She soon had enough of that. She finished her tea and, excusing herself, went to her bedchamber. Justinian declared himself to be ready for bed and accompanied her upstairs. Feetham followed her faithfully, but to her surprise there was no footman on duty in the corridor. Perhaps he had gone on an errand for Nurse.
As soon as Emma helped her make ready for bed, Diana dismissed her and went to sit by the window. She thought she could hear shouting far out in the park. What could be happening? Had Vincent been called out?
A knock rattled her door. “Vincent?”
“No, my lady. It is I.” Feetham’s voice. Diana opened the door and he handed her a small package. “The downstairs footman brought this up to you.”
“Thank you, Feetham.” She closed the door and looked cautiously at the bundle. What now? She untied the string and lifted out a small white garment.
Selena’s ruffled underskirt.
The ruffles were still stained with that night’s cherry pie, red as blood. Diana’s heart began to hammer in her chest as she knelt to pick up a slip of paper that had fluttered to the floor. She looked at the writing, and her worst horror leaped up in her.
Now, my faithless slut—
Now at last you will obey me. Come at once to the summerhouse at the end of the shrubbery. Alone.
Fail at your daughter’s peril.
Deimos
Oh, dear God. He was here.
Selena!
Diana forced herself not to move—to take time to think. She had been deceived once before by the lock of hair. She must be sure. She struggled into a black walking dress, fumbling to get at least a part of the buttons fastened, then tossed her braid to the back and went to the door. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to smile at Feetham and walked to the children’s room. She opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her.
There was no one in the room.
No one.
Not Nurse, not Throckmorton. Not Bytham and not Selena.
Diana’s knees buckled and she grasped the door facing to keep her feet. Dear God in heaven! Somehow he had taken them. He had them. Deimos had her children.
She fought to strengthen her knees. She could not be weak now. They needed her. She must find them, which meant that she must go to him. But if that fiend thought she would go meekly, the lamb to the slaughter, he would soon learn his mistake. A rage such as she had never felt swelled in Diana.
She buttressed her resolution and went back to her room, nodding pleasantly at her bodyguard. Once inside she checked the priming of her pistol and put it in her pocket. Then she quickly wrote a note, which she gave to Feetham. “Please take this to his lordship. I believe he is still in the library.”
“But, my lady…” Clearly the loyal Feetham did not wish to leave his post.
“It will be all right.” She hated her false smile. “I will lock my door.” He left with a frown and a backward glance.
Diana pinned a black veil over her light-colored hair and waited only until she heard Feetham’s steps going down the stairs before slipping out of her bedchamber and down the hall in the other direction. She had no idea where Vincent might actually be. If he was in the study, then he would come to her aid. If not, sending her guard on the errand would give her time to get to the summerhouse alone.
She flew silently down the back stairs and out a side door. Diana decided she would not go directly to the summerhouse. Coming in from the back of the maze, she might have the opportunity to ambush him. The moon was just rising, throwing very little light as yet into the garden, but she left the paths and worked her way from shadow to shadow, her pistol in her hand.
Diana reached the far side of the shrubbery and crept along, one hand against the hedges guiding her. There was an entrance on this side not far from the summerhouse, but she did not want to use it. He might be watching for her there. Yet she felt certain that Deimos would underestimate her. He had worked diligently to make her terrified and subservient. That misconception could be made to serve her.
She was no longer terrified—she was furious.
But she must also be clever. Above all else, she must discover where her children were held. Diana slipped the gun back into her pocket. Perhaps he would not know she had it. Aha. Her fingers encountered a thin spot in the hedge and she wriggled into it. The branches scratched her poor abused face and snatched at the veil.
Diana wormed her way on through the hedge, but did not step onto the interior path. She stood still as stone and listened. Someone was coming. She pulled back and watched. A man moved stealthily along the walk. Drawing the dark veil across her pale face, Diana squinted for a better look. Medium height. Sturdily built. Light hair. She had never seen him before.
