by Lynsay Sands
“Yours and our mother’s?” Bastien echoed slowly. “I’m sorry, you seem to have us at a slight disadvantage here. What—?”
“Your mother and I are true lifemates. We have a son together,” Julius muttered with distraction, his eyes still on the man at the back of the group. Finally, his voice cold and flat, he asked, “Who are you?”
The man arched one arrogant eyebrow and growled. “It’s been a long time, but I’m still surprised you’ve forgotten me. I didn’t think you’d forget our talk.”
“Lucian Argeneau,” he growled, fury rising within him along with the realization. Julius had no idea who the third person must have been in the three-on-one, but he was positive Lucian must have been one of them…which made him one of only three suspects involved in the attacks on Marguerite. He hadn’t given up on Jean Claude being the culprit behind this whole affair, but didn’t doubt Lucian knew something about it. The pair were twins.
“Yes.” Lucian arched one arrogant eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but never got a word out. Instead, he snapped his mouth closed with amazement as Julius launched himself at him with fury.
Julius didn’t land a blow. The moment he rushed forward to attack, the other three men moved to stop him. Bastien and Lucern were quicker than their cousin, and he suddenly found himself being held before Lucian by the brothers, his arms out at his side crucifixion style. The two men weren’t hurting him, but he couldn’t move…except for his mouth. Struggling against the men holding him, he spat, “What have you and that stinking no good brother of yours done with Marguerite and Christian?”
Lucian’s eyebrows flew up with apparent bewilderment. “What?”
“You heard me,” Julius snarled, renewing his efforts to shake off Marguerite’s sons. He nearly managed it in his fury, but Vincent moved around in front of him and braced his chest, standing as much to the side as he could so that Lucian and Julius still faced each other.
Lucian nodded at the man, then glanced at Julius and said, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t,” Julius snarled. “You know something. He’s your twin.”
“Who is?” Vincent asked with confusion.
“Jean Claude,” he said through teeth that were grinding in frustration and fury.
There was silence as the men glanced at each other with confusion and then at their uncle. Julius could have gnashed his teeth. The man had to know something. It was his only hope. Otherwise he’d have no idea where to look. He’d lose her, lose them both. “God dammit. You have to know something. I can’t lose her again.”
“Lose who? Our mother? What do you mean again?” Bastien asked. “And what does Uncle Lucian’s being our father’s twin have to do with this?”
Julius snarled with frustration, his gaze sliding over the faces of the men around him. Bastien and Vincent looked thoroughly confused; Lucern, however, was now looking thoughtful, but Lucian was stone-faced.
“I’m afraid we aren’t following you,” Vincent admitted quietly. “Who has Aunt Marguerite?”
“Ask him!” Julius nodded his head toward Lucian. “He and his brother are behind this.”
“What is he talking about, Uncle?” Bastien asked with some frustration of his own.
Lucian Argeneau was silent and then gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know.”
Julius snorted bitterly. “Just like you didn’t know that Jean Claude was really alive when he went missing for those twenty years?”
“What? Father was missing?” Bastien asked with a start and then glanced at his brother. “Do you know what he’s talking about, Luc?”
“It was before you were born, Bastien,” Lucern said. “He was missing for twenty years. Morgan said he was dead, beheaded in battle.”
Julius nodded toward the head of the Argeneau clan. “Lucian knew better. He knew he was still alive.”
When the men all turned to Lucian, he shook his head. “I thought he was dead too. Jean Claude didn’t even let me know he was still alive during those twenty years he was missing. And he would never discuss it. He just said he’d needed time to himself.”
“Right,” Julius said sarcastically. “And next you’ll say you had nothing to do with stealing Marguerite from me and wiping her memory?”
“What?” The head of the Argeneau clan peered at him sharply.
“The three-on-one. You, Jean Claude, and someone else wiped her memory,” Julius said. “We’ve figured it out. We know she didn’t really order our child killed. She must have been controlled and that’s easy to do after a three-on-one, isn’t it. We’ve figured out everything.”
“I was told Marguerite lost your child and you left her because of it. I was told you said she must be poor stock if she couldn’t produce a living child.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Then why did you leave her?” Lucian asked.
“I didn’t leave her,” he said furiously. “I had to go to court. When I returned Marguerite was gone. And our child didn’t die, but it’s no thanks to your brother. Jean Claude controlled her and made her order the maid to kill him, but the woman brought him to me instead.”
“Christian?” Vincent asked, his expression still confused.
Julius nodded. “He is my son with Marguerite.”
“Let go of my son!”
Julius glanced past Lucian’s shoulder, his eyes widening on his father’s furious face. Nicodemus Notte was noted for his calm. Julius didn’t think he’d ever even seen him lose his temper…before this. The man was definitely not calm now. At least, his expression wasn’t and his eyes were flaming silver black, but his voice still sounded steely calm as he said, “If you gentlemen wish to see Marguerite again I suggest you release my son, cooperate, and talk. You need to work together, otherwise we will lose both her and Christian.”
There was a moment of silence, as the men holding him glanced at each other. When they then glanced to their uncle, he nodded. Julius was immediately released.
