"I don't want to be in the grave," she reasoned desperately. "I have only just found you again."
"Sometimes parents must do things their little ones do not like because the papa knows it is best for them," he said, drawing a pistol from his boot top. He caressed the barrel of the weapon, looking genuinely grieved. "It will hurt for just a moment, then you will be happy forever. You will be tucked safe beneath the roses where you belong. I will come and care for them, and I will talk to you, Jenny, when you are beneath the earth."
Lucy's gaze flicked to the edge of the grave, so near. An idea sparked in the midst of her terror. If she could startle him, make him fall backward, she might have some small chance to escape. "I won't talk to you if you put me beneath the roses," she insisted. "I'll hate you."
He flinched at the words, those vague eyes more befuddled than ever. "Jenny, you don't mean that," he cajoled, pacing toward her. "You could never hate your papa!"
Lucy grasped one of the thick branches at the base of a rose plant between her numb fingers. She sat, frozen, until he leaned over to caress her cheek. Then she lashed out with the thorny plant, lunging toward him in an effort to drive him back over the edge of the grave.
Alexander shrieked as the thorns slashed his face, the rose vines snarling around him. But he leapt to the side, avoiding the hole in the earth with the agility of a cat.
"You hurt me again!" he choked out, incredulous. "Jenny, why did you hurt me?"
In that instant, Lucy saw her death reflected in his eyes.
She tried to shove herself away, but her numb legs refused to obey.
She thought of Dominic, wondered if he had discovered she was gone. If she died here, he would never know what had happened to her. The idea of Valcour tortured, waiting for her, when she would never come back to him wrenched at Lucy's heart.
Blast it, the Raider's daughter didn't give up! There had to be some way. Suddenly, as if summoned up by her thoughts alone, she heard something in the distance. Hoofbeats? Someone coming? Please, God!
Lucy pressed her bound hands against her pain-filled throat and screamed.
The sound was a raspy croak, one only Alexander d'Autrecourt could hope to catch. But whoever was approaching thundered toward them, as if drawn by her cry.
Alexander froze, staring in disbelief as a horse and rider crested the hill. Lucy let out a sob of joy as she saw Valcour burst over the horizon like one of the horsemen of the apocalypse racing toward them, his dark mane flowing, his face savage.
"Dominic! Oh, Dom—" Her choked cry was cut off as d'Autrecourt's hand knotted in her hair. He dragged her to her feet, twisting her until she was in front of him. The lethal kiss of the pistol barrel pressed hard against her temple.
God, no, please no, she prayed desperately, trying to keep her knees from buckling. Don't let Dominic see me die.
Blood pounded in her ears and she struggled to keep her eyes fixed on Valcour's beloved face. His features were twisted with disbelief, his face ash-gray. If Lucy still had any doubts as to the identity of her captor, the incredulity raging in Valcour's eyes would have quelled it. The earl's mouth contorted in a feral shout as he reined in the stallion a cart's length from where they stood, the beast plunging and rearing as if it sensed its master's torment.
"Stop!" Valcour bellowed, flinging himself from the horse in a whirl of black cloak and desperation. "D'Autrecourt, no!"
For a heartbeat the barrel bit deeper, and Lucy waited agonizing seconds for the explosion that would end her life. But Valcour froze, his hands open to show he was unarmed. "D'Autrecourt, for the love of God, let her go!"
It was as if the mask of Valcour had been ripped away for the first time, and Lucy could see the man beneath. He who'd watched as his beloved father died the same hideous death that now awaited Lucy.
"Go away!" D'Autrecourt's cry shook Lucy from the horrifying thought. "I am not to be disturbed. I am taking care of my Jenny."
"Taking care of her?" Valcour raged. "You've got a pistol to her head!" Lucy could feel the pain throbbing in every sinew of his body, could feel him grappling to find some way, any way, to save her. During the duel in the gaming hell Valcour had been cool as ice. There was nothing cool and detached in his face now.
"I have to make things right at last," d'Autrecourt said. "Jenny belongs under the roses. St. Cyr, you above anyone should understand the need to end a misery too great to bear! Your father put a pistol to his head!"
"Because you drove him to do it!"
