Flame of Fury

by Sharon Green

  Miss Elizabeth Bowdler began stuttering with fury, too far out of control to think of an adequate comeback. She'd been like that ever since Rianne had learned to pretend to ignore her nastiness, losing more and more control the longer Rianne remained calm. Before that time she had told Rianne that she was too large to attract any men at all, and in retaliation Rianne had stepped on her foot.

  "I think you should know that dear Arthur here can't be blamed for not returning to you immediately," Rianne went on when it became clear the other girl was still having trouble speaking. "My husband asked him to introduce me around, to spare me the need of having to listen to tiresome business discussions. I think that was really sweet of him. Did your husband ask the same?"

  Rianne held warmly to Arthur's arm as she asked her innocent question, the tiny smile she showed making her escort cough into his hand. Elizabeth's escort, presumably the "poor Sellars" Arthur had earlier referred to, turned away to rub at his face with two fingers. The girl herself was absolutely livid, knowing as she did that she was being laughed at. She'd tormented any number of others with her own laughter over the years, but repayment was something she refused to accept.

  "So Robert Harding finally bought you a husband, did he?" the girl taunted with all the viciousness at her command. "It must have cost him every penny he had, but would have been a bargain at twice the price. And now you're married to a merchant! I can't wait to see the silly little man. Do you kiss him on his bald spot?"

  Her laughter rang out at Rianne's stricken look, thinking she had finally scored against her old enemy. Rianne, however, was suddenly worried about another game, the one with the man Tremar. The tall, thin Tremar had been staring openmouthed at Arthur ever since he'd heard the words "your mother, the baroness," but that had just changed. Elizabeth had named Rianne's stepfather, and that had taken his attention immediately.

  "What's this?" he interrupted with a scowl as his hand went to Rianne's arm. "What have you got to do with Robert Harding?"

  "He's my stepfather," Rianne answered without hesitation, knowing she had to brazen it out. "I don't understand why you're so upset, Mr. Tremar, but I'd appreciate being released. You're hurting my arm."

  "Don't understand, do you?" he growled, tightening his grip instead and shaking her. "Let's take a walk and I'll explain."

  The champagne glass dropped from Rianne's fingers as she was pulled away from the others, trailing gasps of shocked surprise and halfhearted objections of "I say…!" Tremar's fingers were like a band of metal around her arm, and he was clearly heading them toward the terrace doors leading to the side gardens.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Rianne demanded, trying to sound outraged rather than frightened. "Let go of me this instant, or I'll - "

  "You'll do nothing and then some," the man interrupted flatly with that cold, lifeless scowl. "You said Harding is your stepfather, but we both know there's no more 'is' about him. The stupid, stuck-up fool is dead, and here you are, asking me all kinds of questions. Like I'm supposed to think his girl would ever treat me human. I'll know what you're up to, just as soon as we get outside."

  And then they were passing through the doors and out onto the terrace. Rianne suddenly realized she'd missed her chance to shout for help. It was still too early for the gardens to be peopled with those needing fresh air after dancing, which meant she was on her own. If Arthur or that man Sellars had been prepared to stop Tremar, they would have done so immediately. There was obviously a great deal of difference between a man who was well-born and a man of action.

  "This is absolutely ridiculous," she tried next, adding exasperation as she was all but pulled down the terrace stairs to the garden path. "Of course I didn't tell anyone my stepfather is dead. I don't know these people, so why would they care? I don't even know why you care. Or, for that matter, how you found out. And what in the world could I be up to?"

  "That's the question that needs answering," he responded grimly, manhandling her up a side path to the right. It led around to the back of the house, an area that would be all but deserted. Torches had been set in sconces around the garden to flicker in the night breeze, and Rianne quickly decided on the one they were approaching as the place to make her stand. If she waited any longer, there was no telling what might happen.

  "All right, I've had quite enough!" she announced, using every ounce of her body weight to force them both to a stop. "I want to know what's going on this minute. And I also want to know how you knew my stepfather was dead. It hasn't even been two days."