Deimos.
As he continued toward the summerhouse, Diana slid out of the niche in the hedge. The veil hung in the branches. She tried to disentangle it, but could not see well enough to do so and decided to leave it. She followed the man silently into the dark.
Vincent stamped up the steps to the front door cursing imaginatively. They had lost him. Whoever the lurker in the grounds had been, he had cleanly escaped Vincent’s forces. But the search had not been completely fruitless. It had led them past a spinney of small trees where one of his riders had spotted a boot lying on the ground. The boot had proved to contain the leg of Lord St. Edmunds.
Still connected to the rest of his corpse.
His lordship had been correct in his assessment of his own life expectancy. At least one opponent had ceased to plague him.
Just as Vincent approached the library door, a footman called to him. “My lord, I have a note for you. Feetham brought it down from Lady Diana. He didn’t like to wait.”
Vincent took the message and perused it. Bloody hell! She had gone in pursuit of Deimos! And she still did not know that her tormentor was, in truth, Henry. Diana would walk right up to him, never knowing. Damnation. At least she did not know where Nurse and Throckmorton had hidden the children. Deimos would not be able to force that knowledge out of her. Vincent did not know himself.
He sprinted down the hallway toward the side entrance.
Diana trod quietly in her light slippers, following her quarry down the path toward the summerhouse. But where was Selena? She must be somewhere nearby. Perhaps Deimos would lead Diana to her.
Without warning, something closed around her braid and yanked her backward. A rough hand covered her mouth and she was pulled back against a hard body. She twisted her head and looked up into a familiar face, indistinct in the starlight. Vincent? No…
Henry.
She tugged at the hand covering her mouth and gestured frantically down the walk. He leaned to place his ear beside her mouth, loosening his grip on her face. “Help me, Henry. That man is an assassin, and he has taken Bytham and Selena. I must find them and stop him.”
His eyebrows rose and he seemed startled. Then he smiled slowly. He spoke into her ear. “Indeed? Then let us pursue him.”
Henry took a firm hold on her arm and pulled a gun from his belt. They hurried down the path. It made a shallow turn and opened into a small grassy lawn fronting a low-arched stone structure. The stranger stood surveying the building. Diana slipped her hand into her pocket, closed it around her weapon and shouted, “Deimos! Stop!”
The man jumped and spun around, bringing up a double-barreled pistol. He pointed it straight at her. Henry shoved her into the hedge and dropped away in the other direction. A shot cracked and the muzzle of the stranger’s gun flared.
Diana righted herself and lifted her hand, bringing up the pistol still inside her skirt. She pulled the trigger. The sound of her shot deafened her, and the smell of singed cloth mingled with that of burned powder. The man’s pistol dropped to the ground and he fell forward, sprawling face-first across it.
For a heartbeat Diana stood stunned. She had not expected Deimos to simply shoot her. His threats had suggested much worse retribution. But where were Bytham and Selena? She ran forwa
rd and knelt beside him, tugging at his shoulder. Perhaps he was not dead. Perhaps he could still tell her.
Henry came up beside her, thrust his weapon into his belt and bent down. He spoke cooly. “How astonishing. I was not expecting him, whoever he may be.” He looked at Diana with narrowed eyes. “Nor was I expecting you to be concealing a pistol. I must be more careful.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “But his presence will prove very useful when I remove my encroaching brother. I shall blame the tragedy on this intruder.”
Alarm flashed through Diana. She jerked her arm and tried to step back. “What? What do you mean?”
His grip on her arm tightened punishingly and he caught her chin in his other hand, digging his fingers into her flesh. His lips curled slowly, grimly. “Do you not know me? I told you I would come for you.”
Breath failed Diana. She could only stare at him in disbelief. Finally she gasped, “You? You told me…” The truth struck her like a blow. “You are Deimos?”
