn’t warmed up much during their
stop at a posting inn to spend the hours until daylight in the public
room. Victor had been furious when the driver had insisted he didn’t
want to endanger his carriage on the roads at night and needed to
rest for a few hours.

She’d wondered if the
driver began to suspect she was not a willing passenger and was
trying to delay them in case someone was following behind to rescue
her. He’d no doubt sensed something was not right about this
journey. She’d been grateful for the reprieve and the heat from the
fireplace, regardless of his reason for doing it.

One of Victor’s legs
jiggled nervously, as it had all morning. She was glad to note that
there was no more cracking of his knuckles. He must have worn them
out yesterday! Today, his hands were constantly clenching and
unclenching. His leg jiggling was enough to drive her crazy, but now
was not the time to complain about his nervous agitation. They were
nearing their destination and she sensed something was about to
happen. She hoped it wasn’t going to be as dire as she suspected it
could be. She truly didn’t want to have to shoot someone again!

This made her think of
Reed.

Ha! She grimaced. Who
was she kidding? Everything made her think of Reed. He hadn’t been
out of her thoughts for more than minutes at a time since she’d
been forced to start this perilous journey.

She had visions of him
riding to her rescue, snatching her out of yesterday’s carriage or,
today, ordering the new driver to “Stand and Deliver,” and
carrying her away on his trusty steed.

The carriage came to an
abrupt halt. Three men immediately came from a building located back
at the furthest end of the enclosure. She glanced behind them to the
harmless-looking stone barn from which they’d emerged. It was
similar to those on any other country farm she knew and if it hadn’t
been for the disreputable appearance of the men, she’d have had a
hard time believing a crime was being perpetrated here.

Victor got out of the
vehicle first. He extended a peremptory hand for her and, seeing
little other choice she took it and stepped down.

Turning to look around,
she was shocked to realize the entire place was in ruins. No building
other than the barn was standing. The Abbey was no more than a
desolate pile of rubble.

She swallowed a lump of
fear and looked at Victor. “But surely your Uncle cannot be here!”
Now she was truly frightened. She had only one pistol. What would all
of these men do to her if she was forced to shoot Victor? She didn’t
even have any money to try to sway their allegiance.

Despite definite
qualms, she’d always believed Victor was really bringing her to see
Monsieur. She had never considered he might have accomplices.

For the first time that
day, she saw a glimmer of his usual smile. “Looks hopeless, doesn’t
it? But I can assure you he is indeed here.”

In
his grave,
the cynic in her chimed silently.

After sending the men
back to the barn with the vehicle, Victor stepped gingerly over a
large rock, which put him on a small path that rimmed the outer wall,
much of which was no longer there. “This way,” he said. “Watch
your step.”

She followed him,
minding the ground. Now was not the time to turn an ankle. She
thought about using her pistol to force him to order one of those men
to take her home. But first, she needed to see Monsieur.

There was a
dilapidated, partial wall on her right, almost completely concealed
by overgrown bushes that might once have been planted by design but
which now grew wild. She stumbled over a few loose stones. She should
have worn her sturdy boots, she grumbled to herself, the ones she
always wore to paint outdoors. They’d have been warmer too.

“No wonder his friend
is ill, if he lives here,” she muttered. They were now nearing the
back of what had doubtless been a thriving monastery centuries ago.
On another day and in different circumstances, she’d have been
eager to spend hours sketching these ruins. But, right now, she was
too focused on preparing herself to react to whatever was about to
happen.

Abruptly, Victor halted
and reached into an opening in the vegetation to push hard against an
unseen object.

What
on earth
? She heard the creaking first, then watched as an
ancient wooden door opened inwards. A gust of cold musty air wafted
out at them. A quiver of dread quaked through her. Was he planning on
throwing her into a dungeon from which she would never emerge? Her
hand was in her pocket grasping her pistol, ready to use it. She’d
unstrapped her knife from her thigh at that first inn, to be ready to
use should she need it, but removing it from her sketch bag, where
she’d stashed it, would make noise that he might hear.
Unfortunately! It would be of more use in the circumstances because
it wouldn’t alert the men in the barn if she was forced to use it.

She peered into the
murky yawning and saw that there were stairs leading down. She
stepped back quickly. The acrid smell of damp was overpowering. Lord
in heaven, could Monsieur still be alive in such a place? She
shuddered. She didn’t want to be left alone down there! Maybe she
should use her pistol before they descended into the dank darkness.

But worry about his
uncle kept her silent. By now, she was one continuous shiver. If
Monsieur had been down here for any length of time, she was not
looking forward to what they might find.

“He isn’t visiting
an ill friend, is he?” There was no use in holding onto her faint
hopes any longer.