  Her demanding words and imperious stare put a shadow of uncertainty in the dull brown eyes watching her. Tremar had been startled into stopping, but not to the point of releasing her arm. Rianne could almost see him wondering if he'd made a mistake, but then suspicion reasserted itself.

  "You're the one who'll be answering questions," he said in the flat way of someone used to exercising authority. "I'll know what you're doing here, suddenly out of the blue, trying to get me to talk. What did you think I would say?"

  "Nothing more than what you did say " she retorted just as flatly, ignoring the pain of his fingers digging into her arm. "I'm here because my husband brought me, and it certainly wasn't you we came over to talk to. Pinky insisted on introducing me to Miss Worden, and if I recall correctly you barged in and introduced yourself. I may have asked you a question I don't even remember now just to be polite, but that doesn't make me guilty of a crime. I know you didn't notice, but Pinky and I were trying to free ourselves from you just before all this nonsense began. You were the one who boorishly insisted on clinging to people who had had more than enough of your - singular - company."

  The man's sallow face darkened with embarrassment, light from the torch just behind Rianne mixing his expression with shadow. She knew she was taking a long chance saying those things to him, but there was nothing else to do. She'd felt the fear under his heavy suspicion, and knew that goading him into rage would be safer. If only she could make him believe it was all his imagination…

  "The bastard was right as usual," Tremar muttered to himself, his grip on her arm finally loosening. "'They won't want to know you any more than they do me,' he said. 'All they'll do is laugh and turn their backs,' he said. 'I can buy and sell every one of them, even own some, but they'll never consider me an equal. You they'll just spit out and throw away. Stay away from them and be satisfied with what you have, or - "

  The muttered words broke off and the fear returned, strengthened. Rianne was shocked to also see tears in those dull eyes, something that sent her back a pace.

  "And now he'll know I didn't obey him, but went ahead and tried it anyway." Once again his words were spoken to himself and the night, but brought Rianne a sudden chill. "He'll know I called attention to myself, and that's the one thing none of us must do. But it wasn't my fault. It was her fault. What else could I think? He won't care, and now I've got to get away. But first I'll teach her! Singular, am I?" He turned to Rianne, his rage plain on his face along with his tears.

  Rianne glanced wildly around the empty grounds, and saw only the four-foot torch set in its decorative metal sconce. She pulled it free with both hands and swung it back with all her strength, the hammering of her heart aiding the effort. She held to it with a double grip of desperation, turning trembling into frantic motion.

  She struck Tremar just as he was trying to seize her. His shout of pain and fear came as he stumbled back, brushing at himself to be certain he wasn't afire. Rianne swung the torch again, grimly determined to connect, and that sent him back even farther. His intended victim was now after him, and the look on his face said that had never happened before. He'd bullied and bought many people over the years, and none of them had ever fought back.

  But this crazy woman was doing just that, and Reginald Tremar was completely out of his depth. He didn't know how to deal with anyone who wasn't helpless, and didn't even care to try. Rianne saw the appalled expression on his face just before he turned to run, but h
e didn't get very far. Four paces back toward the main garden path he shuffled to an abrupt stop, every line in his body screaming true terror. A dark shadow stood beside a bush on the right, a shadow who was a man.

  "No!" Tremar shrilled in a voice like a woman's, obviously having recognized the shadow man. "It wasn't my fault, it wasn't! He shouldn't have told me not to try, not when he knew I had to! And it would have worked, it would! All I needed was the chance!"

  The shadow made no answer, his silence that of the empty night. But he did move two steps forward, casually deliberate steps that set Tremar trembling and moaning. He shivered like a small child as he watched the shadow reach to its coat, and when the hand reappeared elongated he began whimpering. It's a pistol, Rianne thought with shock as she, too, stood frozen in place. The torch was still in her hand, but now forgotten.

