Till Dawn with the Devil

by Alexandra Hawkins

  Sophia inhaled loudly as the porcelain shard scraped lightly across her neck like death’s sweet kiss. The side of her neck burned. She could not prevent the sob from bubbling up in her throat when Lady Colette staggered away and returned to the mirror that had originally captured her attention.

  With pain came a shocking clarity. Sophia gasped. Beatrice had not been carrying Reign’s child.

  “Did Gabriel know the babe was not his?”

  The shard clattered as it hit the floor. Sophia blinked away the tears that threatened and squinted at her mother-in-law. Lady Colette touched the smooth glass of the silvered mirror.

  “My son knew,” the countess said hollowly. She peered deeply into the mirror and traced the line of her jaw with her fingertips. “I overheard them fighting one night. Gabriel was drunk and belligerent, sounding very much like his father. Beatrice had been packing, you see. With her parents’ encouragement, she had married my son for his title. The silly chit had already given herself to another man, but her lover lacked the position and wealth that the Burrards craved.”

  “Beatrice knew she was breeding when she accepted Gabriel’s offer of marriage?” Sophia asked.

  Unhappy with her reflection, Lady Colette slapped her hand over the mirror. “Beatrice seduced my son. Fooled him into thinking that she came to his bed a virgin. When he learned that she was carrying a child, he had no reason to doubt that it was his.”

  Any sympathy that Sophia felt for Beatrice being bullied into a loveless marriage faded when she thought of Reign. He had loved the girl. It had been cruel of Beatrice and her parents to take advantage of his tender feelings.

  She moistened her lips, turning the countess’s revelations and Reign’s quiet admissions around in her head as if each was a piece in a puzzle that Sophia was close to solving. “You claim that you saw Gabriel and Beatrice fight that final night. How did you observe them without their knowledge?”

  Lady Colette crossed the drawing room. “This house has many secrets. A fire more than a century ago destroyed a section of it.”

  Much to Sophia’s dismay, the countess retrieved the pistol from the table.

  “During the reconstruction, Gabriel’s great-great-grandfather had passageways built into some of the walls. He told his wife that it was a measure to protect their family. However, the truth was, like all the men who have claimed the Rainecourt title, the earl was serving his own selfish interests. The passageways prevented his wife from learning of his numerous trysts with houseguests and servants.”

  No doubt, the countess’s husband had taken advantage of these same passageways. And what of Reign? Had he known about the hidden halls? It seemed unlikely. The secret had probably died with his father. “All this time, you have been watching over your son, have you not?”

  It was a bit unsettling to realize that the countess had been observing her and Reign since their arrival. How often had the woman moved silently through the passageways, more ghost than alive, as the living went about their day? How many intimate moments had she intruded upon? Had she been there behind the walls of the bedchamber, watching the love play between Sophia and Reign?

  “Yes.”

  She started at the countess’s reply, but quickly realized that the older woman was responding to Sophia’s question. Or was she? Sophia’s eyes narrowed as Lady Colette paced in front of the chair. “You know what really happened the night that Beatrice fell and died?”

  The countess brought her fist to her temple. “I cannot discuss—no, it is entirely inappropriate. Secrets must be kept!”

  Sophia’s mouth thinned in frustration. “Gabriel was too deep in his cups to recall what happened after he threatened Beatrice and told her she could not leave the house. A part of him fears that he might have killed his wife, and this possibility, as well as the guilt Gabriel feels over Beatrice’s death, has kept him from defending his good name to the Burrards or anyone else who has called him a murderer behind his back. You claim that you have watched over your son, but where were you when he needed you? How could you stand in the shadows and allow him to suffer? You could have eased your son’s pain, if you had revealed yourself and told him the truth!”

  Lady Colette whirled and lunged toward the chair. Sophia yelped as the countess snarled and braced her hands one on each armrest, the madness in the woman’s eyes piercing the shadowy veil of Sophia’s vision. She warily glanced down. Though her finger wasn’t on the trigger, the barrel of the pistol in Lady Colette’s right hand was aimed at Sophia’s stomach.