“Son,” Nicodemus growled in warning when he tensed, preparing to attack Lucian and beat the information he wanted out of him.
Julius ground his teeth, but forced his muscles to relax.
Bastien glanced from Nicodemus Notte, to Julius, and then finally to Lucian before saying, “Do you three want to fill the rest of us in on what the hell’s going on? Who has our mother? And what is this about our father being missing, and—” He waved a hand with frustration. “All the rest of it.”
Julius glared at Lucian, daring him to speak and start sprouting lies, but the man was staring back, narrow eyed. It was his father who said, “I think we should all sit down. Julius, you will explain everything from the beginning, and then these gentlemen can tell us what they know and, hopefully, between the six of us we can come up with something to help us find Marguerite and Christian.” He glanced past Julius and said, “Vita, tell my driver I won’t be leaving right away after all.”
Julius glanced around with surprise. He’d forgotten his sister was even there, but now saw her nod and move dutifully to do as his father asked.
“And make some coffee, please,” his father added as she headed out of the room. “These gentlemen eat and drink mortal food.”
“How did you know?” Vincent asked with surprise.
“I can smell it,” Nicodemus said calmly, and then glanced at Julius. “The living room?”
Sighing, he nodded and led the way out of his study.
“It isn’t working.”
Marguerite released her end of the chain and dropped back to sit, leaning against the wall beside Christian. They’d talked for quite awhile as they’d waited for the worst of the healing to be over. But once they could both move without terrible pain shooting through them, they’d taken stock of their situation and begun to try to see if together they could break the chains that bound them. It wasn’t working, however. They were both weak and Marguerite was now suffering the gnawing pain of blood hunger. She knew Christian
would be too. They were wasting their strength on the endeavor.
“We’ll have to think of something else,” Christian muttered, his gaze shifting around the small, dingy cell. There were no windows, but a barred one in the thick door. Light from the hall beyond was spilling into the room through the small embrasure, and he frowned at the opening. “This place looks familiar.”
“It looks like every dungeon I have ever been in,” Marguerite muttered with disgust. There was a time when they had slept in such dark, dank dungeons to avoid the sunlight that crept through small cracks and fissures in old homes. “Perhaps we should come up with a plan to overtake our captors when they return.”
“Why haven’t they returned?” Christian muttered.
She’d wondered that herself. In truth when she’d been dragged into the van, she’d expected to be killed right away, not left to wait in a dingy little cell. She was grateful for the extra time. It had given her and Christian a chance to bond. There was nothing like a crisis for bonding, Marguerite thought wryly. She was no longer uncomfortable with him and had even called him son a time or two without feeling awkward about it. But she’d give that up in a heartbeat to have him somewhere else and safe.
“You should have run when I told you to,” she said on a sigh.
Christian glanced at her, and then reached out hesitantly to cover her hand with his and squeeze it briefly before quickly releasing it as if afraid of offending her. His voice was husky as he said, “I’m glad I didn’t. I finally got to know my mother.”
“That’s hardly worth dying for,” Marguerite muttered, her eyes on the hand he’d touched. She wanted to take his hand back and hold it. She wanted to wrap her arms around him as if he were still a boy and rock him gently as she assured him they would be fine, but she wasn’t quite that comfortable with him yet, and wasn’t at all sure they were going to be fine. It made her sad. Not for herself so much. While Marguerite regretted not getting to be with Julius to enjoy their love and bear children with him, she had at least had children, and experienced some of the beauty of a lifemate. Christian, however, had not. She could die more peacefully knowing that he would live to do those things.
Of the three of them, however, Marguerite was most concerned for Julius. He would lose her again, but more importantly, he would lose his son, and she didn’t think the double loss was something he would recover from easily.
“What does Jean Claude want?” Christian muttered suddenly with frustration. “First he was trying to kill you and now he has taken us both.”
“I don’t think it is Jean Claude,” Marguerite said with a frown. When he glanced at her, she shrugged helplessly. “I just don’t. He’s dead. He has to be dead.”
A look of pity crossed Christian’s face at the desperate sound to the words and she sighed and tried for reason.
“Why would he kill me?”
“Perhaps he was trying to stop all this from coming out. Grandfather says that the three-on-one was outlawed some time in the sixteenth century. It’s a dying offense now. Perhaps he was trying to keep what he’d done from being discovered.”
“But it wasn’t outlawed when it was actually done to me and I don’t think they can punish him for it. Besides, killing me now isn’t going to stop that from coming out. Your father knows, Marcus knows, your grandfather…” She shrugged. “He’d pretty much have to kill your whole family to keep it from coming to light.”
“Maybe he plans to,” Christian said, his expression turning grim at the possibility.
Marguerite shook her head. “I just don’t think it’s Jean Claude. We buried him.”
“Did you see the body?” Christian asked.
Marguerite frowned and reluctantly shook her head. “They said it was too destroyed for an open casket.”
Christian arched an eyebrow, and then stiffened and glanced toward the door as they heard the clang of keys twisting in the lock. They both shifted and began to get warily to their feet.