  And then she jumped at the sharp crack of the pistol firing, but Tremar didn't do the same. His whimpering cut off into a choked gurgle, and then he began to slide bonelessly to the ground. He can't be dead, Rianne thought in whirling confusion, but of course he is. That man just shot him, and now he's looking at me. If he has another pistol…

  But apparently the man didn't. His shadow hand returned the pistol to his coat, then reappeared filled with a different shape. A knife, it was a knife, and as he began to move toward her Rianne wanted to be violently sick. A flicker of torchlight had let her glimpse his face without shadow, bringing immediate recognition. The man she'd known only as 0… She knew he would be glad he had no other pistol… glad it was a blade he would use on her… And he would use it on her … enjoying the pain and death it brought… Her pain and death…

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Machlin!" An excited voice interrupted what Bryan was saying to Robert Creighton, and Pinky was suddenly there beside them. "I say, I've been looking all over for you! He's taken her out to the gardens, and we were all so startled we just stood there like loons. I considered giving chase, then realized you would be much - "

  "Pinky, slow down!" Bryan ordered, the chill of dread twisting his insides. "Who are you talking about? Who took who out to the gardens?"

  "Why, that Tremar lout," Pinky answered unsteadily, his face pale for once at the way Bryan held a fistful of his coat. "The one Lydia was foolish enough to bring. He spouted some nonsense at your lady, then pulled her out of the room with him into the gardens. They - "

  But that was all Bryan stayed to hear. He took off at a run through the thickening crowds in the ballroom, knocking people out of his way without even noticing. He should have known that girl would do something to get herself into trouble, known it and refused to let her leave his side. Now she was out in the dark somewhere, with a man who would be almost as dangerous as their quarry…

  "Machlin, over here!" George Sellars called from the left of the terrace. Bryan had just burst through the doors, but hadn't the faintest idea of which way to go. "I came out here while Pinky went chasing off after you. They've taken the first path to the right."

  "God bless you, Sellars, for having a mind and using it," Bryan called back, but he was already running again in the proper direction. If he managed to be in time, he would owe Sellars more than he could ever repay…

  Bryan was just short of turning off the path to the right when he heard the shot. His blood went cold as he caught himself almost in mid-stride, knowing it would be suicide to charge someone armed with pistols. His own life didn't matter, not at a time like this, but if his Rianne was still alive … as she had to be…

  He went to one knee and peered carefully around the short hedge lining the walk that went to the right. It was too damned dark to see everything he needed to, but the most important thing was clearly visible in the light of the torch she held: Rianne, and definitely still alive. He whispered a prayer of thanks, fervent but very short. The girl wasn't alone on the path.

  A crumpled shadow on the ground showed where the pistol shot had gone, the one who must have done the deed just beyond the body. The man was turned away from him, facing Rianne, and even as Bryan watched the man started toward her. His right hand held something Bryan couldn't make out, but there was no doubt that it was a weapon. Bryan stood and eased onto the path through the shadows, needing to get closer before he was seen. If the man carried two pistols the way he usually did…

  And then everything began to happen at once. Rianne had stood like a carven statue as the man approached her, but suddenly she came to life. Any other woman would have screamed or tried to run, but his wife uttered a strangled, wordless shout and went straight for her would-be attacker. She held the torch like a broadsword, cocked over her right shoulder with both hands at its base. That she was going to use it on the man in front of her was in no doubt whatsoever.

  Bryan cursed as he launched himself again into a run. The torchlight had glinted off the knife the man carried, but that wasn't the relief it should have been. Rather than backing from the woman who came at him in attack, her pursuer had braced himself and was clearly waiting for her swing. Once the torch swept past him he would lunge with the knife before the backswing came, and then there would be no backswing…

  Bryan Machlin moved faster than he ever had in his life. Just as Rianne started her swing, the man she aimed for heard him coming. He jumped back and whirled around, bringing his knife up, and that's when Bryan's shoulder took him in the middle. They went down together and rolled, but the impact hadn't been enough to put the husky man out of the fight. He snarled as the two of them came to a stop, and brought his knife up in an arc that would have ended as it plunged into Bryan's chest.