"You lie!" d'Autrecourt shrilled.
"I speak the truth!" The earl's eyes clashed with Lucy's. There was a plea for understanding in those midnight depths, a regret so savage she could feel it wounding him in places no one could ever reach. With his next words Lucy understood why.
"D'Autrecourt, you were the reason my father pulled that trigger," Valcour said, driving his hand back through the tangled waves of his hair. "You seduced my mother."
Lucy gasped.
"I'm sorry, hoyden, but it's true. Even on the night your father"—he fair spat the word—"caught the fever that supposedly killed him, he was leaving my mother's bedside after she bore him a bastard son."
"Aubrey!" Lucy felt the pieces in a macabre puzzle slide into place in her mind.
"No!" d'Autrecourt cried. "Jenny, don't listen to his lies!"
"They aren't lies!" Lucy could see the effort it cost Valcour to continue. This man who had always tried to protect those in his care was now making an effort to bring the madman's wrath down upon himself.
As Lucy watched those beloved features, she knew that the weapon Valcour was using against d'Autrecourt was savaging Dominic himself—that Valcour was revealing the most agonizing secrets of his life in order to save her, secrets he had not even been able to tell his own father.
"Lucinda wears the ring, the legendary love token you gave my mother."
Valcour paced, edging imperceptibly nearer, every muscle in his body vibrating with tension as he watched for any opening, any chance to reach her. Lucy tensed as well, waiting for the slightest signal in those dark eyes, trusting Valcour to the depth of her soul.
"You tried to get my mother to give up Aubrey." Valcour hammered at d'Autrecourt's nerves, relentless. "Told her that she couldn't keep the child. My father would discover her infidelity. And so would your wife. It would destroy both of you."
"A bastard cannot be tolerated!"
"It wasn't Aubrey's fault that he was born, damn you! The boy had no choice in the man who was his father! Do you know how my mother cried the night you left her? How terrified she was to face my father? Lionel St. Cyr was a man with a temper to fear. He tried to beat the truth from her, but she wouldn't betray you, nor would she abandon her baby."
"Stop this!" D'Autrecourt's voice shattered on a sob. "Oh, God, Alexander would never—never..." The hand holding the pistol shook violently, and Lucy half expected him to pull the trigger in his distress. Either that or swing the gun toward his tormentor. That, Lucy realized, was Valcour's intent. To take the bullet for her, if need be, to give her a chance to escape. He was trusting in her ability to save herself.
Neither of them was going to die!
"You want to drive me mad!" D'Autrecourt raged. "You are one of them—one with my family. Next you will be telling me I am not Alexander! That I am Edward! That weak fool who stood by and did nothing when they sent Alexander away! Edward, who was helpless against the duke's fury!"
Valcour faltered for an instant, his brow creasing in confusion. "What manner of madness is this? Edward? The invalid? My God—of course! Edward was—" Valcour stopped.
Stillness fell, Lucy twisting her face to search that of her captor. The man was trembling as if stricken with palsy; what little color had been in his face seemed to be sucked into eyes hot with insanity.
Valcour's own face turned waxen, and Lucy could see he realized too late that his words had shattered something in the man who held her captive, the man now wild with fury and denial.
"See what you have done! She doesn't believe in me now! My Jenny! I'll kill you, St. Cyr! Kill you for that!" The pistol tore away from Lucy's temple, shifting toward Valcour, but at that instant Lucy knocked d'Autrecourt's arms away, wheeling around to drive her knee with all her might into his groin.
The man shrieked and staggered backward, the pistol flying from his hand. Valcour was already lunging at d'Autrecourt. D'Autrecourt drove his fist hard into Valcour's chest, kicked and thrashed and battled, as the earl landed blow after blow to the smaller man's midsection. Finally Valcour slammed his knotted fist into d'Autrecourt's jaw. The man's head snapped back, and he cried out. He slumped to the earth, limp as a rag-stuffed doll.
For an instant, murderous rage contorted Valcour's face—a primitive thirst for the death of the bastard who had tried to take Lucy's life.
Her throat constricted by the unleashed emotion in those features, Lucy's voice was soft, gentle. "No, Dominic. He can't hurt us now."