“As I promised, sweet slut.” He released her chin and, gripping her braid with one hand and her arm with the other, began to tow her across the lawn to the summer house. “But now we must await my brother. When he finds you missing, he will come in search. Did you leave him a note?” She refused to answer and he laughed. “Of course you did. You should have obeyed me and come alone.”
Oh, dear God! If only she had not already discharged her pistol. But if she had not, she would already be dead. But most important… “Where are Selena and Bytham?”
“I will tell you that when I have made your situation clear to you.” They had reached the summerhouse and he turned them so that it sheltered his back. “I must dispose of dear Vincent to ensure that I will be recognized as the Earl of Lonsdale. And you, my brother’s whore, will be my countess, not his.” He leered down at her, twisting her braid around his hand. “I told you I would get my money’s worth out of you. I will even allow you to keep your children as long as you obey me. If you do not, I have acquaintances who will make profitable use of them. They are both beauties.”
“You will not! I will not let you touch them.” Her rage flooded Diana. She swung her free fist at him with all her strength.
Her knuckles connected with his chin. A bolt of pain shot through her hand and up her arm. Startled, Henry grunted and stepped back. Diana grabbed for the pistol in his belt. Forcing her aching hand to close around it, she jerked it out, but could not control it. It fell to the ground and she reached for it.
“Shrew!” His open hand came out of the dark, striking her across the face.
Lightning flashed through Diana’s brain. Throwing herself forward, she went down atop the gun, dazed, but still scrabbling for it. She had one thought in her mind. If she could get her hands on it, she would kill him where he stood. He grasped her braid and hauled upward, pulling her head up so that she could no longer see the ground. Her scalp screamed in pain as he lifted her, but she continued to fumble for the weapon.
There. There! She almost had it.
“You bloody bitch!” He kicked the gun hard and it sailed out of her reach, somewhere off into the dark. Diana sobbed in frustration. He dropped her and drew his foot back again. She rolled desperately away from him. His boot struck her between the shoulder blades. The air rushed out of her. She tried to roll again, but her body would not obey.
She could not breathe!
“Henry!” Vincent’s voice. Somewhere past the roaring in her ears.
Henry’s hands clutched at her, trying to pull her limp form up in front of him. Before he could get her off the grass, a shot thundered. He cursed and dropped her, springing sideways.
From out of the hedge, Vincent launched himself, flying over her and knocking Henry to the ground. The two of them rolled and twisted, kicking and punching. Hands clawed, groped for throats, for eyes. Teeth gritted and snapped.
Breath finally returned to Diana and she crawled away from the grappling men. The pistol. She must find Henry’s pistol. She groped blindly in the shadow of the hedge. Where? Where had it landed? Oh, God, she could not find it.
Diana struggled to her feet. She would have to do something else to help Vincent. Perhaps she could use her empty weapon as a club. She fumbled it out of her pocket, took it by the barrel, and peered through the dim shadow-striped light. Two men still fought on the grassy lawn.
But which one was Vincent?
He and Henry looked much alike at any time, but now, in this light… Dear heaven! Which was which? Both wore black coats and boots. Disheveled black hair shaded both their angular faces, obscuring the features. Diana stood uncertainly.
In the next moment three things happened so fast Diana could hardly perceive them. One of the wrestling forms was thrown back and away from the other. Both of them came to their knees. A silver blur streaked out of the shrubbery across the lawn.
Diana heard a thunk.
And another shot. Someone fell out of the far hedge.
One of the dark figures crumpled to the ground.
“Vincent!” Diana raced to where the man lay and bent over him. Oh, heaven. Was it Vincent? Was he dead?
Suddenly she was tackled and pulled away, tangled with another hard body.
“Don’t touch him, Diana!” Vincent’s voice.
Oh, God. Thank God. Vincent’s voice. Vincent’s arms.