  But that was easier thought of than done. Bryan caught the man's right wrist in his left hand, then swung his right fist at the viciously snarling face. The son of a dog had been going to kill his love, and Bryan wanted nothing more than to beat him to bloody pulp. Even if he'd had a weapon, he wouldn't have used it; only bare hands could have satisfied his rage.

  The fist connected with a thud, but Bryan hadn't been able to put too much into the blow. From his back and partially on his right side getting sufficient leverage was almost impossible. His opponent grunted with pain even so, then threw all of his weight behind his knife hand. No man's arm, even one the size of Bryan's, could withstand that sort of strain for long.

  But that wasn't something Bryan had to be told. He'd fought big men with knives before, and had already begun shifting his weight to his right under the reach of his opponent. As soon as that was done he suddenly stopped pushing up against the other man, and at the same time began to roll. The other, taken off guard and abruptly off balance, went down to Bryan's left with the knife held between them.

  Now Bryan had the upper hand, but the other man used his knee with the intention of doing serious damage. Bryan cursed and protected himself as best he could, and the two began to roll again. And then, with shocking suddenness, it was over. The man tried to twist his knife hand free, but just at the wrong time. Bryan's weight had come down hard just as the wrist slid out of his grip - and the knife was buried hilt-deep in his opponent's chest.

  "Blast the scrofulous, blasted luck," he muttered once it was clear the motionless body was not about to move again. He'd been willing to bet everything he owned that the man under him could have told him exactly what he needed to know, but now the dog was dead. Much as he'd wanted to, Bryan hadn't intended killing him - only coming close - but now…

  And there were also the sounds of a large number of people approaching. Pinky might not have come out after him on his own, but if Robert Creighton led the way more than one would have followed. And that wasn't by any means the most important thing on Bryan's mind. He pushed himself quickly back to his feet, then moved over to Rianne. The girl stood staring down at the dead man with no expression on her face.

  "Are you all right?" he asked gently, taking the torch as he put his other arm around her. "Did either of them hurt you?"

  "I really should be asking you that question," she returned, then d
eliberately pulled her attention away from the body. "I'm fairly certain this one was here for no other reason than to kill Tremar, and he almost did the same to you. As soon as I saw his face I remembered - he's the one who … did all those … horrible things for … him…"

  As the words ended her arms were already around him, clutching tight as though for warmth or stability. Bryan held her to him as she fought with the memory of the nightmare, wishing he could do more, wishing she were holding to him because she needed him. Right now she probably just needed someone, and he happened to be handy…

  "I say!" came with the sound of many feet on the path, and then two other torches were brought to join his. George Sellars was there to the front with Pinky, John Merriman, Peter Albright, and others behind. In the lead was Robert Creighton.

  "Machlin, old son, are you or the lady hurt?" Robert demanded as soon as he was near enough. "For the love of God, what's been going on here?"

  "It's that Tremar chap, and he's been shot," Pinky announced from near the first body. "Did you have a pistol, Machlin? I don't recall seeing one."

  "Nonsense, Pinky, he didn't do it," Sellars answered with a snort. "Heard the shot myself while Machlin was still in sight. Must have been that other bloke."

  "That's right, it was," Rianne confirmed, loosening her hold on Bryan. "That man came out of the dark and shot Mr. Tremar, then turned on me with a knife. My husband reached him before he could do me harm."

  "But what in the world were you doing out here with that Tremar person?" Robert asked. "Pinky said something about him dragging you away - And did you say 'husband'?"

  "Yes, she said husband," Bryan confirmed, hating the way she'd moved away from him even that very small distance. "But introductions can wait until later." Then he turned to Rianne and said, "Right now I'd also like to know how you ended up out here."