Valcour looked up, his fists clenched as if aching to feel d'Autrecourt's neck crushed beneath his fingers. "When I think what he tried to do—"
"But he didn't. Because of you, he can never hurt me again." She swallowed hard. "Valcour, this isn't his fault any more than it is yours or mine. Please."
For a moment there was outright rebellion in those stormy dark eyes, as if he were battling for reason. Then his gaze softened, flooded with an emotion that brought tears to Lucy's eyes.
"My brave little hoyden. Oh, God, what he almost did to you!" Lucy trembled with relief as Valcour turned to her, his fingers carefully unfastening the bindings about her wrists. His handsome face was awash with tenderness, this man who had never flinched from danger, from ugliness, from his own faults; he winced every time he thought he caused her pain. Her hands were pathetic, battered little things, the burn marks from the candle flame reddened and blistered. The gouges the tight bindings had cut were fiery red, and her fingers were swollen and dirty. Valcour lifted them for a moment and pressed his lips on her fingertips. His voice trembled. "Oh, God, little one..."
"It doesn't hurt at all now that you're here."
Valcour's own eyes were over bright. "I was almost too late. Another few moments, and God only knows—"
"I would have been most put out if you had botched the rescue this time, my lord. I would have haunted you forever and ever."
"And I would have welcomed it. I would have waited for you in the darkness, Countess. Listened..."
A tiny groan from the inert d'Autrecourt made Valcour turn away. Dominic gathered up the coils of silk that had bound Lucy and used them to tie the man's wrists in front of him.
It was as if the fierce strength in Dominic's dark eyes had kept Lucy on her feet. Her gaze flicked to the pathetic man huddled against the grass: Alexander d'Autrecourt, or the mysterious Edward?
Would she ever know for certain? She crumpled onto the ground, sudden tears stinging her eyes. She should be grateful to be alive. And she was, God knew she was. But now, even after all that had happened, the mystery persisted. The questions, the sickening suspicions and fears that roiled inside her. Did it matter if the man Valcour was tying up was Edward d'Autrecourt or Alexander now that Lucy knew the harsh truth about what had happened so many years before? When Emily had been frightened and cold and desperate, her father had been sleeping with another woman, loving another woman.
Lady Catherine's words, soft, sad, echoed in Lucy's mind. We never meant to hurt anyone. But they had. And they were still hurting her husband with his bitterness, his despair, hurting Aubrey with rejections he could never understand. And hurting Lucy more than she would have believed possible, shattering her dream of the phantom angel coaxing music from the keys of a pianoforte.
Lucy wanted nothing more than to run to Emily, to bury her face in her mother's skirts and tell her everything, pour out her disillusionment, her heartache. But Lucy could never tell her mother the truth. Emily could never know.
"Lucinda." Valcour's voice, soft yet urgent, jarred her from her thoughts.
She turned to where he was bent over her captor's hands. Valcour's dark eyes were wide and amazed. "Countess, this man—he's not your father."
Lucy lifted up her chin. "I know that. Ian Blackheath is my father. He's the one who loved me, cared for me. This—this shouldn't matter at all. But it does, Dominic. No matter how much I try to pretend it does not."
"No, my love, you don't understand." Valcour caught her by the hand. "I mean this man is not your father. He's not Alexander d'Autrecourt. I'd stake my life on the fact."
Lucy stared. "I don't understand. How can you be certain?"
"I spent hours watching your father's hands playing the keys of the pianoforte. There was a crook in his smallest finger, here." Valcour cradled her hand in his then kissed the bent joint of her little finger.
Lucy raised her eyes from Valcour's kiss to look at the madman's fingers—fingers that were perfectly straight. "Whoever he is, he lived at Avonstea. They kept him imprisoned there."
"Why?"
"He said that he accidentally shoved the duke down the stairs, killed him."
"The death of a father, a brother, the horror of such a betrayal could drive any man to madness," Valcour said softly. "No one knows that better than I do. But this man won't be imprisoned anywhere any longer. I promise I'll see he is taken care of. God knows, he is just one more victim in this horror. But it's over now. I promise you, it's over."