The man on the grassy earth lifted himself on one elbow, allowing the moonlight to fall on the knife protruding from his chest. He coughed. “Clever, little brother.” He tugged weakly at the handle of the blade. “You know I would not let you have her.”
The knife came free and, with one last burst of energy, Henry threw it at Diana.
The effort proved more than he could do. Vincent easily moved her aside and the blade fell harmlessly beside them. Henry dropped onto his back, blood now spurting from his chest and pouring from his mouth. His voice gurgled as he spoke.
“Damn you. God damn you, Vincent. I should have won.”
He did not move again and Diana knew that Henry Ingleton, the man known as Deimos, had spoken his last words.
Vincent, still kneeling, covered his eyes for a second. Finally he shook his head and laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Why did it have to be this way, Henry? Why?”
Of course, there was no answer.
There never would be.
Diana became aware of Justinian Sudbury walking toward them, a pistol in his hand. “He done for?”
“Aye.” Vincent stood and helped Diana to her feet. “Much obliged to you, Sudbury. Who threw the knife?”
“Valet.” Sudbury gestured at the figure that had fallen out of the hedge.
“You shot him?”
“Aye.” Justinian nodded. “Been following him.”
“But who did I shoot?” None of the night was making sense to Diana.
Vincent walked across and gazed down at the third casualty of the melee. “I am not certain, but I believe that Tobias will tell us that this is the confederate of St. Edmunds that enlisted him.”
“I thought he was Deimos, but I would not have shot him except that he fired at me first.” Diana wrapped her arms around herself. What a nightmare!
“And not for the first time, I’ll warrant. He almost certainly shot at you yesterday.” Vincent pulled her close. “But I think that has come to an end.” He looked at Justinian. “The Office send you?”
Justinian grinned. “Aye. And you have a hard back to watch.” He looked at Diana’s wide eyes and spoke to Vincent. “Take her back to the house. I’ll tidy up.”
“No!” Diana baulked. “The children! He said he had them.”
“He lied, Diana. Again.” Vincent put his arm around her waist and guided her through the maze. “The children are safe. Nurse and Throckmorton have hidden them.”
“Thank God. Oh, thank God.” Diana laid her head on his shoulder. “But now I really have killed someone.” She sniffled.
“Do you regret it? He would have killed you, taken you
from Selena and Bytham.”
“I know. I would do the same again, but…” She broke into sobs.
“My only regret is that it was not I who killed those who were hounding you.” Vincent stroked her back and held her close. He let her finish weeping before gently lifting her face and kissing her. “My poor, battered love. But you are safe now. And so are our children.”
Our children.
Diana looked up into his eyes and smiled before she started crying again.
Epilogue
Yorkshire, England, March 1815
They were sitting in the drawing room after dinner. Vincent was studying the chessboard, playing a game against himself, honing his strategy. His wife watched while she sewed some fancy small garment. Suddenly he looked up. Diana lifted her head, too, listening. Hoofbeats, coming up the drive at the gallop.
Vincent stood and walked out into the hallway. A few seconds later Justinian Sudbury’s long frame, muddy to the eyebrows, came running up the steps two at a time. “Lonsdale! Have you heard the news?”
Vincent ushered him into the drawing room. “What?”
“Bonaparte has escaped Elba.” Sudbury shrugged out of his greatcoat and gave it to a hovering Durbin.
“Great God! How?” Vincent hurried to hand his chilled friend a glass of brandy.
“Don’t know. Left Elba with twelve hundred men, but then the French army came up with him…” Sudbury tossed the liquor back in a single gulp, choked and held out his glass.
“What, man?” Vincent refilled the glass. “What happened?”
“The bastard rode out to the French army, threw open his coat and shouted, ‘Let him that has the heart kill his Emperor!’” Sudbury sank down tiredly onto a stool by the fire.
“Bloody hell! The audacity.” Vincent poured for himself.
Diana set her sewing aside. “What did they do?”
“Shouted, ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ and came over to him—to a man.”
Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition Page 26