Victor snorted with
derision. “You didn’t believe that tale, did you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He flushed at her quiet
response. Maybe he felt some remorse for what he was doing, maybe she
could–

“Enough talk.”
Grabbing her elbow, he held her in place. He hesitated, then said,
“This is your last chance to change your mind.”

“About what?” She
knew very well what, but hoped acting unaware would stave off this
moment.

“About marrying me.”
This time, he didn’t trouble himself to make it sound tempting.

“Why?”

“If you do, we can
forget all about this and go live in France. You can paint to your
heart’s content and–”

“Paint? What do you
mean?” So he knew! How? Monsieur would never have told him! She
shook her head at her foolish thoughts. What did that matter now!

“You can drop the
innocent act. I read your letter to
mon
oncle
.”

How naive she’d been
to think he wouldn’t look at private correspondence!

“You imagined I would
come all the way out here to deliver it to him without reading it?”
His jarring laugh sounded unhinged to her.

Her skin crawled and
her fingers tightened on her gun.

“I was astonished to
learn that the paintings
mon
oncle
has been so carefully storing, were painted by a
chit like you.”

She flinched when he
shook her roughly.

“I can still sell
them to help me settle in France and enjoy a nice lifestyle…” He
was gloating now.

That was what he’d
meant when he’d said it would be easier to find a Parisian artist
to keep him in style! He planned on escaping to France... for good!

“I’m sure I can
even convince your father to let me sell his paintings on the
continent for him, given that my poor uncle has disappeared.”

Malice poured from of
him now. How was it possible to look so angelic yet be so evil? Then
something he’d said struck her. “But my paintings were all burned
in the fire, weren’t they?” That was why he’d come running to
tell her about the fire! He’d known they were hers.

“Were they?” He
gave a sly smile. “So what do you say?”

She wanted to shout,
how stupid do you think I am?
How could he think she’d ever consider wedding him now? But she had
been blind. It was no wonder he believed her stupid. Her finger
slipped into the trigger slot. She’d wait a few seconds more, until
she got to see Monsieur… or what was left of him. Was she again
being stupid? But she dared not shoot now and alert his associates,
before she knew if it was too late to rescue Monsieur or not.

“Well, since you put
it like that, I might consider it.” She tried to inject a more
positive note into it, though the very idea revolted her.

“Huh,” he grunted.
“I thought not.” He jerked her almost off her feet. “You aren’t
much of a liar. I can hear the distaste in your voice.”

Damn,
damn, damn. She couldn’t even lie to save her life!
Because
that was what was in the balance here. Now she was certain of it.

He yanked her in front
of him and pushed her to start down the stairs into the darkness. To
her relief, it was not completely dark. Large cracks in what was left
of the wall allowed enough light through so that she could see where
she was stepping. The stairs were in terrible shape and she wanted to
refuse to descend them, only he again manhandled her elbow. Her
painting arm! He had it in a firm grip and was forcibly steering her
down in front of him.

She couldn’t draw her
gun on him, even if she wanted to, because he held her arm so tightly
she was unable to move it.

Now that they were on
their downward course, Victor appeared to have come to terms with
whatever had been bothering him on the way here. A malevolent
calmness oozed from him. How had she missed that about him? He’d
seemed such an amiable, harmless sort. Now all she sensed from him
was a depraved disregard for anyone who got in his way.

Each step increased her
worry about what she was going to find at the bottom. Now that she
knew he was responsible for Monsieur’s disappearance, she steeled
herself for what she was about to see.

Was
he bringing her to view his uncle’s dead corpse?
He was
evil enough, she knew that now. Did he intend to leave her locked in
this dungeon with Monsieur’s dead, rotting body?

On the long journey
here, she‘d been hoping he wasn’t taking her on a wild goose
chase, hoping to coerce her into marriage or worse, violate her.
She’d been confident she could prevent that with her weapons. Now,
though, she understood his intentions were far deadlier.

She didn’t really
want to shoot him. But she knew she could and it looked like she was
going to have to do it. If she could shoot Reed, then she could
certainly shoot Victor, especially if he had killed Monsieur.

They arrived at the
bottom and she found herself facing a thick wooden door. He loosened
his hold on her to reach around the corner for a large key that must
have been hanging on a hook on the wall. Quickly she pulled her
pistol out and hid it in the folds of her gown alongside her thigh.
She was prepared to use it, but was bracing herself to run for her
life after she’d shot him. Those brutes in the barn had a cruel,
callous look to them. Before she acted, though, she needed to see if
Monsieur was alive. If he was, she’d still run, but to get help to
come back and rescue him. Her escaping would be their only chance.