  “My son would not find comfort in the truth. Neither will you, my sweet girl.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sophia’s mouth quivered, her lips fighting to form the words for the unthinkable. “You will never convince me that Gabriel murdered Beatrice.”

  Sophia refused to believe it. Oh, she was not so naive as to assume that her husband was incapable of violence. She had witnessed his unleashed temper when Stephan had come upon them kissing in the Harpers’ garden terrace. However, punishing a quarrelsome future brother-in-law was different from coldly murdering a wife.

  “I have no reason to debate you, my dear. Gabriel did not murder his wife.” Lady Colette paused as Sophia sagged in soundless relief. “I did.”

  Staring into Lady Colette’s fathomless dark eyes, it was not difficult to imagine that the lady was capable of murder.

  “Gabriel returned to Beatrice that night,” the countess said, releasing her grip on the armrests and circling the chair. “He had returned to reason with her . . . to issue more threats. If he had been content to stay away and drown his regrets with brandy, Beatrice might have left the house with her little secret.”

  The babe.

  Understanding sharpened Sophia’s gaze as she turned her head to address the countess. “That was when Beatrice revealed to Gabriel that he had no claim on the babe she was carrying.”

  “You know better than to underestimate a Rainecourt,” Lady Colette said lightly, drawing a frown from Sophia. “You have felt his strength, have you not? The pain as he held you down. You cried out when he thrust into you and left evidence of the violence he had wrought.”

  “My lady?” Sophia was uncertain how to proceed without angering the woman. Was she implying that Reign had attacked his wife in anger? Or was the lady confusing old violence with recent passion? Had Lady Colette silently observed her son as he made love to Sophia?

  Both thoughts were rather unsettling. Reign’s mother was very ill and confused. Sophia’s gaze dropped to the pistol in the lady’s hand.

  And extremely capable of violence.

  The fact that the older woman had struck Sophia and bound her to a chair quelled any sympathy that she could muster on the older woman’s behalf.

  Lady Colette snapped her chin up. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, unaware that she had ceased speaking.

  “My hands, my lady,” Sophia said, lifting her shoulder as she slanted her eyes to the right in the hope that the countess might free her.

  “Oh, of course, my dear.”

  To her surprise, Lady Colette circled to the back of the chair. Sophia held her breath as she felt the brush of the older woman’s fingers against her wrist.

  Then nothing.

  “Mayhap later,” the countess said, straightening and continuing past the chair.

  Sophia wanted to scream at the woman. Fortunately, common sense caught hold before she did anything rash. Where was Reign? Should he not have returned home by now?

  Unless . . .

  A sudden lump crowded her throat at the horrible thought that Lady Colette had done something to Reign. Sophia swallowed, fighting back the urge to cry. It was ridiculous to succumb to unfounded fears. Her husband was safe. For reasons unbeknownst to her, the man had chosen the wrong night to be late!

  “What happened to Beatrice?”

  Sophia really did not want to know the grisly details. However, the longer Lady Colette stared blankly into the empty drawing room, the mo
re Sophia’s anxiety increased. The countess appeared to be working herself into a state. Sophia prayed the lady was not quietly convincing herself that she had to do away with another of her son’s wives.

  “Divorce was unthinkable,” Lady Colette said after a few minutes. “No Rainecourt had ever been scandalized by a divorce.”

  No, only with murder, Sophia thought but wisely held her tongue.

  “As one might expect, Gabriel struck out blindly when Beatrice told him that the babe was sired by another man. She fell against the mattress and laughed . . . laughed,” Lady Colette said, shaking her head as if she still could not fathom Beatrice’s response. “She told my son that he was living up to the Rainecourt name—that his father would be proud.”

  Sophia stiffened her already cramped muscles as she studied the countess’s back. She did not need to ask the countess how she felt about Beatrice’s comparison of father and son.

  Lady Colette shuddered. “Gabriel asked Beatrice what she wanted, and she arrogantly told him that she already had his name and money. Now she wanted her freedom.”