“It looks like we’re about to find out who it is,” Marguerite said grimly.
“It isn’t Jean Claude.”
Julius peered at Lucian suspiciously when he made that comment. He was the first to speak after Julius had finished explaining the events of the past, and what had occurred since Marguerite had stayed at the Dorchester in London.
“Are you sure, Uncle?” Vincent asked solemnly.
“He’s dead,” Lucian insisted.
“But everyone apparently thought he was dead before,” Vincent pointed out dryly and shook his head. “I never liked the way the old bastard treated Aunt Marguerite, but I never thought he’d sink that low; wiping her memory, ordering a child killed, and making Aunt Marguerite kill the maid? If he wanted the maid dead, he should have at least had the balls to do it himself.”
“He is dead,” Lucian repeated firmly. “And he couldn’t have made Marguerite kill the maid without being able to see her to control her.”
“He made Marguerite walk out of the townhouse and wasn’t in there when that happened.”
Julius glanced around with a start at Tiny’s voice and stood abruptly, but paused when the detective shook his head in answer to the question on his face. The mortal and Marcus had teamed up to join the hunt for the van that Marguerite and Christian had been taken in. Apparently, without success.
“I’m sorry. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack, Julius,” Tiny said with frustration as Marcus entered the room behind him with a tray with coffee, cream, and sugar in his hands. “We’re all out there just driving aimlessly around, checking every van when the one they were taken in may not even be on the streets anymore. Marcus and I came back to brainstorm with you and see if we couldn’t think of a better way to pursue this.”
“Vita gave me this to bring in,” Marcus said as he set the tray on the coffee table.
Julius nodded, but his attention was on Lucian as the man said, “If Marguerite was controlled and made to walk out of the townhouse in York, then the person doing the controlling must have been looking in a window, or otherwise able to see her. They can control her mind, but cannot see through her eyes, it would be like trying to steer a car blind.”
“Yes,” Nicodemus said with a nod, “that is what I thought, but when they said there was no one around, I wondered if I’d been mistaken.”
“So Jean Claude must have been at a window or something to be watching her while he steered her out of the house?” Vincent asked, apparently thoroughly convinced of the man’s culpability. Bastien and Lucern on the other hand were remaining silent. Bastien appeared troubled. Lucern just grim.
“It wasn’t Jean Claude,” Lucian insisted. No one paid him attention.
“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone outside the townhouse when you went out after Marguerite?” Tiny asked Julius.
He shook his head. “There was no one there. And no one saw Jean Claude near the townhouse back when Marguerite killed the maid, Magda.”
“There are curtains on the windows of the townhouse in York, but not on the door,” Vincent said suddenly, and when Julius peered at him with surprise for knowing this, he explained, “We’ve been staying there the last couple of days. When Thomas came looking for Aunt Marguerite, he and Inez found out that a townhouse was rented under the name Notte in York. “He shrugged, we thought it was Christian. They rented the place to stay there while they looked for more information. We’ve all been staying there.”
Julius nodded and said, “You’re right, there are no curtains on the window on the front door, but Jean Claude couldn’t have got away from the window that quickly. I didn’t see him on the street when I went out, and I did look around. All there was were rather horrified mortals.”
“Julius was naked,” Tiny explained.
“Perhaps Jean Claude was watching from a building across the street,” Vincent suggested. “Binoculars would have allowed him to keep his distance and see her at the same time.”
“Jean Claude is dead,” Lucian repeated.<
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Julius ignored him and pointed out, “But he couldn’t have seen up into our room where she was sleeping and made her come below.”
“But she wasn’t in bed,” Tiny reminded him. “Marguerite said she got up to get more blood and then the next thing she remembered was waking up on the couch.”
“She would have had to walk up the hall to get to the kitchen, that’s when Jean Claude must have got control of her. He must have been watching the house. When he saw her through the window, he took control and made her turn and head out the door,” Vincent decided, not knowing that they’d kept the blood in the mini-fridge in the living room. It didn’t matter, though, Julius supposed. Marguerite would have had to walk through the hall to get to the living room as well.
“It wasn’t Jean Claude,” Lucian growled.
“It must have been something similar when Magda was killed,” Lucern announced suddenly joining the conversation. “Because I guarantee Mother would not have killed the maid. She adored her. Father must have been at the townhouse that day too.”
Julius peered at the man. He’d thought from his silence that Lucern hadn’t believed what he had told them, but now recalled Lucern had known about his father being missing, and had received a letter from his mother about their plans to marry, though he knew she hadn’t mentioned being with child in it. Julius now wondered what the eldest Argeneau boy had been told when he arrived in York back in 1491 to find his father returned from the dead and his mother back with him.
Leaving the matter for now, he considered Lucern’s words and frowned as he said, “Vita didn’t mention seeing Jean Claude at the time.”
“Vita?” his father asked with a start.
“She was the one who told me Marguerite was at the townhouse. She said she saw her go upstairs and wondered if we’d got back together. She didn’t mention Jean Claude, however, and I’m sure she would have if she’d seen him there.”