"I beg to contradict you." The malevolent voice made them wheel. Lucy froze, the light picking out the hate-filled features of Jasper d'Autrecourt. Valcour reached for his pistol, but Sir Jasper's gleamed, aimed straight for Lucy's heart.
"Move so much as an eyelash and I'll kill her," Jasper warned, a sword clutched in his other hand, a shimmering river of blue.
"What the devil are you doing here, Jasper?"
"I can hardly believe the fortuitous timing of my arrival myself. Imagine my amusement, watching this Cheltenham tragedy spin itself out, listening to you, Valcour, spilling out your soul, trampling upon your precious honor to save the life of your woman. Of course, I depended upon you being the same ruthless bastard you had always been. A quick sword thrust or pistol blast dispatching your enemy to hell. Who would have believed that Valcour could be tamed by a woman?"
"That still doesn't answer my question, Jasper."
The man sneered. "I've come to find my pathetic mad brother. And, I might add, I have gone to a great deal of trouble and exhausted a great deal of patience arranging this little meeting. He was desperate, you know, to recover Alexander's precious daughter. Year after year, I would come into the room, tell him snippets about Jenny that I had discovered. Anything to stir him into a frenzy. Then one day, I left him the keys to his cell."
"I don't understand," Lucy said.
Jasper chortled. "And here I thought you were a clever child. It was a brilliantly simple plan. He was to leave the safety of Avonstea, and I would be waiting to make certain an appropriately tragic accident befell him. Who would have guessed that a madman could manage to elude me for almost a year? Who would have guessed that he would be canny enough to contact you all the way in America? And who would have guessed that you would be fool enough to come back to England to find him?"
Jasper shook his head in bemusement. "Had I not tracked him to the gin shop and beaten the truth from the hag who owns it, I might never have found him."'
"Why would you want your own brother dead?" Lucy asked.
"A dukedom can be a compelling enticement to murder, can't it, Jasper?" Valcour snarled.
"Edward went mad when he discovered what had been done to Alexander and his infamous wife and child. My eldest brother was dead, as was Alexander. Upon my father's death, Edward was next in line for the dukedom. He was mad. I had a measure of the power inherent in the title. But it didn't matter. He was still the duke, damn his soul to hell! As long as he lived, I was nothing but a paltry knight, scorned and laughed at.
Mocked because of my impotence. But when Edward died... all the wealth of Avonstea would be mine to command. I could revenge myself on anyone who had jeered at me."
"So you decided to murder Edward?" Lucy demanded. "Why not just creep into his cell? Do it quickly, cleanly?"
"Because my mother suspected my plans. Insane as Edward was, she did not want him dead. If she suspected I had killed him, the consequences would have been most unpleasant. She had him guarded night and day. I had to get him away from Avonstea."
"You sick bastard!" Dominic spat.
"What, Valcour? You try to play the saint? You are as ruthless as I am and as black of soul. I can only thank you for giving me the means to send you to the devil before me."
"It takes no courage to kill an unarmed man."
"Oh, but you're mistaken. You were armed, you see, with this so lovely sword." He twisted the weapon in his hand. "You came to fight my brother. Ran him through with your blade in fury at what he had done to your countess here. Burying her alive—quite a hideous death, but one that could easily spring into the mind of a madman. Unfortunately, you arrived too late to save her, and Edward managed to kill you as well. Three tidy corpses in a graveyard. It is an end poetic beyond imagining."
"Damn you, Jasper, this is between us," Valcour snarled as Jasper pushed his sword point against Edward's chest. "Settle it like a man!"
"Don't you remember what you announced to everyone at the gaming hell the night of our duel, Valcour? I am a coward. But no one will ever know. I will be quite heartsick when I come upon the hellish carnage in the graveyard. I will weep copious tears over my brother's grave, and then I will be duke of Avonstea."
Lucinda searched desperately for any way out. It was a miracle that they had escaped Edward moments before. There would be no miracle this time.
"Now, my lady countess, you will move to the edge of the grave. I think it wisest to kill your bridegroom first, before he tries once again to play the hero."
Lucinda cried, hanging onto Dominic. "I won't let you!"
"Then you may be the first to die!"
The Raider’s Daughter Page 32