  To be with her lover.

  What a blow to Reign’s pride it must have been to learn that the woman he loved had tricked him into marriage, only to discover that being countess of Rainecourt was unpalatable.

  “Did Gabriel grant Beatrice her freedom?”

  “She broke him,” Lady Colette said forlornly. “Her lies, her hate . . . she had left him with nothing but bitterness. He told her that she could leave in the morning with his blessing. That the Rainecourt name had weathered far worse scandals than an adulterous wife.”

  It sounded like something Reign would have said. Sophia did not know what to believe. Had Lady Colette truly witnessed that last argument between Reign and his first wife, or was her unstable mind twisting details to justify her hatred of Beatrice?

  One thing, however, was undeniable. After Beatrice’s death, her husband had avoided entanglements. Innocents in particular. Sophia silently marveled that when Reign had offered her marriage to escape her brothers, he had risked committing himself to another loveless union.

  But there was a difference.

  Reign had loved Beatrice when he married her. He had not repeated his mistake with Sophia. He had offered her affection, friendship, and protection. Love had not been part of the bargain.

  Sophia attempted to shy away from the unpleasant detail. While Reign had been more than willing to consummate their marriage and treat her with the respect and loyalty one might expect from one’s spouse, he had withheld a part of himself. Even when she had slipped and confessed her love for him, Reign had resisted returning the words that she craved. It wasn’t pride that had prevented him from speaking from his heart. Perhaps his mother was correct when she said that Beatrice had broken her son.

  Reign was not in love with Sophia.

  She choked and gasped as a sharp pain lanced her breast. If there was comfort to be found, it was in the fact that her husband had never lied to her. Reign had suffered betrayal and lies from his first wife. He would never submit Sophia to such a grim fate.

  “Madam, I would never hurt your son.”

  Lady Colette turned and glanced in Sophia’s direction. “I think man was born with cruelty bred into his bones. Kindness is something we must be taught.”

  Sophia sighed. “Is that what you were trying to do when you revealed yourself to Beatrice?”

  The question startled the countess. “What did I have to gain? My son was done with her.” Lady Colette’s gaze grew moist, reminding Sophia of a lake just as twilight faded into night. “Beatrice wanted her freedom, but she intended for her unborn son to be the Rainecourt heir. Gabriel had unknowingly claimed another man’s child as his own. Everyone believed that Beatrice was carrying the Rainecourt heir. Do you not see . . . I could not let that happen!”

  “Gabriel told me that it was an accident. That Beatrice must have tripped and fallen.”

  Lady Colette shook her head. “She had dragged a table in front of the door after Gabriel staggered off. Needless to say, she was rather surprised to discover that she was not alone in the bedchamber. Frightened, Beatrice tried to run for the door and tripped as Gabriel and the magistrate had guessed. She lay on her back, dazed from the blow that she took when her head hit one of the bedposts, her belly swollen with the evidence of her betrayal to my son and the family name. I—”

  The countess’s eyes narrowed as she peered down at the drawing room rug, apparently seeing the helpless Beatrice struggling to climb to her feet as she stalked toward her. “I simply put my hands around her neck and held them there. Stifling her denials of innocence . . . making her choke on her lies. Oh, Beatrice tried to stop me, clawing at my arms and hands. However, overindulgence and her lover’s child had weakened her constitution. It was over rather quickly. In those last minutes, do you think Beatrice was longing for the husband she had cast aside?”

  Sophia shut her eyes and did not bother replying. The tears that she had held back slid down her cheeks—tears for Beatrice and her unborn child. What Beatrice had done to Reign had been cruel, but she had not deserved to die for her sins.

  Reign’s mother made a soft sound of distress as she returned to Sophia. “There, there . . . child.” She used a portion of her chemise to wipe away Sophia’s tears.

  “Why have you revealed yourself to me, Lady Colette?” Sophia asked hoarsely, her throat tight with misery. “I am not Beatrice. I am not abandoning your son, nor am I carrying another man’s child. I will not hurt Gabriel.”

  “You already have!” Lady Colette shouted at Sophia. “Did you think that you could keep secrets in this house? I know you tricked my son into marriage.”

  “No!” Sophia said, the pitch of her voice climbing with her desperation. “It was Gabriel’s suggestion that we marry. At first, I-I refused him, but he was so insistent and seemed to make sense when everything was such a damn muddle.”

  Sophia figured God would forgive her for cursing. It was not every day that someone pointed a pistol at her head.

  “And were you going to tell him about the child?” Lady Colette said, the deadly calm inflection somehow more terrifying than if the woman were screaming at her.

  Sophia’s pulse leaped in her throat. This was not the first time the countess had mentioned the possibility of a child. Was Lady Colette rambling about the past again, or had she been watching her son’s new wife closely? It was only recently that Sophia had begun to suspect that she might be carrying Reign’s child. If true, the babe had likely been conceived on their wedding night.

  “You do not understand,” Sophia said hastily, rushing her words until it sounded like one nonsensical combination. “I am not keeping secrets! What can I say to make you believe me?”

  Lady Colette moved in closer to guarantee that she would not miss when she pulled the trigger. “I promise that you will not suffer. Not like before. Just close your eyes.”

  Not like before? Before what exactly?

  “Please!” Sophia sobbed, pulling frantically against her restraints.

  “Get the hell away from my wife!”

  From the corner of her eye, Sophia saw Reign and Stephan standing in the doorway. What is my brother doing here? she wondered, distracted momentarily by Stephan’s unexpected appearance. Both men were poised for action.

  Especially Reign. There was a mute fury radiating from him. Sophia had never been so grateful to see her husband.

  “Dear God, Rainecourt,” the older woman said, the shock whitening her already pale face. “How can this be?”

  Reign stared impassively at the disheveled creature in his drawing room. Who was she? He had not seen a woman dressed in breeches since Vane and Frost had thought it would be amusing to escort two outrageously dressed doxies to the theater in men’s garb. Was this some sort of jest? If so, then why the devil was the woman pointing a pistol at Sophia’s head?

  “Wife, you did not tell me that you had planned to entertain this evenin
g.”

  Reign sensed the subtle tension coming from Ravenshaw. Sophia’s hotheaded brother was unhappy with this unexpected turn, but this was not the time for recklessness. He restrained the man with a hand gesture.

  Sophia’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Reign’s heart clenched at the sight. “Husband, you were right about the ghosts.”

  “Ghosts? What nonsense is this?” Ravenshaw spat, revealing his impatience.

  Reign glared at the older woman. “Who are you? If you know me, then you should understand that the pistol is unnecessary. No one will harm you.”

  Ravenshaw snorted. “Speak for yourself, Rainecourt.”

  Reign ignored his brother-in-law’s outburst. “If you have come to steal silver or food, you can take your fill and leave in peace.”

  Just stop aiming that bloody pistol at my wife’s head!

  The color was returning to the woman’s face. There was something vaguely familiar about her, though Reign could not place where he had met her. Initially, when he and Ravenshaw had entered the house, Reign had thought Sophia had retired early for the evening. He had been heading toward the stairs to wake her when both men heard Sophia scream.

  The woman tilted her head in a regal fashion as her dark gaze narrowed. “Oh, I know you, Rainecourt. You as well, Ravenshaw. I also know that this pistol is necessary, gentlemen. You should not be here, but no matter. I shall put things right again.”

  “She is mad, Gabriel,” Sophia said with such solemn conviction, he did not doubt it.

  “Who is she?” Ravenshaw took a challenging step forward. “I will get a confession.”

  “No!”

  Both ladies started shouting at Ravenshaw.

  “Stay where you are!” Sophia yelled at her brother with such grim authority that it revealed just how precarious her situation was.

  Fortunately, her brother halted, and Reign took the opportunity to grab Ravenshaw by the arm and drag him back. He gave the younger man an irritated glance. The gent was going to get his sister shot if he persisted.